Elira's eyes still burned with the vision of betrayal. She had seen the crown's origin—fire forged from broken trust, shadow abandoned. She whispered, steady but shaken, "I will not let your truth define me."
Marlic's laughter split the battlefield, sharp and bitter. His storm pressed harder, his ember eyes blazing. "You think you can choose? You think you can rewrite what was forged?"
He stepped forward, spear of smoke lashing against Kael's blade. Sparks rained down, the ground trembling. His voice thundered: "That crown is mine as much as yours. It was born from betrayal—my betrayal. My grief. My shadow. You carry my memory every time it burns."
The Ashbound faltered, torches flickering. Elira's chest tightened, the crown pulsing violently. She felt it—his presence inside the flame, his grief woven into its fire.
Marlic pressed harder, his storm swelling. "You wield my pain as your weapon. You bind my loss into your flame. That is why you will never win, Flamebearer. Because every blaze you summon carries me."
Elira staggered, her fire faltering. The crown pulsed in harmony with his words, whispering shadows into her flame. For a heartbeat, she felt consumed—not by fire, but by his grief.
Kael's blade gleamed, his voice fierce. "Do not let him take it. The crown is yours, Elira. Yours to redefine."
But Marlic's roar shook the battlefield. "No, brother. It is ours. Flame and shadow forged it together. And if she will not surrender, I will tear it from her chest."
The storm surged, shadow lashing against flame. The duel was no longer just battle—it was possession.