Theron felt it.
That pressure. Stronger now. Closer.
Cassian stiffened beside him. "…this is bad."
They watched as the Sword of Dream moved forward.
Step by step. Through bodies.Through dying men.
Through soldiers who didn't even realise they were about to die.
And slowly... Deliberately.
He turned toward their line.
Toward them.
The distance between them.
Closing.
One step at a time.
Theron couldn't move.
something inside him refused to respond.
The battlefield around him blurred, the sounds growing distant, muffled, like they were being pulled away piece by piece.
That same feeling.From the dream. Cold. Heavy.
Dragging at his mind.
No…
His grip tightened around his sword, but it felt… slower. Harder.
Like his body wasn't fully his anymore.
Beside him, Cassian staggered slightly. "What is… this…?"
His voice was off.
Distant.
The Sword of Dream was getting closer.
Step by step. Unhurried. Unstoppable.
The purple aura around his blade pulsed faintly, spreading that invisible pressure further across the battlefield.
More soldiers froze. Some dropped where they stood, their eyes empty, trapped somewhere else entirely.
Theron's heart pounded. Fast. Loud.
This… is the same…
The same scene.
The same approach.
The same certainty.
His nightmare.
It was happening again.
Right in front of him.
No one is stopping him…
Theron's eyes flickered across the battlefield.
Knights. Soldiers. Captains.
Everyone was either fighting for their lives.
Or frozen.
No one was coming. No one could come.
The Sword of Dream stopped a few steps away.
Close enough.
His gaze settled on them. Empty. Unmoved.
Then.
He raised his sword.
The purple aura flared slightly.
Theron felt it slam into his mind.
Harder this time. Deeper.
His vision distorted at the edges.
His thoughts slowed.
Move…
His body didn't respond.
Cassian dropped to one knee.
"…Theron…"
Barely conscious.
The Sword of Dream stepped forward.
One more step.
The sword began to move.
And then.
CLANG.
A sharp, violent sound tore through the moment.
Steel met steel.
The pressure. Shattered. Gone.
Theron's vision snapped back into place.
Air rushed into his lungs as if he had been drowning.
In front of them.
Another figure stood.
Between them.
The Commander of Ashford.
The one with pale green eyes.
His sword was raised, intercepting the strike.
A faint green aura surrounded his blade, steady, controlled, completely opposite to the chaotic purple.
For the first time.
The Sword of Dream had been stopped.
The two stood locked for a brief second, their blades pressed against each other, energy clashing between them.
Then they pushed apart.
The Commander stepped forward slightly, placing himself fully between them and the threat.
His presence, calm. unshaken.
"…why?" he asked. Not loud. But it carried. Clear. Sharp.
"Why did you betray us?"
The Sword of Dream tilted his head slightly.
No anger. No regret.
"They promised me something you couldn't," he said.
His voice was calm. Almost indifferent.
"They promised me, I could achieve it with their help."
The Commander's eyes narrowed.
For the first time.
There was anger.
Real anger.
"…and you believed them."
The Sword of Dream didn't answer.
The silence was enough.
Then. They moved.
At the same time.
Faster than anything around them.
Their swords clashed again, sending a shock through the ground beneath them.
The green and purple auras collided, twisting against each other, neither giving way easily.
The impact alone forced nearby soldiers to step back.
Then further.
No one wanted to be near that.
Not a fight between two Masters.
Knights pulled away.
Infantry retreated.
Even the most hardened soldiers knew.
Getting caught between them meant death.
The battlefield opened around them, creating an empty space in the middle of chaos.
A stage.
For something far beyond ordinary combat.
The Commander moved with precision, every strike calculated, controlled.
The Sword of Dream.
Was different.
His attacks were smooth.
Effortless.
Almost… relaxed. Like he wasn't even trying yet.
It was a fight between an experienced Sword Master, against a new Sword Master.
But even so.
He was being held. Stopped.
And that alone.
Changed everything.
Behind them, soldiers began to move again.
The pressure had weakened.
The dream-like state faded from many.
Some gasped, snapping back to reality.
Others staggered, confused but alive.
"They stopped him…!"
A voice shouted. Hope returned.
Small. Fragile. But real.
Theron steadied himself, breathing hard, his grip tightening around his sword again.
Cassian pushed himself back up, shaking off the lingering effect.
"…we're not dead yet," he muttered.
The fight between the two Masters continued ahead of them, violent, overwhelming.
But now.
There was a chance.
And that was enough.
The clash of the two Masters didn't stop the war.
It only shifted it.
Around them, the battlefield surged back to life.
Men who had frozen moments ago now moved again, confused, shaken, but alive. Orders were shouted.
Lines tried to reform. The brief pause shattered into chaos once more.
Theron moved.
Not by thought. By instinct.
An enemy soldier rushed him, blade raised high, desperation clear in his eyes.
Theron stepped in. Too fast.
His sword cut across the man's throat before the strike could fall. Blood followed. The body dropped.
No pause.
Another came from the side, shield first, trying to bash him off balance.
Theron turned, deflecting the impact, his blade sliding along the edge of the shield before slipping past it and driving into the gap beneath the arm.
A sharp breath.
Then silence.
The man collapsed.
Theron pulled his sword free, already moving.
Step. Turn. Strike.
Everything around him blurred into motion, faces, weapons, bodies.
There was no time to process who they were. No time to think about anything beyond the next movement.
Survive. Kill. Move.
But even in that chaos.
Something kept pulling at him.
A thought. A name.
Cassian.
Theron's eyes shifted for a split second, scanning the battlefield.
Where was he?
He had been right beside him.
Just moments ago.
A flash of armor to the left.
Not him.
A voice shouting somewhere behind.
Not him.
Theron cut down another soldier, barely registering the motion, his attention splitting between the fight and the search.
Where is he?
Then.
Something flew through the air.
Fast.
Spinning.
Theron reacted instantly, stepping back slightly, his body tensing.
It hit the ground a few steps in front of him.
Heavy. Wet.
For a moment.
He didn't understand what he was looking at.
Just a shape. Covered in blood.
Then it rolled.
Slowly. Turning. Facing him.
The world seemed to narrow.
Everything else.
Faded. The noise. The battle.
Gone.
There was only that. On the ground.
Eyes open.
Unfocused. Empty.
Cassian.
Theron's breath stopped.
His grip loosened for just a fraction of a second.
No.
No.
His body didn't move.
Didn't react. Didn't accept it.
The face.
It was Cassian.
There was no mistake.
Mud and blood covered it, but. It was him.
His friend.
The one who stood beside him.
The one who just. Was there.
A moment ago.
Theron took a step forward without realizing it.
Slow. Unsteady.
"…Cassian?"
The word came out quietly.
Like saying it would change something.
Like it would make this.
Not real.
But nothing changed.
The head didn't move. Didn't respond.
The eyes didn't focus.
And the battlefield, crashed back all at once.
But for Theron.
Everything slowed. The noise turned distant.
Muted.
Like it didn't belong to him anymore.
His eyes stayed locked on it.
On Cassian. Mud. Blood.
And that familiar face.
Empty.
"…Cassian?"
His voice broke.
Barely a whisper. His hand trembled.
He didn't even notice when his sword slipped slightly in his grip.
This wasn't real. It couldn't be.
He was just there.
Talking. Fighting. Alive.
"…get up…"
The words came out without thought.
Quiet. Desperate.
Like Cassian would just stand up and complain like always.
Like this was nothing. Like this was normal.
But nothing happened. Nothing changed.
And slowly. That truth settled in.
Heavy.
Unforgiving.
Cassian is dead