"Alright," Kalem said, dusting the soot from his gauntlet. He rolled his shoulders, eyes gleaming under the dark visor of his helm. "Take it out."
Nara grinned, wide and wild.
"War-state."
The words rolled from her tongue like an oath.
And in the blink of a breath, she vanished.
Or rather, her form blurred, then burned—her very body igniting in a cascade of golden flame. Not merely cloaked in fire, but made of it. Where once was skin, now shimmered light. The heat warped the air; the sands beneath her feet hissed and turned to glass.
"Ah," Kalem muttered, "This might get tricky."
She stepped once, and the earth cracked. Fire spiraled around her arms, forming burning gauntlets the size of tower shields.
She raised her fists. "Let's settle this like old times."
Kalem twirled Bloodgouge, calling the mana spears back into the air, black needles humming with silent menace. The storm of them poised behind his back like the quills of some infernal beast.
The two of them surged forward, flame and void about to meet—
When a shadow dropped between them.
A streak of silver. A blur of motion.
A blade swept the space between.
Clang!
Frost and flame clashed, sending a mist of steam skyward.
Kalem stepped back, startled. "Isolde?!"
Before him stood a woman clad in pale blue steel, her long cloak of fur billowing in the scorched winds. In her hands, the blade known only as Frost Mourn—an ancient sword of sorrow and stillness—gleamed with biting cold.
But her hair—he squinted.
"Wait," Kalem pointed, narrowing his eyes, "Wasn't your hair white?"
Isolde flipped a lock of her long, now jet-black hair back from her face. "I dyed it. Got tired of people calling me a winter ghost."
"That's literally what you were," Kalem muttered.
Nara, flames dimming slightly, growled in protest. "Oi, you can't just jump into the middle of Wagar!"
"You're not the only one who's been waiting for a crack at him," Isolde replied coolly.
"This isn't a festival brawl! I invited him!"
"Then consider me uninvited," Isolde said, twirling Frost Mourn in one hand as ice began to creep from its tip across the cracked earth.
Kalem sighed. "Why does every reunion involve someone trying to murder me?"
Garrick, scribbling madly in the distance, muttered to Jhaeros, "We'll need another totem for this nonsense."
Jhaeros didn't reply—he was too busy tightening the bands around his arm, just in case this became a fourfold mess.
Back in the pit, Kalem cracked his neck.
"Alright then," he said, raising his hand, "If it's going to be unfair, let me balance it out."
A low rumble surged through the ground.
The black mana spears hanging above suddenly descended in waves—dozens of them redirecting midair toward Isolde.
Her eyes widened. "Really?!"
He gave a half-shrug. "You wanted in."
With an arc of her sword, Isolde swung Frost Mourn, unleashing a wave of absolute cold. The air split, and the incoming spears froze mid-flight, shattering as they hit the edge of her spell. Even so, one—just one—slipped through.
It gouged her left shoulder, a trail of red painting her pale armor.
She hissed, not in pain, but satisfaction. "Fair enough."
"Don't say I never gave you a warm welcome," Kalem said, summoning more spears with a flick of his hand.
From the sidelines, Lyra crossed her arms. "This is ridiculous."
"It's Kalem," Garrick said. "When isn't it ridiculous?"
Back on the field, the battle had become a triangle of chaos.
Nara, flame-body blazing with renewed fury, launched herself at Isolde, now more threat than interruption. "This was my fight!"
"I'll return him shortly," Isolde answered, stepping sideways, slashing a path through the fire with magic-cold steel.
Kalem ducked under a pair of wild strikes, used a spear to vault over a blaze, and nearly got his leg frozen by a misdirected frost wave.
He landed, panting slightly. "We're too old for this."
"You're the one who went wandering around breaking economies and killing abominations," Nara shouted.
"And you're the one who built a fire-cult in a desert!" Kalem replied, swinging Bloodgouge down and splitting a wave of flame.
Isolde stabbed forward, her blade glowing with white mist. "And I just wanted to spar, not get caught in your mid-life warcries!"
The three collided once more—metal, frost, and fire spinning into a crescendo of heat and cold, blades flashing, spear ringing.
From the camp, Garrick lowered his stylus.
"You know," he said aloud, "I think this might be the most normal moment he had until now."
Jhaeros glanced at him, then back at the battlefield.
Nara roared, driving Kalem into the sand.
Kalem retaliated, slamming the butt of his spear into the ground and erupting a geyser of dark mana upward, sending Nara flying.
Isolde laughed aloud, catching the edge of it and flipping to the side like a cat.
"Yes," Jhaeros said after a long pause. "Completely normal."