Steel screamed against flame.
Frost snapped in the air like a whip.
And above the battlefield, where glassed sand met searing wind, the three danced like thunderclouds locked in storm.
Kalem's spear, Bloodgouge, glowed with a crimson pulse. Every movement conjured spears of black mana in his wake—some fired, some floated like silent threats. He spun, parried, struck. Then leapt back, only to be chased by a scythe of fire.
"Still too slow!" Nara cried.
She was a comet—flame given form, her feet barely touching the earth. Every swing of her gauntleted fists sent explosions outward, warping the air. The sands themselves had ignited under her fury, burning black as her war-state deepened.
Kalem met her, blade to knuckle, black spear against roaring heat.
But then—ice.
Isolde moved like dusk—graceful, cold, relentless. Her blade Frost Mourn sang with sorrow, casting arcs of snow in a desert made for flame. Wherever her sword struck, the fire receded, steam rising from the ground like ghosts.
Kalem turned, just in time to deflect her upward slash with the shaft of his spear. Their eyes met.
"Still trying to freeze my heart, are you?" he asked, grinning.
"I already did once. You never noticed," she replied, before aiming a low cut at his ankles.
He jumped back.
A flame-fist followed instantly, Nara coming from the side, her mouth wide in a grin.
Kalem ducked under it and rolled, kicking up sand, his cloak billowing behind him. Three black spears fired over his shoulder, scattering the fighters momentarily.
"Garrick!" Jhaeros shouted over the cacophony. "Did you record that last maneuver?"
Garrick didn't even glance up from his totem. "Recording everything. But I'll need a week just to make sense of it."
"I don't think any of it makes sense."
"That's because they don't fight for reason anymore," Lyra said, her voice low and distant, arms folded.
Jhaeros glanced at her. "What do you mean?"
"They're old friends," she murmured. "But too long apart. Their words fail. So now they speak through steel, flame, frost."
On the battlefield, Kalem threw his arm wide.
"Enough!"
A circle of black spears erupted from the ground, forming a spinning barrier.
"Why are we even fighting?!"
Nara's reply was to leap into the air and come crashing down with a fire-wreathed kick.
His barrier shattered.
He flew backward, rolled across the sand, and landed on one knee.
"Answer the damn question!" he snapped.
Isolde, approaching slowly, sword at her side, said, "She isn't just angry at you. She's angry at what you've become."
Kalem looked up. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Nara walked forward, slowly now. Her flames dimmed. Steam rose from her shoulders. Her face—fierce but quiet.
"You left," she said. "Not just the academy. You left us."
"I've been working. Building. Helping people."
"Yes. And every time you do, you bury yourself deeper in that armor, in your title. You wear darkness like a badge."
Kalem blinked.
Nara's voice didn't tremble, but the heat in it was no longer fire. "You disappeared, Kalem. Even when you stood in front of us, it felt like you weren't really there."
Isolde stepped beside her. "We thought you were gone. And when we found you again, you were this. The Lord of Armaments. The one who builds weapons faster than he speaks."
Kalem stood slowly.
"You know why I did that," he said, quietly.
"We do," Nara said. "But that doesn't mean we're not allowed to be angry."
Silence fell.
Only the wind stirred, carrying away ash and broken sand.
Jhaeros exhaled. "So… are they finished?"
"I doubt it," Garrick muttered.
Kalem looked down at his hands.
The gauntlets were burned. His knuckles bled. His armor—scorched, cracked, dark. He could see his reflection in the tip of Bloodgouge, warped and flickering.
"I never meant to leave," he said.
"You did anyway," Nara replied.
Kalem looked at her. She stood tall, not a flame left on her body, but the embers behind her eyes still glowed. Beside her, Isolde leaned on her sword, breathing slow, quiet.
He walked forward.
And dropped the spear.
It hit the sand with a muffled thump.
"Then let me come back," he said.
The flames returned—this time softer. Not from Nara's fists, but her eyes.
"Do you even know how?"
Kalem shook his head. "No."
A pause.
Then Nara smiled, tired, beaten, soot across her brow.
"Then you're already on the right path."
Isolde chuckled. "Gods above. That's the first sane thing any of us has said all day."
Kalem looked to the others. Garrick gave him a thumbs-up without lifting his eyes from the totem. Jhaeros just sighed and sat back down. Lyra, still silent, allowed herself the faintest of smiles.
"Next time," Kalem muttered, "we do this with less stabbing."
"Next time," Nara said, "you don't vanish for two years."
Kalem nodded. "Deal."
Then she punched him in the face.
He flew backward, landed in the sand with a grunt.
She crossed her arms. "That one was for the war-guild archives you didn't read."
Isolde offered him a hand.
He took it.