The temple trembled as Kaalkrit descended the steps, each footfall echoing like war drums. Aarav pulled himself up, drawing in breath, the ring glowing fiercely as it flared with both flame and wind.
Kaalkrit raised his obsidian blade.
"You carry truths not meant for mortals," he snarled. "You should have died in that village."
"I did," Aarav replied. "What lived on was forged in pain—and fire."
The clash was instant.
Kaalkrit moved like a tempest, his strikes a blur of darkness. Aarav countered with wind-enhanced footwork and bursts of white flame, but the general's strength was overwhelming. Every blow rang with fury ancient as war itself.
Their battle shattered statues, scorched walls, and cracked the very ground of the temple.
But Kaalkrit wasn't just fighting with power. He was drawing energy from the temple itself—from the Echoes.
"You think you're special?" Kaalkrit growled. "Your mother thought the same. She took the Third Truth from me. And I made her watch her world burn."
That rage gave Aarav strength.
With a roar, he unleashed both sigils—fire and wind spiraling into a cyclone of white and gold. Kaalkrit was thrown back, crashing through the glass throne.
Aarav rushed to his mother, using the ring to sever the golden chains.
Her eyes opened fully.
"You must claim the Third Truth, Aarav," she whispered. "Before he does."