Kael's boots struck the stone floor like war drums, blade slick with blood, his breath rising in steam. Across the room, Rath Veylor stepped down from the throne, unhurried, the king descending to meet his executioner.
Behind Kael, Elira and Merek held back Rath's elite vanguard. Thorn's roar echoed as he smashed one through a pillar. Vess had taken to the rafters, loosing arrows at anything that moved toward Kael.
But Kael saw none of it now.
Only Rath.
Only the man who burned his world down.
And the woman still shackled behind him.
---
The Past Returns
Rath smiled faintly as he drew his blade—a curved greatsword blacker than midnight, pulsing with crimson veins of magic. "Do you remember what I said the day your family died?"
Kael's grip tightened. "I remember the screams."
"I said a name means nothing without legacy. You never understood that."
"You're wrong," Kael said, stepping forward. "I understood it the moment you took mine away."
He launched forward.
Steel screamed as the two blades met, the force of the impact sending shockwaves through the chamber. Magic flickered. Dust fell from the ceiling.
Their duel had begun.
---
Clash of Wills
Kael's style was sharp, relentless, born from years of rage and battlefield survival.
Rath was methodical. Cold. As if every move had been practiced a thousand times before.
Strike, parry, counter—Kael rolled under a sweeping arc, slashing low, then pivoted to avoid a downward cleave that cracked the stone.
"You fight well for a corpse," Rath sneered.
Kael spat blood. "I'm not dead until I kill you."
A blast of dark energy surged from Rath's off-hand. Kael barely raised a ward in time, the force throwing him backward across the hall.
He struck a column, coughed hard—but rose again.
Lyra cried out.
That was enough.
He charged once more.
---
The Shackled Flame
As the duel raged, Lyra focused on the old trick Kael had taught her long ago—dislocate the thumb, slip the cuff.
Her wrist throbbed, bones grinding, but after seven years of captivity, pain was just a dull companion.
The cuff clicked loose.
She gritted her teeth and reached for the chain pin on her ankle.
---
Breaking the King
Kael feinted high, dropped low, and sliced into Rath's thigh. The tyrant hissed in pain, his blade swinging wide.
Kael surged in.
"Your name dies today!" he shouted.
But Rath caught the hilt mid-swing and slammed a fist into Kael's ribs. Something cracked.
Kael staggered—but as Rath moved in for the final strike, a sharp sound echoed behind him.
Click.
Rath paused.
Then turned.
Lyra stood.
Free.
And holding a dagger.
To be continue...