The spear hummed.
It stood buried in the cobblestone between them, its shaft quivering from the force of the throw, iron head buried deep, splitting the stone. Snowflakes touched the wood and melted instantly, thin threads of steam rising into the ash-dulled air.
No one moved.
The square, moments ago in chaos, screaming, had narrowed into something smaller.
Tighter.
Puppets stood frozen mid-step, heads titled at unnatural angles, as if time itself had faltered around the three figures now measuring one another across the ruined ground.
Baron Edric did not lower his sabre.
His shield hung split along its rim from the last exchange, wood groaning faintly where the iron binding had bent. His breath came slow and controlled, a thin cloud before his mouth, eyes steady beneath the rim of his helm.
Opposite to him stood the man who had fallen from the sky.
He rolled his shoulder once, easing a stiffness.
No weapon. No armour.
Snow clung to his dark clothing and steamed away.
Between them, commander Dave sat tall in the saddle, reins held loosely in one hand. His horse stamped once, nostrils flaring at the scent of blood and smoke.
The man glanced first at Dave.
Then at Edric.
His voice, when it came, was calm enough to belong in a quiet hall rather than a battlefield.
"You fight well."
No insult. NO praise. Just a statement.
Dave shifted his grip on the reins. "You fall from the sky often?"
The man ignored Dave, his eyes returned to Edric.
"This will be worth the time."
Dave did not wait.
He drove his heels in, horse surging forward in a burst of power, hooves striking sparks from the broken stone. The distance vanished in heartbeats. He leaned low, wrenching the spear from the stone in the same motion, aiming not for the man's chest but the line of his movement.
The man did not step back.
He turned.
Dave's blade passed within inches of his ribs. A hand came up, catching Dave's wrist mid-strike, redirecting the cut into empty air. The horse thundered past. Dave twisted in the saddle, slashing behind him.
Edric was already moving.
He came in under Dave's pass, shield first, sabre angled low. No wasted swing, no wild reach. His blade rose in a clean arc meant to open the man from hip to shoulder.
The man shifted his weight… barely.
Steel cut cloth.
A line of red marked the side of his torso.
He looked down at it.
Touched the blood with two fingers.
Then looked back up.
Something changed.
He stepped forward.
Too fast for a man of that size.
His palm struck Edric's shield with a sound like a mallet hitting oak. The force drove Edric back two steps, boots skidding across stone. The shield held barely.
Dave wheeled his horse around, charging again.
This time he aimed the mount itself, not the blade.
The horse slammed into the man like a battering ram.
Bone cracked.
The man's forearms had come up to block the impact. The sound carried, sharp and wrong. His body lifted from the ground and rolled hard across the square, stone scraping cloth and flesh.
Edric did not hesitate.
He closed the distance in three strides, shield high, sabre flashing. One cut. Two. Three. Each aimed not to wound but to limit movement…thigh, shoulder, ribs.
The man absorbed them, arms moving to deflect rather than avoid. Blood marked him now. His breathing had changed.
Dave dismounted in motion, boots hitting stone as he drove forward with s, thrusting it like a short staff to keep the man from rising cleanly.
For a moment... the two of them had him.
Edric saw the opening.
He committed.
Shield raised high, he drove forward in a full-body charge meant to break stance and crush space.
The man planted his feet.
His palm came forward.
It struck the shield.
Wood burst.
The iron rim snapped. Splinters flew like birds from a tree. The force ran through Edric's arm, through his shoulder, and into his chest like a hammer-blow. He left the ground, thrown back across the snow, sliding hard until his boots caught stone and stopped him.
Silence.
Dave stood still, breathing hard.
The man remained upright now, arms hanging loosely at his sides. One sleeve was dark with blood. His forearm sat at an angle it should not.
He looked at it.
Then reached calmly to his belt and drew out a small glass vial.
He bit the cork out.
Drank.
The change was not dramatic.
It was worse than that.
The sickening sound of wet bone grinding against bone echoed through the square as his arm knit itself back together. His posture lifted, spine aligning as if a weight had been removed. When he looked up again, his eyes were white.
Not pale.
White.
Heat shimmered faintly in the air around him, snow melting where it touched his boots.
He spoke.
"Very well."
His voice had not risen.
"I am have no name you would know. But you may call me the elder."
He inclined his head toward Edric.
"Baron."
Then to Dave.
"Commander."
"A proper fight deserves a proper beginning."
Dave wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "That's your idea of manners?"
The elder flexed his fingers once. "It is."
Edric rose slowly.
His shield hung in pieces from his arm. He unstrapped it without looking and let it fall.
Dave walked to him.
From his saddle, he drew a sabre and held it out hilt-first.
Edric looked at it for a long second.
Then took it.
"You still carry this with you," he said quietly.
Dave's mouth twitched. "Wouldn't feel right without it."
Edric nodded once.
He turned.
Without warning, he hurled the ruined shield like a spinning blade.
It flew true.
The elder shifted his weight and struck it aside with the back of his heel. The broken wood shattered against a wall in a spray of fragments.
Edric raised both sabres.
The elder lowered his stance.
Snow fell.
Breath misted.
Three warriors stood where a street once was. The snow turned to steam before it could touch the ground
And the real fight was about to begin.