The forest lay hushed beneath the weight of twilight, every branch brittle with silence. Aelion's company had marched since dawn, following the Pilgrim's Path through the hills, when Kaelen raised his fist in sudden warning.
"Stop."
The column froze.
The wind carried something foul—smoke, rot, and iron. The prince's throat tightened. He could almost feel it before he saw it: the shadow's presence.
Moments later, the first figures appeared through the trees—armor blackened, eyes silver-lit, their bodies shaped more by nightmare than nature. Shadow soldiers, birthed from the prisoner's power.
There were dozens. No—hundreds.
The soldiers of light muttered prayers, their courage faltering. But Kaelen's voice cut through the rising fear.
"Shields up! Form ranks!"
His command steadied them, but their eyes still flicked to Aelion, waiting. The prince felt the prophecy's words pressing against his chest like a knife: Only one shall shine.
If he faltered, they would break.
He forced his voice to ring clear. "Stand firm! Tonight, we do not cower before shadows—we burn them away!"
And then the clash began.
---
The Battle
The shadow soldiers surged forward, faster than any mortal should move. Steel met smoke, and though blades bit, their bodies re-formed again and again.
Aelion lifted his hands, light bursting from his palms like molten sunfire. The beam tore through the first wave, scattering them into smoke—but the cost was heavy. Every strike drained him, the echo of the prisoner's taunt whispering in his mind: Every flicker feeds me.
Kaelen was at his side, sword flashing. Where Aelion was brilliance, Kaelen was grit—cutting, blocking, dragging Aelion back when the tide threatened to swallow him whole.
At one moment, a shadow soldier's blade swept toward Aelion's throat. Kaelen seized the strike, sparks exploding as steel met shadow-forged iron. With a snarl, he shoved the creature back, then caught Aelion's gaze.
"Stay with me!"
"I am," Aelion gasped, unleashing another burst of light.
Side by side, they carved a path through the dark.
---
The Turning Tide
But the shadows did not come alone.
From the treeline, a figure emerged—cloaked, chains trailing, eyes burning silver. Not the prisoner himself, but one of his chosen lieutenants.
"Aelion of the Sun," the figure hissed. "Your light will die here."
He raised his hands, and chains of shadow lashed outward, snapping through the ranks like whips. Soldiers were hurled aside like leaves in a storm.
Aelion stumbled, the chains coiling around his arm, searing cold against his skin. The lieutenant's voice echoed in his skull. The shadow feeds on your fire. Burn brighter, and you hasten your fall.
For one terrifying moment, Aelion nearly believed him.
But then Kaelen's blade struck true, slicing through the chain that bound him. Kaelen stepped in front of him, chest heaving, eyes ablaze.
"Don't you dare listen. You are not his prey—you are my prince."
The words shattered the whisper's hold. Aelion surged forward, light blazing so hot it turned the chains to dust. Together, he and Kaelen struck—the sword and the sun, one blow of steel, one blast of fire.
The lieutenant screamed as the light consumed him, the chains collapsing into ash. The remaining shadows shrieked, wavering before dissolving into mist.
The forest fell silent, save for the ragged breathing of the survivors.
---
Aftermath
The ground was littered with the fallen—both mortal and shadow-born. Smoke curled above the trees.
Aelion staggered, nearly collapsing, but Kaelen caught him, one arm around his waist. "I've got you."
Aelion leaned into him, too exhausted to pretend otherwise. His voice was a whisper against Kaelen's shoulder. "If not for you…"
Kaelen tightened his hold. "There is no 'if.' As long as I breathe, you will not fall."
For a heartbeat, the battlefield—the prophecy—the crown—all faded. It was only the two of them, bloodied but unbroken, clinging to each other beneath a sky streaked with the last embers of dusk.
But in the distance, unseen by their weary eyes, the true shadow army still marched. This clash was not the war. It was only the first ripple of the storm.