Eryan's hand didn't move toward the darkness. It didn't reach for the seductive promise of the Cursed Blade.
Instead, his hand closed on the broken hilt of his Rare Weapon, the splintered remains of a blade he had poured his soul into. The hilt was a useless piece of wood and metal, but as his fingers gripped it, a final, defiant pulse of violet light flared. It wasn't a weapon anymore; it was a memory. A symbol of everything he had fought to protect.
Kael's sneer faltered. "What are you doing? Are you so foolish you'd face me with a broken toy?"
But Eryan wasn't facing him with a toy. He was facing him with a forge-master's heart. He stood, rising to his full height, his gaze locking with Kael's. The whispers of the Cursed Blade screamed in his mind, but they were drowned out by the memory of Selene's words: "Fight with your heart."
The villagers, huddled together, saw him rise. They saw the broken hilt in his hand, and they understood. Their gasps of fear turned to a single, unified breath of hope.
Eryan didn't answer Kael's taunt. He just took a step forward, then another. He wasn't a warrior. He was a smith. And a smith doesn't just create; he endures. He endures the heat of the forge, the sting of the hammer, the long, lonely nights of work.
He remembered a day, long ago, when he was just a boy, first learning the craft. His father had told him, "The greatest weapon isn't the blade you make. It's the will you put into it."
Kael, enraged by the defiance, roared and swung his greatsword down. The blade was a river of fire, a weapon of pure power, aimed to split Eryan in two.
Eryan didn't move to block. He couldn't. Instead, he raised the broken hilt, not as a shield, but as a final act of defiance. The violet light in his hand flared one last time, a pure, clean light that was a stark contrast to the dark power of Kael's blade.
And then, as the greatsword descended, the air shimmered, and the light from the hilt didn't shatter. It spread, creating a shield not of metal, but of pure will. A shield forged from a lifetime of hope and purpose. The light of the Rare Weapon, now broken, had given its last ounce of power to defend the one who had given it life.
Kael's blade hit the shimmering barrier, and the force of the impact sent a shockwave that rattled the entire battlefield. But the barrier held. The fire and darkness of Kael's greatsword pushed against it, but the pure light of Eryan's will was unyielding.
Kael's eyes widened in disbelief. "What… what is this?"
Eryan, his face strained, his body shaking from the immense power, finally spoke. His voice was a rasp, but it was filled with the unshakable certainty of a man who knew his purpose.
"It's not the blade," he said, his words echoing across the silent field. "It's me."