The duel raged at the center, but around them the battlefield was unraveling. The Smokebound pressed harder, their shadow‑forged weapons cutting through torchlight. Ashbound warriors fell, their cries swallowed by smoke.
Elira's fire blazed, but she could not be everywhere. For every flame she cast, another Ashbound was struck down. The crown pulsed violently, visions flashing—faces consumed, torches extinguished, loyalty breaking under shadow.
Kael fought beside her, steel flashing, but his eyes flicked constantly to the lines collapsing around them. "We're losing ground," he growled. "If we don't rally them, the camp will fall."
Elira's chest tightened. The Ashbound had chosen her, had called her Flamebearer. Now they bled for that choice. She forced her fire outward, lighting the ridge, her voice rising above the chaos.
"Stand! Do not yield! Flame does not fall to shadow!"
The Ashbound rallied, torches blazing brighter, but the losses were heavy. Too many had already fallen, their bodies swallowed by smoke. The survivors fought harder, but grief weighed on their blades.
Marlic's laughter echoed through the haze. "See how they burn for you? See how loyalty costs them?"
Elira's fire surged brighter, defiance cutting through despair. "Then let them burn as warriors, not whispers."
The crown pulsed, steady now, as if acknowledging her resolve. But the battlefield remained dire—the Ashbound bloodied, their strength waning, their hope fragile.
Kael pressed closer, blade dripping shadow. "We hold tonight," he said firmly. "No matter the cost."
Elira met his gaze, fire blazing in her palm. "Then we hold together."