The corridor seemed to shrink around him.
The leader stood at its centre like an immovable truth—tall, broad-shouldered, his presence bending the air itself. Ember light crawled across his blade in violent, unstable arcs, heat rolling off him in waves that made Cyros' skin prickle.
"There you are," the man said again, softer this time.
His gaze never left the woman.
Taren felt something cold settle in his gut. He shifted instinctively, placing himself half a step more in front of her, knuckles whitening as he tightened his fists.
Cyros stepped forward.
One step.
Then another.
The borrowed blade in his hand responded instantly—embers flaring brighter, hotter, answering something inside him with a hunger that made his pulse stutter.
"You don't get her", Cyros said.
His voice was calm.
That seemed to amuse the leader.
"Oh?" The man tilted his head slightly, studying Cyros as one might study an unfamiliar tool. "You're the one making decisions now?"
Aerin moved up beside Cyros without a word. Her stance lowered, shoulders squared, borrowed sword angled forward. Her knuckles—reinforced, weighted—caught the ember light as she clenched her fists.
Lucian drifted to the other side, white eyes sharp, frost already creeping along the floor beneath his boots.
"Frostveil", the leader recognised.
Taren swallowed hard, then bent and snatched up a pair of fallen knuckles from the floor. He slid them on, hands trembling just enough to be noticeable.
"Guess," he muttered, forcing a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes, "this is happening."
The leader sighed.
"So many children," he said almost regretfully. "Always standing where they don't belong."
Then he moved.
No warning.
No buildup.
The distance between them vanished.
Cyros barely had time to react—he raised the blade on instinct, embers roaring as steel met steel.
The impact was catastrophic.
Heat exploded outward, the shockwave hurling Cyros backwards like a broken doll. He hit the wall hard, breath tearing from his lungs, blade skidding across the floor.
Aerin shouted his name—but she was already moving.
She lunged, knuckles flashing, driving a punch straight at the leader's ribs.
He caught her wrist mid-swing.
Effortless.
Twisted.
Pain flared white-hot as Aerin was yanked forward and slammed shoulder-first into the ground. The breath left her in a harsh gasp, but she rolled instantly, kicking out at his knee.
He didn't even stagger.
Lucian struck next.
Ice screamed into existence, jagged spears erupting from the floor and walls, converging on the leader from three angles at once. Frost mist swallowed the corridor, temperature plunging so fast Taren's teeth chattered.
For half a second—
It worked.
The leader was forced back a step, ice cracking against his guard, embers sputtering under the sudden cold.
Lucian's eyes widened.
Then the leader laughed.
A sharp, ugly sound.
Electricity exploded outward.
Not lightning from the sky—but raw, focused arcs that tore through the ice like paper, shattering Lucian's constructs and throwing him bodily into the wall. He hit hard, sliding down in a heap, frost bleeding chaotically from his core.
"Tch," the leader clicked his tongue. "Crude tricks."
Cyros was already back on his feet.
His hands were shaking.
From fury.
The blade answered him again—this time not flickering, but burning bright, flames wrapping the steel in a solid, roaring sheath. Heat washed over him, familiar and terrifying.
He charged.
This time, he didn't hesitate.
Steel met steel again—but Cyros didn't stop. He pivoted, slashing low, then high, blade blazing in rapid arcs meant to overwhelm, to force space.
For the first time—
The leader gave ground.
One step.
Then another.
His eyes narrowed.
Aerin was up too.
She scooped up a fallen sword in one smooth motion, pain forgotten, and joined the assault. Her movements were sharp, disciplined—training honed into instinct. She struck in tandem with Cyros, blades crossing, forcing the leader to split his attention.
Taren moved when he saw the opening.
He darted in, heart hammering, and drove a punch straight into the leader's side—knuckles slamming home with a satisfying crack.
The leader snarled.
He backhanded Taren without even looking.
Taren flew.
He hit the ground hard, rolling, vision swimming—but he forced himself back up, staggering back toward the woman, planting himself in front of her again.
"Still standing!" he wheezed. "That's… something."
Lucian pushed himself upright, breath ragged.
Blood tinged the corner of his mouth.
His core was screaming.
But he lifted his hand anyway.
Ice surged again—wilder this time, less precise. Chains of frost whipped toward the leader, binding his legs, crawling up his armor.
Cyros saw it.
Now.
He roared in defiance and brought his blade down in a blazing, two-handed strike aimed straight for the leader's neck.
The corridor filled with light.
Fire and ice collided.
For one perfect, suspended heartbeat—
They hit him.
The leader staggered.
A gash opened across his shoulder, blood sizzling as it hit the heated floor. Frost crept up his arm, embers flickering erratically.
Silence rang.
Cyros stood there, chest heaving, blade raised.
Aerin braced beside him, sword dripping condensation.
Lucian's breath came in shallow gasps, ice bleeding uncontrollably from his feet.
They had hurt him.
Then the leader straightened.
Slowly.
Calmly.
He looked at the blood on his shoulder with mild curiosity—then back at Cyros.
Something changed in his eyes.
Recognition.
"…You," the leader said softly.
Cyros froze.
The blade in his hand burned hotter, flames surging as if reacting to the word.
The leader took one step forward.
Then another.
"Cyros Valen..." he continued.
Aerin glanced sharply at Cyros. "Cyros—?"
Cyros didn't answer.
Something deep inside him screamed.
Kill him.
He raised the blade higher, fire roaring up his arm, heat biting into his skin. His vision tunneled, leader filling the world.
"If you take one more step," Cyros said, voice shaking now, "I will end you."
The leader smiled.
"That's the problem," he said quietly. "You can't. Not yet."
He moved.
Faster than before.
A burst of electricity detonated outward, ripping through the corridor in a blinding flash. Aerin was thrown aside, slamming into the wall hard enough to crack stone. Cyros barely managed to raise his blade in time—electric arcs wrapped around the flaming steel, tearing through his guard and flinging him backwards.
He hit the ground hard, flame sputtering.
Taren shouted.
Lucian screamed.
The leader didn't even look at Cyros as he raised his hand.
The air screamed.
A concentrated beam of pure electric force lanced across the corridor—
Straight into Lucian's chest.
Time broke.
Lucian's body arched violently, electricity tearing through his core, his scream raw and unfiltered. Frost exploded outward in all directions, ice ripping free from walls, floor, ceiling—wild, uncontrolled, beautiful and horrifying.
The suppression field shattered completely.
Lucian's control snapped.
Pain and power poured out together.
Ice embers screamed into existence—spires, storms, a howling blizzard that swallowed the corridor whole. Temperature plummeted instantly, frost crawling over everything, burying bodies, walls, weapons.
Cyros stared in horror as Lucian vanished inside the storm of his own making.
"Lucian!" Aerin screamed, forcing herself upright despite the pain.
The leader stepped back, shielding his eyes, a low, pleased sound escaping him.
"There it is," he murmured. "The fracture."
The ice surged higher.
Wilder.