She didn't wait. She leapt from the stone walls.
They met midair.
A single collision — her axe against his bare hands — sent a shockwave cracking through the night, rattling the teeth of those who heard it. For a heartbeat, they hung there, suspended in violence, before breaking apart in opposite directions. The moment their boots touched the earth, they surged forward again.
Steel sang.
Thalia swung first — a great, sweeping arc meant to split him from shoulder to hip — but Virvo caught the haft mid-strike, twisting it away with a grunt. She stepped in, elbow to his ribs, but he turned with the blow, answering with a backhand that split the air inches from her face. She ducked low, spinning on her heel, bringing the blade up from below in a rising slash. He leapt back, her strike cutting only air, sparks flashing as the edge clipped his wrist-guard.
They circled.
Then they closed again — this time with no weapon between them. Axe forgotten, fists and forearms clashed like hammers on anvils. His blows were heavy, shaking her bones, but she met them, gritting her teeth, eyes never leaving his. She caught his arm once, twisting to throw him, but he broke the hold, slamming a knee toward her side. She turned with it, barely keeping her footing.
A growl ripped from her throat — no longer words, only war.
And then — in a sudden, vicious turn — she saw the opening. Her palm struck his chest once, twice — the third blow landed deep, just beneath the sternum. A thunderclap of force.
Virvo was thrown backward, boots gouging furrows in the dirt before his bulk crashed down.
For the first time, his expression shifted — not in fear, but in something like dark amusement. He rose to one knee, one hand pressed to the center of his chest where the skin was blackened from the impact.
"He was right… about the Katzia's."His voice was low, rumbling — almost lost beneath the battle around them. "You… are dangerous."
Thalia's brows drew tight. The name meant nothing to her, but she had no breath to waste asking. She stepped forward, now axe in hand, her intent clear — to end him.
But the rage that had burned her veins dry now faltered. Her knees buckled. The world tilted. Every heartbeat felt like it dragged the marrow from her bones. She dropped to the ground, breath tearing in and out. Virvo saw it. And he smiled.
He rose, staggering — the wound in his chest refusing to close, but still, he stood tall, his shadow stretching long in the moonlight. Slowly, he leaned forward, knees bending. The pounce of a predator.
Thalia forced her gaze upward. The world seemed far away now, the roar of battle dulled to a muffled hum. And then—
The squawk.
It cut through the night like a blade, sharp and commanding. Thalia's head tilted skyward just in time to see it — the raven. The same raven. Its feathers caught the moonlight, glinting like polished obsidian as it circled above.
Virvo leapt.
And lightning fell from the sky.
No — not lightning. A shape.It struck Virvo midair with such force that the ground split upon impact, dust and shattered stone bursting upward in a choking cloud.
Silence rolled across the field. Even the battle slowed. Men turned toward the sound.
When the dust settled, A man was there.
Tall. Cloaked in black. The hem of his mantle swayed like drifting smoke, though there was no wind. His long black locs gleamed faintly in the moonlight, trailing past his shoulders. His skin was dark — not shadowed, but rich, deep, like burnished mahogany under a silver wash. Broad shoulders filled the cloak's frame, and the set of his stance spoke of old strength, the kind earned over centuries.
Thalia's breath caught. There was nothing monstrous in him — no twisted horns or venom-dripped fangs — but something far older, far more dangerous.
The raven — Anisda — descended, alighting upon his shoulder with a slow, deliberate spread of wings. Its eyes glowed faintly, intelligent, as if it understood all that had transpired.
The man looked down at Virvo, sprawled and struggling to rise.
When he spoke, it was not with the rough cadence of Yainna's soldiers. His voice carried the weight of a forgotten tongue, the deliberate elegance of a court that had long turned to dust.
"When you crawl back to the pit that spat you forth… tell them the Dark Folk yet draw breath. And tell them this night was not theirs to claim."
He turned then, his gaze shifting to Thalia. And under the pale moon, she felt for the first time in years… small.