The ruin trembled with the weight of their clash.
Steel struck steel, sparks scattering across the bronze floor, their glow vanishing into shadows that were not shadows. Ulfr moved like a beast loosed from chains, his steel plate groaning under each violent swing.
Yet it was not his strength alone that unsettled me—it was the eyes. The glowing greenish-yellow orbs embedded in his breastplate burned like open wounds, unblinking, watching. Every time I met their gaze, I saw not Ulfr but the writhing tendrils of Hermaeus Mora curling in the edges of my sight.
And still, I fought.
My body screamed with each motion, my arms already leaden from blood loss and bruises. I should have collapsed long ago.
But the blessing Meridia had placed upon me lingered like fire in my veins. It was not skill that carried my blade against Ulfr's armor. It was desperation, sharpened by a light that did not belong to me. Each strike that landed seared brighter than it should have, as if the ruin itself was scorched by Meridia's touch.
Ulfr laughed when the sparks bit against his chest. "So… the light-worshipper has claws. Your mistress whispers through you." His voice echoed deeper than his throat, hollow, touched by something vast. He shoved me back, the force rattling my bones, and advanced with his greatsword raised high. "Show me how long her favor lasts before she abandons you, as all Princes do."
I barely raised my blade in time. His strike thundered through me, and the bronze floor cracked beneath my boots. My arms buckled. The weight of his power pressed me toward the ground, and for a moment I swore I heard the whispers of Mora slithering through my ears: Surrender. Knowledge awaits.
But then the light inside me flared. My blade did not shatter. My knees did not fold. I screamed, twisting aside, and struck his arm. The steel plate smoked where my edge had kissed it.
His laughter cut off in a snarl. "Meridia's little torch."
The ruin groaned around us as though the fight woke things best left asleep. Shadows warped on the walls, lengthening, bending. The bandits who lingered at the edges of the chamber watched but dared not move. Some trembled, torn between fear of their master and fear of the unnatural duel before them. None dared join.
I pressed forward, reckless, slashing again and again. My blade burned brighter with each strike, though my arms grew weaker, slower. The blessing was fading. The fire was leaving me, replaced by the same gnawing fatigue that had haunted me since I arrived in this world.
Ulfr knew it too. His eyes glowed brighter, mocking, as he raised his greatsword for the finishing blow. "See, little torch? The light flickers. The dark endures."
I stumbled back, chest heaving, unable to lift my sword in time—
And then a dagger spun through the air. It struck Ulfr's shoulder with a spark, not piercing the plate but throwing his swing wide.
Zavir.
He stood behind Ulfr, blood still streaking his face, his body battered and trembling, but his grip on his sword unbroken. He had dragged himself back from unconsciousness, his will sharper than his wounds. His eyes met mine for a heartbeat—silent command, silent defiance.
Ulfr roared, tearing the dagger free and hurling it aside. "Pathetic gnats!" His greatsword whirled toward Zavir, but the mercenary was already moving, forcing Ulfr to pivot, to guard against a blade that struck with precision rather than light.
The chance was mine. I forced my body to move, every muscle crying out in protest. My sword rose for one last desperate strike—
But Ulfr stepped back. His laughter returned, guttural, triumphant.
"This hall is not worthy of the end I will give you." His voice carried like iron through the ruin. "When next we meet, torch of Meridia, it will be where even your light cannot hide the truth. The battlefield will be of Mora's choosing."
The greenish-yellow glow flared across his breastplate, blinding, and in the next instant he was gone. The shadows swallowed him. His bandits did not follow—many lay dead, others fled into the ruin's depths, too broken to fight.
The silence that followed was heavier than the clash of steel.
My sword slipped from my hands. My knees struck the bronze floor, the sound echoing hollow. The blessing of Meridia drained from me all at once, leaving only cold, trembling flesh. Each breath felt like ash.
Zavir staggered to my side, gripping his ribs with one hand. He knelt with a wince and muttered, "Alive, somehow. Both of us." His voice was steadier than mine, though his body was no better.
I wanted to answer, but my throat locked. The weight of what had just happened crushed down. Ulfr—no, Ulfr the Blind—was alive, chosen, twisted into something else by Hermaeus Mora. His words burned in my mind.
And then, another voice.
It did not whisper. It did not crawl. It blazed.
"Rise, my champion."
The words echoed through the ruin, ringing against bronze and stone, drowning out even the memory of Ulfr's laugh. They were not gentle. They were not kind. They were commands, spoken with the authority of light itself.
"You have stumbled against shadows not meant for you. Yet still, you stand. My blessing saved you. My will carried you. Do not think your survival was your own."
I clutched my head as the sound pierced through me. Zavir flinched too, though his eyes darted about as if he wasn't certain if he'd heard the same words.
Meridia's voice grew sharper. "You will come to me, mortal. To my temple, now. The truth will not be spoken in this filth, among rats and rust. My light does not wait for you to crawl. You will present yourself. At once."
The weight of the command pressed harder than Ulfr's blade had. I could not disobey. The voice filled every corner of my mind, arrogant and absolute, as if the ruin itself bowed to her decree.
Then, silence.
The ruin was empty again, save for the groaning metal, the scent of blood, and the sound of my own ragged breathing. Zavir's hand rested on my shoulder, grounding me, pulling me back into the world.
"We need to leave," he said quietly.
I nodded, though my body felt broken, my will scattered. My eyes drifted once to the shadows where Ulfr had vanished. His laughter lingered in memory, a promise of return.
But above it, Meridia's voice still rang. A command that could not be ignored.
And so, with Zavir's help, I rose. We left the ruin behind, step by step, the bronze halls echoing with silence that was not peace.
The path ahead was no longer ours to choose.