The Iron Citadel loomed above Rein like a mountain suspended by vengeance.
He had reached it alone.
No army. No allies. Just a burning name and the silent promise that this would end with either death or absolution.
The path was not guarded—because it didn't need to be.
A bridge of flame stretched between the outer platform and the throne tower, suspended over an endless void. Beneath it, machines churned and breathed like titans in chains. Every step sent echoes rippling into the furnace-darkness below.
And yet… he walked.
His heart was still.
Until the doors opened.
The throne room of Valen was nothing like a palace.
It was a forge.
Molten rivers poured through narrow canals in the stone. Gearworks turned slowly in the walls, powered by fire and blood. The air shimmered with enchantments old and unstable. And at the center, standing before a twisted throne of blackened steel—
Was Valen.
Tall. Armored in crimson plate. A cloak of flame coiled at his back, alive and whispering. His face was bare—sharp and regal, with eyes that burned not with light, but with pressure, like suns that had forgotten warmth.
He looked at Rein.
And smiled.
"I wondered when they'd send you."
Rein stepped forward.
Valen's voice echoed. "You carry judgment in your bones. The gods marked you well."
"I didn't come for them."
"No," Valen said. "You came for me."
He descended the steps of his throne slowly, each stride resonating with magic. "And what are you, exactly? Another fallen champion? Another relic of divine mercy sent to kill what they once blessed?"
"I'm someone who remembers what a hero was meant to be."
Valen chuckled. "Then you're more dangerous than I thought."
The blade appeared.
It didn't materialize—it ignited.
Black steel laced with glowing veins. It hummed with purpose and bled warmth into Rein's palm. It was heavier than it looked. Sharper than it should be.
Valen raised his hand.
A weapon surged into it—a greatsword wreathed in molten chains, with a burning edge that hissed with each breath of the room.
Then, without a word, he charged.
The first clash shook the chamber.
Steel met steel in a burst of sparks and force. The air howled. Flame rippled outward as their blades collided again and again, each strike heavier, faster. Rein moved with brutal efficiency—trained, honed. But Valen was not a man.
He was a force.
Every blow sent shockwaves down Rein's arm. Every block felt like catching a meteor.
Valen laughed. "You're good. Better than the last one. He begged."
Rein gritted his teeth. He didn't answer. His focus narrowed—parry, shift, counter. He ducked under a sweep of flame and drove his blade toward Valen's chest.
The tyrant twisted, letting the blow slide across his armor—and retaliated with a brutal kick that sent Rein skidding across the stone.
The floor burned his palms.
Valen stalked forward. "What do you see when you look at me?"
Rein rose, breathing hard. "A man who forgot what he fought for."
Valen's grin sharpened. "And yet… I remember everything."
He lifted his sword.
"I remember every scream. Every plea. Every time I saved a village only to see it burn months later. I remember the betrayal of peace. The lies of balance."
He charged again, blade sweeping in a burning arc.
Rein blocked—barely.
Valen leaned close. "I chose this."
"I know," Rein said. And twisted.
His sword carved a line across Valen's gauntlet—deep, but not enough.
Valen stepped back. Blood hissed as it hit the floor.
"You bleed," Rein said.
"So do gods," Valen replied.
The battle escalated.
They moved like storms. Fire clashed with will. Steel screamed against steel. Pillars collapsed. The molten canals surged.
Rein ducked under a blow meant to cleave him in half and slammed his shoulder into Valen's ribs, sending them both tumbling.
They crashed into a lower platform. Rein rolled, came up swinging—but Valen caught the blade in his bare hand, grunting as it bit into his palm.
"I like you," Valen said, eyes glowing brighter. "You remind me of what I used to be."
Rein's voice was cold. "You remind me of what I never want to become."
Then—a tremor.
Both men paused.
The flames flickered.
A second tremor—this one wrong. Not magical. Not natural.
The platform beneath them groaned.
Then, without warning—
An explosion.
The side of the Citadel burst open in a column of white fire.
Dust and steel rained down as a shockwave tore through the chamber. Rein was thrown backward. Valen vanished into a cloud of smoke and flame.
Rein hit the wall hard. His vision blurred.
Alarms screamed in a language he didn't know.
The Citadel shuddered.
He staggered to his feet, coughing, blade still in hand. Rubble fell around him. The throne platform was gone. The floor was fractured. And Valen—
Valen stood in the center of it all.
Alive. Barely burned.
Eyes burning brighter than ever.
He looked around with fury. "Who… did this?"
Rein didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
And worse—
He hadn't done it.
Valen turned to him, one hand raised, fire crackling between his fingers.
Then he stopped.
A voice rang out through the chamber—not from the walls, but from the air itself.
"Intervention registered. Divine presence breached. Enforcement nullified."
Rein's heart froze.
That wasn't Arios.
That wasn't any god he knew.
Valen bared his teeth. "They're watching."
Then, with a growl, he vanished into a pillar of flame.
Gone.
Rein fell to one knee.
Breathing hard.
Shaking.
His blade vanished from his hand, fading into smoke.
Not because he had willed it.
Because the battle was over.
Interrupted.
Stolen.
He looked around at the wreckage, the fractured throne, the ruined forge.
And he whispered, bitter and quiet—
"…This isn't over."