Chapter 11 – The Edge of Midnight
The moon hung heavy above Kael'var, as if it, too, waited to witness what would unfold in the shadows. Every window in the lower districts was dark, not because no one was home—but because everyone was watching.
A single message had turned the city's blood cold:
> "Midnight. Broken Plaza. Come alone."
—Ghost
No name was needed. Everyone knew it meant Rayan.
Kara stood behind him in the old watchtower as he prepared. He wore a dark coat stitched with crimson threads, armor hidden beneath. On his hip, his father's curved sword.
"Everyone's scared," she said.
"They should be," he answered.
"Of you or him?"
"Of what's coming after tonight."
He strapped his blade tight and walked out.
---
The Broken Plaza was more ruin than square. Half-collapsed statues, vines choking old stone, echoes of battles long forgotten. It was once a place where kings were crowned. Now, it was chosen as the arena for a fight that would shape the city's future.
Rayan stepped into the center.
Nothing.
Only the cold wind.
Then he felt it.
A figure emerged from the shadows with the fluid grace of a specter—tall, masked, dressed in black leather etched with silver lines. The Executioner.
He did not speak. He never did. That was part of the legend. Silence was his language. Death was his message.
They drew their blades.
No words.
No rules.
Only instinct.
---
The first clash was violent—steel biting steel, sparks raining on the cracked stones. The Executioner moved with mechanical precision, every slash a practiced motion, honed by years of assassination. But Rayan was not the same boy who watched his brother die. He was Ghost now. Sharper. Angrier. Controlled.
He ducked low, swiped at the Executioner's legs, but the blade met air.
The Executioner answered with a twist and backhand slash. Rayan blocked just in time, the shock vibrating up his arm.
Their duel was not loud. It was music in silence. A rhythm of footfalls, grunts, steel scraping, breath.
One strike nearly cut Rayan's shoulder. Blood touched his coat.
He smiled.
> "So you bleed me. Good. Now it's a fight."
The Executioner tilted his head like a curious animal.
Then rushed forward again.
---
The duel circled broken pillars and shattered benches. Rayan twisted his body around each strike, his feet dancing through the rubble. He remembered what his father taught him:
> "In every duel, listen to the silence. It tells you when to move."
And so he did.
He heard the Executioner's breath before a heavy lunge. He spun sideways, slashing across the mask.
Sparks flew.
A scratch appeared on the left cheek of the Executioner's metal face.
For the first time… he hesitated.
Rayan used it. He dove forward, tackled him into a broken wall, and the two collapsed in a blur of fists, elbows, and grit.
The Executioner shoved him off, kicked his chest, and stood. But slower now.
Rayan smiled, rising to his feet.
> "You're not a myth. You're just a man in a mask."
The Executioner raised his saber again.
But there was a flicker of uncertainty.
The duel wasn't over.
It was only changing.
Chapter 12 – The Mask and the Mirror
The Executioner circled Rayan in a slow arc. His left shoulder was stiff. Rayan had wounded him more than anyone ever had. But pain didn't stop this killer—it sharpened him.
They fought again.
A flurry of sharp steel under moonlight. Blades clanged, danced, dodged. Rayan twisted his body like liquid, every movement calculated. He was not fighting for survival. He was fighting for something greater.
> A promise to his brother.
A vow to his people.
An end to fear.
The Executioner's saber slashed Rayan's arm. Blood sprayed, warm and fast.
But Rayan didn't stop. He leaned into the pain and kept fighting. One cut was worth the final strike.
He spun behind the Executioner, locked his arm, and drove him into the ground.
The mask hit the stones with a metallic crack.
Silence.
Then—Rayan raised his blade to the throat of the killer.
> "You end tonight," he growled.
But the Executioner… laughed.
A low, dry sound. Not loud, not mad. But something else. Sad?
Then, he spoke—two words, the only words Rayan ever heard from him.
> "Too late."
Rayan blinked.
The Executioner dropped a small sphere from his coat. Smoke exploded.
---
Darkness swallowed the plaza.
Rayan coughed, backing away, vision blurred.
When the smoke cleared, the Executioner was gone.
Only the mask remained—cracked, bloodied, abandoned like a cursed crown.
Rayan knelt slowly, picked it up, and stared into the hollow eyes.
> "He ran," Torren said from the shadows, stepping into the square.
"He ran," Rayan agreed. "But not in fear."
He turned the mask over in his hands.
Inside was a symbol etched in red ink—a bleeding sun.
Rayan's face paled.
> "He wasn't the final enemy. He was the beginning."