The first clash had been only a spark. Now the firestorm began.
Arcturus surged forward again, his Sovereign aura unfurling in waves of molten gold. The banners behind him ignited, their proud symbols curling into ash. He was no longer merely a king—he was a furnace, a living weapon of ancient fire.
Kaelen met him head-on. His black flames thickened, spiraling upward like a storm pillar, his form framed in shadowed radiance. Each step he took cracked the marble tiles. The runes across his skin blazed, echoing a language forgotten by even the oldest Sovereign scribes.
The two collided again in the center of the chamber—Arcturus's golden greatsword smashing against Kaelen's jagged staff of obsidian fire. The shockwave blasted nobles against the walls, hurled chandeliers from the ceiling, and shattered the dais into rubble.
"Guardians, forward!" the Sovereign bellowed.
The Sovereign Guard obeyed without hesitation. A phalanx of twenty armored elites encircled Kaelen, each blade glowing with Sovereign-forged steel. They lunged in unison.
Kaelen spun. His staff dissolved into a ring of black fire, lashing outward in a sweep that incinerated the first ranks to bone and dust. He did not slow, stepping through their remnants, his gaze fixed only on Arcturus.
But the Sovereign had prepared for this.
From the far balcony, two figures stepped forward—the Crimson Praetors, Arcturus's personal champions. One bore a glaive glowing with volcanic fury, the other wielded a shield pulsing with molten runes. They leapt into the fray, their combined strike halting Kaelen's advance in a thunderous clash.
The court erupted. Noble factions drew blades against one another—some rallying to the Sovereign, others whispering that perhaps the Heretic was the rightful flame. The chamber became a battlefield, screams rising with the ringing of steel and the roar of unleashed sorcery.
Arcturus pressed in, his golden aura flaring. "You've lived as a shadow, Kaelen. But shadows vanish in fire!"
Kaelen's voice cut through the din, cold as the void.
"And fire is swallowed whole by night."
With that, he drove his black flames into the heart of the Praetors' defense. The shield bearer staggered, his molten wards cracking. The glaive wielder roared, lunging to protect him. Kaelen ducked low, shadows wrapping his arm, and with one brutal swing he severed the glaive in two.
The duel escalated again—Arcturus lunging with Sovereign's fury, Kaelen countering with forbidden flame, the court descending into total war around them.
And yet… both still stood. Both still refused to fall.
The Sovereign Court was no longer just trembling.
It was breaking.