The chamber's air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the damp, fungal musk of the underground. The dim emerald light of the wall-veins glinted off the still forms of five wounded Talons, their bodies swathed in tight white bandages, breath slow but steady.
And standing before them, Moonfang Saber in hand, was Zaryth. The Unbinding Edge.
Gideon's boots crunched on grit as he stepped forward, Kaelvryn's twin axe balanced across his palms. His breath was slow, controlled — but his voice was low and urgent.
"Kaelvryn," he said under his breath. "I need more than steel this time."
Inside his mind, the ancient weapon's voice stirred, cool and resonant like a bell in a frozen cavern.
You know I'm dry, Kaelvryn replied. I've burned through my mineral stores. It will drain me completely.
Gideon's jaw tightened. "Then I'll carry you until you wake. Just… help me keep them from getting up."
There was a long pause — then a sigh, like wind over snow. Very well, Gideon. For you.
---
The axe in his hands shivered — metal folding and flowing like liquid mercury. Its haft elongated, splitting into two new forms: a long katana whose blade shimmered with deep blue frost and a short blade wreathed in rippling orange flame. The air around him rippled as sparks and frost motes swirled, coalescing into armor that locked into place over his frame:
Jagged pauldrons jutted upward like shards of a glacier. Crystalline plates clinked as they sealed his chest and arms, their surfaces catching the light in glimmers of ice. A fur-lined gorget wrapped his throat in regal severity. Across the armor's surface, molten veins pulsed like a heartbeat — fire and ice constantly warring, yet bound together by Kaelvryn's will.
The temperature around Gideon dropped and rose at once, frost creeping along the floor while faint wisps of steam hissed where heat and cold met.
"Five minutes," Kaelvryn warned. When the last second passes, the armor shatters, the blades return to the axe, and I… will sleep.
"Five's enough," Gideon muttered — though he already knew it might not be.
Malachi stepped up beside him, hefting Saphir Maul in both hands. The head of the mace glowed faintly, molten heat coiling just beneath its surface.
"You planning to make this a short fight, or a stupid one?" Malachi asked with a half-grin.
"Why not both?" Gideon shot back.
---
Zaryth moved before either of them could. Moonfang flashed in a short, surgical cut — aimed not to kill, but to test the armor's balance. The saber skated off Gideon's crystalline plate with a hiss, leaving only a faint groove in the frost.
Gideon countered, katana cutting in a high arc while the short blade darted low. Fire and ice sang together — one strike steaming against Zaryth's parry, the other biting cold enough to leave frost along the saber's guard.
Malachi came in hard from the side, mace swinging in a brutal overhead slam. Zaryth rolled a shoulder, letting the strike smash into the ground where the shockwave cracked the stone — then flowed back in with a thrust toward Gideon's exposed ribs.
The armor caught it — barely. A faint crack spiderwebbed along the crystal plate.
---
Four minutes, twenty seconds.
The fight's rhythm settled into a deadly pattern. Gideon's katana kept Zaryth on the defensive with wide, frost-laced sweeps. The short blade pressed in for rapid fire strikes, each burst of flame forcing the Talon to adjust. Malachi's mace was the heavy hammer to Gideon's scalpel, trying to corner Zaryth with crushing arcs.
But Zaryth was never truly cornered. Every time his footwork closed, he'd slip free with a pivot, or a faint sidestep into Phantom Reset, reappearing at a blind angle.
The worst came when Gideon caught a glimpse past Zaryth — one of the bandaged Talons stirred.
Zaryth's free hand flicked open for less than a second, silver motes spilling from his palm. They sank into the wounded fighter's chest, and the man's breathing grew deeper, steadier. His fingers twitched, curling into a fist.
Three minutes, fifty seconds.
Gideon's gut clenched. "He's healing them," he barked.
"Then we take him first," Malachi growled, charging in.
The two coordinated — Malachi slammed Moonfang's guard wide with a brute-force strike, Gideon following through with a frost cut to the ribs. Zaryth twisted just enough to let the blow skim past his armor, then flicked the saber's tip against Gideon's gauntlet joint. The shock numbed his fingers instantly.
---
By the three-minute mark, two Talons were sitting upright. Raviel, the speed-blade, and Halden, the shield-bearer.
Zaryth's voice never rose, never strained. "You're fighting the wrong battle. Every breath you spend on me… is a breath I spend on them."
Malachi swung at his head. Zaryth ducked, the saber's edge scoring along Malachi's thigh armor. It wasn't deep, but it cut clean — forcing the hammer-wielder to drop to a knee for a heartbeat.
Two minutes, thirty seconds.
---
Gideon forced him back with a flurry — frost from the katana freezing the ground under Zaryth's feet, flame from the short blade searing his guard. For the first time, Zaryth stepped wide rather than inside, Moonfang tracing a defensive arc.
But even as Gideon pressed, Zaryth's left hand brushed past Halden's shoulder — the shield-bearer stood, eyes clearing, weapon in hand.
"Damn it—" Gideon started, but Zaryth was already moving to the next wounded man.
Malachi tried to intercept, but Zaryth parried his mace into the wall, using the rebound to vault past him in a smooth roll.
Two minutes left.
By one minute, all five Talons were on their feet. Still pale, still stiff — but armed.
Gideon's chest heaved inside the armor. Every breath steamed. Kaelvryn's voice was tight now: You're nearly out of time.
"I know," he muttered. His eyes met Malachi's. Both understood without speaking: they could fight to the last second… and be cut down the moment Kaelvryn's power broke.
---
Fifty seconds.
Gideon slashed twice, forcing Zaryth back a step. "Call them off."
Zaryth tilted his head, unreadable. "And why would I do that?"
"Because we're not here to die in your little chamber," Gideon said, breathing hard. "You've already won. We push for another minute, we're corpses. You know it. We know it. Let's skip the part where you carve it into us."
Malachi straightened, planting his mace head-down on the stone. "We surrender. But you keep those five from finishing the job."
Zaryth regarded them in silence for a long, taut moment. Then Moonfang dipped, its edge lowering in acknowledgment.
"Very well," he said. "Lay down your weapons."
The armor around Gideon was already fracturing — fissures of light running across the crystal. He stabbed the katana into the ground, the short blade into the wall. As Kaelvryn's power bled away, the blades shimmered back into the familiar twin axe form, clattering to the floor.
The jagged pauldrons and molten veins of his battle-plate fell away like shards of ice in spring melt. Beneath, Gideon was just a man again — sweat-soaked, heaving, and unarmed.
Malachi slid Saphir Maul across the ground toward Zaryth. The Talons, now fully standing, formed a loose semicircle around them.
---
Zaryth stepped closer, voice calm but unyielding. "You've both fought well. Few can force me to yield ground in the first exchange. That earns you your lives."
Two of the Talons took Gideon's arms, the other three surrounding Malachi.
Zaryth gestured toward the far tunnel. "Come. The Commander will want to see the ones who stood against the Unbinding Edge… and chose wisdom over stubbornness."
Gideon didn't resist, but his eyes stayed on Zaryth's back as they were led away. He'd felt it in those five minutes — that thin line where victory might have been possible. And next time, he'd find a way to stay on it longer than five minutes.