The silence after Kaelen's words did not last. The knight moved first.
Steel whispered from its sheath, catching the faint glow of the temple's fractured mosaics. Kaelen's blade was no ceremonial ornament of the Solar Guard—it was a weapon forged for war, wide at the base, tapering to a lethal point, etched with faint solar sigils that glimmered like molten gold. He advanced without hesitation, each step measured, boot grinding on shattered tiles, eyes locked on Elian as if nothing else existed.
Elian's throat tightened. His own hands trembled around the starsteel dagger Lyra had pressed into his palm earlier. It felt woefully small compared to Kaelen's sword. The void inside him stirred, a whisper pressing against his skull like a tide against stone: Give me your strength. Cut him down. Elian blinked hard, forcing his grip to steady. Not yet. Not like this.
Lyra's posture was loose, almost lazy at first glance, but Elian recognized the coil beneath the façade. Her rapier was drawn, the thin blade catching motes of dust that drifted through the broken roof. She slid half a step ahead of Elian, a barrier between him and Kaelen's wrath.
"Kaelen," she said, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. "Don't be a fool. You saw what happened at the Ceremony. The world's shifting under our feet. Killing him won't change that."
Kaelen's voice came low, steady as the blade he carried. "Killing him may keep the shadows from spreading. You gamble with lives, Lyra. I won't."
Then he struck.
The first swing was a cleaving arc meant not to wound but to split. Elian stumbled back, heart hammering, while Lyra's rapier snapped up to intercept. Steel clashed against steel with a sound like thunder in a cavern. The rapier bent dangerously under the force, Lyra's wrist twisting as she deflected just enough to divert the killing blow. Sparks sprayed across the floor.
Kaelen followed instantly, a soldier trained for relentless pursuit. He pressed forward with a thrust aimed for Lyra's ribs. She pivoted, the tip grazing her side, fabric tearing. Her laugh came sharp, mocking, though her eyes betrayed the calculation behind it.
"Still so rigid, Kaelen. Has the Guard beaten all creativity out of you?"
Kaelen's jaw tightened. His sword came again in a downward chop. Lyra sidestepped, but this time his boot lashed out, catching her shin and breaking her rhythm. She hissed, stumbling, and Elian felt panic rise in his chest.
The void whispered again: Step in. Strike while he's open.
Elian raised the dagger. His hand shook, sweat sliding down his temple. He lunged clumsily, aiming for Kaelen's exposed side. The knight twisted as though he had sensed it before Elian even moved. The flat of Kaelen's blade slammed against Elian's wrist, sending the dagger skittering across the floor with a sharp clang.
"Pathetic," Kaelen said, not in cruelty but in grim disappointment. His sword point leveled at Elian's chest. "You're no warrior. You're a scholar who's stumbled into power he doesn't understand. Stand down before you doom more than yourself."
Elian froze. The blade's gleam filled his vision. His breath came shallow, ragged. He could almost see his reflection in the steel—pale, wide-eyed, broken.
Then Lyra was there again, slashing upward. Kaelen jerked back, her rapier grazing his cheek. A thin red line welled across his skin. For the first time, his expression cracked—anger, tightly leashed, but visible.
"You side with him against your own world," Kaelen said, blood running warm down his jaw. "Do you even know what you protect?"
Lyra smirked, though her arm trembled faintly from the strain of deflecting his blows. "I protect who I choose. And right now, that's him. Maybe you should question why, golden boy."
The words hit Kaelen harder than the blade had. His eyes flickered—not uncertainty, but conflict buried beneath steel discipline. His grip on the sword never loosened.
He came again, faster now. The clash turned brutal.
Kaelen's strikes were heavy, calculated, each swing like a hammer descending from heaven. Lyra's defense was speed and precision, her rapier darting like a serpent, always searching for an opening. Sparks rained with every impact, steel screaming against steel. The broken temple became a furnace of sound: boots scraping stone, weapons colliding, breath drawn in grunts and snarls.
Elian hovered at the edge, heart pounding, useless dagger reclaimed in his palm. His chest burned with frustration. Every instinct screamed at him to do something, yet every attempt met with failure. The void whispered louder, curling around his thoughts. Take him. His light will feed you. You are more than him.
"No," Elian muttered through clenched teeth. His knuckles whitened around the dagger. He could not—would not—let that voice own him.
Kaelen's blade drove Lyra back toward a broken column. She ducked under a horizontal slash, rolling, cloak tearing on jagged stone. Rising, she spat blood onto the floor, eyes blazing.
"Is this what the Guard's honor looks like?" she shouted, circling. "A blind hound chasing orders it doesn't understand?"
Kaelen's nostrils flared. "Honor means protecting the people from threats like him. Even if the people don't see the danger yet."
Their blades met again. Lyra caught his downward strike with her rapier and twisted, metal grinding against metal. The shock vibrated up her arm, nearly tearing the weapon from her grasp. Kaelen shoved her back with sheer strength, sending her staggering.
Elian surged forward, dagger raised. Kaelen turned, faster than thought. His elbow slammed into Elian's chest, driving the air from his lungs. Elian collapsed to the floor, gasping, dagger skittering away once more. His vision blurred.
The void surged like a tide. Weak. Helpless. Let me in.
Elian pressed his palms against the stone, nails scraping, fighting for air. He wanted to scream, to drown out the whisper clawing through his skull. But another sound cut through—the clash of Lyra's blade, her ragged breath, her defiance. She hadn't given up. Neither could he.
Through the haze, Elian forced himself upright. His hands shook violently. He closed his eyes, reaching not for the void but for memory: the stars he had studied, the constellations he once traced in quiet awe. Light, not darkness. He reached for that. Just a spark.
A hum filled the air. The shattered mosaics above flickered faintly, as if remembering their glow. Kaelen faltered mid-strike, eyes narrowing. "What—"
Elian staggered to his feet, faint radiance coiling around his hands. It was weak, unsteady, but real. His voice shook. "I won't… be your monster."
The light flared, clashing against the dark whisper inside him. Kaelen's eyes widened as he recognized it—not void, but starlight, raw and unstable.
Lyra seized the moment. Her rapier darted, slicing along Kaelen's forearm. Blood splattered the stones. He snarled, pivoting, blade lashing outward in a desperate arc that forced her back.
The three of them stood, breath heaving, sweat dripping, the temple echoing with the aftermath of violence. None yielded. None could.
Kaelen's gaze burned into Elian's glowing hands. "You think that power absolves you? That light isn't yours—it's borrowed. Stolen."
Elian shook, his voice breaking. "Maybe. But it's mine to wield. And I'll wield it to stop you."
Kaelen's chest heaved, but his voice dropped to a growl. "If you fight me with that power, then you've already proven the Umbra's corruption. Light is not meant to be twisted by unworthy hands."
Lyra stepped closer to Elian's side, her blade still raised though her arm quivered with fatigue. "Funny. You call it corruption, I call it survival. Maybe the Guard is just too blind to see that the rules you cling to are chains."
Kaelen's eyes snapped to her. "And what are you without rules? A thief in the night? A murderer dressed as a savior?"
Her smirk faltered for just a heartbeat. Shadows passed across her gaze, memories too heavy to voice, but her chin lifted anyway. "Better a thief than a blind executioner."
The ruined temple seemed to shudder with their words. Dust sifted down from the cracked ceiling, moonlight spilling in shafts through broken glass. The air carried the acrid tang of blood and steel, the musk of sweat, the faint sweet rot of the abandoned sacred place. It felt as if the building itself listened, waiting to see whose truth would carve its mark into stone.
Kaelen took another step forward, sword poised. "Stand aside, Lyra. You don't belong between us."
She lifted her rapier in open defiance. "Too late. I already chose my side."
Elian swallowed hard, the glow around his hands flickering like a guttering flame. He could feel the void straining at its chains within him, screaming to be let loose, to end Kaelen in a tide of black fire. But he held it back, clinging to the fragile thread of light he had called instead. His chest ached with the effort. His bones felt hollow, yet he stood.
And so the three of them faced each other in the temple's broken heart—knight, thief, and scholar, each bound by conviction, none willing to break. The tension coiled so tight that even the stars above seemed to hold their breath.
Then Kaelen lunged again, and the battle reignited.