The cry rang out across Halewood:
"Seize him!"
Kael's curse answered before his mind could.
The blade leapt into his hand with a hunger all its own, steel glimmering as if dipped in moonlight, veins of black light crawling along its edge. He had meant to slip away, meant to vanish into the woods and leave Emberfall's soldiers with nothing but dust. But the moment Lyra's molten gaze locked upon him, the shadow in his blood uncoiled like a starving beast.
The square erupted into chaos.
Boots thundered against cobblestone. Thirty men in Emberfall's crimson livery surged forward with shields and spears. Villagers screamed, scattering, some pressed into the mud by armored fists as soldiers shoved them aside in their rush.
Kael stepped into the open, cloak unfurling like a ragged wing. The curse thrummed in his chest, heavy as a war drum, each beat flooding his limbs with searing power.
Too many. The rational part of him counted shields, spears, angles. Too many to fight head-on.
The curse disagreed.
The first spear lunged for his ribs. Kael moved without thought. His blade carved upward, the cursed edge humming. The spear split in two as though made of reed, and his swing carried into the soldier's helm. Steel met steel with a shriek; sparks sprayed, and the man crumpled, helm split like kindling.
Another spear jabbed from the side. Kael twisted, cloak snapping. His sword lashed out, not striking the man but the shadow that clung beneath his boots. For a heartbeat, the shadow writhed—and then it coiled upward, solid as rope, dragging the soldier screaming into the dirt.
Gasps erupted from the villagers. Even the soldiers faltered for half a breath.
Lyra's voice cut the air like fire through oil. "Don't falter! He's one man!"
The soldiers rallied.
Kael exhaled sharply. So it would be blood.
He spun, blade painting arcs of silver and black. Shadows leapt at his call, tangling spears, tripping men, binding ankles. Each stroke of his sword found armor, splitting plates as though they were parchment. The curse lent him more than strength; it lent inevitability. Each enemy seemed to move where his blade already was, each strike guided by some dark will that lived in his marrow.
And yet—he felt it devouring him. Each life claimed by the cursed edge fed the beast inside, clawing at his sanity, whispering to let go, to burn the whole square in shadow until none remained.
A wall of flame erupted ahead of him.
Kael staggered back, shielding his face from the sudden heat. Fire surged skyward, a blazing barrier that scorched the stone black. On the other side, Lyra strode forward, her hand raised, golden-red light wreathing her fingers.
The soldiers parted instantly, making way as though she were not merely their commander but fire incarnate.
Her eyes burned across the flame at him. "So it's true," she murmured, voice low but carrying, every syllable laced with heat. "The cursed blade walks again."
Kael's jaw tightened. He had no wish to trade words, but something in her tone pulled one from him regardless.
"You should have left me to the shadows, Princess." His voice was roughened, half by battle, half by the curse burning his throat.
Lyra stepped through the fire as it bent away from her, flames kissing her armor without searing. Her hair blazed like a living torch, copper-gold catching every flicker. She drew no blade, yet the fire curling at her fingertips promised more ruin than steel ever could.
"You carry the mark of the gods' betrayal," she said. "I cannot leave you. You are a danger to all."
Kael gave a humorless smile. "And yet you fear me."
Her eyes narrowed, fire flaring brighter. "I do not fear you. I end you."
The flame lashed forward.
Kael dove aside as the cobblestone where he had stood melted into glowing slag. Heat scorched his cloak, the stench of burning fabric filling his lungs. He rolled, came up with blade raised, and slashed at the fire itself. Shadows surged from the steel, colliding with flame in an explosion of smoke and sparks.
For the first time, silence rippled through the square. Villagers, soldiers, even the wind seemed to pause as fire and shadow clashed and held.
Kael and Lyra faced each other across the ruin, both breathing hard, both unwilling to give ground.
And in that breathless moment, he felt it.
A pull.
Not the curse's hunger for death. Something deeper. Some thread spun by gods or fate, binding shadow to flame.
Her gaze flickered, just slightly, as if she felt it too.
The battle resumed in a roar.
Soldiers pressed in at her command. Kael met them with cursed steel, carving through shields. Lyra's fire blazed to pen him, forcing him back step by step. Each time he tried to strike her directly, her flames curved, shielded, deflected. Each time her fire sought to burn him to ash, his shadows rose, twisting the blaze away.
Around them, the square became a ruin. Stalls burned, houses cracked, the fountain shattered under a misplaced stroke. Villagers cowered wherever they could, praying to gods that had abandoned them centuries ago.
Kael's chest heaved. His arm burned with the weight of each strike. And still, the curse urged more. More blood. More shadow. More fire.
He snarled, breaking through another soldier's guard, his blade tearing through mail. He spun to meet Lyra's next flame—
And froze.
For just an instant, she faltered. Her fire dimmed, her eyes widening as though she'd seen something in him—not his blade, not his curse, but him.
The hesitation lasted no longer than a heartbeat. But it was enough.
Kael closed the distance, his cursed blade swinging.
Lyra's fire flared in desperate defense. Steel met flame, shadow met light. The impact sent a shockwave through the square, shattering windows and hurling soldiers from their feet. Kael and Lyra both staggered back, chests heaving, eyes locked.
Neither had won. Neither had yielded.
But the air between them pulsed with something far more dangerous than victory.