Ambition's smile gleamed like polished steel. "You bled for them, exile. You stood when others faltered. But what has it earned you? A dying camp. Fractured allies. Whispers at your back." He spread his arms to the weary survivors. "Follow me, and you will not crawl in the dirt. You will rise, build, conquer. I will give you a crown of ash that becomes gold."
Murmurs rippled through the camp. Men and women who had followed Cyrus out of desperation now stared at Ambition with wide, yearning eyes. Hope lifted her staff weakly, her voice trembling. "He tempts you with glory, but his road ends in chains."
Ambition's gaze flicked to her with contempt. "Chains? No, girl. Chains are what you offer — fragile prayers and empty light. I offer freedom: the right to grasp and to take." His eyes returned to Cyrus. "Do you deny them that? Do you deny yourself?"
Cyrus, pale and bleeding, forced himself upright. His voice cracked but carried. "I deny nothing. But power without burden is ruin. I will not trade one tyrant for another."
Ambition's smile hardened. "Then prove it."
The camp erupted as Ambition's soldiers surged forward. Blades clashed, fire sparked, cries split the night. Cyrus staggered into the fray, his blade flashing in weary arcs. Hope's fading light guided the desperate, while Love shielded those who still believed.
Ambition himself entered the melee like a storm, each strike precise, deliberate — not fury, but purpose. Where Wrath had shattered with chaos, Ambition carved with inevitability. Every parry drove Cyrus back, every word between blows twisted the hearts of those watching.
"Look how he falters!" Ambition roared mid-strike. "This is the leader you cling to? A broken man clutching a broken cause?"
Cyrus' knees buckled, blood slicking the dirt beneath him. Yet his blade did not fall. "Better broken and true… than crowned in lies."
The survivors' eyes wavered, torn between the exile's defiance and the conqueror's promise.