Argent walked alone towards the mist. He looked down at his chest where he had been slashed the previous day, remembering the pain he had pushed away.
The air smelled of mud, and iron, the perfume of the battlefield. Around him, the sounds of fighting had thinned to distant echoes, swallowed by fog and the muffled thrum of earth. Every step sank into mud that clung to his boots, heavy as his thoughts.
He'd made a promise. Something stupid but something he was determined to keep. It was his declaration that he would thrive in this world.
And there was only one way to keep it. To keep moving forward.
He moved deeper, past where the shouting stopped and even the sky seemed to hold its breath. When the haze parted, a shape rose from the gloom, massive, deliberate, watching.
A giant stood before him. Its skin was gray stone shot through with faint veins of glowing orange. Resting across one shoulder was a sword, larger than anything Argent had seen. The giant tilted its head, speaking in a voice that cracked the air like shifting rock.
"You… fit the words. Black hair. Broken chest. eyes filled with fight. Chief said, if human come, he gets to keep his word only if he gets through me."
Argent's jaw tightened. Behind the giant, half-swallowed by the mist, was a shadow, something even larger, broader, the silhouette he recognized.
The giant stepped forward, the ground trembling under its weight. "So. You fight me, you get to pass… or you die."
Argent drew his weapons. The rapier in his right hand gleamed faintly; the broad dagger in his left looked dull. He inhaled once. "Then let's get this over with."
The giant moved first. The sword came down like a guillotine. Argent rolled aside, mud splashing high. He countered, thrusting the rapier into the giant's thigh, but the blade slid off its stony hide like rain on slate.
Another swing. Argent parried clumsily, the shock rattling his arm. He darted in and struck again, but the point unable to cut the giant's flesh. His movements were off, too stiff, too unsure.
He wasn't quick, he wasn't some sort of duelist. He'd never been one. The rapier felt wrong, delicate in a world made of bone and ruin.
The giant's backhand hit like a battering ram. Argent flew, the breath driven from his chest, landing hard on his shoulder. The rapier fell from his grip, sinking into the mud.
When he looked up, the giant had already turned away, sword resting lazily on its shoulder again.
Waiting.
A test.
Argent pushed himself up, spitting blood. His fingers brushed something buried in the muck, metal, heavy, cold. He dug deeper and pulled it free.
A hand axe. Not human-made, something much stronger.
The axe head was wide and curved, shaped like a crescent fang, the edge pitted but sharp, etched with symbols he didn't recognize that shimmered faintly beneath the grime. Its haft was wrapped in cracked leather blackened by fire.
He tightened his grip. The weight sat right in his hand. In his other, he still had his dagger.
When he approached again, the giant's eyes narrowed in what could almost be approval.
The fight resumed.
This time, the rhythm changed. Argent ducked low, side-stepped a swing, and brought the axe across the giant's shin. This time it dug in. Blood, dark, steaming, spattered the ground. The giant grunted, stumbled. Argent pressed in, slashing with his dagger, then swinging the axe again.
The blows weren't perfect, but they were real. The giant bled, and for the first time, it stepped back.
Then the sword came faster, an upward slash that tore through air and almost took his head. Argent barely ducked, mud streaking his face.
As the fight went on, he was tiring, his breath ragged, arms trembling.
He saw the next swing coming too late. The sword carved through the air, unstoppable.
But the impact never came.
Two arrows whistled past his ear, one striking the giant's throat, the other burying itself deep in its ribs. The creature staggered, bellowing.
Argent turned.
Ryn stood on a rise of dirt, bow drawn, eyes sharp and calm as glass. Her blonde hair clung to her cheeks, her hands steady as stone.
She said nothing. Just notched another arrow and fired.
The arrows came quick, five, six, seven in rapid succession. Each one found its mark: shoulder, chest, thigh, neck. Argent moved with her rhythm, charging in between her shots. Axe, dagger, breath, heartbeat.
The giant roared, swinging its sword wide, carving trenches in the earth. When it saw the source of its pain, it tore free a chunk of stone and hurled it. The boulder screamed past Ryn's head, close enough to pull at her hair, but she didn't flinch. She was the calm in the chaos. Eyes that didn't lose their target in the face of a storm.
Argent ducked another swing and yelled over his shoulder. "Keep shooting!"
"I'm out!" she called back, voice carrying through the din.
"Thank you!" he shouted. "You've done enough, get back to town!"
Argent turned back to the giant, blood pounding in his ears. The creature was slowing, but its strength hadn't dimmed. He rushed in again, swinging the axe, driving the dagger toward its chest, but the blade met the stone like flesh and bounced off. The giant's sword came sweeping down, cutting a shallow trench through the ground where he'd been a heartbeat before.
He struck again, missed.
The giant swung again, Argent caught the flat of the blade on his arm, pain flaring white-hot. The rhythm was gone. Without Ryn's arrows keeping tempo, his strikes felt hollow, uncertain. The giant pressed its advantage, each swing driving him back a step further.
Not being able to dodge everything fully, Argent was collecting wounds all over his body.
Mud splashed into his face; his breath came ragged. He could feel the weight of the day, the bruises, the exhaustion. His knees wobbled. The axe grew heavier in his hand. He needed one opening, one chance...
The sword whistled toward him, and he dove aside too late. The shockwave of the impact threw him off balance.
His foot slipped.
Knee hit the mud.
He raised his arms instinctively as the giant's blade came down.
A flash.
The sound of sword hitting bone.
Then silence. He didn't feel the blade hit, but he heard it.
He looked up, Ryn stood before him, back to the giant, the sword buried through her chest.
She smiled faintly, a breathless, tired grin. "I was able to give you one more chance...," she whispered. Then her body dissolved into blue light, drifting upward like embers on the wind.
Argent stared for a heartbeat.
He surged forward, axe and dagger flashing, slashing at the giant's legs, its arms, everywhere. The axe found the wound she'd opened in his neck with her arrows. It went deep.
The giant stumbled, sinking to one knee. Hand holding the wound on his neck gushing blood. It looked at him, eyes dimming, voice a deep rumble that shook the air.
"You… pass… your trial."
It drew a long, broken breath. "The other one… she walked… like earth itself. No sound. No scent. As if the ground hid her. If she can learn… to call that when she wants to… she..."
Its eyes dimmed.
Then it fell, crumbling into blue light that rose and vanished into the clouds.
Argent stood there, panting, covered in mud and blood, staring at the empty space where Ryn had been.
He didn't notice the shadow that came out of the mist until it spoke.
"I am still not convinced, little human."
The voice was deeper, heavier, resonant.
Argent turned. Out of the mist stepped a massive giant, taller than the rest, shoulders broad, skin carved with glowing yellow tattoos that pulsed like lightning beneath stone.
"To meet the Chief," it said, "you must be a true warrior. You needed help."
Argent opened his mouth but couldn't find words. He swayed on his feet, barely upright.
A hand touched his shoulder.
"Don't worry, kid."
Grey stood beside him, looking towering and as wide as ever, his grin easy and confident. "You've done your part. Take a breath. I'll handle this one."
Argent blinked. "Grey?"
"Yeah," Grey said, cracking his neck. "That's me." He stepped forward, raising his voice. "He passed his trial. Out here, there's no such thing as fighting alone. You take what the world gives you and make it work. That's what surviving means."
The giant's eyes narrowed, then it laughed, a sound like thunder rolling across the plains. "Bold words. But you are no giant. You are nothing."
"I'm plenty." Grey's grin widened. "Tell you what, you fight me instead. If I win, the kid goes past to keep his word."
The giant's laughter grew louder. "You think you stand against me, human? I am Parvok, one of the Twelve Pillars. You will fall."
Grey rolled his shoulders. "Parvok, huh? Nice to meet you." His voice deepened, resonant, as if he were reciting a verse.
"I am Grey Cantar, one of the First Voices of the Iron Chorus, Commander of the Red Verse." This was the first time Argent had heard Grey sound so serious.
With no hesitation, they charged at the same time.
The ground split beneath their feet, soil exploding upward as if recoiling from the sheer force of their momentum.
Grey's laugh echoed through the roar. Fire sparked at his fingertips, first a glimmer, then a torrent. From that blaze, metal began to form. Not forged, not summoned, but remembered. A sword, massive, jagged, and impossibly heavy, took shape mid-run, its edges carved intricate patterns of flame, runes glowing like molten glass that almost looked like the notes of a song. It was as though the weapon had been waiting for his call, a piece of his soul made visible through fury.
Argent froze for half a heartbeat, breath catching in his throat. Mugwort's words returned to him, the story of the chosen, those the temple marked when they'd grown strong enough. Their souls, he'd said, could summon a weapon bound to their essence.
"A weapon that knows its wielder's heart," the stew keeper had murmured once by firelight.
"One that remembers their battles better than they do."
And here it was.
Grey's weapon wasn't just metal, it was his voice, his verse, the song of every fight he'd ever survived.
The air cracked as the two collided. the mist burned away in an instant.
The collision shook the field. Wind burst outward, flattening the grass.
Parvok had struck first, his massive mace arcing down in a blur of muscle and motion. Grey met it head-on. The collision shook the ground, metal screaming against metal, sparks bursting like stars torn from the heavens.
They circled each other in the mud, both breathing hard but grinning all the same. The mace came down again, and Grey turned it aside with a wide sweep, sparks flying. He pivoted, brought the sword down in a heavy counterstrike. Parvok blocked, the impact cracking the air. Again and again, hammer against sword, no tricks, just strength and will.
Neither gave an inch.
Each hit was like thunder in a canyon. Grey's shoulders ached, his palms raw, but his grin only widened. "You hit hard," he growled between breaths, "I'll give you that."
Parvok snarled, teeth flashing. "You stand firm, human. You should break."
"Guess I didn't get the message," Grey spat back, parrying another blow that nearly tore the sword from his hands.
The giant's patience snapped. Lightning sparked along his forearms, crawling down the haft of his mace until it was wrapped in a halo of burning light. The next swing howled through the air, smashing into Grey's chest and sending bolts of energy coursing through him. His muscles seized, his breath caught, but still he stood.
"Ha!" Grey barked through clenched teeth. "A Pillar using his element against me? An honor!"
"Then I will do the same."
Flames flared up from his hands, racing along the length of his sword. The note like runes ignited in molten red, their hum rising like a chorus.
He swung again, lightning meeting fire, storm meeting furnace. The shockwave hurled mud and debris for yards around them. Every clash burned the sky brighter, every step scorched the earth.
Grey was being pushed back, his body trembling, armor blackening at the edges, but the grin never left his face.
Grey's boots sank deeper into the scorched mud. Every breath he took came with smoke; every exhale, fire. His armor glowed faintly red, seams venting heat like the cracks of a forge ready to burst.
Parvok raised his mace high again, lightning spiraling into a storm above him. "You burn well, human! But lightning devours flame!"
Grey spat blood into the dirt and grinned. "Then come, try and eat me."
The next impact split the world in half. Fire and thunder swallowed the field. For a heartbeat, there was no sound, only pressure and color.
When the haze cleared, Grey was on one knee, sword buried in the earth to keep himself standing. Sparks crawled up his arms. The fire around him dimmed, his body trembling from the current still running through it.
Parvok towered over him, breathing hard but laughing, proud in the way only warriors could be proud. "You fought well, flamewalker. But this ends now."
Grey's fingers tightened around his sword's hilt. The flames along the blade flared once more, fiercer than before, as though refusing the final note. "You're right," he murmured. "Every song ends…"
He looked up, smiling through the blood and soot. "…But some take the world with them."
He rose to his feet in one sudden, furious motion, pulling the sword from the ground. The fire twisted skyward, coiling into a blazing vortex. The runes along the blade pulsed once, twice, then blazed white-hot as Grey hurled it into the sky.
The weapon vanished into the clouds like a star set free.
Parvok blinked, confused for only a second, before Grey lunged forward, slamming both arms around the giant's torso, locking him in place. The fire from his hands spread to his arms, to his chest, wrapping them both in searing light.
"You said lightning devours flame," Grey said, voice steady now. "Then I'll burn from the inside out."
He looked skyward.
"This is my requiem, listen to the Burning Sky!"
The sword came hurtling down, trailing a column of flame so bright it turned the world white.
The impact silenced the battlefield. The shockwave tore through the mist, sending heat and ash sweeping across the plain.
When the light faded, there was nothing left of the two but a crater of glassed earth, and a faint blue shimmer rising, like the last note of a song dying away in the wind.
Argent stood there, stunned, the air still vibrating with the echo of Grey's final words.
The flames died slow, their glow retreating into the mud like the last note of a song too heavy to carry.
Argent stood in the silence they left behind, the air still trembling from the clash.
He thought of Grey's laughter, of Ryn's calm, of all the voices that had risen and fallen in the chorus of this battle.
Perhaps that was the truth of it, every fighter here sang their own verse, brief and burning, swallowed by the greater song. Every one of them left something behind.
And somewhere in that endless field of shadows, he knew his part was still unfinished.
He lifted his head to the mist ahead, where the great figure waited.
And as he walked, the shadows that got him here followed behind.