"No." Kharvathar finally answered. Thswoner had waited patiently while they stared at each other in silence. The elf let out a low sigh. In a way, it pleased him—killing the creature in battle would be far better than watching it surrender.
But before he could speak, Kharvathar continued: "I will not let you kill me. Yet I recognize the sense in your words and the weight they carry for you."
The dragon pointed a finger at him. "That is why *you* will be the one to die!" Those draconic eyes flared with intense yellow light. Thswoner swiftly assumed a defensive stance, raising the black blade.
"Then I will come for the rest of your people afterward," Kharvathar roared. "You were wrong when you said my mind awakened so that I might accept my death. I awakened to remember who I am truly meant to destroy!"
This time the dragon's advance was more precise and calculated—Thswoner barely managed to evade. Without the support of the other elves, the attack would have struck true. It was a clean, focused strike that produced no massive shockwave like the previous ones. The elf realized then that the dragon was evolving—mastering this form more effectively. Not only was his thinking sharper, but his movements were too. 'I need to land a hit soon' Thswoner thought. He exhaled, and a black radiance in the form of chains erupted from his wrist, coiling around the Black Sword of Nakhep—the true name of the blade that could wound dragons, a detail the legends had concealed. The air grew thin and heavy.
"Hateful, abominable creature. Whether you come from the Chaos where pure evil dwells—by command or as a shipwrecked escapee—your fate ends here." The elf raised his sword, channeling all his energy into the strike. Kharvathar formed something akin to a smile.
"Do it, elf!" he bellowed, spreading his arms wide. Confidence radiated from him, clashing against the elf's fury. Their positions had shifted—not only emotionally, but physically. Thswoner now stood with his back to the rest of the temple. That was when Uras' voice rang out.
"By the power vested in me, Pharaoh of Namar-Kheph, I command you to stop!" Uras' voice echoed from afar as he sprinted across the polished hall, Neftraya close behind. Just moments earlier, he had ordered Ishara to abandon her attempt on the priestess's life. Nasndernian soldiers entered from the rear of the temple—armed, the clatter of long spears and shields filling the air.
"What?" Thswoner glanced back for a split second, disbelief flashing across his face. "What are you saying?" he shouted. His outrage was so great that he turned his back on Kharvathar without fear of attack—or perhaps trusting his elven soldiers.
Kharvathar considered piercing the elf's back with his claws or charging the distant elves who still irritated him. But his mind registered the "curiosity" in the human's interruption, and he wanted to hear it—temporarily clouding his primal instincts.
"I am saying that, by the ancient laws established, an elf can do nothing after a direct order from the Pharaoh—especially within the Temple of the Sun God," Uras'Diptsur shouted. Neftraya smiled behind him.
Their eyes met. But then desert sand whipped through the air in a sudden gale. *Return, Thswoner. They betrayed us the moment they connected with the creature,* a feminine voice echoed in his mind. *Our King commands it.* The air calmed.
"No greater affront or disloyalty has ever been witnessed. You have signed your death warrant, Uras'Diptsur—and the end of your people," the elf cursed. Uras met his gaze. The pharaoh knew the consequences, yet he also knew that continuing the fight would bring certain destruction. He chose to trust Neftraya—to trust the idea he himself had entertained from another angle: that the dragon's consciousness was truly the work of the Sun God, turning the creature into an ally. Despite the destruction and deaths it had caused… he prayed silently that his God would strike him down if he had committed a grave sin.
"You speak of betrayal, yet you treat us with superiority. You use us when it suits you and care nothing if we die—so long as your supposed ancient, lost magnificence returns." Uras shouted, voice firm and loud. "You withdrew from us, as though we were unworthy of your presence. Tell me, Thswoner—who betrayed whom first?"
The elf furrowed his brow at the declaration. But the situation had changed, and he had no desire for debate.
"I hope you remember this moment well, Uras'Diptsur." The elf's crimson eyes burned with profound gravity. "For it will be the moment history weeps to recall."
He turned his back and walked toward Kharvathar, who remained still. For the reborn dragon in human form, this had been a fascinating experience. For the first time, he witnessed a confrontation not through force, but through words—and one in which he was not the central figure. Yet the detail that the pharaoh had expelled the elves—and not him—echoed in Kharvathar's mind.
All of it left the dragon motionless as he watched the elf depart. Their eyes met, but neither reacted; both knew the fight was over, even though each wanted to continue. Kharvathar's instincts refused to accept it—*kill the elves, kill the humans, kill them all*—a part of him kept insisting.
But another part—superior in that moment—accepted the resolution.
"Your name?" the elf asked as he reached the entrance portico, the other elves moving ahead.
"Kharvathar," the dragon replied, turning toward his ancient—and surely future—opponent.
"Now that you have memories, remember the name Thswoner Khadiyel. It is my name—the name of the one who will kill you." The elf stared at him, then turned away. His body—and the sword he carried—dissolved into swirling dust in the air and vanished.