SLASH!!
Before Zayn could recover his footing, his echo lunged—so fast that the air cracked. Its blade came down in a vertical arc, and when Zayn raised his sword to block, the force of the impact rattled his bones. Sparks burst between them, the echo's eyes glowing with an eerie crimson hue that reflected nothing human.
"You managed to retrieve the toothpick? Cute."
The crimson fire that licked along its blade pulsed once—then detonated in a flaring wave of heat. Zayn was flung backward, boots scraping across the courtyard stones. He coughed, the taste of iron heavy in his mouth, barely raising his sword in time to deflect the next strike.
The construct didn't relent. It pressed in, each slash sharp and precise—delivered with surgical intent, like it knew the rhythm of his heartbeat. Its movements were heavier than before, yet impossibly quick, the weight behind each strike forcing Zayn back with every blow. His own aura of white fire flickered weakly around his form, struggling to stand against the oppressive dark crimson that radiated from his echo's blade.
Kelios' voice hissed through the chaos, low and venomous.
"You see it now, don't you? The real you—the one that hungers for power but doesn't know how to take it."
Zayn gritted his teeth and swung back, but the echo parried effortlessly. A diagonal slash tore through his guard, the edge grazing his shoulder. Pain bloomed white-hot, and his breath came out ragged.
Jasmijn turned sharply at the sound, her duel briefly faltering.
"Zayn!"
she called out, eyes wide. Her own echo nearly took advantage of the distraction, its blade cutting across her sleeve before she retaliated, unleashing a burst of wind that sent her construct reeling.
"Focus, Zayn! Don't let it corner you!"
But he couldn't hear her—not really. His world had shrunk to the flash of the crimson blade and the cold sweat dripping down his spine. He blocked, barely, his sword trembling as the echo bore down, its strikes so precise they seemed choreographed by some malevolent will. Each parry sent shockwaves through his arms, the metal whining, the stone beneath his boots cracking from the force.
Charolette's echo swung at her in that same moment, but her attention flicked toward her brother's friend, panic slipping through her defenses. She wasn't even able to call out, ducking under a mirrored strike and countering with a desperate swing.
"He needs to get control of his aura,"
Jasmijn shouted, her own codex manifesting more steadily now. Silver arcs of energy spiraled around her as she fought to break through her echo's guard.
"If he doesn't—he's bound to get himself killed."
Zayn stumbled, knees nearly buckling as the echo pressed him again, its movements relentless and exact. He raised his sword, barely catching another downward slash, but the impact sent him skidding back once more.
The crimson flames from the echo's blade licked out, reaching for him, scorching the hem of his coat. His white aura flared in response—but weakly, flickering like a candle gasping for air.
The construct stalked forward through the haze, its expression perfectly calm, its head tilting as if mocking him. Zayn panted, chest heaving, sweat and blood mixing on his skin. His knuckles whitened around the hilt.
"You're afraid."
Kelios' whisper turned cruel.
"Not of losing. Of me."
Zayn's eyes widened as the echo blurred again, reappearing right in front of him. A heavy kick to the gut sent him sprawling across the stone. His sword had almost been sent clattering away, but he managed to keep a firm grip through it all.
"Zayn!"
Charolette screamed, breaking formation to take a step toward him—only to be intercepted by her own echo, its blade whistling past her throat. She stumbled back, forced to defend herself, fury and fear boiling behind her eyes.
Jasmijn swore under her breath, cutting through her own mirror with a burst of controlled energy that cracked the ground. She turned toward Zayn, seeing him crawl in attempts to get up.
The echo didn't wait. It raised its crimson blade high, the fire coiling, roaring, bright enough to bathe the courtyard in blood-red light.
And for a split second—just before it brought the weapon down—Zayn saw it: his own face reflected in the polished metal, twisted not by rage, but by fear.
His fear.
The strike came down like judgment.
Zayn barely managed to raise his sword in time—steel meeting steel with a teeth-grinding shriek. The crimson blaze pouring from his echo's blade was so intense that his arms shook beneath the weight of it. Sparks scattered in the air like dying stars, and for a heartbeat it seemed his weapon might simply snap in half. The heat scorched his skin, blistering against his knuckles as he pressed back, teeth bared.
His boots slid across the courtyard stone, grit grinding beneath him, the scent of burning iron heavy in the air. His echo leaned in close, its face—a perfect reflection of his own—twisted into a cruel smile. Its voice was silent, but its intent screamed through every motion.
"You are weak."
Zayn's pulse pounded in his ears, his vision narrowing to that single, hellish glare.
From the edge of the training grounds, Flokki's hand rose, palm glowing faintly with the sigil that would end the fight in an instant. The air itself seemed to wait on his word.
But before he could speak, Zayn's hoarse voice tore through the tension—raw, furious, and alive.
"Don't you dare!"
The courtyard fell still for half a second. Even the wind hesitated.
Flokki paused, studying him. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his hand.
"Very well," he murmured. "Let's see what burns inside you."
The echo snarled — or maybe it was just Zayn's imagination — and pressed harder. His boots slid backward over cracked stone, his grip bleeding, his breath harsh and shallow.
And then it happened.
Zayn roared.
Not a scream — a sound pulled from the marrow of his soul.
His white flame erupted, not flickering this time but flaring — a column of brilliance that split the crimson fire apart. Wind tore through the courtyard, dust spiraling upward as the echo stumbled back, its form flickering violently.
The heat of the crimson and the unholy burn of Kelios' white flame clashed in the air, creating a haze where frost met embers.
Zayn rose to his feet, panting, veins glowing faintly with white light. His eyes, wide and defiant, stared at his echo as the smoke rolled between them.
That was when Kelios spoke again — but this time his tone was different. Not mocking.
Almost… disappointed.
"Ifyou hate me so much,"
The voice said, low and sharp as steel,
"why do you still use my fire?"
Zayn froze, his heart pounding. His white flame pulsed weakly in answer.
"Use your own,"
Kelios whispered, laughter curling through the words like smoke.
"Or maybe you don't have one."
Zayn grit his teeth, fury trembling through every muscle.
"Then I'll find it," he growled aloud, tightening his grip on his sword.
The echo smiled — the same smile Zayn had worn when he was younger, reckless, arrogant, convinced the world was his to burn.
Flokki watched from the edge, his eyes narrowing. Something about that fire — the duality of light and crimson weaving together — made even him uneasy.
As the wind howled and the courtyard trembled, Zayn raised his sword again. His aura wavered between colors— his soul and Kelios's clashing, merging, neither giving ground.
The echo steadied its stance, blade drawn, the crimson blaze licking higher.
Zayn mirrored it — a perfect reflection in opposite colors.
And then —
They moved.
The courtyard erupted into chaos, the air splitting with the clash of aura and steel. Crimson and white collided, searing trails cutting through the misty morning air. Each impact rippled through the training grounds, sending shockwaves across the tiles.
Zayn's grip trembled, but his eyes—his eyes were sharp now. Focused. The world seemed to slow as his instincts took over, guided by something deeper than thought. His white flame began to twist, threads of silver bleeding through it like veins of molten moonlight. His hair, once dark, began to pale at the edges — silver roots glinting under the sun.
Kelios's voice purred in his head.
"Better. Don't think — feel. Let me show you what power is."
For the first time, without even thinking, Zayn began to use Kelios' power as if it were rightfully his.
Zayn's breath hitched, and suddenly he moved differently — faster, cleaner, almost inhuman. His steps blurred; he wasn't reacting anymore, he was anticipating. Each swing became sharper, his strikes cutting through the air in perfect rhythm with the echo's.
The others stopped fighting to watch. Even Flokki's eye narrowed, cautious but intrigued.
The echo lunged — Zayn vanished from its sightline, reappearing behind it in a burst of silver-white flame. His sword came down in an arc that split the air, sending the echo sprawling backward across the courtyard, shards of reflected aura scattering like glass.
Charolette gasped.
"Zayn— your hair!"
He didn't hear her. His breathing came ragged, his pupils glinting like silver fire. Jasmijn said nothing. She had known about this form since Varnhold. Kelios's laughter echoed inside his skull, beautiful and terrible.
"Yes… that's it. It's yours. Ours. Take it."
Zayn gritted his teeth, fighting against the growing chill running up his spine. His aura surged again — white flames blooming outward in the shape of spectral wings before flickering out just as fast. The courtyard's stone tiles smoked beneath his feet.
The echo steadied itself, blade trembling as if recognizing the shift in power. For the first time, its crimson eyes showed hesitation.
Flokki muttered under his breath, voice grave, almost reverent.
"So this… is the depth of his bond with the spirit inside."
But Zayn was losing control. The flames hissed louder, wild and erratic, devouring the air around him. His knuckles bled against the hilt.
"You can't win without me, Zayn. Not at isle Fareth. Not here either. I was always apart of you."
He sighed through clenched teeth — and drove forward, crossing blades with the echo in one last blinding impact.
Crimson and silver-white erupted together, a storm of colliding auras swallowing the courtyard whole. A slash.
The stroke landed clean.
Zayn's blade, still wreathed in flickering silver-white, tore through the echo's chest. For an instant, there was no sound — only a faint, otherworldly hum as the construct staggered backward. Then, the wound flared crimson, and the echo's body began to disintegrate, breaking apart like dying embers carried off by the wind.
Zayn stood there, chest rising and falling, his breaths shallow and uneven. The ground beneath him was scorched with the aftermath of his fire — Kelios's fire — that alien white flame that never truly felt like his.
As the last cinders faded into nothing, his hair slowly darkened, returning to its natural, silky black. His reflection in the faint sheen of his blade was not one of triumph but of quiet torment — the kind that came from victory without ownership.
He had won.
But it hadn't been his strength.
Zayn's jaw clenched. The moment hung heavy with heat and silence before the sword slipped from his trembling fingers, clattering to the stone floor with a sound that cut through the courtyard. He turned sharply and began to walk away, shoulders stiff, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.
Charolette watched from across the courtyard, a flicker of pride drowned by worry. Her expression softened — she recognized that look. She saw it at isle Fareth after the fight with Pinkbeard.
"Zayn!"
She called, but he didn't stop.
Flokki had been watching from the archway, his hands clasped behind his back. His gaze followed the boy's steps as they grew smaller against the backdrop of the courtyard. For a moment, his face was unreadable — then, with a low sigh, he stepped forward, boots echoing against the stone as he followed.
When he reached Zayn, the young man had stopped near the edge of the frost courtyard, where the morning light met the shadows of the temple walls.
"Zayn."
The name alone made him halt. He didn't look back.
Flokki's voice carried no reprimand — only calm weight, the kind that silenced the world around it.
"Do you know what happens when a warrior wins a battle that his heart did not fight?"
Zayn said nothing, but his shoulders tensed.
Flokki walked closer, his tone low, steady.
"He loses something greater. His spirit grows quiet… his will, confused. You borrowed strength that was not yours, and it answered — but in doing so, it demanded something back."
Zayn lowered his head, jaw tight.
"The flame you wield is not a curse,"
Flokki continued, his gaze turning to the faint scorch marks that still shimmered across the courtyard.
"But it isn't yours. Until you understand the heart that calls it — until you learn where your true fire lies — you will always burn someone else's dream."
For a moment, only the wind answered them, carrying a faint whistle through the temple's open arches.
Then Flokki placed a hand on Zayn's shoulder — firm, grounding, but not unkind.
"You're not weak, boy. You're unclaimed."
His eye glimmered beneath the hooded light.
"The difference between power and purpose is the heart that wields it. Find yours, and even gods will kneel to your flame."
Zayn finally looked at him — exhausted, eyes rimmed with defiance and shame — but beneath it all, there was a flicker. A pulse. Something quiet that refused to die.
Flokki smiled faintly, a proud, almost fatherly thing.
"Go eat something. Tomorrow, you'll begin again — not with his fire… but with yours."
And as Zayn walked off into the halls of the Frost Temple, the faintest glint of gold shimmered at the edge of his aura — fragile, undefined, but his own.