The Guardian moved like a ghost through the dim chamber, each step leaving a ripple of qi through the air. His armor hummed faintly with enchantments that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat. The ancient runes across his gauntlets glowed a deep azure, feeding strength into the ethereal soldiers that circled the intruders.
Alaric met his gaze, the dim torchlight reflecting off his crimson eyes. His voice cut through the distant echo of rushing water.
"You were waiting for me."
"I was," the Guardian said, drawing his sword — a relic forged of moonsteel, thin and curved, light bending unnaturally along its edge. "The governors may fall, the soldiers may flee, but Ashenfall still stands as long as I draw breath. You'll find I'm not so easily broken."
Alaric said nothing. His aura flared instead — the ground beneath him cracking as waves of energy rolled outward. Fire shimmered across his blade, chased by streaks of black lightning and flickers of wind. The air grew hot, the walls trembling under the pressure.
Ryn Tal muttered, "He's about to go all out…"
The Guardian lifted his sword in salute. "Then so shall I."
---
The first clash shattered the silence.
The sound was deafening — steel meeting steel, magic colliding in a blinding burst of light. Water surged from the impact, spraying high into the air as shockwaves tore through the chamber.
Alaric vanished, reappearing behind the Guardian in an instant, his blade slicing through a phantom soldier before it could react. Flames ignited along his arm as he struck, but the Guardian was already gone — his movement smooth, effortless, a blur of silver and light.
The old man's sword came down, a crescent arc of compressed wind following its path. Alaric caught it with the flat of his blade, boots grinding deep into the stone as he redirected the force, the resulting burst sending both men skidding apart.
"Impressive," the Guardian admitted. "Few could withstand even one of those."
Alaric tilted his head, breathing steady. "You'll have to do better."
---
Above them, Ryn Tal and the others battled the spectral constructs. They moved like living shadows, adapting to every strike, reforming from mist each time they were shattered.
"Damn it," Hagen roared, cleaving one clean in two. "They keep coming back!"
"They draw power from him!" Talia shouted over the din, stabbing through another apparition. "Kill the Guardian and they'll fade!"
"Then let's give him room," Ryn Tal ordered.
They fell back in formation, forming a protective arc that allowed Alaric space to move freely. The Guardian noticed — his eyes narrowing.
"So they fight for you willingly," he said quietly. "Not through fear."
Alaric's blade lifted once more. "They fight for what's coming."
---
The Guardian's qi surged, the air itself trembling. "Then feel the weight of Ashenfall's legacy!"
He swung, and the entire chamber erupted. Massive torrents of wind formed a vortex around him, slicing through pillars and stone alike. The pressure threatened to crush bone and shatter lungs.
But Alaric didn't flinch.
His magic ignited — fire and wind intertwining in violent harmony, twisting upward into a spiral that burned through the Guardian's storm. Flames turned blue, then white, as the temperature spiked.
The two forces met at the center, a maelstrom of destruction that tore the chamber apart.
---
When the light faded, the Guardian was kneeling — his armor cracked, blood streaking his jaw.
He raised his gaze, breathing hard. "You wield too much… for one so young."
Alaric stepped forward, his aura dimming. "And you hold on too tightly to ghosts."
The Guardian smiled faintly. "Perhaps. But we who guard must cling to something."
He raised his sword again — slower this time, his qi faltering. "Show me, Conqueror… do you fight for anything more than power?"
For a heartbeat, Alaric said nothing. His eyes flicked to his men — bloodied, exhausted, yet standing. Then, softly:
"I fight for control. Because without it, everything burns."
The Guardian closed his eyes, nodding once. "Then let it be by your hand."
He moved — a final, desperate strike, swift as lightning. But Alaric was faster. His blade cut through air and metal alike, meeting the Guardian's chest with a sound like thunder.
The old man froze, then exhaled a slow, trembling breath.
"…So it ends."
His sword slipped from his grasp, clattering into the water. The spectral soldiers dissolved into mist, fading with him as he fell backward.
---
Alaric caught the man before he hit the ground. The Guardian's eyes flickered open one last time. "Ashenfall… will not forgive you. Its people will rise again."
"They'll live," Alaric replied quietly. "But under a new banner."
The old man smiled faintly — whether in peace or defiance, no one could tell. Then his body stilled.
For a long moment, no one spoke. The water rippled around them, glowing faintly from the embers of magic that still lingered.
Talia finally broke the silence. "The path to the palace is open."
Alaric rose slowly, setting the Guardian down. "Then Ashenfall falls tonight."
He turned toward the tunnel ahead, his cloak dragging through the shallow water — crimson spreading in ripples around his boots.
The torchlight danced behind him, painting the walls in shades of fire and shadow.
And for the first time, the name Ashenfall began to tremble — not as a fortress of pride, but as a kingdom standing on the edge of extinction.