The impact came before the sound.
Darion was already inside the guard.
The black blade came down—
in a straight line.
Too fast.
Telvaris crossed both katanas on reflex.
The clash didn't hold.
It slipped.
Darion's blade slipped between them as if it already knew the path.
The cut opened— but didn't sink deeper.
Telvaris stepped back half a pace.
Just enough to keep his form.
Darion did not stop.
The katana rose — short — and fell again.
Now lateral.
Telvaris turned his body.
One blade deflected.
The other came from below.
Counter.
Straight for the ribs.
Darion read it.
The wrist turned.
His blade changed mid-path.
He intercepted— not to block. To redirect.
Telvaris's katana left the line.
And Darion was already advancing again.
No interval.
The black blade came in sequence.
Three cuts.
First: high.
Telvaris blocked.
Second—
low.
He yielded the minimum necessary.
Enough.
Third—
didn't land where it should have.
It changed mid-way.
Straight to the abdomen.
Telvaris pulled his torso back.
But not enough.
The blade touched.
Tore.
Telvaris answered on the same level.
Both katanas came down in a cross—
The clash exploded between the three points.
Metal screamed.
The ground gave underfoot.
And, for an instant—
force against force.
Control against control.
Darion smiled.
"You learn fast."
One step — continuous pressure.
"But you're still reacting."
He pushed.
The locked blades slid — enough.
The black katana slipped free of the cross.
And drove forward to kill.
Telvaris did not retreat.
Golden eyes fixed on the line of the strike—
and then—
"…Abyssal Forge."
The voice came low.
Grave.
Like a decree.
The metal scattered across the field answered.
First—
a tremor.
Then—
rupture.
Broken blades.
Fallen armor.
Forgotten spearheads.
Everything yielded.
Melted.
Darkened.
Like iron being forced beyond its own state.
The ground around Telvaris came alive.
Black.
Fluid.
And it advanced.
Darion did not retreat.
He turned his body.
The blade moved in a short arc—
cutting the first wave.
The liquid metal split—
and returned faster.
From another angle.
He adjusted.
A sidestep.
Second cut.
Third.
Absolute control.
But not enough.
A liquid blade slipped underneath.
Tore the fabric of his attire.
Another came high.
He deflected — too late.
The hood gave.
The black fabric split in a clean line.
And fell.
Darion set his foot.
Forced space with a dry step.
Retreated.
His head lifted slowly.
Black hair fell out of place over his face.
Pale skin contrasted with the filthy field around.
Dull gray eyes.
No shine.
No urgency.
But attentive.
The liquid metal moved around Telvaris.
Like an extension of his will.
Darion watched.
…
The air around him wavered.
Subtle.
Almost imperceptible.
As if something had slipped out of alignment for an instant.
His stance changed.
Less open.
More direct.
More economical.
The blade lowered a few centimeters.
Aligned.
No waste.
"I understand."
The voice came low.
Unhurried.
He advanced.
Without warning.
Faster than before.
The distance vanished.
A short cut.
Direct.
Telvaris reacted.
The metal rose—
trying to intercept.
Darion's blade had already passed.
A clean line along the side of the body.
Superficial—
but real.
Telvaris answered in the same instant.
The liquid iron surged in shards.
Darion turned—
deflected—
retreated.
The exchange ended before it began.
Silence.
Brief.
It was cut by the shouts on the wall.
Darion did not look away.
But he felt it.
The movement at his side.
Light.
Caelan landed without sound.
The bow already in hand.
His eyes swept the field once—
and returned.
"We managed to regroup."
The voice carried no urgency.
"Lady Elara's orders have been carried out."
"The army is already pulling back."
The wind shifted.
The metal around Telvaris remained alive.
Waiting.
Darion remained still.
Blade low.
Ready.
Eyes still on him.
The wind shifted subtly.
Caelan did not take his eyes off Telvaris when he spoke.
"We've done enough."
Darion did not answer.
Still in position.
"The order was to contain the advance… and regroup."
"The White Raven… was our initiative."
His eyes did not waver.
In the distance—
the Northern lines moved.
Formation adjusting.
Tighter.
More cautious.
"The second line changed pace," Caelan said.
"They're observing now."
Darion exhaled through his nose.
"Too late for that."
"Maybe."
Caelan then looked away for an instant—
toward the walls.
Distant.
"Lady Elara has already arrived."
"The order has been fulfilled."
A gust of wind crossed the field.
Darion stood still for two more seconds.
A short breath.
Controlled.
He turned the katana in his hand—
and sheathed it.
Unhurried.
Without taking his eyes off Telvaris.
"It's not over yet."
The voice came low.
More promise than warning.
Telvaris did not answer.
Both blades still raised.
Body still.
Watching.
Measuring.
Darion took a step back.
Caelan already moving at his side.
Unhurried.
Without turning their backs.
They withdrew.
Without breaking the line of sight.
Until the distance began to grow.
And the field existed between them again.
Telvaris kept his eyes fixed.
Until they disappeared among their own soldiers.
A knight approached.
Armor marked.
Breathing heavily.
"Commander…"
A hesitation.
"This was the moment."
"We could have ended him here."
Telvaris did not look at him.
Eyes still on the point where Darion had been.
"No."
The answer came low.
"We couldn't."
The knight frowned.
"Sir…?"
Telvaris then moved his gaze.
Slow.
Direct.
But not to the man beside him.
To the field.
Beyond.
"Do not be mistaken."
The voice did not rise.
But it carried weight.
"The most dangerous one was not the one advancing."
Silence.
Brief.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"It was the one observing."
The knight fell silent.
No answer.
No argument.
Telvaris then faced the distance again.
Where Caelan had been.
The wind passed once more.
Carrying dust.
The smell of iron.
And silence.
For an instant—
the field seemed suspended.
Without looking away:
"Inform him."
The knight beside him straightened immediately.
Fist to chest.
"Yes, Commander."
Telvaris continued.
Voice low.
Grave.
Unhurried.
"If he intends to take the port today…"
A short pause.
His eyes did not blink.
"then he must come to the front."
The knight hesitated for half a second.
Not from doubt.
From weight.
"Do you wish me to… summon the Lord Commander?"
Telvaris finally shifted his gaze.
"Yes."
A single word.
Enough.
The knight nodded.
Firmer now.
"As you command."
He took a step back.
Then another.
And then turned—
a quick movement,
disciplined.
No more questions.
No looking back.
The wind on the walls was stronger.
Cleaner.
But it did not carry away the sound of war.
Below—
the field still moved.
Men reorganizing.
Blood still fresh between stone and mud.
She watched.
Still.
Long black hair, slightly wavy, moved with the wind.
Pale skin contrasted with the dark, finely finished armor.
Nothing about her seemed out of place.
Not even in that war.
Black eyes were turned downward—
reading the field as if every movement had already been predicted.
Footsteps echoed behind her.
Light.
Caelan and Darion stopped a few paces away.
They knelt.
Synchronized.
Heads bowed.
Fists clenched against the chest.
"My lady."
Caelan's voice came first.
Measured.
"The orders have been carried out."
Darion did not speak.
But held the posture.
She did not respond immediately.
Still looking at the field.
As if their confirmation were just another detail within something larger.
She turned.
Slowly.
Black eyes met both of them.
Calm.
But too attentive.
"I've already told you…"
The voice came soft.
Effortless.
"that you don't need to bow before me."
"And then?"
A slight tilt of the head.
"What did you see?"
The wind passed between them.
Darion crossed his arms for a second—
gaze still on the field.
"They were being cut down before they even understood where they were failing."
The voice low.
Unhurried.
"The enemy did not fight like the others."
A small shift of gaze.
"He used the field's iron."
A short pause.
"It wasn't a fair battle."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Fallen blades… returned."
"Gaps in the line… became weapons."
Elara listened without interrupting.
Her eyes dropped again to the field.
"A single man was enough to decimate half our forces."
A slight adjustment in tone:
"Even so… he is not the biggest problem."
The silence held for a moment.
"The White Raven."
Her eyes returned, slowly.
"He doesn't need to be present."
"And still… the field moves as if he were."
Caelan nodded, subtle.
"What stands out the most is the reading."
A slight clasp of hands behind his back.
"As soon as we stepped onto the field…"
"their second line changed formation."
His eyes turned downward.
"In a matter of seconds."
Elara tilted her head slightly.
"So he sees more than we show."
"Or understands faster than he should."
Darion let out a faint breath.
"Or both."
Elara did not take her eyes off the field.
"And the port?"
A short silence.
"What are our chances?"
Caelan answered without hesitation.
"If you desire only victory…"
"the two of us are enough."
There was no arrogance.
Only statement.
"But, by the orders you gave us…"
His eyes rose to her.
"I believe that was never the main objective."
Darion did not intervene.
But his gaze indicated agreement.
Caelan continued:
"The movement… the control of advance…"
"the containment instead of total rupture…"
A pause.
"Everything indicates an attempt to force a scenario."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"An agreement."
"Between the port and the Kingdom of the North."
The silence that followed was brief—
but dense.
Elara smiled.
"Nothing slips past you."
It was not praise.
It was confirmation.
"I never trusted the Central Kingdom."
Her eyes returned to the horizon.
"And since the former queen of the North established herself there…"
A subtle pause.
"a lot has stopped making sense."
She did not look at them.
"Strategically, Tricórdio…"
"should be the most protected point of the central kingdom."
The wind moved her hair again.
"Since it is at the far north of Central territory."
"Right against the border with the Kingdom of the North."
Her eyes did not leave the field.
"If the port falls…"
"they gain a blade at their back."
A slight tilt of the head.
"Tell me, Caelan…"
"does that seem like negligence… or choice?"
Caelan did not answer immediately.
His eyes remained on the field.
Calculating.
"There is only one possibility that sustains these actions…"
"the fall of Tricórdio."
The wind seemed to change direction.
Elara did not show surprise.
Only interest.
"There is no evident gain in allowing this breach."
Caelan clasped his hands behind his back.
"The port does not have relevant military strength."
"But that was never its value."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Information."
"Routes."
"Trade flow."
"Internal movements within the empire."
Each word came measured.
"Tricórdio sees more than any wall of the Central Kingdom."
"That was why your father entered the Merchant Union."
His eyes lifted to her.
"And also why the king keeps him close."
Elara did not interrupt.
But her gaze shifted—
minimal.
"The point…"
Caelan continued,
"is that he knows too much."
The wind cut between them.
Darion remained silent—
but attentive.
"So…" Elara said, almost in a breath, "he prefers to lose the port."
Her eyes did not leave the field.
"Than to risk what is inside it."
Caelan nodded, slight.
"More than that."
"He prefers your father to fall."
The weight came dry.
Direct.
"Taking with him everything he discovered."
Elara absorbed it.
No immediate reaction.
Her eyes darkened slightly.
But the focus was no longer there.
It shifted — subtle.
Like pieces aligning, one by one.
"Then…"
The voice came low.
More thought than response.
"if we follow that line…"
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"everything begins to fit…"
"The king did not keep him out of trust."
Now there was certainty.
"To enter the Merchant Union…"
"my father had to submit to a soul oath."
The wind passed between them.
"And now…"
Her eyes returned to the field.
"it is that same oath that binds him."
"No option to withdraw."
A pause.
Cold — and without margin for error.
"Destined to fight…"
"until his very life is taken."
The tone did not rise.
But it changed.
Now there was direction.
She then turned her gaze to Caelan.
"Caelan…"
"bring the White Raven to me."
Caelan held her gaze.
One second longer than protocol demanded.
"Forgive the insolence…"
"but what kind of agreement do you intend to offer?"
Elara did not look away.
A slight smile appeared.
Not gentle.
Precise.
"One that makes refusal… impossible."
No hesitation.
Caelan smiled faintly.
"As you command."
His head inclined just enough.
He turned in a clean movement.
And left without delay.
Darion remained a moment longer.
Eyes still on the field.
A slight adjustment in posture—
as if still measuring something.
"About time."
Then he followed.
The wind continued along the walls.
But now—
there was no more waiting.