"Die old-timer! The boy is next."
What choice did the old man had except to accept the Fate written for him. He couldn't even protect the young child who entrusted his life to him.
It took him a second to realise that he was still alive, with a look of confusion he opened up his eyes and turned around to notice something unimaginable.
The sword stopped dead in its tracks just as it was about to slice his neck. A small, glistening knife was held by the enemy close to his face, lodged in the golden armour with such precision that it was obvious it had been perfectly aimed. The old man leaped to a more secure position and turned his head sideways, just in time to see Norvin. The boy was gasping for air, looking devastated, and holding a new weapon that had previously been strapped to his back: a small axe with a handle of the perfect length for his size.
With a final, terrified grunt, Norvin charged into the fray. He moved not with practiced grace, but with the desperate fury of a cornered animal. The old man, still recovering, could only watch as Norvin darted around the knight's legs, a blur of motion. The knight, enraged and distracted by this unexpected nuisance, focused his next swing on the boy, but Norvin ducked, and the mighty sword slammed into the ground.
"Now!" Norvin yelled, his voice hoarse.
The old man, seizing the moment, unleashed a torrent of icy shards that rained down on the knight, forcing him to momentarily abandon his focus on Norvin. The boy, in a fleeting second of clear thought, had given the old man the opening he needed. For the first time, Norvin wasn't just a scared boy hiding; he was a terrified survivor, fighting to protect the one person who had been willing to protect him.
As the dust cleared, it was clear that the icy shards didn't have much of an effect on the knight's resilient armour. He stood tall, shaking off the ice particles, his maddened grin returning. "Oh! It seems the little mouse has a bit of courage after all," he taunted, his voice dripping with venom.
"An old man whom the Awen don't favour anymore, and a fickle child who has no ounce of numen." He punctuated the final word with a cruel chuckle. "Too bad today will be the last sunset he'll ever see."
He roared, "Piedra Baraiste!", and a barrage of massive, sharp stones hammered down upon them with crushing force.
The old man scrambled, continuously conjuring one thick ice wall after another to block the relentless assault. He was struggling, his breath coming in ragged gasps, yet in that moment, a weary but satisfied smile touched his lips. He was glad to be alive, and even more so to be saved by the boy, who clearly didn't understand any of the words spoken by the enemy.
Who was this Awen? Why did it not support the old man anymore? Was Norvin fighting for the wrong side?
But the battlefield was no place to meddle with such unsettling thoughts. His mind was a maelstrom of confusion, yet he had to focus, to survive, to fight on. The boy had chosen to stay and fight, and he would not let him down.
The boy met the old man's gaze, his young face set with grim resolve.
"I have a plan."
As the barrage of stones ceased, a chilling silence fell over the battlefield. The dust, thick and choking, swallowed Norvin whole. He was nowhere to be seen, it was as if the earth had simply consumed him. The old man, with a cunning smile, leaped high into the air, mimicking the enemy's vertical jump. Both combatants were now airborne, suspended in a tense moment of a silent standoff.
The old man gathered all his remaining magic, his face strained with effort, and chanted, "Hielo Fabhcuin!"
A maelstrom of huge birds, each one carved from ice, burst into being and swarmed the golden-armoured knight. The enemy, startled, instinctively raised his massive sword to defend himself while plummeting back toward the ground. He chuckled, a sound full of arrogant madness. "You damn birds," he grumbled, batting them away with brutal swings. Suddenly, a single bird detached from the flock, appearing behind him. And perched upon it was Norvin, his face a mask of fierce determination, swinging his tiny axe. The knight caught the axe effortlessly. "You really thought that would work, boy?" he sneered with a laugh.
"No," Norvin gasped as they both landed on the ground, the knight having shattered the ice bird with another powerful swing, throwing Norvin backward. "But he can make it work!" Norvin yelled, pointing to the old man. The golden-armoured knight, now known as Zephyr, realized with a gasp that the old man was no longer visible. Just then, many ice spears, sharp and silent, erupted from the ground, piercing his golden armour and burying itself deep into his dominant right arm. A guttural scream of anguish tore from his throat as blood began to pour from the deep wound.
"You... you bastard! You copied my magic!" Zephyr roared, his voice laced with rage. The attack had not only injured him but deeply wounded his ego. His maniacal side began to emerge. "I will not let you die without paying the debt for this disgrace!" he threatened, his eyes alight with fury.
"Tierra Cruinneachan!" he bellowed, unleashing a powerful tremor. A gigantic, jagged wall of earth erupted from the ground, circling them both and sealing the three of them inside.
The old man and Norvin looked on in confusion as the walls formed, and then a dome closed in above them, blocking out the sun and plunging them into absolute darkness. Breaking out was clearly impossible; the earth walls were thick and unyielding.
In the choking darkness, Zephyr's voice, now thick with a chilling rage, echoed all around them. "My name.. is ..Zephyr, and I will not allow anyone to live who has dared to stain my dignity! By my honour and valour, you two.. will ..die here at this Moment! PIEDRA BARAISTE!"
A continuous barrage of huge, sharp stones began to fly through the air in all possible directions, leaving no way to hide. The old man and Norvin were petrified, unable to see anything in the oppressive dark. Without a moment's hesitation, the old man, acting on pure instinct, threw himself over Norvin, shielding him with his body. The rocks hammered into him, one after another, a terrifying drumbeat of destruction. He nearly lost consciousness, his once pristine purple robe now torn to shreds and stained with his own blood. Norvin was damaged too but not as severely as the old man.
As the barrage finally stopped, the old man lay almost motionless. "Old man!" Norvin said with a defying horrified voice. With a final, desperate gasp, he began to chant, "Hielo Ionramháil," his voice a mere whisper. The entire rugged ground within the dome was instantly covered with a thin, glowing sheet of ice. Just as he finished the spell, his body gave in, and he collapsed, his eyes fluttering closed as he lost consciousness.
Norvin, gasping in shock, looked at the old man's still form. "No... this wasn't supposed to happen," he choked out, his voice filled with a devastating mix of grief and horror. He was now alone in the darkness.
Suddenly, a beautiful, radiant blue light began to emanate from the icy ground. It was the most beautiful thing Norvin had ever seen. The glow illuminated the space, casting a gentle light upon the horrific scene. He could see the old man's face, peaceful despite his injuries, and the jagged, blood-stained earth surrounding the spell's circle.
From the shadows, the enraged Zephyr emerged. His golden armour was dented, his right arm hung at an awkward angle, and his face was a mask of pure fury. He held a bloodied sword in his left hand, and his eyes were locked on Norvin.
"He's dead now," Zephyr said, his voice a low growl. "Your little protector is gone. There's nothing you can do."
Norvin didn't respond. He simply stared at the beautiful, glowing ice, a masterpiece of . The old man, in his final conscious act, hadn't just made a spell for their escape; he had created something that shone with a quiet, powerful beauty, a contrast to the brutal world around them.
"You look amazed," Zephyr taunted, stepping closer. "Enjoy it while you can. It's the last pretty thing you'll ever see."
Norvin met his gaze, his eyes no longer filled with fear, but with a new, quiet determination. He took a deep breath, clutching his small axe tightly. In that moment, he understood. This wasn't about surviving anymore. It was about honouring the man who had given his life for him. The glowing ice wasn't a trick; it was a testament. It was a final lesson.
Zephyr sent a mighty blow toward Norvin with his left hand, but the boy simply vanished from his sight. This left Zephyr utterly confused. How could a mere child who knew nothing of magic simply disappear? It was because the radiant blue light of the icy sheet was slowly receding from its edges toward Zephyr, stopping just a few feet away from him. Zephyr's greatest advantage, the darkness, had been cleverly used against him by the old man. Norvin had simply vanished into the shadows.
"Damn you, old man!" Zephyr roared, his voice thick with frustration. "I should have killed you before when I had the chance!"
Norvin's voice echoed through the dark, its origin uncertain but its intent clear. "Yes," he said with a chilling determination, "you should have, now suffer!"
Hundreds of axes seemed to materialize from the darkness, all flying toward Zephyr. They specifically targeted his broken hand and his head, a relentless barrage of attacks. For a moment, Zephyr was utterly bewildered. How could a mere child summon so many axes? The first axe came close enough to graze his face, leaving a shallow, bloody cut across his nose.
"Brat!" he screamed in a mix of pain and fury. "I'll squish your head to a pulp!"
But the other axes simply passed through his body. Zephyr, a seasoned warrior, quickly realized this was an illusion, a masterful trick of reflection caused by the ice. Only one of them was the original. Furious and aimless, he began throwing slashes and attacking in every direction, hoping to catch Norvin. But Norvin had the upper hand; he could clearly see Zephyr, because the radiant blue light followed him wherever he moved, making him a perfect, glowing target in the darkness.
"That brat has no numen," Zephyr thought, his frustration mounting. "He's using this to his advantage, mixing well with the Awen in the dark. But for how long?"
"You thought using yourself as a distraction would let the old man defeat me," Zephyr spat, his voice laced with rage. "But he lies dead now, and a brat doesn't have the guts to face me head-on. Your stupid and hideous plan failed the moment you got trapped in my spell. You will die a gruesome death. I only need to catch you once, boy, and you... are... dead."
To which Norvin calmly replied, "I'm no brat. My name is Norvin." In that instant, another original axe slammed into Zephyr's broken arm, cutting away the remaining flesh that held it together. The arm, now severed, fell to the glowing ice with a sickening thud.
"And my plan isn't stupid," Norvin added.
Zephyr was in utter disbelief. He had lost his arm, not to a legendary warrior, but to a child. The shock was enough to momentarily freeze him. Then, a figure emerged from the darkness before Norvin could even finish his words. It was the old man, his torn robe soaked in blood, a powerful ice spear in his hand. He thrust it forward with a final, desperate burst of strength, pinning Zephyr to the glowing ice.
"YOU... how... how are you not dead, old man?" Zephyr choked out, his voice filled with terror and bewilderment. "You can't be! It's impossible! I watched you fall!"
"Some plans have more than one stage," the old man rasped, his eyes barely open. "This one required two."
"Curse you!" Zephyr screamed, his body writhing on the spear*. "I will kill you! I will kill you, Norvin!"* This was the first and last time he spoke the boy's name.
Norvin, without a moment of hesitation, raised his axe and brought it down swiftly, severing Zephyr's head from his neck. Norvin had never hold an weapon in his entire life, but at this moment he had perfectly grasped the axe with proper stance. The head tumbled across the uneven ground into a lower grove. His long yellow hair was now drenched in blood, and his blood-red eyes, still wide with rage, bore only an unrelenting hatred toward Norvin and the old man.