The horns didn't stop.
They came again and again, rolling across the burning plains like the cries of gods calling mortals to judgment.
Banners rose from the distant hills—black and gold for Voltair, crimson and silver for Infris. Thousands marched beneath each, their armor glinting in the firelight of the ruined sky.
The battlefield that had just begun to quiet was alive again.
Duke Viron stood on a broken ridge, the wind whipping at his torn coat. His blade rested against his shoulder, blood dripping from its edge. Behind him, the reinforcements of Voltair surged forward—lines of soldiers, mages, and elemental knights filling the horizon.
He could barely hear their shouts over the howling of his own heartbeat.
Below, General Lyrn was being pulled back by his men, his armor cracked and his flames dimmed. Yet even then, the fire in his eyes hadn't faded. When their gazes met across the wreckage, neither spoke. The silence said enough.
They would finish this—but not now.
---
From the east, Earl Simon arrived with the second division of Voltair. His frost-element troops advanced in tight formations, cold mist rolling around them as they crossed over the charred earth.
At his side rode Duchess Florida, her silver hair fluttering beneath her hood, a chain-whip of glowing blue energy coiled in her hand. Her calm eyes studied the burning expanse before them.
"So it begins again," she murmured.
Simon's breath fogged in the air. "No... it never ended."
---
Across the field, Duke Akram of Infris led the counterforce—a wall of soldiers in red armor, their steps in perfect rhythm. Fire sigils burned above their heads, and every man's weapon glowed faintly with the blessing of Lyrn's flame.
"Push forward!" Akram's voice thundered. "The Azure Fiend's banner will not fall today!"
Beside him, Marshall Ragis slammed his cleaver into the ground, sending ripples of crimson soul energy through the soil. "Let them come! The flames will consume everything they touch!"
---
As the two tides met, the world became chaos once more.
Steel clashed against steel, elemental blasts tore through the ranks, and the ground was slick with rain and blood.
Earl Simon and Earl Moonstone found each other again—this time amidst the storm of war.
"Round two?" Moonstone grinned, his eyes reflecting Simon's icy glare.
Simon raised his hand. Frost spiraled outward, freezing arrows in midair. "You never learn, do you?"
Their elements erupted again, frost and flame devouring hundreds around them.
---
Further north, Marshall Nomu of Voltair crashed into Marshall Ragis. Their weapons struck with enough force to crush boulders. Nomu's glaive sang with radiant white soul light, while Ragis's cleaver burned like a living demon.
"You still fight like a wild beast," Nomu snarled, parrying a strike that nearly broke his arm.
Ragis grinned. "And you still talk too much."
They collided again—no grace, no restraint. Just raw power. Every hit echoed like thunder, every miss gouged the earth.
---
From high above, Duke Viron and General Lyrn—both injured, both refusing to fall—watched their armies collide once more. The storm had dimmed, the fire had weakened, but their wills burned brighter than ever.
The war wasn't ending. It was spreading.
Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the countless soldiers still locked in battle.
As dawn began to break, the plains of Saelthorne were no longer green or red—they were gray, drowned in ash and memory.
And yet, even through the ruin, both sides raised their flags again.
Because neither was ready to surrender.
Not to fate.
Not to each other.
The storm of war would continue to rage.
___