Eira's journey had taken him across lands both harsh and lonely. From the village he last saw, he traveled tirelessly, meeting people and witnessing places that reminded him of fragments of memories he didn't fully understand. A month passed in fleeting days and endless nights, and now his path led him to the desert—a vast, sunbaked expanse that stretched endlessly under the harsh sky. Yet, as he crossed it, a faint shimmer appeared in the distance, a strange aura that drew him forward.
He entered a realm unlike anything he had seen before. The air was crisp, almost painfully cold, and the first real snow of his life fell softly around him, drifting in delicate swirls. But there was no time to marvel. The village here—a small settlement hidden within the snow—was under siege. Two S-rank mages had appeared, one already down, and Iris, the chief's daughter, fought valiantly, her energy almost spent. Villagers scattered from the fire, and cries for help echoed through the icy streets.
Children, wide-eyed and trembling, ran to Eira. "Please! Save us!" they begged. The chief, pale and wounded, struggled to stand. Iris gritted her teeth, her golden eyes flashing with determination even as she teetered on the edge of collapse.
Eira didn't hesitate. He stepped into the fray, feeling the surge of power within this snowbound realm amplify his own abilities. His sword glinted, shimmering blue as the dragon swooped beside him, engaging the fire mage with a storm of frost and ice.
The fire mage's spear cut through the air, leaving a trail of red and black mana like molten rivers twisting violently around the village. With a roar, she slammed it into the ground, sending a shockwave that flattened wooden huts and shattered ice-covered bridges. The snow around Eira erupted in response—blinding white flakes whirling in spirals so dense they blocked out the sun. Each flake carried the weight of his power, sharp enough to pierce stone and thick enough to shield him from the fire mage's initial blast.
Eira dashed forward, boots crunching on ice, and the dragon leaped into the air above him, wings beating like storm clouds. With a single slash, his sword cut through the firewave, leaving a trail of glowing blue frost. The shockwave collided with the fire mage's attack, creating a ring of turbulent mana that lifted villagers off their feet and sent chunks of ice flying like projectiles.
The wind mage, sensing the danger, moved to intercept him. Eira spun, deflecting a whip of cutting wind with precise arcs of his blade. The air around him shimmered, a frozen halo of blue energy marking every step he took. With a lightning-quick maneuver, he struck the wind mage from above, the force sending him crashing into the snow-laden ground. He rose immediately, and with a flick of his wrist, a frozen spike shot forward to pin the mage in place.
But the fire mage had not weakened. She roared again, rage igniting her aura until black tendrils of flame and red mana wrapped around her like living shadows. Iris, struggling, fired her remaining magic in desperation, but her attacks barely grazed the S-rank opponent. The dragon roared in sync with Eira, charging alongside him to intercept the mage's deadly strikes.
The snowstorm intensified. Blades clashed with spears, fire collided with ice, and the ground cracked beneath them as the battlefield transformed into a chaotic dance of magic and steel. Villagers crouched behind walls of ice, watching in awe as Eira's blade flared with power, each swing sending arcs of blue light that froze the air itself. Every movement was precise yet overwhelming, a blur of snow, energy, and force.
Eira found his opening when the fire mage lunged too far forward, her partner already defeated and her rage blinding her. He coiled his sword in a high arc, summoning the Snow Despair technique—the same that had first awoken the awe of those who watched him months ago. The air grew colder, snowflakes larger, each carrying the weight of his concentrated mana. The dragon unleashed a simultaneous attack, ice shards raining down, cutting off her escape.
With one final, blinding strike, Eira pierced the fire mage's defenses. She stumbled back, mangled mana arcs dissipating into the snow. Her spear fell from her hands, and the flames around her flickered weakly, finally collapsing. The air stilled, and the snow slowly settled over the village, blanketing the remnants of destruction in quiet white.
Iris, leaning heavily on her blade, looked up at Eira with golden eyes wide in disbelief and relief. The snow dragon landed beside him, coiling protectively around its rider. The village lay quiet again, the only sound the wind whispering through frozen trees and the faint crackle of dissipating mana. Children crept out from their hiding spots, peeking at the silver-haired stranger who had saved them.
Eira, breathing hard, felt the weight of responsibility settle on him once more. His sword hummed faintly, the lingering energy of Snow Despair pulsing through his veins. Around him, the dragon glowed faintly, as if recognizing its master's exhaustion yet sharing in the victory. And though the villagers thanked him with tears in their eyes, Eira could only stare at the falling snow, the serenity and terror of battle mingling in his mind.
He knew this was just the beginning.
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Eira in the present
They didn't plan the duel.
It started with a glance, a shared understanding, blades drawn without a word. Iris moved unpredictably, her sword hooking at odd angles, slipping past defenses like a shadow with wings.
Eira felt it then—the silence of movement.
He stopped chasing her blade and let his own drift, gliding, cutting shallow lines through the air until he found the gap. His sword kissed her armor, then vanished back into guard.
They froze.
Iris laughed quietly. "You learned it."
"Ravenfall Drift," Eira said.
She lowered her sword. "You're dangerous now."
Not as praise.
As fact.