The cool evening air still buzzed from Nero and Khione’s spar when Elreth returned. She walked into the training area, her spear resting on her shoulder, her expression not frustrated but focused. She had burned off her agitation on the mountain. Now she saw an opportunity.
She stopped before them, her amber eyes settling on Nero. "Spar with ," she said, her voice calm yet carrying the weight of a royal request. "Just fire. Knight to knight. No lightning."
Nero glanced at Khione, who stood to the side, arms crossed, her face a neutral mask. She gave the barest nod. He looked back at Elreth, seeing the competitive fire banked in her gaze. This wasn’t about diplomacy or recruitnt. This was about the purity of the clash. He felt his own spirit rise to et it.
"Alright," he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Just fire."
They moved to the center of the grassy field. Elreth took her stance, her black spear a horizontal line of readiness. Nero raised his sword, letting the golden Lightning fade entirely from his mind. He reached for the Law of Fire. Not his usual roaring, explosive fla. He thought of control. Of precision like a blacksmith in a forge, perfectioning his craft.
His sword ignited not with orange, but with a deep, steady blue fla. The hotter, quieter, more intense fire. Elreth’s eyes widened a fraction in recognition and respect before narrowing in concentration, his control over this law was perfect like her, even more. Her own spear blazed to life with the classic, vibrant orange of the Samael royal fla.
For a heartbeat, there was perfect stillness.
Then they moved.
It wasn’t a charge. It was like an eruption.
They t in the center of the field with a cataclysmic CLASH.
Blue and orange fire exploded outward in a ring, incinerating the grass in a twenty-foot circle instantly, leaving blackened earth.
Elreth moved with a flurry of thrusts and sweeps, her spear an extension of her will. Each motion was fluid and practiced, showcasing the refined technique of a royal guard honed over years of training. "Searing Thrust!" Her spearpoint transford into a needle of intense heat, stabbing toward his heart. Nero responded by parrying with his blue-flad sword, eting her orange-tipped spear. The clash released a burst of superheated air that scorched the ground nearby. Though less polished, he was adaptable and strong. He countered with a powerful strike and a heavy downward chop, aiming to break her defense, his blue flas roaring.
Elreth didn’t block it. She deflected it, spinning her spear so the flat of the blade guided his strike into the dirt. The impact cratered the earth, spraying molten soil. She used the opening to whip the butt of her spear at his head.
He ducked, the air sizzling above him, and ca up with a wide "Fla Crescent" from his sword. She backflipped over it, the blue fire passing beneath her, and landed already lunging again.
They beca blurs of color and destruction. They didn’t stay in the circle. They fought across the field, then into the edge of the wooded area behind the villa.
Elreth was elegance and pressure. "Phoenix Wing Slash!" She’d spin, her spear tracing a wide arc of fire that cut through the lower branches of pine trees, which instantly caught fire like giant torches.
Nero was raw power and surprise.
"Flare Burst!"
He’d stomp the ground, and pillars of blue fire would erupt around Elreth, forcing her to leap and twist acrobatically through the air to avoid them. Where she landed, the ground was scorched.
They moved through the forest like a pair of battling dragons. Trunks were blackened and split by errant strikes. Undergrowth vaporized in puffs of smoke. The air grew hazy and hot, filled with the sll of ozone and burning pine.
Through it all, they began to smile. Not smug smiles, but the fierce, joyous grins of two masters speaking the sa beautiful, destructive language. A language of heat and motion. For a mont, the clans, the politics, the mission—it all fell away. There was only the clash, the heat, the exhilarating test of skill.
Khione watched from a safe distance, a cool pillar in the inferno. Her eyes tracked every move, analytical and sharp.
Elreth was winning the technical battle. She landed more glancing blows—a searing graze on his arm, a tap on his ribs that burned through his shirt. She was faster on the recovery, her movents economical.
But Nero had endurance. And he had Khione watching. He wouldn’t let her win. Not here. Not now.
He saw a pattern. Elreth favored a combo: a high thrust, a low sweep, then a spinning finisher. She was setting him up for it again.
As she went for the low sweep, instead of jumping, he took it. He let the fiery shaft of her spear connect with his shin. The pain was instant and blinding, but his reinforced training gear absorbed the worst. It locked her weapon in place for a split second.
In that second, he dropped his sword.
Elreth’s eyes went wide with surprise.
He lunged inside her guard, past the point of her spear. His hands, wreathed in intense blue fire, shot out. One grabbed the shaft of her spear behind the head, his fire clashing with hers. The other hand ford a claw aid at her throat, stopping a hair’s breadth away. The heat from his blue flas washed over her face.
They froze.
The forest around them crackled with dying fires. Smoke drifted between them.
Elreth was panting, her orange flas sputtering out on her spear. She looked from the fiery claw at her neck to his determined eyes. She hadn’t been overpowered. She’d been out-thought. He’d sacrificed a move to create an opening she never saw coming.
Slowly, the fierce grin returned to her face, mixed with genuine respect. She lowered her spear.
Nero let his flas die and stepped back, limping slightly from the burn on his leg. The silent fight was over.
He had won.
Khione walked over, her gaze sweeping over the scorched, smoldering battlefield, then settling on Nero. Her expression was unreadable, but a flicker of sothing like pride ward her icy eyes for just a mont.
Elreth took a deep breath, the thrill of the fight fading, replaced by a new, solid understanding of the man she was tasked to ally with. He wasn’t just power. He was will, adaptability, and a willingness to take a hit to win.
"Next ti," she said, her voice hoarse from the smoke, "I won’t fall for that."
"I’ll think of sothing new," Nero replied, offering a pained but genuine smile.
The three of them stood in the wreckage, the sun almost gone, the first stars appearing above the tendrils of smoke. The unseen eyes felt very far away.
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