Chapter 35: A Duel of Fate

The air around the palace gates felt colder, the tension thick and suffocating. Akin stared down the figure standing before him—the rebel leader who had orchestrated the fall of Eldoria, who had been a ghost in the shadows for too long. Now, he was no longer a shadow. He was real, and he was here.

The man's dark armor gleamed under the flickering torchlight, and the polished silver of his helmet reflected the surrounding chaos. His sword was drawn, a jagged blade etched with old, forbidden runes that made Akin's blood run cold. He was no ordinary soldier; the weight of his presence was unmistakable.

Behind Akin, the clash of battle raged on, his soldiers pushing back the remaining rebels as they fought for control of the palace. But none of it mattered in that moment. All that existed was Akin and the man before him.

"I've waited for this day," the rebel leader spoke again, his voice steady, cold as ice. "You should have died with your father. But here you stand, defiant as ever."

Akin's jaw clenched, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. "You'll regret not finishing the job when you had the chance."

The man let out a low, mocking laugh. "Regret? No. The fall of Eldoria is already written. You're merely delaying the inevitable."

Akin's heart pounded, his fury simmering just beneath the surface. This was the man responsible for everything—his father's death, his mother's suicide, Seraphina's capture. He could feel the weight of all those losses bearing down on him, pushing him to the edge.

"I'm going to make sure you never get the chance to destroy anything again," Akin growled, raising his sword.

The man tilted his head slightly, as if considering Akin's words, before taking a step forward. "I'd like to see you try."

With that, the rebel leader surged forward, his blade slicing through the air with lethal precision. Akin barely had time to react, bringing his own sword up to meet the strike with a resounding *clang*. The force of the blow reverberated through his arms, but he held his ground, gritting his teeth as he pushed back against the rebel's strength.

The duel had begun.

Akin moved with the speed and grace of a seasoned warrior, every strike calculated, every parry precise. But the rebel leader was no mere soldier. His movements were unnervingly quick, his strikes powerful, each one forcing Akin to give ground.

Their swords clashed again and again, the sound of steel ringing out through the night. Sparks flew with every impact, lighting the space between them in brief flashes of fiery light. Akin's muscles burned with effort, but he refused to falter. This was no ordinary opponent, but he couldn't afford to lose—not here, not now.

"You fight well," the rebel leader sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "But it won't be enough."

Akin ignored the taunt, focusing instead on the rhythm of the fight. He was looking for an opening, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. His father had taught him the importance of patience in battle—to never rush a strike, to let the enemy make the first mistake.

The rebel leader swung his jagged blade in a wide arc, aiming for Akin's neck. Akin ducked, feeling the wind of the blade as it passed mere inches from his head. In the split second that followed, Akin drove his sword forward, aiming for the man's unguarded side.

But the rebel was fast—too fast. He twisted away, Akin's blade slicing through empty air. The rebel retaliated with a brutal strike to Akin's midsection, the force of the blow sending him stumbling backward.

Akin's vision blurred for a moment, the breath knocked from his lungs. He could feel the sharp sting of pain radiating from his ribs, but he forced himself to stand, to keep moving. He couldn't afford to stop now.

"You're slowing down," the rebel leader taunted, his eyes gleaming with amusement from behind his helmet. "I expected more from the son of Thorian Valion."

At the mention of his father, a surge of anger rushed through Akin, fueling his resolve. He straightened, wiping the blood from his mouth, and squared his shoulders.

"My father died protecting this kingdom," Akin said, his voice low and fierce. "He died for something you'll never understand—honor."

The rebel leader scoffed. "Honor? Your father was a fool, clinging to outdated ideals. And now you'll follow him to the grave."

Akin's grip tightened on his sword. "No. You're the one who'll fall."

With a roar, Akin launched himself forward, his sword a blur as he unleashed a flurry of strikes. The rebel leader met him blow for blow, but Akin was relentless, pressing his advantage with every swing of his blade. He could feel the tide of the battle shifting—his anger, his determination giving him the edge.

But the rebel leader was no novice. He parried Akin's strikes with practiced ease, his movements fluid and controlled. He was waiting for something—waiting for Akin to make a mistake.

And then it happened.

Akin's next strike was just a fraction too slow. The rebel leader saw his opening and moved with lightning speed, his jagged blade slicing through the air toward Akin's exposed side.

Akin barely managed to raise his sword in time, the force of the blow sending him crashing to the ground. Pain shot through his body as he hit the stone hard, his vision swimming. He could feel the cold steel of the rebel leader's sword pressed against his throat, and for a moment, everything seemed to stop.

"Your fight ends here," the rebel leader said, his voice a deadly whisper.

Akin's heart raced, his mind spinning as he stared up at the man who had taken everything from him. Was this how it would end? Was this how his story would be written?

But then, in the distance, Akin heard a sound—faint but unmistakable. The sound of hooves. Reinforcements.

The rebel leader must have heard it too, because his grip faltered for just a moment. And that moment was all Akin needed.

With a burst of strength, Akin twisted to the side, knocking the rebel leader's sword away and rolling to his feet. He didn't hesitate. With a powerful swing, Akin brought his sword down, striking the rebel leader across the chest.

The man staggered back, blood pouring from the wound. His breath came in ragged gasps, his face pale beneath his helmet.

"You… you'll never win," the rebel leader rasped, clutching his chest. "This kingdom is already lost."

Akin stared down at him, his sword still raised, his chest heaving. "You're wrong. It's not over yet."

With one final, swift motion, Akin brought his sword down, ending the rebel leader's life. The man crumpled to the ground, his dark armor stained with blood, the last flicker of life fading from his eyes.

Akin stood over him, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart pounding in his chest. It was done. The leader of the rebellion—the man responsible for his father's death, for Seraphina's capture—was dead.

But Akin knew this was only the beginning. The rebellion wouldn't end with the death of one man. There were still battles to be fought, still lives to be saved.

As the sounds of reinforcements echoed through the streets, Akin wiped the blood from his sword and turned toward the palace gates. His sister was still out there, and he would find her.

The fight for Eldoria was far from over.