The Clash I Didn’t Choose

Kain Rivel stood in Rivermist's square, the dual axes strapped to his harness like a badge of defiance he didn't want. Yesterday, he'd shoved Mya Seraphine's plan back in her face—refusing to raid Leon's caravan, demanding his own path. Her kiss, her "I love you," still burned, a mix of fire and chains he couldn't shake. She'd yielded—sort of—letting him "decide," but her eyes promised she'd never let go. Kain wasn't her pawn, not fully, but he wasn't free either.

"I'll carve my own way," he muttered, gripping an axe. A cough rattled his chest, but he squared his shoulders. "No more games."

Hooves thundered, cutting his resolve short. Dust billowed, and the square erupted—villagers scattering, bandits grabbing spears. Leon Valtor rode in, golden armor blazing, flanked by six knights. His blue eyes locked on Kain, sharp with hate.

"Rivel!" Leon roared, dismounting. His sword gleamed, drawn in a flash. "Your bandits hit my scouts last night! This ends now!"

Kain's stomach dropped. "Bandits?" he rasped, glaring at the scarred leader nearby. "I said no raids!"

The leader shrugged, grinning. "Thought we'd soften 'em up, boss. For you!"

"For me?" Kain snarled, coughing. "You idiots!"

Leon advanced, knights fanning out. "You've built a rabble. Corrupted Mya. I'll cut you down!"

"She corrupted herself!" Kain shot back, yanking an axe free. It wobbled, but he held it high. "I didn't ask for this!"

"Then prove it!" Leon lunged, sword arcing. Kain swung the axe—wild, desperate. Metal clashed, the jolt knocking him back. The second axe slipped, thunking into a barrel, and he stumbled, coughing violently.

The crowd gasped. "He's fighting the hero!" Tobin yelled.

"Fighting to live!" Kain wheezed, scrambling up. Leon pressed, his blade slicing air where Kain had been.

"You're no match," Leon spat, striking again. Kain ducked—barely—swinging the axe in a messy arc. It grazed Leon's armor, sparking, and Kain tripped, hitting the dirt.

"Pathetic," Leon sneered, raising his sword. A shadow flashed—Mya, her silver hair whipping as she parried Leon's blow with her own blade.

"Mine," she hissed, shoving him back. Her eyes flicked to Kain, fierce and soft. "You don't touch him."

Leon staggered, glaring. "You'd die for this worm?"

"Live for him," she said, her smile sharp. She glanced at Kain, a silent plea—stay with me.

Kain coughed, grabbing the fallen axe. "I don't need saving!" he barked, hauling himself up. "Back off—both of you!"

Mya hesitated, her sword lowering. Leon laughed, cold. "You're nothing without her. A fraud!"

"Then fight me!" Kain roared, defiance drowning his fear. He charged—stupidly, maybe—swinging both axes. They clashed with Leon's sword, the force rattling his bones. He slid back, boots digging in, coughing but standing.

Leon's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Luck," he muttered, lunging again. Kain sidestepped—barely—swinging an axe. It missed, flying free, embedding in a knight's shield. The knight yelped, and the crowd cheered.

"Luck?" Kain rasped, gripping the remaining axe. "Try me!"

Mya stepped aside, watching, her smile twitching—pride, hunger. "That's it," she murmured, her voice low. "Fight."

Leon roared, slashing. Kain blocked—metal screeched—and the axe held, but his arms buckled. He shoved back, coughing, and Leon stumbled, surprised.

"Not bad," Leon growled, circling. "But you're done." He thrust, aiming for Kain's chest.

A spear flew—bandit-thrown—knocking Leon's sword aside. The leader grinned. "Boss holds his own!"

"Stop helping!" Kain yelled, but Mya darted in, her blade clashing with Leon's again.

"Enough," she said, driving him back. "He's mine, Leon. Leave."

Leon parried, furious. "Yours? He's a leech! You're blind!"

"She's blind and I'm pissed!" Kain snapped, heaving the axe at Leon. It spun, clumsy but fast, clipping his pauldron. Leon flinched, and Mya laughed—bright, wild.

"See?" she said, her eyes on Kain. "He's more than you."

"More than dead," Leon snarled, retreating to his horse. "This isn't over, Rivel! I'll crush you—and your rabble!" He mounted, knights falling back, and rode off, dust swirling.

The villagers erupted, chanting Kain's name. The bandits saluted, spears raised. Kain sank to his knees, coughing, the lone axe thudding beside him. "I'm alive," he rasped. "Barely."

Mya knelt, her hand cupping his face. "You fought," she said, her voice soft—too soft. "For me."

"For me!" he corrected, shoving her hand off. But his glare faltered—her eyes, her closeness, hit hard. "I'm not your damn prize!"

"You are," she whispered, leaning in. Her lips brushed his—quick, fierce—and Kain froze, heat flooding him. He pushed her back, but not fast enough.

"Stop that!" he growled, standing. His cough flared, but he squared up. "I fight for me, Mya. Not you."

She rose, smiling—possessive, loving. "You fought him off. That's enough for now." Her fingers grazed his arm, and he didn't pull away—not right away.

"Enough?" he rasped, glaring. "Leon's coming back. And I'm not bending—to him or you."

"Good," she said, her gaze burning. "I love that fire. We'll use it."

"We?" He scoffed, grabbing the axe. "I decide what's next. Me."

Her laugh rang out, sharp and warm. "You will," she said, stepping back. "But you're still mine, Kain Rivel."

He coughed, turning away, the axe heavy in his grip. "We'll see," he muttered, defiance simmering. The crowd sang his "victory," but Mya's presence—and that damn kiss—kept him tethered, whether he liked it or not.