Andrew_Nickene

In a war torn continent ruled by tyrants and legends, Kael a young swordsman with a myserious back story departs into a journey that will uncover secrets buried deep within the history of past empiers,kingdoms and bloodlines of kings. Raised in the shadow of a forgotten legacy Kael is thrust in to a repeated never ending story.

Ashren

Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Blood That Remains

The battlefield quieted for just a moment.

Only the rustling of flags and the stomp of restless horses filled the silence as Kael stood firm, dust clinging to his cloak.

Alex hadn't gone far when Kael's voice rang out, loud and proud.

"If you think you're so great, Alex—if you think you're the one who deserves to carry Andrew's legacy—then fight me. Like a leader. Like a warrior. Let's see who's truly worthy."

Slowly, he turned, his expression unreadable. Then a small smirk curled across his lips—not from joy, but from bitter irony.

"You want to battle me?" he said with a low voice that crackled with restrained magic. "Fine."

The soldiers spread out. The two forces created a wide ring, a silent arena under the dying sun.

Kael dropped his cloak, stepping forward. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword. Every part of him burned—not with anger, but with resolve.

Alex raised one hand, runes glowing down his arms, his power drawing in like a storm over the sea.

The duel erupted in a flash of steel and fire.

Kael moved quickly, channeling what he learned from David and Andrew, his form sharp, precise—but Alex was a storm. His magic was relentless, his attacks unpredictable, every blow laced with controlled chaos.

For a moment, Kael matched him, pushing forward through the arcs of fire and force, striking Alex's shoulder.

Alex raised his hand skyward. The wind roared. His voice boomed like thunder.

A giant sphere of compressed magic spiraled in his palm, glowing a vicious red, vibrating with violent energy.

Kael's eyes widened. There was no time to dodge.

In front of Kael stood a tall, armored figure cloaked in emerald. His stance was wide, gauntlets glowing with protective enchantments, the tips of his armor like sharpened leaves.

"ENOUGH!" he roared. His voice shook the mountains.

"Who are you, Alex, to raise your hand against the son of the sister of our Lord?! Have you lost your mind?"

Alex's face twisted, a wild mix of rage and pain.

"Don't speak to me of him," he snarled, the sphere dispersing in smoke. "Andrew is dead. And his legacy is left in the hands of punks like him—children playing kings, walking in the bloodied boots of titans."

He stepped closer, eyes locked on Green Wolf, voice trembling with emotion.

"He was my cousin. So was that madman Andreas. And you know what? I still hate him. He killed my family. He left me with nothing. He said it was for his 'vision.' But his vision left ash. Blood. Graves."

"You carry both their blood—Andrew and Andreas. Do you even understand what that means? What it costs?"

Kael sat on one knee, panting, his body scorched from the battle.

"He doesn't yet. But he will. And you, Alex—you're too broken to guide him."

The forest behind them whispered, the wind carrying the scent of ash and old magic.

Alex said nothing more. He turned to his army.

"Fall back. We're done here—for now."

Kael looked up at the towering warrior who had saved him.

"I am." The warrior nodded. "And you have much to learn, Kael. More than even your father knew."