Reunion

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The tower's echo still rang in their ears.

Cain and Asteria moved through the lower palace corridors like phantoms, bloodied and limping, but far from defeated. Asteria clutched his side, every breath a burn, while Cain's steps were labored, one shoulder dislocated and hastily wrapped.

But they didn't stop.

The palace was a maze of white marble, velvet drapes, and polished silver. They ducked behind statues, slipped through servant tunnels, and followed the whispers of cooler air as they avoided the main patrol routes.

Above them, the Queen's elemental energy still pulsed like a stormcloud—crackling, smothering, demanding. Even from several floors down, they felt it.

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Elsewhere, Mira and Valron climbed the spiraling service stairs. They had fought their way through two checkpoints already, their stolen armor bloodstained and dented.

"Feel that?" Mira asked, pausing as a wave of unseen pressure rolled down the stairwell.

Valron's jaw tightened. "Yeah. That's not a guard. That's her."

Mira looked up. "Then Asteria and Cain must be up there."

"We're not too late," Valron muttered. "But we will be if we don't move now."

Together, they pressed onward, blades ready.

---

Meanwhile, Seri crouched in a quiet corner of the palace kitchens, hidden behind stacked crates and copper pots. Her hands trembled from the use of too much power too fast. Her arms ached from freeing herself. Her heart pounded—not just from fear, but from the truth: she had seen what the Queen could do.

She heard footsteps—hurried, heavy.

Two figures entered.

One lunged forward—flames flickering at his fingertips.

Seri raised her hands. "Wait!"

Asteria froze.

Cain caught his arm. "Asteria, it's—"

"Seri?"

She stood shakily. "Why did you come here? She's too powerful. You should've run."

Asteria stepped forward, bruised and bloodied but still burning. "We don't leave our own behind."

Cain added, "And we don't kneel to tyrants."

Before more could be said, Cain turned, his senses tingling. Through a narrow window near the kitchen entrance, he spotted movement—rows of guards closing in like a wave.

He turned to Asteria. "They're coming. I'll draw them off. Get her out."

Without waiting for argument, Cain slipped through the rear corridor and emerged into the outer compound.

Steel met steel as the guards spotted him.

Cain fought with the fury of a man with nothing to lose. He used the broken earth beneath his feet, collapsed pillars as weapons, and blades of stone to fend off the tide.

Every punch, every wound, was a promise.

Far outside the walls, Tarn felt it too.

A shockwave rippled through the earth, rising up his spine like a silent scream.

He looked up toward the mountain.

"They're in trouble."

Without another thought, Tarn hefted his warhammer and charged through the guards at the outer perimeter. Stone shattered, armor crumpled, and bodies fell like leaves as he forced his way toward the main gates.

He was coming.

And this time, nothing would stop him.

The great doors of the palace trembled.

Outside, Tarn stood with his warhammer gripped tightly in both hands. His brow was furrowed, his jaw clenched. The shockwave that had shaken the castle earlier was still echoing in his bones. He didn't wait for orders. He moved.

He charged forward, roaring like thunder, and slammed his hammer into the side gates. The first group of guards barely had time to raise their weapons before he barreled into them. One flew backward, crashing into a pillar. Another raised a spear, but Tarn caught it with one hand and snapped it like a twig, then used the broken end to knock the guard unconscious.

Blades clashed. Sparks flew. Magic hissed through the air.

He ducked a flame spell and sent the caster sprawling with a brutal sweep of his hammer. Two more guards circled him, but Tarn spun low, sweeping their legs, and crushed a shield with a downward slam. He fought with sheer force, unstoppable as a storm. Every strike echoed like thunder through the marble halls.

Finally, he reached the front gates. With a deep breath and a shout of fury, he burst them open. The ancient wooden doors splintered beneath his weight—and inside, standing in the center of the corridor, was Sevrik.

The Silent Blade.

Sevrik's eyes narrowed. He drew his curved twin swords with effortless grace, saying nothing. His stance was still, yet coiled with danger.

"I've been waiting," he said softly.

Tarn didn't answer.

They clashed.

Steel met steel, power met precision. Tarn fought with raw might, swinging wide, overwhelming blows. Sevrik moved like water—dodging, parrying, and striking with surgical speed. Their duel carved a path of destruction through the palace. Walls cracked. Furniture shattered. Flames scorched the tapestries.

Tarn smashed through a pillar to break Sevrik's rhythm. Sevrik retaliated by flipping over his shoulders and landing a kick that sent Tarn crashing through a set of double doors. Still, Tarn rose. Blood on his lip, but his grip never faltered.

Up the stairs they fought, until Sevrik hurled Tarn through an open hallway. The impact left a crater in the wall.

Cain arrived just then, bloodied but alive, having just finished dispatching another wave of guards. He saw Tarn fall—and saw Sevrik turn.

Without a word, Cain joined the fray. Earth surged at his feet, stone spikes erupting. Tarn pulled himself to his feet, and for the first time, the fight tilted. Magic and muscle, element and rage—Cain and Tarn pushed Sevrik back.

The Silent Blade snarled, fending off blow after blow. But their coordination grew. Stone boxed him in, hammers pummeled, fists of fury and shards of earth tore through the halls.

Then came Mira and Valron.

The hall burst open again as they joined the fight—Mira spinning through the air with her twin daggers, Valron charging with spear and axe in a devastating flurry. Sevrik now faced four.

Still, he didn't falter.

And then—

Asteria and Seri entered.

Seri's eyes widened. "Sevrik…!"

Asteria said nothing. His fists flared to life with fire.

Six against one. They surrounded him. Their power was growing. Their unity stronger. Sevrik's calm began to crack.

He shook the floor with raw strength, breaking their circle. He lunged for Mira, but Valron intercepted. Cain bound his legs with stone. Tarn struck his chest. Asteria's flame blazed toward him.

It should've ended there—

But then the air changed.

The heat doubled. The floor trembled. The walls groaned.

A new figure stepped from the shadows.

Cloaked in red, his armor etched with molten veins, stood Caelen—the Crowned Prince. Seri's brother.

His very presence made the stone beneath him glow.

He stepped between Sevrik and the six. His voice calm, yet booming.

"That's enough."

Seri froze. "Caelen…"

He looked at her, his expression unreadable. "You shouldn't have come back."

"You don't have to do this," Seri pleaded. "You know this isn't right!"

He looked at her with pity. "It is not a matter of right. It is duty. Stand down, sister. Or burn with traitors."

Behind him, lava crept along the floor, his dual mastery of fire and earth warping the air.

Six stood against two.

And yet the room felt balanced—perhaps even in favor of the two.

The real battle… had only begun.

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