Fists And Flames

The Seer's voice wrapped around the candlelit chamber like smoke.

> "Before kings. Before crowns. Before the Palace was carved from stone and blood—there were the Primordials."

Asteria stood still, arms tense at his sides. The chamber seemed to hum faintly, the air itself listening.

The chamber's flickering light danced across the Seer's face, tracing the valleys of her age as she leaned deeper into her tale.

> "They were brothers, once."

Her voice grew solemn—like a chant carried by wind through broken temples.

> "Born of the same fire, raised by the same stars."

---

The Dawn of the Two

> "In the age when the sky bled fire and the oceans whispered curses, two sons were born beneath the burning moon."

Their names had long since faded from mortal tongues—but in the ancient runes, they were known simply as the Elder Flame and the Younger Blade.

> "Together, they wandered the shattered lands of the First World—where beasts still spoke in riddles and trees bore memories in their bark."

The Elder was called Elarion, a boy of quiet thought and soft wisdom. He listened to the world, even when it had nothing to say.

The Younger—whose mortal name was lost—was bold, fierce, filled with hunger for strength, and quick to act.

> "They were beloved by many. Heroes, unifiers. They rallied the broken peoples of the scattered tribes and built a haven in the center of the chaos—a city without a crown, where knowledge and freedom bloomed."

Together, they dreamed of healing the land.

Of restoring balance to the world.

And for a time… it worked.

---

The Voice of the World

> "But the world does not sleep quietly forever."

One night, while meditating alone atop the shattered mountain of Irovel, Elarion heard a voice in the wind.

It was not a god.

It was the world itself—the raw, elemental pulse beneath all creation.

> "You hear us," the elements whispered. "Because you do not seek to master us. You only wish to listen."

And so, the world opened to him.

Fire danced in his veins.

Water coiled around his wrists.

Stone cradled his footsteps.

Air sang when he breathed.

Elarion became the First Prime—not a king, not a conqueror, but a vessel of balance.

---

The Poison of Envy

When the Younger saw what his brother had become—saw fire bend and bow to his hands, saw winds rise with his breath—he did not rejoice.

He felt jealousy.

Bitter. Gnawing. Cold.

> "Why him?" he asked. "Why does the world whisper to the one who wishes only to tend it? While I, who wish to protect it, am left untouched?"

And envy twisted love.

> "You have grown weak," he told Elarion. "You speak of unity, but peace has dulled your will. The world listens because you coddle it."

Elarion only answered:

> "The world listens because I do not shout."

---

But the Younger did not listen.

He turned from the city they built.

And sought the Deep Below.

---

The Descent into the Nether

> "There is a place beneath the veins of the world," the Seer said, her voice lower now, filled with dread. "A place never meant for mortals."

The Younger found it.

He crossed the cursed sands of Du'sarr.

Passed the Cradle of Bones.

Drank the blood of the hollow moon to open the last gate.

And he entered the Nether Realms.

---

There, he found what he wanted.

Not the elements—but their opposites.

> "Corrupt fire. Screaming shadows. Poisoned stone. Hunger made manifest."

The void offered him strength.

But only at a price.

He was reborn.

His soul fractured into six shards.

His name forgotten.

He returned to the world no longer mortal.

Not man.

Not beast.

But something worse.

> "He took the name Velunir," the Seer whispered, as if afraid to speak it too loudly. "The First Betrayer."

Outside the Chamber

Mira spun midair, blades flashing like twin comets. Her foot collided with a guard's chest and sent him crashing into a column.

> "Three on the right!" she shouted.

Valron responded before the sentence ended—his cloak tearing away as he lunged. Energy surged in his hands—not the corrupted kind that had once plagued him, but cleaner. Controlled.

He slammed a palm into the ground and spikes of obsidian erupted beneath the guards, knocking them off balance.

Tarn followed in, his shield glowing faintly with a golden rune. A sword bounced off it uselessly.

> "They're not used to us fighting back," he muttered with a smirk.

Another guard lunged—

Mira ducked, drove her elbow into his gut, then pivoted and kicked the next in the jaw.

> "Let's keep it that way."

Valron growled, "More are coming."

Behind them, a second wave appeared—crossbows drawn.

> "Shields up!" Tarn yelled.

He raised his bracer, and Mira dove behind a toppled pillar as arrows zipped through the corridor.

One skimmed Valron's arm—but he didn't flinch.

---

The hallway trembled with the sound of booted feet.

Mira pressed her back against the cold stone, heart pounding, breath shallow. Beside her, Tarn clutched his side—bleeding, but steady. Valron crouched low, eyes locked on the bend ahead, where flickering light betrayed the advancing guards.

> "Six of them," he whispered. "Heavily armed."

> "We won't get past them," Mira muttered. "Not with weapons."

Valron's knuckles tensed.

> "Then we don't use weapons."

Tarn raised a brow. "You serious?"

> "We've trained for this. We've changed. It's time they saw it."

The torches got closer.

The three of them turned into shadows, sinking behind a shattered column.

---

The first guard rounded the corner—helmet gleaming, voice rising to shout.

But Valron surged forward, slammed the man against the wall, and dropped him with a vicious elbow to the throat.

The second lunged with a spear—Mira ducked, spun beneath the thrust, and drove her knee into his gut with bone-breaking force. He dropped.

Tarn took on two at once, blocking a blade with his bracer before twisting under the swing and smashing a shoulder into the attacker's chin.

But the last two broke through.

Cornering Mira.

One raised his sword—

Then paused—

> A voice behind him.

> "Going somewhere?"

A blur slammed into him from the side.

Cain.

No weapon. Just fury.

He tackled the guard into the wall, fists flying in rapid strikes—jaw, ribs, temple.

The last soldier turned—

Only to receive a brutal hook from Cain that sent his helmet spinning and his body collapsing.

> "Thought you could have all the fun without me?" Cain said, cracking his knuckles.

> "About time," Mira panted, brushing hair from her face.

> "How'd you find us?" Tarn asked.

Cain nodded back toward the sealed door. "Asteria sent me. Figured you'd need backup."

Valron wiped blood from his cheek, breathing hard but smiling faintly.

> "Glad you did. Was starting to miss breaking bones."

---

They stood in the half-lit corridor, surrounded by the groaning bodies of their enemies.

Breathing.

Bleeding.

Alive.

> "No more hiding," Cain said quietly. "No more running."

Tarn gave a short nod.

> "Next wave comes, we stand."

Mira glanced toward the distant echoes of more guards scrambling.

> "Then let them come."

They took their stances again—back to back, fists raised.

Not just fighters anymore.

Not just rebels.

> Warriors.

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