The night air was thick with the weight of an impending storm, though no rain fell from the sky. Instead, it was the heavy footfalls of Varian's army that sent tremors through the ruins of Varyndor Keep, shaking loose dust from ancient stones.
Raine stood atop the battlements, his fingers curled tightly around the hilt of his sword. Below him, rows of black-cloaked warriors moved like shadows, their presence unnatural—silent, disciplined, and deadly.
At the center of the force, mounted atop his massive warhorse, Varian, the Warden of the Rift, surveyed the battlefield with an expression of cold finality. His crimson armor gleamed in the dim torchlight, a stark contrast against the swirling darkness that clung to him like a second skin.
Even from this distance, Raine could feel it—an aura of power so dense it threatened to suffocate everything in its wake.
This was not a man they could simply defeat.
But they weren't here to win through brute force.
They were here to survive.
A Battle Begins
Sylara joined Raine on the battlements, her silver hair catching the faint moonlight. "They'll attack soon."
Raine nodded. "We hold them at the gates as long as we can. Make them fight on our terms."
Below, Seraphis stood in the heart of the ruins, finishing the last of her rune inscriptions on the ancient stone. These weren't just barriers—they were seals, woven with old magic meant to disrupt the flow of power.
If it worked, Varian's forces wouldn't be able to use their magic freely.
If it didn't—
The first arrow flew.
Raine barely had time to react before it struck the stone beside him, embedding itself deep into the crumbling rock.
Then, like a crack of thunder—
The enemy charged.
Dark figures swarmed forward, moving in eerie synchronization, their weapons gleaming under the torches. The frontline warriors were fast, faster than they should be, and their blades hummed with unnatural energy.
Raine gritted his teeth. They weren't just fighting soldiers. They were fighting something else.
He raised a hand, summoning the crackling blue lightning that now lived within him. With a roar, he slammed his palm against the stone, sending a wave of energy ripping down the battlements and into the ground below.
The earth cracked. Stone exploded.
Several of Varian's warriors were flung backward, their bodies thrown like ragdolls against the ruins. But more kept coming.
Too many.
Sylara was already in motion, vaulting over the broken battlements and landing in the middle of the fray. Her blade flashed like silver moonlight, cutting through the enemy lines with precision honed through years of training.
Raine didn't hesitate—he leaped down after her, rolling to absorb the impact before bringing his sword up just in time to block a downward strike aimed at his skull.
Steel met steel, and the force nearly shattered his grip.
Raine grunted, shoving back against his attacker. He could see it now—their eyes.
These warriors weren't just soldiers.
They weren't even human.
Their eyes burned with a golden, unnatural glow, their faces obscured beneath dark masks.
Controlled. Enchanted. Twisted.
Sylara moved beside him, slicing through their ranks, but for every warrior that fell, two more took their place.
Seraphis' voice rang out from within the ruins. "Hold them! The seal is almost ready!"
Raine exhaled sharply, then twisted, ducking beneath a blade aimed for his ribs before slamming his knee into his opponent's gut. The warrior staggered, and Raine followed up with a bolt of lightning-infused energy, sending the enemy sprawling.
But they kept coming.
He barely had time to breathe before another blade sliced toward his throat.
The Warden Enters the Fray
A wave of crimson energy surged through the battlefield like a tidal wave.
The very air around them seemed to crack, warping as an overwhelming pressure settled onto the battlefield.
Raine staggered, his breathing hitching.
Varian had entered the fight.
The Warden moved with purpose, his long crimson cloak flowing behind him as he descended from his warhorse, his expression unshaken. His sword—massive, ancient, and pulsing with raw Rift energy—rested casually in his grip.
He was in no rush.
Because he knew.
This battle was already his.
Sylara tensed beside Raine. "We can't fight him head-on."
Seraphis' voice rang out again. "The seal—just a little longer!"
Varian lifted his free hand, fingers curling slightly. The air trembled.
Then, without warning—he vanished.
And reappeared in front of Raine.
Raine's instincts screamed at him to move—he barely managed to raise his sword in time before Varian swung his massive blade downward.
The impact sent a shockwave blasting through the battlefield.
Raine was thrown backward, slamming into the stone wall behind him. His vision blurred, his body screaming in protest.
Sylara lunged at Varian, her blade moving like liquid silver. Fast. Precise. Deadly.
Varian caught it with his bare hand.
Sylara's eyes widened. Before she could react, Varian twisted—a pulse of crimson energy exploded outward, sending her skidding across the battlefield.
He was toying with them.
The Turning Point
Raine forced himself to his feet, blood dripping from his temple. His body ached, but he couldn't stop.
Sylara was already back on her feet, her eyes blazing.
Seraphis stood at the heart of the ruins, her staff raised high, the ancient inscriptions on the stones glowing brighter.
"Now!" she shouted.
The air shifted.
The ground beneath them lit up with golden light, runes igniting as the seal finally activated.
A shockwave of magic surged through the battlefield—and suddenly, the dark warriors around them staggered, their movements faltering.
The enchantment binding them had been weakened.
Varian paused, his expression unreadable as he glanced down at the glowing runes beneath his feet.
For the first time—he hesitated.
Raine saw his chance.
He summoned every ounce of power within him, feeling the energy surge stronger, clearer than ever before.
The storm answered his call.
A massive bolt of lightning tore from the heavens, striking Raine's outstretched blade.
It glowed with raw, untamed power.
With a roar, he charged Varian.
Their blades met—lightning against Rift energy, a clash of forces beyond mortal understanding.
For the first time, Varian took a step back.
Retreat or Reckoning?
Varian's forces had been weakened, and the battlefield was no longer in his favor.
For a long moment, the Warden simply stared at Raine.
Then, slowly, he took a step back.
His forces, sensing the shift, began to withdraw into the darkness, their golden eyes flickering like dying embers.
Varian's voice was quiet, yet it cut through the battlefield like steel.
"You are not yet ready."
Then, in the blink of an eye—he was gone.
The battle was over.
For now.
Raine collapsed to his knees, exhaustion finally overtaking him. Sylara stood beside him, breathing heavily, but victorious.
Seraphis exhaled, lowering her staff. "We bought ourselves time."
Raine wiped the blood from his face, staring at the spot where Varian had stood.
Time.
But not victory.
Varian would return.
And next time, he wouldn't be testing them.
Next time, he would come to finish it.