The sun hung low over the Bloodpits as Emberfall and Howling Pact fighters returned to their camps. The cheers had died, the dust settling into silence.
Mazen paced along the perimeter of the Howling Pact's tents, flame still smoldering faintly beneath his skin. Every glance from the soldiers was sharper now — respect mixed with wariness.
He wasn't just a fighter anymore.
He was a threat.
A hand grabbed his shoulder.
Shadow of the North.
"You made a damn mess out there." Shadow's voice was rough as gravel.
Mazen shrugged.
"He left me no choice."
"And you left me with one hell of a headache."
Shadow's gaze hardened.
"Rhys III doubled the bounty on your head. Word's already spread across the kingdoms. You won't find a town from Emberfall to the Ice Cliffs that doesn't have your face nailed to a post now."
Mazen gave a humorless smile.
"Let him send his snakes."
Shadow didn't smile back.
"Speaking of snakes," he muttered, lowering his voice.
"Serak's been spotted. Close. Too close. Near Emberfall's outer wall two nights ago. She's not here for sport. She's hunting."
Mazen's blood cooled.
"For who?"
"My guess?"
Shadow's eyes flicked toward Emberfall's distant campfires.
"You. Or the girl."
Mazen clenched a fist.
Shadow grunted.
"Keep your fire close, Arkios. This war's about to get personal."
And like a ghost, the old warlord vanished into the dark.
The royal keep of the North Kingdom loomed like a broken crown against the blood-orange sky.
Prince Rhys IV knelt in the great hall before the throne of Rhys III — the King's eyes two cold chips of polished obsidian, his face a mask of quiet fury.
The chamber was empty, save for the guards and one figure in a shadowed corner. Serak. Watching. Always watching.
"You disgraced your blood," Rhys III said softly, and the quiet of it made the words heavier.
Rhys IV raised his chin.
"I fought with honor."
"Honor means nothing without victory."
"I had the kill. I chose mercy."
Rhys III's fingers tapped the throne's armrest.
"And in doing so, you gave them hope. You made them believe our house bleeds like any other."
A dark smile.
"You've broken the fear I built with my own hands."
Rhys IV's fists clenched.
The King stood, stepping down from the dais.
A father in title only, a tyrant in every breath.
"The next time you show mercy in my name," Rhys III whispered, voice colder than any blade, "I'll have your tongue and your sword hand nailed to my gate."
A long, loaded silence.
Then Rhys IV spoke, quiet but unyielding.
"You'll have to catch me first."
The King's eyes narrowed.
But the prince was already turning, cloak billowing behind him as he strode from the hall.
And in the corner, Serak smiled.
The Emberfall camp crackled with the sounds of fires being stoked, steel sharpened, and old wounds dressed.
Nermin sat alone at the edge of a rise, wind tugging at her hair, eyes fixed on the distant Bloodpits. She hadn't spoken since the fight.
Not to Lira.
Not to Ishra.
Especially not to herself.
"You're brooding again."
The voice snapped her from her haze.
Ishra.
The firebrand leader dropped beside her with a wine flask in hand.
"You going to tell me what's eating you, or should I guess?"
Nermin scowled.
"It's nothing."
"It's always 'nothing' with you, girl." Ishra swigged from the flask.
"Let me guess — Mark Arkios?"
The name made her chest tighten in a way she hated.
"He's a reckless, arrogant, insufferable—"
"And you've been staring at the empty pit he bled in for half the damn night."
Nermin said nothing, wind curling sharp around her shoulders.
"Listen," Ishra said, softer now.
"You don't owe anyone your heart in this war. But you damn sure better know which way it leans before someone uses it against you."
A pause.
"Mark Arkios isn't your enemy. And maybe… not your ally either. Yet."
Nermin looked down, fists clenched in the dirt.
Lira appeared on the path above them, arms crossed, a crooked grin on her lips.
"Can we at least admit the man fights like a demon kissed by flame?"
Nermin threw a rock at her.
But she didn't deny it.
After Ishra left, and Lira's laughter faded into the tent glow, Nermin stayed where she was.
The wind had always spoken to her — in Cairo, it had meant dust and hot air. Here, it carried the scent of ash, blood, and things she didn't want to name.
And tonight… it said his name.
She closed her eyes.
Mark Arkios.
But it wasn't his face the wind brought.
It was Mazen's.
That crooked grin when he used to steal the good seats in lecture halls. The way his voice softened when no one else was listening.
Stop it.
She forced a fistful of earth to still her hand.
But the truth gnawed at her.
It wasn't just how Mark fought.
It was how he moved. How his fire didn't just burn — it protected.
How his voice, when he spoke her name in the Bloodpits, made her heart stutter.
And it terrified her.
"I'm not losing myself for a ghost," she whispered to the empty air.
But the wind, stubborn thing that it was, answered back.
You already have.
Nermin's jaw clenched, and she hurled another stone into the dark.
It didn't make the ache stop.
In the dead of night, far from the watch fires, a small clearing deep in the ashwoods outside Emberfall's walls flickered with secret light.
Shadow of the North waited, leaning against a blackened tree, his face half-hidden beneath his hood. Beside him stood Khan Duren, arms crossed, his towering presence like a slab of living stone.
One by one, figures emerged from the dark.
Ishra of Emberfall.
Calen.
A handful of trusted warlords.
And last — Mazen, flame coiled faintly at his fingertips.
No banners. No titles. No audience.
"I didn't come here to trade words," Ishra said, cutting the silence.
"If we're doing this, it's because Vortrex dies if we don't."
Shadow gave a sharp nod.
"Then let's stop pretending we aren't already allies bleeding for the same fight."
Khan Duren spoke, his deep voice steady.
"The king's grasp weakens. Rhys IV won't be his hound much longer. The Bloodpits proved that. The people are watching. If the north falls, the other kingdoms will follow."
A murmur of agreement.
"We need a united strike," Calen added, voice grim.
"Temples, supply lines, monster holds. Starve the bastard before we take his head."
All eyes turned to Mazen.
Fire danced in his palm.
"I came to end this war. Not survive it. Tell me where to start."
Shadow smirked.
"Good. Because it starts with you."
"And the darkness inside you," Khan Duren added, voice grave.
Mazen's fist clenched tight.
A war was coming.
And it wouldn't wait.
The Emberfall camp rested under a restless night sky.
Fires crackled low. Guards paced without alert. And no one noticed the cloaked figure slipping between tents like wind-born shadow.
Yuri.
Eyes sharp beneath his hood, face young, lean. His cloak stitched with faded glyphs.
He moved through the camp without pause, and no ward caught him.
He stopped at Mazen's tent.
Inside, Mazen was awake, sitting cross-legged with a small flame hovering between his fingers. It danced like a living thing.
He didn't look up.
"You planning to stand there all night, Yuri?"
A crooked grin from the hooded figure.
"Didn't think you'd sense me, Arkios."
He stepped inside, pulling a worn grimoire from his belt.
"Been a while."
Mazen snorted.
"What is it this time? Another cursed ruin? Or did you finally get bored charming coin out of noble brats?"
Yuri grinned wider.
"Neither. I came with a warning."
He dropped the grimoire to the floor between them.
"The tear you made… it's weakening the barrier between realms faster than you realize. Something's moving in the dark, Mazen. And it's not just about this war anymore."
Mazen's jaw tightened.
"I only care about one thing. Finding Abdou. Then I'm gone."
Yuri's grin faded, the mood shifting.
"You think it'll be that clean? You tear a hole between worlds, you don't get to just walk away when you're done. Even if you find him."
A long, tense pause.
"And don't look at Emberfall's wind witch like you've figured her out either. No one's who they seem here, Arkios. Not you. Not her. Not me."
Mazen's fire dimmed slightly, unease flickering in his eyes.
"Then say what you came to say and get out."
Yuri's voice lowered.
"When the realms break, it won't be Vortrex alone that bleeds. Earth will fall with it. And by then… you'll be standing where Abdou once stood."
Without waiting for permission, Yuri slipped out, vanishing into the night's wind.
Mazen sat alone, the fire in his hand curling into a tight, restless coil.