The masked warrior remained perfectly still on the ridge. The wind shifted through the Rift's upper layer, stirring faint wisps of magic that coiled in the air like distant breath.
Kaelien's fingers hovered near his daggers. Seren stood beside him now, uncertain but steady.
Her gaze didn't leave the Warden.
Then, slowly, she turned her head. "If we're going to die together," she said under her breath, "I want to know the name of the man I trusted for thirty seconds."
A faint flicker of something passed through Kaelien's eyes.
"…Kaelien."
She gave a small nod. "Seren."
There was no handshake. No gesture. Just two warriors from opposite sides, caught in something larger than either of them.
The Warden of Silence took one step forward.
His presence was suffocating. As if the very air bent around him. Even the Riftlings skittering nearby had vanished.
Then, impossibly, he spoke.
His voice was soft. Almost kind.
"Seren Vallen. You were once meant to be one of us."
She stiffened. The sound of his voice, deep and composed, rattled every bone in her spine. It was wrong, not because of volume or tone—but because it shouldn't exist.
This was the voice of myth. Of a ghost.
"They say my tongue was taken as punishment. That I was cursed to silence."
The mask tilted down toward her slightly.
"That was a mercy we gave them. Because the truth is crueler."
The wind died completely.
"Everyone who has heard my voice… has died."
Kaelien narrowed his eyes. He whispered, "Then why are we still alive?"
"Because I choose it."
That was the only answer.
Then the Warden drew his weapon—a heavy glaive of blackened steel, etched with runes that pulsed softly. One long blade on each end, curving like crescent moons, humming with quiet death.
He leapt.
The fight began.
He struck like lightning—no hesitation, no warm-up. His glaive whistled through the air, narrowly missing Seren's face as she twisted back, dragging Kaelien with her. The blade embedded itself into the rock with a deafening crunch, sparks erupting as it carved stone like flesh.
Kaelien ducked under a sweep and slashed upward. His daggers skidded off the Warden's armor with a hollow metallic sound. No damage.
Seren channeled ice into the ground beneath the Warden's feet, the stone crystallizing in a flash. He didn't fall—he shattered the frozen patch with a stomp, surging forward.
His glaive split the air in two arcs—Kaelien dove forward, rolled under it, and landed behind him. Seren followed up with a sharp cry, driving her blade toward the weak points in his armor—armpit, thigh, neck—
But the Warden turned as if he'd seen it before.
With one fluid motion, he backhanded her with the butt of his glaive. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs. She tumbled, rolled, gasped.
He was too fast. Too precise.
Kaelien ran at him again, both daggers igniting with flame. He slashed upward, then stabbed toward the mask—but the Warden spun the glaive around and used the haft to block, flames sizzling off his armor like rainwater.
"Kael'Thari technique," the Warden murmured, mid-parry. "Crude. Brutal. Predictable."
Kaelien grunted, twisting back. "I'll show you unpredictable."
He threw one dagger—not at the Warden, but at the ridge above him.
The small explosion of fire dislodged a boulder, which came crashing down. The Warden dodged sideways—but that gave Seren time to recover.
She launched a spike of ice toward his legs. It missed—but forced him to step into Kaelien's strike. The Flameborn warrior feinted left—then slashed upward toward the Warden's unarmored jaw.
Steel clashed. Sparks flew.
A dent. A shallow cut. But blood.
The Warden stepped back.
For the first time, he studied them. Not with amusement.
But with respect.
Seren and Kaelien stood side by side, breathing hard.
"We can't wear him down," Seren hissed. "He doesn't tire."
"We don't have to," Kaelien said. "We just need one opening."
Together they moved again—Kaelien darting left, flames bursting in a ring to obscure sight. Seren circled right, channeling a freezing mist to block vision.
They struck together, blades flashing through the haze.
This time, Kaelien went for his knees. Seren went for his wrist.
The Warden caught her blade with his hand—bleeding, but unflinching—and threw her bodily across the battlefield. But the distraction gave Kaelien an opening.
He plunged his remaining dagger into the Warden's side—just beneath a gap in the plating. Fire erupted from the wound.
The Warden stumbled.
Seren, already recovering, surged forward, driving her sword into the burning spot, her magic freezing it from the inside. The blade sank deep.
She screamed.
Kaelien roared.
And together, they brought the Steelkeeper to his knees.
For a moment, all was still.
Then, slowly, the Warden's masked head lifted.Blood dripping from the side of his helmet.
"So… this is what unity looks like."
The voice was faint.
Then he slumped forward.
Dead.
Kaelien pulled his dagger free.
Seren staggered back, leaning against a stone.
Neither looked at each other right away.
Seren looked down at her bloodied hands.
She had just killed a man she once revered.