Selena raised her hand. A blazing fireball shimmered into life, humming with heat and divine energy. Without a word, she hurled it toward the towering man before them—Billmar.
The fireball tore through the air with a thunderous roar. But Billmar moved like a shadow on the wind, a blur of impossible speed. The fireball struck the stone wall behind him, exploding in a cascade of sparks. The brute stood untouched.
Billmar's eyes, glowing faintly beneath the thick armor of living shadowkin skin, narrowed in surprise. "You command power… true power," he said, voice deep and curious. "Human magic."
Luther charged forward with his blade drawn, slicing in a wide arc meant to take the giant's head. But Billmar ducked under the blade with startling grace and swatted it aside with his mace haft. The force of it sent Luther stumbling back, boots scraping on stone.
Still, Billmar didn't counter. He dodged. He weaved. He studied.
"I've dreamed of this," Billmar said, circling them. "Humans who wield magic. You three… you are what I've been waiting for. The world is changing—and I need allies. Not enemies."
Selena gritted her teeth. "You wear the skin of my people, and you call us allies?"
He shrugged. "They denied us knowledge. You, however, carry it willingly. What I offer is more than peace—it's glory. A seat at my high table. Together, we could unite the islands. Rule all who crawl across these lands."
Arya let out a soft scoff. "I'd rather slit my own throat than dine at your table."
Luther pointed his sword at Billmar. "The only unity you'll know is the earth swallowing your corpse."
Billmar sighed, almost disappointed. "So be it."
Selena fired another volley of crackling arcane bolts. Arya spun to the side, daggers drawn, and darted low. Luther attacked from the right. The fight erupted in a flurry of movement.
Billmar, even in his bulk, danced between them with unnatural grace. He spun his mace wide, barely missing Selena's ribs. A gust of air from the swing knocked Arya off her footing.
But Selena's blessing still surged within them.
Arya rolled, came up fast, and slashed at his thigh. The twin blades, laced with Selena's divine magic, tore through the enchanted armor and sliced into flesh. Billmar growled in pain and staggered.
The magic in his armor shimmered.
Now bleeding and slowed, Billmar lashed out. The mace struck the ground with an explosive crack, sending chips of stone flying. Selena conjured a protective ward, shielding herself and Arya just in time.
Luther pressed the advantage, moving with purpose, his blade singing through the air. Billmar parried once, twice—then caught the edge with his gauntlet, grunting as the steel cut into his hand.
Arya ducked under his wide arc and slashed the back of his knee.
The giant roared. His movements slowed. The divine power had done its work—he was weakening.
Breathing heavily, Billmar raised his mace one last time—but Luther was already there. The paladin's sword glowed bright with Selena's light.
And just as the blade descended to end him—
The world froze.
Even the wind held its breath.
Time itself seemed to crack like glass.
A ripple of dark energy twisted the space beside Billmar, and from it stepped a figure cloaked in divine chaos. Aura, the goddess of disorder and ambition, emerged in her radiant darkness.
She touched the air, and everything stood still. Luther, Selena, Arya—frozen in place.
Only Billmar could move, his head tilting up in awe.
"I've watched you," Aura said, voice like silk woven with thunder. "You have ambition. Strength. But you lacked the gift. Now I offer it."
Her hand hovered before his chest. A thread of wild, ancient magic coiled between her fingers.
"In return, your soul will belong to me. You will rise when I call. Serve without question."
Billmar hesitated—but only for a heartbeat.
"Give it to me."
Aura smiled.
The power sank into his body. His eyes blazed with magic. His armor flared with cursed life. And a black chain, spectral and ancient, wrapped around his essence—binding him to her.
With a snap of her fingers, they vanished.
And in that instant, time resumed.
Luther's sword cleaved through the air—empty.
Billmar was gone.
Selena stumbled forward, gasping. "He—he disappeared."
"Did he teleport?" Arya asked.
"No," Luther said grimly. "He didn't run. It was something else."
Confusion filled the air. The plan had hinged on killing Billmar.
"What now?" Arya asked.
Selena stared at the empty ground where Billmar once stood. "We lie."
Arya nodded. "We tell them he's dead. It's the only way to end this."
Luther agreed, silent but resolute.
They walked from the stronghold, covered in sweat, ash, and the weight of something unseen.
The northern soldiers, shocked by the defeat and the missing Billmar, surrendered. They made a pact—a vow—to never again set foot in Shadowkin lands.
And so the siege ended. Not with victory. Not with justice.
But with a borrowed peace, sealed with a lie.
The group turned toward the forest, exhausted, wounded, but alive.
Behind them, the stronghold of Northreach stood silent.
Ahead, the war was far from over.