The evening sky burned orange as flames danced along the edges of the battlefield. The giant crimson bird, Solvarin, circled the clearing like a stormcloud ready to erupt. Its wingspan stretched wide — each flap sending pulses of heat across the forest canopy below, but not enough to set it ablaze. The bird shrieked, a sound like molten iron bending.
Across from it, standing firm on a jagged slope of bark and twisted roots, the old man narrowed his eyes. His body trembled slightly from exertion, his breath coming ragged. He was one of the cloaked figures aligned with Wilhelm, yet unlike the others, he stood his ground alone — facing a beast large enough to reduce castles to rubble.
From the earth, wooden pillars surged like spears, responding to his will. They shot upward in unpredictable bursts, attempting to pierce Solvarin mid-flight. But the bird banked left, flames trailing from its feathers like meteors. It tucked its wings close and dived, beak-first, toward the old man.
The ground exploded with wood.
Thick slabs of bark erupted into a dome just as Solvarin collided with the surface. Fire spread along the wood, hissing, but the structure held. Solvarin pulled back mid-air, screeching in frustration. Flames burst from its mouth in an arc. The old man raised his hand, and a tall shield of living roots formed in front of him, absorbing the blaze. Smoke curled from its edges — scorched but not destroyed.
Solvarin flapped once, twice, then soared skyward, a trail of flickering fire behind it. Its body glowed with inner heat, and the sigils beneath its wings flared. With a shriek, it began channeling mana — a massive fireball forming at its beak, hot enough to distort the air.
The old man grunted, slamming his palm into the earth.
Dozens of thick vines snaked upward, coiling around nearby trees, drawing power from every branch, every root. He bent one knee, then raised his other arm to the sky. A towering wooden golem burst from the ground beneath him, lifting him atop its shoulder. The golem's surface shimmered with bark armor, hardened and living, fed by the land around it.
Solvarin unleashed the fireball.
It smashed into the golem's chest, a thunderous blast lighting up the forest. The explosion sent shockwaves rippling through the trees. Birds scattered, and fire licked the air—but when the dust cleared, the golem stood. Its chest was blackened and steaming, a crater where wood once was, but the old man still stood atop it.
He coughed, blood flecking his lips, but raised both hands.
The trees around the clearing quaked.
Roots burst from the ground, thick as boulders, slamming into Solvarin's mid-air form. The bird screeched, thrashing violently, wings carving the roots away mid-air — but not fast enough. One wrapped around its left wing, yanking it off balance. The bird crashed into the clearing, toppling trees as its massive body rolled, flames sputtering against dirt.
Seizing the moment, the old man leapt from the golem's shoulder, landing on a newly summoned wooden platform that launched him forward. He rode the wave of roots like a chariot, racing toward the downed Solvarin.
The bird's eyes snapped open, fire pooling in its throat again.
The old man didn't hesitate — he thrust his hand forward, and sharp vines surged to bind the beast's throat. The fire choked back, searing the vines to ash — but it gave him time. His wooden platform launched him high into the air, and he flipped midair, summoning a massive thorned spear of oak in his hands.
Solvarin met him in the sky.
The bird rose again with fury, burning bright — and slammed into the old man mid-fall.
The oak spear pierced the bird's shoulder. Blood — hot and glowing — sprayed like molten lava across the sky.
The old man cried out in pain as Solvarin's claws tore into his ribs, ripping through the layered wooden armor. He fell hard, crashing through branches, and struck the ground with a sickening thud. His body rolled, coughing violently, bones surely cracked.
But he stood again.
Solvarin landed hard, the spear still embedded in its wing. Its breaths came in shallow waves — not from fatigue, but confusion. It had never faced such resistance.
The old man limped forward, every inch of his body protesting. Roots moved sluggishly around him now — the mana required for his spells draining fast. But he raised both arms anyway.
"One final strike," he whispered.
Roots, thorns, and wood surged from all around, not sharp but binding — a coffin forming around Solvarin.
The bird roared. Fire surged from its body in a wide burst, burning through the coffin from inside — but the old man poured every last drop of mana into the construct. The roots closed tighter. Thicker. Denser. The flames couldn't escape.
Solvarin screamed, its voice echoing across the valley.
The bird rose again — wings tearing free, feathers on fire. It staggered forward — wounded, bleeding, barely able to fly.
But the old man, collapsing to one knee, raised one last hand.
A final tree burst from beneath Solvarin, impaling the beast through its side.
The cry that followed shook the sky.
Solvarin crashed down — its body finally still. Flames flickered weakly around it, the glow of its wings fading.
The old man fell to his knees, coughing violently.
He had won.
But his body trembled. His mana was spent. And he knew… if the beast rose again, even slightly, he would not survive another round.
The sky above remained still, the flames dying down.
For now, the forest stood silent — and the mighty Solvarin, flame of the sky, lay defeated.