The storm thickened, swallowing flame and steel. Marlic pressed forward, his spear of smoke striking with relentless fury. Each blow shook Kael's blade, each surge of shadow forced Elira back.
His ember eyes blazed, but behind them was something more than rage. "You think me a tyrant of smoke," he roared, "but I am memory itself. Every betrayal, every death, every loyalty broken—I carry them all. That is why shadow endures."
Elira's fire flared, her crown blazing. "You twist memory into chains. You bind grief into weapons."
Marlic's laughter was sharp, bitter. "And what do you do, Flamebearer? Burn grief away? Pretend loyalty never breaks? Fire consumes, but shadow remembers. That is why your war will never end."
He pressed harder, his form swelling, shadow storming higher. The champions of shadow surged with him, their blades cutting through flame. Kael staggered, his steel blazing but faltering under the weight of memory.
Elira clenched her fist, forcing fire outward. "Then I will not burn grief. I will bind it. Flame endures together."
Marlic's spear lashed forward, striking her shield of fire. Sparks rained down, the ground trembling. His voice thundered: "You cannot bind what is broken. You cannot heal what is dead. Shadow is truth, Flamebearer—and truth will break you."
The duel spiraled—flame against shadow, steel against smoke, memory against fire. The Ashbound rallied behind Elira's bound flame, but Marlic's storm pressed harder, heavier, endless.
For the first time, the audience saw him not just as a villain, but as a vessel of grief—his power born from memory, his fury from betrayal. The war was not only battle—it was reckoning.