Chapter 6: A Duel in Three Hours
The hissing sound of energy meeting superheated metal was the only thing that moved in the frozen tableau of the Saikono night market. A plume of steam rose from the point of contact, carrying with it the sharp, clean scent of ozone and the acrid smell of burning rage. The crowd, a silent circle of wide-eyed onlookers, seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.
Borin, the mountain of a man, finally tore his gaze from the impassive swordsman and fixed it on Fayrouz. His bald head, slick with sweat, gleamed under the golden lantern light, and his brown eyes burned with a grief so profound it was nearly madness.
"This is a discussion between friends, girl," he snarled, his voice a low growl that vibrated with power. "Remove yourself."
Fayrouz met his glare without a flicker of intimidation. "I saw no discussion," she replied, her voice cutting through the tension with icy precision. "I saw an execution waiting to happen. You are not a man seeking discussion; you are a bomb, ticking down to the moment you destroy yourself and everything around you. Frankly, you belong in a cell to cool off before you commit a murder you can't take back."
Her words were like oil on a fire. A furious roar erupted from Borin's chest, and the Minma he poured into his axe intensified. The weapon's head glowed brighter, shifting from molten red to a near-white heat. The metal itself seemed to boil. Fayrouz's blue ribbons, still wrapped tightly around the axe head, began to sizzle audibly, thin wisps of smoke rising from them as the sheer heat began to burn through their solidified energy.
For a fleeting, almost imperceptible moment, an image flashed through Fayrouz's mind: a woman's warm, smiling face, her gentle hands carefully folding this same blue cloth. Mother.
Panic, cold and sharp, pierced her composure. Instantly, she relinquished her hold. The blue ribbons shot back towards her with the speed of thought. In a fluid motion, they retracted and reshaped, not into the bracelet on her wrist, but into a small, simple ring of fabric that she caught in her palm. She ran her thumb over its surface, her shoulders slumping with the faintest hint of relief as she found it whole and undamaged. It was a private moment of vulnerability, gone as quickly as it appeared.
Freed from its restraints, the glowing axe was now Borin's to command. The crowd gasped, and even Fulan tensed, his white aura ready to flare once more. But Borin did not strike. Instead, he raised the weapon high above his head, a fearsome silhouette against the night sky, and brought it down not on his rival, but on the earth.
BOOM!
The axe struck the cobblestones with cataclysmic force. The ground shuddered. A spiderweb of cracks radiated from the point of impact, and a shockwave of wind and dust blasted outwards, making the lanterns swing violently and forcing everyone nearby to shield their faces.
When the dust began to settle, Borin stood panting, the axe buried deep in the ruined street. He looked at Valerius, his face a tragic mask of fury and sorrow. "This ends tonight, Valerius," he declared, his voice raw. "No more words. No more regrets. A duel, in the old way. The way of the Giants of Grondra. Three hours from now. Nine o'clock. Here, in this street." He heaved the axe from the ground. "To end our friendship. And to answer for Mira's life."
The crowd murmured, the name "Grondra" spoken in hushed, awed tones. Valerius, the swordsman, remained still. His blond hair, which had been tossed by the shockwave, settled around his face. For a long moment, he was silent. Then, he closed his ice-blue eyes, as if in quiet prayer or painful memory. When he opened them, the indifference was gone, replaced by a profound, weary resignation.
"I accept," he said, his voice quiet but clear.
Borin nodded slowly, a single tear tracing a path through the grime on his cheek. "Don't you run, Valerius," he whispered.
A sad, painful smile briefly touched the swordsman's lips. "You know I won't."
The giant paused at the edge of the crowd, his back to his former friend. He hesitated, as if wanting to say a thousand things, but settled on only a few. "Yes," Borin said, his voice thick with a history of shared battles and broken bonds. "I know. If you had valued her more… if you had cared for her just a little more… you would be the most perfect man I know."
And with those final, heart-wrenching words, he turned and pushed his way through the crowd, a grieving titan disappearing into the night.
The spell was broken. The crowd erupted into a chaotic buzz. Some faces were alight with grim excitement. "An adventurer's duel! Here!" a young man with a dagger at his belt exclaimed to his friend. "I've never seen one fought Grondra-style!" Others, the villagers and shopkeepers, were filled with dread. "A duel here?" a woman cried, clutching her shawl. "They'll destroy the market! Think of the damage! Someone should call the guards, stop this madness!"
Amidst the chaos, Fulan and Fayrouz stood in the eye of the storm. Their eyes met across the small space. No words were needed. A silent, instantaneous understanding passed between them. They both saw the two broken pieces of a single tragedy, and they both knew they couldn't stand by. They had to intervene, but not with force. With understanding.
They knew, with perfect clarity, that they had to separate.
Fayrouz gave a single, sharp nod. She turned, her blue shawl now clutched tightly in her hand, and melted into the crowd, her gaze fixed in the direction the grieving Borin had gone.
Fulan remained where he stood, watching her go. He took a deep breath, the air still thick with dust and tension. Then, he turned. Valerius had not moved. The slender swordsman was alone now, the star of a tragedy, standing in the center of the circle of destruction. He was staring down at the cracked cobblestones at his feet, his shoulders slumped, looking for all the world like a man who had just lost everything.