The North Ridge was a narrow spine of volcanic rock, suspended over a river of slow-moving lava. The wind here carried the sharp bite of ash and the roar of the furnace below. It was the perfect place for a test—or an execution.
The Challenge
Michael was sharpening his massive ember-blade by the edge of the ridge when the Trinity caught up. He didn't turn around; he simply felt the silver pressure of Seraphina’s aura approaching.
"I can’t have a ghost at my back," Seraphina stated, her voice echoing off the basalt walls. She stepped into a wide combat stance, her claymore held low. "You say you’re here to atone. Prove it. If you’re a Packwood, you’re a master of deception. I don’t trust words. I trust steel."
Michael stood up slowly, the chains on his armor rattling. He looked at Alaric and Clara—the Prince standing protectively in front of the mage—and then back to the Knight. "Fair enough," he rasped. "But I won’t fight to kill a woman who did the world a favor by ending my brother."
"Then fight to survive me," Seraphina countered. "Vanguard Art: Silver Flash!"
Fire and Silver
She moved like a lightning strike. The air whistled as her claymore cut toward Michael’s side. He didn't dodge; he swung his greatsword in a heavy arc, meeting her blade mid-air.
CLANG.
The impact sent a shockwave through the ridge, blowing the surrounding ash away in a perfect circle. Seraphina was faster, a blur of silver strikes that tested every inch of Michael’s guard. But Michael was a mountain. He used the weight of his Greatsword of Living Ember to catch her momentum, his movements efficient and brutal.
Every time their blades met, sparks of white-hot fire clashed against silver mana. Unlike Marek, who fought with whispers and shadows, Michael fought with the roar of a forge. He was a pure warrior—honest, direct, and devastatingly powerful.
"Is that it?" Seraphina taunted, her eyes glowing with the thrill of the hunt. She vaulted over a sweeping strike, her blade coming down in a vertical overhead.
Michael gritted his teeth, his eyes flaring like coals. "Cinder-Burst: Iron Wall!" He slammed his hilt into the ground, a dome of heat-pressure erupting around him. The force didn't hurt Seraphina, but it pushed her back, creating the distance he needed.
The Duel of Intent
They danced on the edge of the lava for ten minutes, a high-speed exchange of A-Rank techniques. Alaric watched with his hand on his hilt, his heart hammering—not just from the intensity of the fight, but from the way Seraphina looked. She was in her element, her hair flying, her face lit by the orange glow of the lava.
Finally, Seraphina landed a kick to Michael’s chest, and he used the momentum to roll back, bringing his sword up just as her blade touched the throat of his helm. At the same time, the tip of his ember-blade was pointed directly at her heart.
A stalemate.
"You’re holding back," Seraphina hissed, breathing hard. "You had three openings to use that fire-burst on my blind spot."
"And you had twice as many to let the Prince strike me from the side," Michael replied, his voice calm despite the exertion. He lowered his sword first, a gesture of absolute vulnerability. "I told you. I’m not his shadow. I’m the man who hates what he did to you more than you do."
A Reluctant Respect
Seraphina stared into his eyes—searching for the madness, the greed, the "Master" she had slain. She found none of it. All she saw was a man who was tired of being a villain in everyone’s story.
She slowly lowered her claymore and sheathed it with a sharp clack.
"Your form is sloppy on the left-side parry," she said, her voice returning to its professional, military tone. "The Obsidian Hydra will exploit that."
Michael blinked, a small, surprised huff of a laugh escaping him. "I’ll keep that in mind, Commander."
As they began to move further up the ridge, Alaric stepped up beside Seraphina, taking her hand briefly to check for burns. Michael watched them—the way the Prince cared for the Knight—and then his gaze shifted to Clara. She was still keeping her distance, but she wasn't shaking anymore. She was watching him with a curious, guarded look.
Michael looked away quickly, the heat in his chest having nothing to do with the lava below. He knew he didn't deserve her forgiveness, but for the first time in years, he felt like he might deserve to fight beside her.
ns216.73.216.181da2
and then Add to home screen.