The first light of dawn bled across Arcan Plains, gilding the tall grass in molten gold. The wind howled through the open field, carrying the metallic scent of anticipation. From one horizon to the next, banners of Eldarion and Arizon swayed like dueling tides a storm waiting to break.
Silas sat astride his obsidian stallion, Nyxen, his golden eyes scanning the horizon. Around him, the thunder of armored boots echoed ten thousand strong, disciplined and silent, waiting for his signal. The air vibrated with mana — spells pre-chanted, wards humming beneath their feet.
"Signal the Vanguard," Silas commanded.
A flare of blue fire streaked into the morning sky the first sign.
Moments later, the answering flare of crimson rose from the far side Alberto and Gregor had drawn Arizon's vanguard in. The trap was complete.
---
The First Clash
The Arizon army, 12,000 strong, rolled forward like a tide of steel and fury. Drums thundered. Their frontlines roared a thousand cavalry, ten thousand infantry, and siege units crackling with enchanted ballistae. Argen Lamenos himself rode in black armor veined with violet light, his war-spear Halmarion gleaming like lightning forged in metal.
Alberto's cavalry struck first — swift as a storm.
"Forward!" he bellowed, wind magic wreathing his blade as his riders charged. They slammed into the Arizon front like thunder. Steel crashed, sparks flew, men shouted, horses screamed. Mana flared — arcs of blue and white fire erupting where swords met.
Across the left flank, Gregor's infantry held the line — shields locked, spears braced. Arizon mages unleashed torrents of flame and ice. But Gregor had prepared his men formed tri-fold barriers, mana-reactive shields humming, absorbing the worst of the blasts before countering with enchanted bolts of light.
Still, the sheer force of Arizon's advance was relentless. Dust and blood clouded the plains. Bodies fell, smoke coiled upward. The war had begun.
---
Silas' Gambit
From the ridge, Silas watched, his mind a machine of calculation.
"Alric, form the second arc. Julian, charge mana lines to full capacity. No signal until I say."
Damian glanced at him. "They're pushing Alberto hard."
"I know." Silas' tone was ice. "They're meant to. Argen's baited he'll overextend his cavalry, and that's when we collapse the plains."
As Arizon's horsemen advanced deeper, the ground beneath them shimmered runes, drawn days before, pulsed alive. In an instant, a circle of blinding light erupted under their hooves.
The plains roared.
A chain of explosions ripped through the field. Horses screamed. Men were thrown skyward, banners snapped, and fire spiraled outward in a ring. Arizon's first wave was shattered caught in Silas' trap, a buried mana array fed by the empire's finest technomancers.
Damian let out a low whistle. "You buried arrays under the plains?"
"Prepared for this since the first scout report," Silas said coldly. "Let Arizon learn that Eldarion's mind is sharper than any blade."
---
The Counterstroke
But Argen Lamenos was no fool.
As smoke and screams filled the air, he raised his spear and roared, "Arizon line, break and burn!"
At once, mages from the rear unleashed a storm of black fire — cursed mana that twisted Silas' wards, eating through the enchanted defenses. Then came his trump card — siege golems, massive constructs of iron and crystal, stomping forward and hurling molten projectiles that exploded like miniature suns.
Silas' left flank faltered under the sudden assault. Gregor's men held firm, but the heat seared through armor.
"Fall back to the secondary position!" Gregor shouted, pulling his wounded out under a hail of burning arrows.
"Tell Silas the golems are active!"
Messages raced through mana channels. Within minutes, Silas had a counterplan ready.
"Artillery—target those golems! Use the mirror spells!"
At his command, Eldarion's mages conjured mirrors of compressed light. The sky filled with beams that bounced and refracted, focusing their energy like lances of divine fire. One by one, the golems exploded, showering molten shards across the battlefield.
The first day raged from dawn until dusk.
By nightfall, the plains were a sea of corpses and smoke. Both sides withdrew neither victorious, both bleeding heavily.
---
Nightfall — The War Council
That night, Silas' command tent glowed dimly with lamplight. Maps were spread across a table, the smell of blood and steel lingering in the air. Alberto's arm was bandaged, Gregor's armor cracked, but both stood firm.
"Argen adapts fast," Gregor growled. "He sacrificed an entire cavalry flank just to test our mages' reach."
Alberto leaned forward. "He's not pushing for victory today. He's bleeding us out slowly."
Silas studied the map. "Then tomorrow we change the rhythm. At dawn, we strike the center I'll lead the assault personally."
Damian frowned. "You shouldn't expose yourself."
"I must," Silas said quietly. "Argen won't commit unless he sees me on the field. He wants a symbol to destroy so I'll give him one."
The tent fell silent.
Outside, thunder rolled — though no storm brewed. It was the sound of Arizon's drums resuming in the night, echoing through the burning plains.
---
Day Two — The Crimson Dawn
When the sun rose, the plains were red — soaked with the blood of both armies.
Silas rode at the head of his vanguard, his armor etched in gold runes that pulsed like living fire. Behind him, the banners of Eldarion blazed, flanked by mages chanting in low, resonant tones.
Across the field, Argen Lamenos emerged again — his black armor scorched but his spirit unbroken. "ELDARION!" he roared. "Let the sun witness your end!"
"Charge," Silas whispered.
The two armies collided with earth-shattering force.
Blades clashed. Mana tore the sky apart. Fire met lightning, steel met fury. Silas cut through soldiers like a phantom golden eyes burning, each swing of his sword Eclipser releasing waves of light that shattered shields and seared through armor.
At the same moment, Argen cleaved through Silas' guard, his spear glowing like a violet comet. When they finally met in the heart of the battlefield, the ground itself split beneath them.
---
The Duel of Commanders
The world seemed to still. Soldiers stopped fighting, drawn by the clash of two titans.
Argen thrust. Silas parried, his sword singing with energy. Sparks of gold and violet tore through the air. Their mana collided, sending shockwaves that uprooted grass and splintered stone.
"You've led your people well," Argen sneered, "but every empire dies, boy."
"Then let mine die standing," Silas shot back, twisting his blade and slashing upward.
They fought like gods among men — speed blurring, the very air burning with power. At last, Silas found an opening — his blade cutting through Argen's shoulder, shattering his armor. Blood sprayed, hot and black. But as Argen fell back, he smiled.
"You think this ends with me?"
Before Silas could react, Argen's lieutenants activated the Obsidian Circle — a forbidden array that began devouring the battlefield's mana. Soldiers from both sides collapsed as their spells died mid-cast.
Silas roared, driving his sword into the ground, pouring his own mana into a counter-seal. Golden light erupted, halting the circle's expansion just before it reached his lines — but the cost was immense. His armor cracked, blood ran down his arm.
Argen fell to his knees, laughing through blood. "You've won the field… but the war, Emperor has only begun."
Then he detonated his own mana core. A wave of darkness swept the plain.
---
Aftermath
Hours later, the smoke cleared.
Arizon's army was broken, retreating under what remained of their command. Silas' troops stood victorious, though thousands lay dead across the field.
Damian approached him as healers tended to the wounded. "The plains are ours, my Emperor. But Argen escaped he was pulled away before the blast."
Silas' eyes burned faintly in the fading light. "Let him run. He carries the weight of his own defeat."
He turned toward the setting sun — its light spilling across the endless graves of Arcan Plains.
"Send word to Vel Dragan," he said softly. "The war is not over. Arizon will strike again and next time, they won't come alone."
As he mounted his horse, the wind carried a whisper the smell of smoke, steel, and destiny.
Eldarion had survived the two-day inferno.
But the real storm was still coming.