The valley was a hellscape of fire, smoke, and twisted metal. The Bloodline strike had shattered the Council's supply lines, but Tarek al-Rhazim had survived—alive, watchful, and more dangerous than ever. I could feel his presence across the battlefield, every movement he made calculated, every command deliberate.
This was no longer about raiding wagons or cutting supply lines. This was about him versus me, predator against predator, and the war had narrowed to the razor edge of our confrontation.
I wiped sweat and blood from my brow, surveying the chaos. Men shouted, arrows screamed through the air, and horses reared in panic. Rethan and Lysa were in the thick of it, cutting down officers and soldiers alike, their movements fluid and deadly.
Joren moved like a shadow, silent but lethal, leaving no target alive in his path.
But all of them knew, as I did, that the real fight lay ahead.
Tarek emerged from the smoke, riding with a confidence that made my stomach tighten. His armor gleamed in the dim sunlight, black steel trimmed with crimson.
The sheer presence of the man was enough to make soldiers hesitate, and hesitation was fatal in war. His eyes met mine, and for a heartbeat, the world narrowed: it was only him and me, everything else fading into noise and smoke.
"Cairos," he called, voice carrying across the valley, cold and sharp. "I have waited for this. You've been clever, daring… but cleverness alone won't save you."
"I'm not here to survive, Tarek," I shouted back. "I'm here to end this. One way or another."
He smiled, a predator's smile. "Then let's see who walks away from this alive."
I charged first, moving through the chaos, men scattering to avoid the duel. Every step was calculated, every movement designed to draw him into the kill zone we had prepared in the valley.
Spears lined the passes, archers crouched behind rocks with arrows nocked, and fire from flaming barrels cast long, shifting shadows.
Tarek met me at the center, and the clash was immediate.
Our swords collided with a ringing crash, sparks flying. The force of his strike nearly pushed me back, but I countered with speed and precision. Every blow was answered with another; every feint met with a riposte.
He was strong, but I had learned to fight shadows and anticipation, and I knew his rhythm.
Around us, the battle continued, but it had faded into background noise. The screams, the clash of steel, the whinnying of horses—all of it merged into a single rhythm, the heartbeat of war.
Tarek swung, and I ducked under his blade, rolling forward to strike at his legs. He stepped back, grinning, and came at me again with a series of rapid strikes, each one designed to test my endurance and patience. I parried, countered, and struck, the clash of our swords ringing across the valley.
"Impressive," he said, breathing steadily, eyes locked on mine. "You've grown stronger since our last encounter.
But strength without strategy is meaningless."
"I'm not here for meaningless," I spat, slashing across his torso. "I'm here for victory."
We fought like shadows in the smoke, moving faster than the eye could follow.
Every strike I made was precise, designed to test him, weaken him, force him into mistakes. And slowly, I saw it: a slight hesitation, a shift in his stance, a subtle tell of fatigue. Tarek al-Rhazim was strong, clever, ruthless—but he was human.
I pressed the advantage, striking again and again, forcing him toward the traps we had prepared. Spears, fire, arrows—all lay in wait, hidden in plain sight. And with every feint, every step backward, he moved closer to them.
Suddenly, a rider broke from the Council forces on the eastern ridge, trying to flank me and intervene. Without hesitation, Rethan and Lysa moved as one, cutting him down before he could reach us. I didn't break focus; Tarek was the only target that mattered.
Our duel stretched for what felt like hours. Sweat and blood coated us both, breathing ragged, muscles screaming. Around us, the valley burned, bodies littering the ground, horses dead or panicked. And yet neither of us yielded.
Then, with a move that was as precise as it was deadly, I feinted to the left and brought my sword low to his right. Tarek reacted—but too slow. My blade nicked the side of his armor, a warning cut that drew a hiss of pain and a grimace.
"You're learning," he said, voice tight but composed. "But the lesson isn't over."
I pressed forward. "Neither am I."
The men around us sensed the shift. Tarek's forces faltered, hesitant to commit fully while their commander was engaged. And that hesitation was all I needed. I drove him step by step toward the cliffs, toward the narrow pass lined with spears and archers ready to strike. Every move was deliberate, every motion part of a larger strategy.
"You've trapped me," Tarek said, eyes flashing. "Clever… but this isn't over. Not by a long shot."
"No," I agreed, blade pointed at his chest.
"Not over… but tonight, I dictate the terms."
The archers unleashed a volley, arrows flying over his head, forcing him to backstep into the pass. Spears braced, fires flaring from the barrels we had tipped. Tarek's cavalry, caught in the ambush we had planned, reeled back, retreating into the chaos.
For the first time, I saw doubt flicker in his eyes. For the first time, I saw fear.
But he was not yet defeated. Not fully. Not while he still drew breath.
I lowered my sword slightly, letting him see the inevitability of his situation. "You can still survive this," I said. "Leave. Withdraw. And perhaps one day, you will think twice before crossing me."
He looked around, realizing the depth of the trap, the ruin of his supply lines, the loss of his men. And for a moment, the pride that had made him untouchable faltered.
Then he smiled again, this time thin, dangerous. "You've won today, Cairos. But this war… is far from over."
With that, he wheeled his horse, signaling the remnants of his forces to retreat. The valley erupted in chaos once more as soldiers fled in all directions, smoke and fire consuming the battlefield.
I watched him go, every muscle tense, knowing that this was not the end. But for now, the valley was ours. The Council forces had been shattered. And Tarek al-Rhazim had been reminded that he was not untouchable.
Rethan clapped a hand on my shoulder. "You did it," he said, exhaustion and awe mixing in his voice.
"I did what needed to be done," I replied, eyes still tracking the retreating figure of Tarek. "But the war is far from over. And the next time we meet…"
"I know," Lysa said quietly. "You'll be ready."
I sheathed my sword and looked across the valley. Flames burned into the evening sky, painting shadows over the ruin of the Council forces.
The men tended their wounds, mourned the dead, and prepared for the next battle. And I, Cairos, knew that the real war—the war for Aereth, for power, for survival—was only just beginning.
Because Tarek al-Rhazim would return.
And when he did, there would be no mercy.
And neither would I.