Help me undo the straps,I say through the bond to Estela. It takes mere moments for us to peel off the crystal.
"You romanticize death as if it's the only noble path. But you're oblivious to the anguish of enduring life," I call out to him, grasping my blade tightly, its familiar weight a comfort from days long past when I trained alongside the soldiers in my father's regiment. The air crackles with tension as I raise the sword, a silent challenge hanging between us. Engaging in combat, a brutal dance where respect is earned through bloodshed—this is the only language Tir’Suel understands.
“If you insist on speaking in the language of violence, then draw your weapon,” I say, my voice low and threatening.
He looks at me and laughs. “I will look forward to seeing you fall on your ass.”
“I will not fall. But you might,” I say.
Teo, Estela protests.Be careful.
I must do this.
That response is met with silence, though her fear is potent. It’s bitter on my tongue.
The water surges relentlessly against the shimmering protective shield enveloping the compound. Through the translucent barrier, colorful fish dart past. The echoes of imaginary screams reverberate in my mind, refusing to fade as I locked eyes with Tir’Suel, his presence, unfortunately, real.
In one swift motion, Tir’Suel dons a ragged tunic over his bare chest and seizes the weapon lying at his feet. His gaze hardens as he swiftly aims it towards me, his stance poised and ready for combat. With legs planted firmly apart and arms extended in a commanding gesture, he braces himself for theimpending confrontation. Reacting instinctively, I shove Estela behind me, stealing a glimpse of Thorne ushering her to safety amidst the escalating tension.
I begrudgingly make a note to thank the half-elf.
“You have made a mistake coming here,” he threatens before lunging at me. I narrowly jump out of the way. “You will do your duty to your people and die a noble death at my hand.”
His blade slices towards me again, but this time, I parry. The force of the impact throws his weapon back. He growls and readjusts his position.
“You. Will. Die.” He swings around, dealing me three sweeping blows with staggering precision. I am forced back across the slick ground, and my feet slide. “When you see your father in the afterlife, tell him of the warrior who killed you. That it was I, Tir’Suel, captain of his one thousand mightiest soldiers who avenged him by massacring his frail, sniveling son.”
I block another of his blows, and the smell of fish and deep salt water fills my nose, mixing with the spark of metal. “Even if you were to kill me, I doubt I will ever see him again—tyrants are not beloved by our gods.”
He scoffs, and I use the opportunity to thrust at his unguarded stomach, using the weight of my tail and arms to give power to my swiping blow.
It clips into his skin, but he jumps back before I can cut deep. A small red stain spreads on the salt-stained fabric.
“Perhaps not,” he grits out as the blade comes down against me again and again. “But they will condemn someone for diluting their royal blood.”
He launches at me again, a flurry of calculated strikes aiming to break my defenses. Despite my efforts to shield myself, one blow breaches my guard, slicing into my shoulder with a sickening sound.
"Shit," I curse, summoning a surge of determination to push him back. "You are blinded by your narrow beliefs if you think the gods concern themselves with such trivial matters. Your ignorance will be your downfall."
Echoes of my father's disapproving voice taunt me, questioning my resolve and foresight. Defiantly, I rebuke his words, asserting my commitment to safeguarding my family and securing a future for my people rather than heedlessly endangering them.
With renewed vigor, each strike I deliver carries a weighty purpose.
"Seems like you retained some lessons from the academy," he remarks between gasps for breath as I deflect his blade with precision. Seizing an opening, I swiftly pivot and swipe my tail toward his feet, disrupting his balance.
As he stumbles and hits the ground, wasting no time, I drive the sword into his heart.
“Fuck…” A wet gurgle punctuates his final moments.
Exhaling heavily, I glance back at Thorne and Estela. Her expression betrays shock as she gazes upon the lifeless figure before her. My Fuegorra has already begun healing the wound, but I shift my shoulders as the prickling, hot discomfort sears the open cut.
"What was he saying?" she inquires, despite her familiarity with Enduar language nuances. The ancient dialect may not pose significant barriers, yet I choose not to repeat his derogatory remarks about her heritage.
"It is of no consequence; he lies silenced now." Lifting my sword overhead, I pivot around the watching Enduares who observe me intently like vigilant hawks. As I look back at the men waiting for me to address the group, I try to memorize each face.
There are so many of them. I feel a thick emotion coil in mychest wrapping itself up like a rope. Two hundred and seventy-nine Enduares exist in Enduvida. There are nearly a hundred standing before me with a few more trickling in.
More of my people live.A peculiar kind of hope is starting to bubble up.
