Rhaelle advanced across the battlefield like royalty crossing a polished marble floor instead of blood-soaked mud. Her army parted immediately, bowing their heads as if some divine force demanded it. Shadows curled at her feet like hungry wolves.
Her lips curved into a cruel smile.
“Sun Pretender,” she called, voice echoing unnaturally, laced with ancient magic. “Daughter of a fallen kingdom. You stand in a throne that is not yours.”
Ariaxa lifted her blazing blade, the sunfire swirling like a living comet around her hand.
“I stand where I must.”
Rhaelle tilted her head, examining her as if she were a curiosity rather than a threat.
“Single combat,” she announced. “Me against you. No armies. No interference.”
Gasps erupted across both sides.
A formal challenge.
A political trap.
If Ariaxa refused — Vharon would be shamed.
If Ariaxa accepted and fell — Vharon would break.
Before Riven could reach her—
Before Lorian could shout a warning—
Before she could think of Kaedan bleeding inside the palace—
Ariaxa shouted:
“I accept.”
Riven’s roar nearly tore through the sky.
“ARIA-XA, NO—!”
But it was done.
Rhaelle’s smile sharpened.
“As foolish as your father,” she murmured.
Ariaxa’s grip tightened around her sunlit blade. “As brave.”
The queen raised her arms.
Shadow surged outward.
The battlefield dimmed, forming a circle of fire and darkness around them.
The armies backed away instinctively, creating a ring—
Death’s arena.
Ariaxa felt the weight of thousands of eyes.
But she thought only of one.
Kaedan.
Unconscious.
Bleeding.
Maybe dying.
Her heart ignited.
She would win.
She had to win.
Rhaelle drew her blades with a rippling whisper of steel.
Twin moonblades.
Curved, beautiful, and corrupted with shadow magic, each strike humming with malignant intent.
“Shall we begin, Princess?” she purred.
Ariaxa raised her blade in answer.
“No,” she said, voice like a rising sun.
“We already have.”
The sky lit ablaze.
They collided.
Rhaelle’s blades moved like liquid silver, her footwork smooth, lethal, elegant. She struck from angles Ariaxa barely saw. Every movement exuded centuries of battle prowess. Her shadows twisted around her, binding themselves into armor.
Ariaxa fought with raw power.
Sunfire surged along her veins, her blade burning bright enough to turn night into dawn. Her magic flared each time Rhaelle targeted her wounded shoulder, sparks exploding with each parry.
Rhaelle laughed softly. “You fight like wildfire—beautiful, reckless, doomed.”
Ariaxa lunged, slicing through a shadow construct. “I fight to protect him.”
Rhaelle’s smile vanished. “The Emperor? That monster you cling to like salvation?”
Ariaxa’s voice cracked. “He saved me.”
“That,” Rhaelle hissed, striking with blinding speed, “is exactly why you must die.”
Their blades collided, sending shockwaves through the battlefield.
Light and darkness spiraled upward, ripping clouds apart.
Soldiers shielded their eyes.
Magic shrieked through the air.
Riven shouted from the sidelines, “ARIA-XA, FALL BACK—!”
But Ariaxa didn’t.
Couldn’t.
Every strike she made was fueled by desperation—
to save Kaedan,
to save Vharon,
to save herself.
Sunfire blasted from her blade, burning pathways through Rhaelle’s shadows. For a moment, she drove the Queen backward, forcing her to defend instead of taunt.
Rhaelle snarled.
“You dare push me? Little sunscar?”
She unleashed a torrent of shadow magic so thick it snuffed out the light.
Ariaxa grit her teeth, forcing her power into a protective flare—
the two forces collided mid-air—
The sky ruptured with a deafening thunderclap.
Light exploded.
Shadow swallowed it.
The battlefield trembled under the blast.
Both armies staggered as the shockwave pulsed outward.
Ariaxa hit the ground hard, breath knocked from her lungs.
Her arms shook violently.
Her magic flickered.
Her vision blurred.
Rhaelle landed lightly, barely winded, her moonblades gleaming with shadowfire.
She walked toward Ariaxa with slow, measured steps.
“Your power is impressive,” she murmured. “Untrained. Untamed. Unworthy.”
Ariaxa struggled to rise.
Rhaelle slammed a boot into her chest, forcing her back down.
“You are no queen.”
Ariaxa gasped, fighting for breath.
“You are no warrior.”
Rhaelle pressed harder.
“And you—”
She raised her moonblade overhead, shadow swirling—
“—are no longer needed.”
Ariaxa clawed at the dirt, her voice breaking.
“Kaedan—”
Rhaelle smiled viciously.
“He will watch you die.”
Ariaxa’s strength faltered.
The world tilted.
Her blade slipped from her grasp.
Rhaelle lifted her weapon high—
“This is the end, Princess.”
The moonblade descended.