Lucan's heart pounded in his chest as he squared off against Lyan, his grip tightening around the hilt of his flaming sword. His armor, glowing faintly with the enchantments woven into it, seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat. The air between them was thick with tension, the battle raging around them fading into the background as Lucan focused solely on the man before him.
(He's strong...)
Lucan thought, sweat dripping down his brow. The very presence of Lyan was overwhelming, like a force of nature that couldn't be contained. His eyes flickered to the massive glaive in Lyan's hand, the blade shimmering with magical energy. One swing from that weapon had sent soldiers flying, cutting through steel and bone like they were nothing. Lucan had seen it with his own eyes, had watched as men who tried to help him were blasted away in the blink of an eye. And yet, Lyan stood there, calm and unshaken, as if this battle was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.
