Sigurd appeared at the edge of the clearing, unarmed, the Akkadian bracelet that gleamed on his wrist, a stark reminder of who he had been. He was ready. Yacha stepped forward, blocking the others from interfering. This was his fight and his alone.
Without a word, Sigurd uncorked the glass bottle and drank from it. He took up two orihalcon axes, weapons that mirrored Yacha's own but with longer handles, designed for a warrior of Sigurd's stature.
They stood face to face, father and son in spirit, enemies in duty. But beneath the surface of their rivalry, there was something deeper—an unspoken bond that neither could fully deny.
Before they began, Sigurd broke the silence. "Before we start, Yacha, know that I hold no grudges. I, Sigurd Normen, leader of Skara Brae, was once a leader of the Orionis as well. I am ready to fight."
Yacha, stunned into silence, now understood how Sigurd had known everything all along. This man had once been a threat to Akkadia, privy to its darkest secrets and mysteries. The weight of the truth settled on Yacha's shoulders, but his resolve didn't waver. He gripped his axes tighter.
"I, Yacha, a soldier in the elite division of the Seiken Army, the Orionis, am ready to fight," he declared, his voice steady, even as his heart warred within him.
And so, they took their stances, ready to face one another, not just as warriors, but as men caught between duty and love, honor and sorrow. The night would bear witness to their final battle, though the stars above, indifferent to their pain, shone on.
.
The night air was crisp, the stars bright above, but all Yacha could focus on was Sigurd standing before him, a man who was now both an adversary and a reminder of what could have been. Their axes gleamed in the moonlight, each one a deadly instrument of war. Sigurd moved first, his steps purposeful, his presence towering.
With a sharp motion, Sigurd swung one of his orihalcon axes in a wide arc. Yacha barely had time to react, meeting the blow with his own axe, the force of it reverberating up his arms. Sigurd's strength was overwhelming; Yacha could feel it in every clash of their weapons. Yet, he held his ground.
Sigurd's eyes glinted with a fierce light as he pulled away, his hand crackling with energy. Yacha's heart raced as the older warrior channeled the earth beneath him. The ground trembled, and in a burst of raw power, jagged spikes of rock shot up from the earth, hurtling toward Yacha. He leaped back, barely avoiding the deadly strike, but even so, the shockwave sent him stumbling.
Sigurd was relentless. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a wave of fire, its heat searing the air between them. Yacha raised his own hand, summoning his fire attribute in response. The flames collided in a roaring explosion of heat, the blaze temporarily blinding them both. But Sigurd wasn't finished. He followed up immediately, his body surging with thunder as he swung his axe again, this time crackling with lightning.
Yacha barely parried the strike, his arms shaking from the sheer force of it. Sigurd's thunder attribute was far more powerful than his own. Every swing carried the weight of a storm behind it, and Yacha found himself being pushed back, inch by inch.
But Yacha refused to give in. He channeled his own earth attribute, causing the ground beneath him to harden and rise, forming a protective barrier. Sigurd's next attack, a violent downward slash, shattered the barrier, but it gave Yacha enough time to reposition himself. His breathing was ragged, but his eyes stayed focused on Sigurd.
Sigurd's expression remained unreadable as he raised his hand, and the ground beneath them shifted. From the earth, thin metal needles sprouted like deadly thorns. They launched toward Yacha with terrifying speed, their sharp tips aimed to impale him. Yacha rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the first wave, but Sigurd was already preparing another attack, his eyes cold and calculating.
Yacha felt the sting of one of the needles grazing his shoulder, but he didn't stop. He retaliated with a thunderous strike of his own, the energy crackling down the length of his axes as he brought them down toward Sigurd. For the first time, Sigurd had to step back, his eyes narrowing as he blocked the attack with a single axe.
The power disparity between them was undeniable, but Yacha wasn't backing down. He matched Sigurd's strikes with everything he had, their axes ringing out in a brutal symphony of steel. Each blow from Sigurd sent shockwaves through Yacha's body, but he held on, his resolve stronger than the pain.
Sigurd's eyes flickered with something akin to respect as he paused for a moment as if appraising the younger warrior's resilience. But then, with a swift motion, he raised his hand again, summoning more of the metal needles. Yacha braced himself, his heart pounding in his chest.
Oscar stood at the edge of the clearing, his jaw clenched in amazement, unable to look away from the duel unfolding before him. He had always known Sigurd was a force of nature, a warrior seasoned in battle, but Yacha, this kid, was holding his ground. No, more than that, he was thriving in the chaos, trading blows with a man who could crush mountains. Oscar's heart raced as he watched. How could a boy like him be so strong?
Behind him, Ursang stared at the fight, his fists tight at his sides, his expression unreadable. Inside, his emotions churned. He couldn't deny the sharp sting of jealousy that flickered through his veins. Yacha had grown, become something far beyond the boy he once knew. That realization gnawed at Ursang, yet, mingled with that jealousy, was something else, a sense of pride. The fearless soldier he'd once fought beside had returned, stronger and fiercer than ever. He could finally see it in Yacha, that old fire burning in his eyes, the unyielding determination that had been missing for so long.
Speira and Eline stood off to the side, their faces pale, their eyes heavy with sorrow. The metallic clang of axes, the crackle of thunder splitting the night, filled the air, yet their thoughts were far from the violence in front of them. They knew this wasn't just a fight—it was a reckoning, a bitter conclusion to a bond that once held something more than conflict. Speira's breath hitched in her throat, tears welling in her eyes, though she made no sound. Silent, she watched the man she respected and the boy she cared for tear into each other, each strike bringing them closer to a point of no return.
Eline's gaze, though just as heavy, remained dry. She felt the weight of what was happening, her mind torn between duty and the personal agony she knew Yacha must be feeling. The clash of their axes rang out across the clearing, each impact reverberating like thunder, but her heart sank with every blow. There would be no victory here, only loss, no matter the outcome.
The clearing was alive with tension, the air electric with the combined power of two warriors wielding the thunder attribute. It was a sight none of them would ever witness again. Sigurd, a master of his craft, and Yacha, a boy who had grown into a formidable soldier, were locked in a battle that felt more like a conversation than combat. Their axes collided in brilliant sparks, the sheer force of their strikes making the earth tremble beneath their feet, yet neither spoke a word.
But there was more than steel and strength exchanged in those moments. Every swing, every parry, carried a silent dialogue between them, a conversation no one else could hear. For Yacha, each step forward, each defensive block, was a question. *Why did it have to come to this?* And Sigurd, with his powerful, almost effortless movements, answered without words. *Because this is the way of things.*
Oscar could feel the weight of that unspoken dialogue pressing down on him. Ursang shifted beside him, still watching with a simmering mix of jealousy and respect. Speira wiped at her eyes but did not let the tears fall, while Eline stood silently, her heart breaking for the friend she feared she might lose, no matter the outcome. The night sky above them, lit by the aurora, seemed too peaceful for the tragedy unfolding below. The bright streaks of light above were a cruel contrast to the raw, desperate energy between Sigurd and Yacha, two warriors bound by fate, now divided by it.
AUTHOR POV.
Deep in the forest axes clashed,the flares of their magic is all over the place, which drew unwanted attention, the creature who hid deep in the forest, was attracted to the aura Sigurd and yacha released.
The draugar towered at a staggering three meters, its hulking form a grotesque sight to behold. Its skin, a mottled mix of blue and black, seemed to cling to its bones, pulled tight in some places while hanging loosely in others, as though death had only half claimed it. The creature's flesh was riddled with patches of decay, with blackened veins spiderwebbing across its body, leaking a foul stench that clung to the air like rot. Sunken eyes, glowing faintly with a pale, otherworldly light, stared out from beneath a brow twisted in eternal rage.
The creature's face was a nightmare, its nose barely more than a collapsed ridge, and its mouth, filled with jagged, yellowed teeth, hung open in a silent snarl. Its long, stringy hair was as black as pitch, matted with the filth of centuries. Its arms, thick and powerful, ended in clawed hands that looked as though they could tear through metal as easily as flesh.
But the true horror of the draugar lay not just in its appearance, but in its presence. A bone-deep cold followed it wherever it went, as though it carried the chill of the grave with it. It reeked of death and decay, the air around it heavy with the sour scent of corruption.
As Yacha and Sigurd clashed in a storm of axes and thunder, a sudden wave of frigid air washed over the battlefield, chilling their bones and halting their strikes mid-air. The stench of decay, thick and overpowering, filled their lungs, making them recoil as a dark, oppressive aura settled over them. Both warriors turned instinctively, their battle was forgotten, as the towering figure of the draugar emerged from the shadows, its glowing eyes locking onto them with a malevolent hunger.
Sigurd paused for a second, this creature in from of him, draugar of the royal graveyard, a graveyard in the forest near Skara brae, he proceeded to explain to yacha, what is the hideous thing they attracted.