As Zephyr staggered, weakened from blood loss and exhaustion, his legs threatened to give way beneath him. Just before he could collapse, Elira rushed forward, catching him mid-fall. He is the pride of the kingdom; he cannot be seen like this, she thought, her heart racing. Supporting him, she guided him to a nearby fallen soldier's body and gently helped him sit. Her hands were steady, firm yet tender, as if handling something precious.
Without a word, she turned to face the enemies surging toward them, her eyes blazing with determination. Behind her, Zephyr, summoning the last of his strength, drove his sword into the ground beside him. Blood trickled down the hilt, tracing its way to the blade's tip as it stood anchored in the earth.
"Elira," he rasped, his voice barely audible. "It's up to you now."
She glanced back at him, her expression soft yet fierce. "I know, sleepyhead," she said with a faint, reassuring smile. "You rest here. I'll take care of these pests." Though her words were light, her tone betrayed her worry.
Turning back to the battlefield, she gripped her sword tightly. Her voice, cold as steel, cut through the chaos. "Now, you pests will face the wrath of the Sword Saint."
Elira's usually calm gaze burned with wild intensity. A golden light pulsed from her blade, warm yet threatening, sending chills through the air. As the first enemy charged, her sword flashed in an arc so swift it seemed to slice through time itself. One precise stroke cleaved her foe in two. Blood sprayed like a crimson mist, but her blade remained untainted, its glow undiminished.
She moved with lethal grace, each swing of her sword a blur of gold and red. Thirteen men fell in moments, their bodies crumpling like discarded leaves as Elira advanced.
Across the battlefield, Zed's eyes snapped open. Horror twisted his face as he saw his men lying in mangled heaps, Elira's armor drenched in blood, her expression unyielding. Fury boiled within him, and with a snarl, he cast a levitation spell, lifting himself into the air. His gaze locked onto her, his intent dark and vengeful.
Elira's eyes narrowed as she spotted him. Withdrawing her sword from the chests of five men impaled in a single strike, she turned to face him. Her presence was fierce and unrelenting, a protector possessed by an unyielding will.
But as Zed darted past her, realization struck like lightning—his target wasn't her. It was Zephyr, defenseless and unconscious behind her.
"No," Elira breathed, panic tightening her chest. Acting on instinct, she sheathed her sword, grabbed a discarded blade from the ground, and hurled it with all her strength. The weapon flew like a comet, its edge igniting as it streaked through the air. Zed barely dodged, the blade grazing his hand and leaving a raw, searing burn.
Snarling in pain, Zed turned, his fury blazing. Elira was already charging, her movements relentless. He clenched his wounded hand, numbing it with magic, and raised the earth beneath her, trapping her within a stone cage.
"You'll never touch me now," he sneered.
A resounding crack shattered his confidence. Elira's sword cleaved through the stone walls like brittle glass. She lunged forward, her blade aimed for his neck, her resolve burning like an inferno.
Zed twisted, narrowly evading her strike. He sneered. "The famed 'Sword Saint' of Valoira?" His voice dripped with contempt. "You're just a wild beast swinging a blade without thought."
Elira froze, his taunt striking a nerve. She straightened, taking a deep breath, and steadied her grip. Her rage simmered into icy resolve as she swung her sword in a fluid arc, regaining her focus.
"Even if I am a beast," she said, her voice calm yet sharp, "do you really think you can stop me?"
Zed's composure cracked, his face twisting in anger. He raised his remaining hand, chanting furiously as flames gathered. But before he could finish, Elira vanished. In the blink of an eye, she reappeared behind him, her sword slashing toward his back.
Zed threw himself to the side, a shimmering shield of magic deflecting her blow. The ground trembled under the force of her strike, a deep groove etched into his barrier. She stepped forward, her movements precise, her focus unwavering.
"Arcanon's disciple or not," she murmured, her voice cutting like her blade, "you're just another obstacle in my way."
Zed's fury reached its peak. Hovering above the battlefield, he hurled a barrage of fireballs at her. Elira dodged each one with the grace of a dancer, her movements fluid despite the onslaught. But a stray flame struck her shoulder, searing her armor and burning her skin. The pain was blinding, but she pushed through, driven by a singular purpose: to protect.
As Zed's magic waned, Elira saw her opening. She grabbed a fallen soldier's body and hurled it with all her strength. The corpse slammed into Zed, knocking him from the sky. Before he could recover, Elira leaped, her sword aimed for his throat.
But Zed vanished in a flash of dark energy, leaving her blade to strike the earth with a resounding crash.
Elira scanned the battlefield, her breath heavy. The fight was over—for now. She turned to Zephyr, kneeling beside him. His chest rose and fell faintly, alive but still unconscious. Gently brushing hair from his face, she smiled wearily.
"You sleepyhead," she murmured. "Is this really the place to nap? I had to clean up your mess."
Her voice carried both exhaustion and relief. For now, the battlefield was quiet, but the weight of what lay ahead loomed like a shadow.