The residential district wasn’t ready for war.

  The houses were too close together. The streets, too narrow. Smoke descended like a second layer of sky.

  Darian moved at the front.

  He did not wait for orders.

  Two figures emerged from a collapsed balcony. They dropped violently, aiming for a quick impact.

  Aeris raised her hand.

  A blue line expanded in the air like a flexible wall. The first attacker crashed against it and lost his balance.

  Darian was already on him.

  His sword entered on a diagonal, precise, without waste.

  The second enemy managed to turn, slicing his forearm.

  Darian did not step back.

  He shifted his grip.

  He struck with the pommel to the jaw and finished the motion with an upward cut.

  He was breathing faster than he liked to admit.

  Maelis directed civilians toward a wider street.

  “Over here! Don’t split up!”

  A third appeared behind Darian.

  Aeris saw him.

  “Left!”

  Darian leaned just enough to avoid the thrust, but the impact forced him to spin. The enemy’s strength was greater than the previous ones.

  The adversary smiled when he noticed the difference.

  He pressed forward.

  Darian blocked twice. The third strike vibrated up to his shoulder.

  He felt the surge rise up his back.

  The heat began at his neck.

  The golden mark beneath his skin ignited like a living line.

  It didn’t only shine outward. It burned inward.

  His breathing changed.

  In the next clash, the impact was different.

  His sword didn’t only block.

  It pushed.

  The enemy stepped back half a pace, surprised.

  Darian lunged forward with everything he had.

  A low cut to unbalance. A twist of the wrist. Direct impact to the torso.

  The resistance gave way.

  The adversary fell.

  The mark on his neck pulsed once more.

  Then it went dark.

  The exhaustion arrived like a delayed wave.

  Darian rested the tip of his sword on the ground for a second, catching his breath.

  “Control,” he murmured to himself.

  Aeris looked at him.

  She had seen the glow.

  She said nothing.

  Another group was approaching from the end of the street.

  More numerous.

  Maelis finished evacuating the last civilians.

  “We’re alone here,” she warned.

  Darian straightened.

  “Then we hold.”

  The first impact came brutally. One of the attackers wielded a mace that shattered a house’s facade when the blow missed.

  Darian slid to the right, seeking an angle.

  Aeris deployed a short barrier to slow the lateral advance.

  The coordination between the three of them was imperfect, but firm.

  One enemy managed to break through the defense and launched a direct thrust at Darian’s chest.

  He blocked late.

  The blade tore across his shoulder.

  The enemy smiled.

  Darian held his gaze.

  The heat climbed his neck again.

  This time he did not hesitate.

  The golden mark reappeared.

  More intense.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  His next movement was pure power.

  A frontal strike, direct. The force of the impact hurled the enemy against the stone wall.

  The wall cracked.

  The rest of the group hesitated for barely a second.

  It was enough.

  Aeris trapped one in a compressed pressure field.

  Maelis deflected another attack toward the ground.

  Darian entered through the center.

  Fast.

  Decisive.

  When the last one fell, the street was covered in debris and suspended dust.

  And then he saw him.

  Renar.

  At the end of the street, advancing with the determined stride of someone who had already come from another fight.

  He stopped for just an instant.

  His eyes were not on his son.

  They were beyond.

  Lucan was crossing the perpendicular avenue at that moment, moving toward the center.

  Renar took half a step in that direction.

  Only half.

  “Father!”

  Darian’s voice stopped him.

  It was not a cry for help.

  It was a firm call.

  Renar turned.

  He saw the blood on his son’s shoulder. The heavy breathing. The golden mark still faint beneath the skin.

  He assessed the scene in a second.

  He chose.

  He advanced toward Darian.

  The next attacker fell under Renar’s blade before reaching effective distance.

  Father and son stood back to back.

  Darian felt the difference immediately.

  The experience.

  The precision.

  Renar wasted no movements.

  Three coordinated attacks, executed without words.

  When the last enemy fell, the air grew heavier.

  Renar lowered his sword.

  He looked at Darian.

  Not like a child.

  Like a combatant who had just proven himself.

  His eyes drifted to his neck.

  The golden mark still pulsed faintly.

  “You’re using more than you should,” he said.

  It was not a reproach.

  Only a warning.

  Darian tried to smile.

  “I’ve got it under control.”

  Renar held his gaze a second longer.

  Then he looked back toward the avenue where Lucan had passed.

  Smoke was gathering in that direction.

  Darian noticed the shift.

  “I’m fine,” he added, faster than necessary.

  Renar nodded.

  Too brief.

  “Hold the position. Reinforcements will come from the west.”

  And he began to walk.

  Without more.

  Darian took a step forward.

  “Father.”

  Renar stopped slightly.

  “We fought well.”

  He did not fully turn.

  “Yes.”

  A single word.

  Then he continued toward the center.

  Darian watched him walk away.

  The gold beneath his skin finally extinguished.

  He was not gravely wounded.

  He was not defeated.

  But something had shifted inside him.

  Aeris approached in silence.

  “He has to help more people.”

  Darian did not respond.

  His eyes remained fixed on the direction where his father had disappeared into the smoke.

  In the central chamber, Alaric had already put on the battle armor he had not used in years. His gaze was calm, but his heart heavy.

  Then he felt it.

  A dark energy, sharp as a dagger, cutting through the atmosphere.

  “I thought you would come sooner.”

  From the smoke emerged a silhouette unlike the others. His aura was different, intimidating, accompanied by a barely visible smile beneath the dimness.

  Riven.

  The door closed behind him with a dry sound that echoed against the hall’s walls. The window at the back stood open, letting in an oblique strip of light that split the room in two.

  Alaric did not rise.

  He did not feign surprise.

  Riven remained standing. He did not take a seat. He did not ask permission. He did not look around as if he needed to orient himself. He knew that place too well.

  “I thought you would at least stand,” he said.

  Alaric observed him calmly.

  “If I did, it would seem like I’m waiting to defend myself.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “No.”

  A second of silence.

  Riven stepped toward the table.

  “Then tell me why.”

  He did not shout. He did not accuse. The question came out clean.

  Alaric held his gaze.

  “We were afraid.”

  Riven did not react.

  “I already know that.”

  He advanced another step.

  “What I don’t know is why fear was enough.”

  Alaric rested his forearms on the table.

  “It wasn’t only fear.”

  “Then explain.”

  A brief silence. Not uncomfortable. Heavy.

  “There were signs,” Alaric said. “Things we didn’t understand. And when something starts to change and you don’t know why… you react.”

  “You react by expelling someone.”

  “We reacted by trying to prevent something worse.”

  Riven tilted his head.

  “Worse than what?”

  Alaric did not answer immediately.

  “Than losing control.”

  There it was.

  Without adornment.

  Riven stepped closer.

  “I did nothing.”

  “I know.”

  “I hurt no one.”

  “I know.”

  “I asked for nothing.”

  “I know.”

  Each of Alaric’s answers was lower than the last.

  Riven watched him with cold attention.

  “So it wasn’t because of what I did.”

  Alaric shook his head slowly.

  “It was because of what might happen.”

  “Because of what you imagined might happen.”

  “Because of what we couldn’t afford to risk.”

  Riven let those words settle.

  “So you turned me into a risk.”

  Alaric did not contradict him.

  “I tried to make it small,” he said at last. “I thought that if we cast you out… if we stopped speaking of it… if the people saw nothing strange… it would calm down.”

  “Did it work?”

  There was no irony in the question.

  Alaric lowered his gaze for a second.

  “For a time.”

  Riven let out a dry laugh.

  Silence fell again between them.

  “Do you know what was the worst part?” Riven continued. “Not that they expelled me. Not that they pointed at me. It was that no one doubted. No one said maybe they were wrong.”

  Alaric lifted his eyes.

  “There were some who doubted.”

  “But not enough.”

  That hurt more than any direct accusation.

  Riven moved slowly around the table. He was not restless. He was measuring.

  “You took the prophecy and interpreted it your own way.”

  Alaric did not feign confusion.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s not what you told the people.”

  “No.”

  “You softened it. Changed parts.”

  “We explained it in a way that wouldn’t set anything on fire.”

  “You shaped it.”

  Alaric held his gaze.

  “We interpreted it.”

  Riven gave a slight nod.

  “It confirmed what you already believed.”

  Alaric did not answer immediately.

  “There were things we couldn’t ignore.”

  “But you ignored others.”

  This time Alaric did not contradict him.

  Riven stepped closer. There was little distance between them now.

  “You expelled me to prevent me from becoming a threat.”

  Alaric held him there.

  “Yes.”

  “And yet you shaped Lucan with the same fear.”

  Alaric tensed slightly.

  “I did not do the same.”

  “You didn’t expel him.”

  “No.”

  “But you tried to direct every step. Until he surpassed you.”

  Alaric fell silent.

  “I tried to do it differently,” he said at last. “I tried not to repeat it.”

  “And what changed?”

  “I didn’t isolate him. I didn’t mark him.”

  “You watched him.”

  “I guided him.”

  “You limited him.”

  “I prepared him.”

  Riven shook his head slowly.

  “You taught him to be careful before understanding himself.”

  Alaric clenched his jaw.

  “I tried to change the formula.”

  “But you didn’t abandon it.”

  Silence.

  “You knew it was wrong, what you did to me.”

  “Yes.”

  “And yet you decided to intervene again.”

  Alaric looked at him steadily.

  “I wasn’t going to stand by and watch.”

  “No,” Riven replied. “That’s exactly what you did.”

  The sentence was not aggressive. It was descriptive.

  Alaric exhaled through his nose.

  “There was a point when it was already too late to correct it,” he said. “If I admitted we had been wrong about you, the people would have started doubting everything. It would have divided. And then something worse would truly have happened.”

  “So you chose to contain it.”

  “I chose for it not to break.”

  “And do you think it didn’t?”

  Alaric watched him carefully.

  Riven was too calm.

  “I’m not going to ask for your forgiveness,” Alaric finally said. “Not because I don’t feel it. But because it wouldn’t change anything.”

  Riven held him for a few seconds.

  “I didn’t come for that.”

  Another step.

  There was no table between them now.

  “If you keep making decisions out of fear,” Riven continued, “you’re going to do it again.”

  Alaric stood for the first time.

  Not abruptly.

  With decision.

  “And if you act without thinking about what comes after, you will too.”

  They stood face to face.

  “Then we’re at the same point,” Riven said.

  “No,” Alaric replied. “We’re on different sides of the same mistake.”

  Riven looked at him for a long moment.

  “We’ll see.”

  Alaric adopted a firmer stance. Not aggressive. Ready.

  There was nothing more to discuss.

  The next move would not be a word.

  End of Chapter 18