The sun blazed high and merciless as Aelric and Lorienthel mounted their steeds, the earth trembling beneath the weight of thousands. Armor flashed like fire, banners cracked in the dry wind, and the sharp taste of war clung to the air—iron, smoke, and dread.
Arch General Vjetromor sat high on his golden warhorse, a titan framed by the blinding sun, casting long shadows across the polished lines of the Golden Army behind him. Their armor gleamed unnaturally, enchanted with protection and pride, each soldier a blade in a vast, unbreakable wall.
He raised his gauntleted hand, voice thundering across the field:
"Spare your men, Aelric. Yield now, and lives will be spared."
Aelric narrowed his eyes, the corner of his mouth curling. "I've heard better offers from drunk mercenaries."
He raised his sword. "Hold the line!"
Vjetromor's jaw tightened. His command was quiet, but it carried. "Bring her."
The ranks parted—and Mei-Ling was dragged forward, her wrists bound in arcane silver, a thin trickle of blood trailing from her temple. Her eyes, though, were fierce—no less a storm than the armies before her. She met Aelric's gaze and gave the smallest shake of her head. A warning. A goodbye.
"Release her, Vjetromor!" Aelric roared, his voice cracking with fury.
Vjetromor didn't flinch. "End it."
A blade rose over Mei-Ling's head.
And then—
The sky split open.
A pulse of radiant energy detonated outward, centered on Mei-Ling. Blinding light surged through the battlefield, the force knocking armored soldiers from their feet like dolls flung by a child's tantrum. The earth buckled beneath them, groaning, rising as if in rebellion.
From the heavens, a phoenix shrieked, wings blazing as it dove in a spiral of flame. Griffins dropped from the clouds, talons ripping into golden helms. Dragons burst from arcane clouds above, their roars cracking the air as they bathed the field in waves of molten fire.
Even the ground rebelled—roots tore through earth and armor alike, wrapping around legs and necks, yanking soldiers into the soil like a living grave.
Vjetromor's composure cracked. "What... what is this sorcery?"
Lorienthel let out a low whistle. "It's her." He grinned, unable to help himself. "And I'd wager you're screwed."
"Advance!" Aelric bellowed, his blade raised high. His army surged forward, battle cries rising to meet the roar of dragons.
And from the ridge behind them, Vedran appeared.
He moved like winter incarnate—cloak billowing, frost spiraling from his boots with each step. His arms rose, and with a roar of ancient syllables, a column of frost-fireerupted from his palms. It twisted in mid-air, blue and white flame curling like a serpent, searing through the enemy's front line.
Golden shields froze mid-formation—then shattered. Armor cracked, frost racing across helmets before combusting in ghostly flame. Soldiers screamed as their bodies were consumed by ice and fire at once, frozen statues igniting from the inside out.
Vedran raised both hands again—another blast. This time, a glacier erupted beneath enemy feet, jagged spikes skewering rows of troops before he slammed it down with one final, echoing gesture. The ice shattered, launching shards through the air like divine shrapnel.
"Vjetromor!" Vedran bellowed, his voice like thunder caught in a blizzard. "You stand in defiance of the elements themselves!"
Flames met frost. Sky met ground. And the world became war.
Through the chaos, Aelric fought like a revenant, blade soaked with blood, eyes locked on Mei-Ling. He carved a ruthless path, one heartbeat at a time. When he reached her, she stood unbound—the magical restraints melted away by the blast—and now radiant, like a goddess born in battle.
"What in the nine hells were you thinking?" he snapped, eyes wild.
Mei-Ling met him without blinking. "We ride together or die together."
For a beat, he could only stare. Then he pulled her into a kiss so fierce the battlefield itself seemed to pause, caught between breaths.
"Romance later!" Lorienthel shouted as he slashed his way past, grinning. "We could use the fire-breathing things over here!"
Aelric broke the kiss, breathless. "He's right. Time to end this."
They turned, back-to-back—his blade a blur of steel, her hands channeling divine flame. Every strike was poetry in violence.
Nearby, Hoki danced through the fray—blades flashing low, cutting tendons, dropping giants with surgical efficiency. Fror and Gror followed, a storm of laughter and axes, each swing a deadly arc of joy and fury. Gui pounced from above, claws rending metal and bone with unrestrained savagery.
Feredis spun in like a wildfire, hurling fireballs with glee. "Hey Hoki, watch this!" A burst of flame engulfed a knight, sending him flying. Hoki spared him a glance and a rare smirk. "Not bad... for a wizard."
Branimir, grim and bloodied, fought beside Mirna, who snarled, "Old fool, stop bleeding!"
"I'll die when I damn well choose!" he barked back, cleaving a spear in half.
Just as they were being overwhelmed, Hattori and Honzo arrived like thunder in shadow.
"Did someone call for brooding reinforcements?" Honzo quipped, arrows flying. Together, they pushed the enemy line back.
But the Golden Army did not waver. They came like a tide—endless, unyielding, silent. Every blow struck down was answered by five more. Their march did not falter. It consumed.
Even the strongest spells were drowned in gold and steel.
"Retreat!" Aelric shouted, voice hoarse. "Back to the outpost!"
As the line fell back, a terrible cry pierced the din.
Lorienthel stumbled, a blade protruding from his back. He collapsed.
"No!" Aelric caught him mid-fall, dragging him backward as blood soaked his hands.
"Don't you die on me," he growled, lifting him as he roared to the retreating army, "Fall back!"
The battered remnants fled, gates slamming just as the Golden Army surged forward. Jingfei sprinted to Lorienthel, hands shaking as she worked desperately to stop the bleeding.
Aelric staggered toward Mei-Ling. "You must go."
"No!" she cried, cradling his face. "I'm not leaving you!"
"Please... If you love me, you must." His voice cracked, raw and breaking. "This realm is lost. Go... live."
Tears streamed down her face as she called on the rune within her. The ground lit green, the air thick with power. The portal bloomed open—swirling light and the scent of spring.
Aelric's voice rang out, steel in every word: "Feredis. Hoki. Miyx. Fror. Gror. Gui... Jingfei—go with her. Protect her. That's an order."
They obeyed, though none gladly. All but Jingfei, who stood frozen, caught between her sister and the dying elf in her arms.
The chamber groaned. Warhorns howled.
"Jingfei..." Mei-Ling whispered.
Their hands met, their souls speaking in silence: a thousand memories wrapped in a single touch.
"We had good times, didn't we?"
"Yeah... we did."
They embraced—trembling, desperate, forever.
A thunderous crack shook the stone. Dust rained down. The gate bent beneath the force behind it.
"GO!" Aelric shouted, armor charred, sword dripping. "Now, before it's too late!"
Mei-Ling ran to him. They collided. She pressed her face into his neck, shaking.
"I will love you forever."
He crushed her to him. "I'll follow the stars... to the edge of the universe... to find you."
Their kiss burned.
And then—she stepped back. Into the light.
She turned—saw him framed in ruin, his mouth forming the words.
I love you.
And then the portal closed.
On the other side, Mei-Ling collapsed, screaming his name into a world that no longer held him.
"AELRIC!"
Not a cry. A wound made sound.
Hoki caught her. Held her.
"We'll get him back," she said. "No matter what it takes."
The outpost shook. Shadows pressed in.
The war wasn't over.
It was just beginning.
And somewhere beyond the void, Aelric stood alone—his sword raised, his love a fire in his chest.
Waiting for the stars to lead him home.
The END