“For too long we have been shunned and buried within the dark of the world,” Haeswahl Nunderberg shouted from her stage beside the aeronium pond. Her coating having been taken off revealed a pale whiteness underneath that was more aglow than most elves. “It is time we reclaim the world that is rightfully ours to rule. It is time to we return the world of the light back to the hands of the shadows!”

The Kalen-Ta'Rae, the Gate of Dark Light, a stone archway that acted as the coater for the shadowed skin of dark elves stood still beside her. Twice her height and width, the centre of it was a thin layer of translucent purple hue that danced forebodingly, backed by the absorptive darkness of the aeronium pond behind.

Thousands upon thousands of dark elves had gathered around the aeronium pond and spilling into the streets and alleyways. Some sat with their feet dangling off seats from rooftops as they listened to Haeswahl's speech from afar. The last few of the dark elves still covered by their black aeronium skin stood in a line of dozens before the Gate of Dark Light. One by one, they knelt before the gate, giving a silent prayer for the success of battle and a hopeful passing on of skills and ideologies back into the pond. With their hopes given, they passed through the gate, shedding their skin of darkness.

Haeswahl drew her sword and punched it into the air, an act that was reciprocated by the crowd with a roar of a huff. “We are the dark elves. The superior race of Tearha! Our ancestors feared us, hid us under the earth. But no more! We will retake what is rightfully ours!”

The last elf in line for the gate stood unmoving, an act which caught Haeswahl's attention, bringing her speech to a grinding halt.

The mysterious elf asked, “Is that the propaganda you have fed them? A tale of superiority?”

The commander, in a confident stride, slowly walked off the stage. The crowd had grown silent as Haeswahl made her way behind the stranger. “I know that voice.”

With a fluid hand, Nadier pulled off his hood and down his scarf, turning to face the commander of the dark elves. The strongest Spellblade of their generation after his brother, Haeswahl Nunderberg was a military genius that had studied and rehearsed the scenarios for wars for hundreds of years in anticipation of her moment of glory. And he was about to do something incredibly stupid to her.

He asked, “Where is ma Ha'Lof, Nintarin?”

“She has not been your Ha'Lof for a long time now, Wanderer.” Haeswahl paced before him, a glowing look in her calculating eyes. He knew she was weighing the option of directly attacking him. “Nintarin has been remitted to her chambers. She will remain there until the war is over or she acquiesce to support us.”

“I see...” Nadier muttered, slightly disappointed that he would not have the chance to rescue the seer. He took a deep breath before returning his attention to Haeswahl. He told her directly, “I challenge you for the council seat of commander.”

A wave of murmurs spread through the crowd and Haeswahl cocked an eyebrow in question. “You are not a Spellblade,” she noted.

“Commanders are not selected because they are Spellblades,” he lied. “Commanders are selected by strength. The strongest of us becomes commanders. It just so happens that the strongest have always been Spellblades.”

“Is that a fact?” Haeswahl asked.

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“Does it sound disputable?” he replied.

She stopped to contemplate, her eyes scanning his for signs of waver. A hushed mutter in the crowd drew questions for authority. Finally, she said, “I should have killed you without an utterance of words.” She turned and started walking towards the crowd, who parted away in a circle, creating a makeshift arena.

Nadier followed, adding, “If you had killed me without letting me speak, morale would drop. The people would question why you murdered a kin in cold blood.”

“You wagered the fate of a continent on my compassion?” She took her place in the arena, drawing her sword which lit up in flames.

“No,” he replied, pulling out his daggers. He loaded a cartridge of neverite into his left blade and a red lined vial into his right. Hood up, scarf up, he readied himself for the fight. “I banked on your tactical genius. That you were smart enough to not take the bait.”

“And now, you get too honourable a death than you deserve.”

Sword aflame, she slashed the weapon vertically down, sending a line of fire that twirled and cycled into a ball, hurtling towards Nadier. His main blade, held in a forward bladed grip and seeping in highly combustive liquid, moved to his side. With a fluid step away, he simultaneously slashed at the fireball, the contact between weapon and flame created a backfire explosion, negating the blast of both attacks, flickers of orange ambers fading into the dark like pyreflies.

He charged at Haeswahl who reciprocated with a melee cut from her flaming sword. He slightly dodged, parrying the weapon just off the side with his left dagger before thrusting his right at her face.

She leaned back slightly, his blade just a nail scratch away from the bridge of her nose. She brought her sword up to counter. He brought his explosive dagger down to meet the blade. The weapons met and the blast threw them apart.

Nadier regained his footing almost instantly and charged back in. His offhand dagger, held in a reverse grip with a ring worn around the index, swung out on the finger. He flicked his hand forward and the blade slashed at Haeswahl like a spin of a fan. She dodged. He swung back and charged in close enough that she could not bring her sword in. With another flick, his dagger returned to his palm and sliced back for a thrust. She dodged back again.

Irritated, the commander stabbed her sword into the ground and an explosion blasted out from the penetration point, sending both of them flying back through the air, though they both managed to land on their feet.

With a roar, Haeswahl shouted, “Enough!” The left side of her face lit up red, her circuits running at full. She held out her left palm and snaking flames quickly orbited and gathered into a giant ball of flame the size of a head. “Escraeh Ra'Yovix!”

Pellets of flame shot out of the ball of fire towards Nadier in seconds of succession. He started running offside, the pellets flying past him into the ground, blasting apart the earth in small explosions on contact. The crowd behind him dispersed in haste at the manic attack.

Haeswahl's palm followed Nadier in aim. The Wanderer meandered his path, dodging as best as he could as the main sourced fireball shrunk in size with each attack. The commander pushed her palm forward and the remainder of the fireball rocketed towards him. Larger and more destructive, despite sidestepping, the blast from the final attack as it exploded against the ground knocked Nadier off his feet.

He let out a grunt, the pain reverberating through his body as he landed on his chest. He turned over onto his back and was faced with the tip of Haeswahl's blade.

“Well fought, Wanderer. But you are not strong enough to take my seat. Not even remotely close.”

He smirked. “I know.”

Sensing something amiss, she asked, “So why challenge me?” Rage and scepticism scrunched across Haeswahl's expression.

“I'm a dark elf. Lies are my swords.” He added with a laugh, “I'm not the clincher. I'm the distraction.”

She turned to the Gate of Dark Light. Beside it, Adelaide stood. With a wink to Haeswahl, she placed a hand on the stone archway and teleported the top half of it away, what remained cutting off cleanly in a cloud of rust. Afar, the other half of the arch could be heard crashing into the ground. With the gate destroyed, no other dark elves could re-coat themselves from the aeronium pond.

Haeswahl turned back to Nadier, her face literally glowing red with rage as her magic circuits burned and her cat-like eyes narrowed. “Da'roaw!”

She pulled her sword up, readying to cut his head off. An arrow hit the handle cleanly with such force that the weapon flew out of her hands. She turned to Adelaide who held her custom bow – Spiralé – in her hand post-shot. Haeswahl held out her palms, ready to blast her away with another gathered fireball.

Nadier spun on the ground, dancing on his hands and back. With a fluid top-spinning strike, he cut across his opponent's shins with a neverite dipped dagger, slashing through the mana shell that protected the mage. Following the momentum, he kicked upwards, knocking the commander's hand up, the fireball blasting skywards into the ceiling which exploded in a nova of red. With another spin and push, he jumped back onto his feet just as Haeswahl fell to her knees, shins bleeding from the attack.

Adelaide ran up to her companion, grabbed his hand, and before the dark elf commander could react, teleported the two halfway across the city.

From their rooftop afar, Nadier pulled down his hood and scarf and listened to the echoing screams of Haeswahl as she cursed his name. Large chunks of rocks and stalactites fell from the cave's ceiling from her fireball, crashing into a loud, panicking crowd at the aeronium pond. Dust caught within devastation lifted into clouds.

Breathing hard from his fight, Nadier pointed out, “She's not happy about this.”

Adelaide patted him on the shoulder and reminded, “We're not done yet.”

In the distance, Haeswahl Nunderberg screamed, “Release the Titans!”