Cross ❌ stitch pattern

 

Cross ❌ stitch pattern

 

Cross ❌ stitch pattern

 

5

When you lay with a mortal wound in your side. I was the one who sustained your life, so it wouldn't fade! I was the one who stopped your agony, hoping you'd stop fighting if you regained your strength.

" "Don't you remember what he did? He clouded your mind with his beautiful speech and false promises?

" "His words inspire trust! Yours only sorrow and laughter. I left because I couldn't bear it anymore. But you had to come back here and play the great hero." Ksaia was outraged and frustrated. She didn't consider the meaning of her words. "Let me explain something to you: heroes don't exist! Your delusions have led many to suffering. Leave us forever!" Naimad, influenced by the words he heard, involuntarily recoiled a few centimeters.

"I loved you so much." He felt the hilt of his sword slowly slipping from his hand; he couldn't contain the despair that overcame him. "And you..."

"I love Waron, not you! I never loved you!" A small tear appeared in the warrior's eye, then evaporated in the heat of the flaming sword.

"So many lies. So many lies! You poisoned my life more than snake venom. I couldn't live without you, and only the knowledge that one day I could have you back kept me going. So you left. For such a arrogant man! You should have died with him!" Naimad took a swift swing, intending to take both their lives, but a powerful force suddenly struck him in the back.

He rolled forward a few meters and spotted the culprit. The landing dragon

brought down a warrior in golden armor, holding a gleaming sword in one hand. He had short brown hair and a pleasant expression, but it was he who prevented him from finishing the job he had just finished. Soon after, another dragon landed, this one silver, releasing white puffs of air from its nostrils.

He couldn't forgive him. This person turned out to be his ally, his friend, who had stabbed him in the back without his even noticing. He trusted him so much, yet he had led him astray. How could he do this? Hatred, combined with despair, erupted in Naimad's heart. He had lost everything: his prince, his friend, and the meaning of his continued existence. His eyes glazed over in the midday sun.

Without a sword at hand, which had landed beside the hut, he decided to use magic to end it all. Stumbling and uttering strange groans, he moved a few steps away from the group of enemies, then stood on a cliff with his legs slightly apart and his hands spread out toward the sun.

Meanwhile, the stranger who had just finished his duel in the firmament approached the pained Waron.

"My name is Tocun – ruler of the northern kingdom of Roukoaz. I am a friend of Naimad," he spoke peacefully. Here he looked at Ksaia. "Don't think I saved you because you matter. Like every human being, you have the right to life, and Naimad wanted to deprive you of it. You should have died long ago for what you did to him. For all those lies and manipulations! But the gods spared you, and I have no power over your life." He pointed at her. "May you be happy with him. Don't be surprised if you ever find yourself in the path of someone's sword again..."

He stopped as the exposed part of his body, not covered by armor, suddenly, for

some unknown reason, began to emanate an increasingly piercing pain. The harsh rays of the sun burned his skin, turning it red and causing considerable suffering. Tocun raised a translucent blue shield that began to block the deadly radiation, thus protecting him and those nearby. After a moment, he understood what was happening.

Looking over the edge of the cliff, he saw Naimad, enveloped in a deep red shield similar to his own, launching his final attack. From within the dome, powerful lights periodically emanated, then vanished in all directions. Tocun glanced at the sun, toward which the warrior had extended his hands. The sun had become almost pitch black, and it was likely this that gave Naimad his strength. The landscape around them began to transform. The sky turned orange, and the air around them became heavy and hot again, making it difficult for everyone to breathe normally. However, no one paid attention to the sweltering heat, as everyone tensely awaited what would happen next.

Suddenly, the forest behind them began to burn with a living flame. The last droplets of water evaporated from the ground, and the grass became dry, as if it hadn't been rained on for months.

Tocun noticed his shield beginning to shrink. In a flash, he realized that if he didn't think of something, everyone within the spell's radius would be roasted alive. He had to think of something. But could it match the power of the magic Naimad was now using?

He shouted at the wailing figures to move closer, for they might soon break through the shell. Simultaneously, he plunged his sword into the ground and extended both arms upward to support the shrinking shield. What could defeat such a force? How could he defeat a powerful mage in the middle of a spell? He frantically tried to remember what he had been taught at the Academy.

There was nothing about changing the climate of a selected area, nor anything about magic extending beyond the third circle. What could he do, how could he stop it?

Of course! Sever the mage's connection to his power! That was it! Naimad had to stop chanting spells; he couldn't use his power. That was obvious, but how could he do it?

Diplomacy was sometimes better than aggression.

"Naimad!" "Your hatred could kill thousands of people! I'm sure you don't want that, you have to fight your pain! Overcome it!"

He made a decision. With one hand, he still held the shell, and with the other, he formed the water adepts' favorite weapon – a several-dozen-centimeter-long icicle. I'm sorry, Naimad, but I have no choice, he thought, then took a swing and threw the projectile at the fire mage. Unfortunately, as soon as it emerged from the shell, the icicle dissolved under the heat and Naimad's fiery shield, leaving no trace behind.

"This is bad, this is not good, this is not working," he thought.

Suddenly, a burning branch fell on Tocun's shield, evaporating in the same instant .

In a split second. If it weren't for the shell, they would have been crushed and burned like paper in a fire. This event convinced the water adept that he wouldn't be able to convince Naimad with mere words. Time was running out, and Tocun still hadn't found a solution, let alone acknowledge that his personal crusade was coming to an end.

At that moment, he noticed a gleaming object lying on the ground. Looking closer, he noticed the hilt and blade of a sword. It wasn't his own, for he had it on him, and Waron's sword was held by part of his severed arm. It was the blade of a fire mage. As soon as Tocun saw it, a brilliant idea came to him.

He summoned his power and pulled the sword toward him. It rolled across the bare ground, right at the feet of the water mage, who bent down to pick it up. He slowly approached the seated Waron and said in a hesitant voice,

"I have an idea that requires your involvement. I know the pain is unbearable, but you must concentrate." He crouched down and showed the sword to both of them, then grabbed the blade, which cut the skin of his hand. "We must bring Naimad out of the trance he's fallen into. I need all your power. It's the only sensible solution at this point.

" "Outlander, you're asking for strange things." Waron looked at Tocun's light blue eyes. His doubts vanished as if he'd taken his hand away. He understood that the man before him wouldn't use his energy for evil. "Agreed." He also grabbed the blade with his left hand. Blue streams of power flowed through his hand and into the weapon.

"You too." Tocun turned to Ksai, who hesitantly and slowly grasped the hilt. As with Waron, the streams of yellow energy this time filled the sword with Ksai's strength.

"Enough," said the water mage. "Leave the rest of your energy to yourselves. In the worst-case scenario, we'll have to escape from here on Raven." The dragon, still behind them, let out a low growl.

Tocun stood and assessed the situation. The entire land to the east was a veritable

hell. Numerous fires and billowing smoke sent shivers down his spine, and the very fact of the world's destruction seemed so real and imminent. The wizard looked again at the sword he held by its sharp blade. Blood bathed his wounded hand, and the pain became increasingly excruciating. The energy within shifted between itself, creating various shades of blue and green.

After a moment of reflection, he poured all the power he possessed into the sword. The blood began to flow even more intensely, and the pain nearly clouded his mind. He couldn't control such a vast amount of energy. It terrified him, for at any moment it could unleash a massive explosion that would destroy everything within a radius of several hundred meters.

“Forgive me, Naimad,” he said quietly, then took a swing and, with the last of his remaining strength, threw the sword towards its owner.

The weapon filled with the energy of the three magicians, a source of much suffering, cut through the hot air and pierced Naimad's shell, and once close enough, it released its power, taking another life...

4

The wraiths charged toward the dragons, which, in a large circle, flew behind each other

like a spinning millstone. The horses uttered an ominous sound, furiously clattering their hooves to reach their opponents as quickly as possible. A battle began in the skies. Iron clashed against iron. Two powerful forces faced each other.

Seeing the dragons' actions, Naimad felt a shiver of excitement. Who was his ally? He couldn't recall the golden creature, but he remembered the silver dragon from somewhere. His strength was slowly returning. Though still wounded, he curled up and tried to sit up. A searing pain prevented him from doing so. However, a moment later, he felt a strange strength. This strength, he realized, had been sustaining him all along. Pain, like a dagger's stab, pierced him where he'd been wounded. He gritted his teeth and slowly struggled to his feet.

Waron, in disbelief, cursed quietly. "This isn't real! This is some nightmare," he thought. After a short moment, Naimad stood firmly on both feet. He didn't understand much of it himself, but he resolved one thing: now he would repay Waron for all the suffering he had inflicted.

Holding his sword in his right hand, which he had raised as he tried to stand, he glared at his opponent with a killer's gaze. They both now had only one goal: victory, at all costs. Hatred began to grow within the fire adept, and his sword once again ignited with a furious, orange flame.

Naimad's wound was gone. The bleeding stopped, and the hole healed without a scar, as if Waron had never pierced him in that spot.

His strength returned, flooding him with a wave of energy, which he immediately used. Leaping at his enemy, he began to deliver powerful blows with his sword, which the latter could barely block. The advantage now belonged to the warrior. Waron's surprise reached its zenith. His opponent, mortally wounded in the stomach, rejoined the fight, stronger than before.

Waron tried to launch a counterattack. He gathered his strength and attacked Naimad with short slashes. When he saw the blade approaching, Waron did a backflip on one hand, as his other hand was occupied, and then repeated the trick. He landed hard at the edge of the clearing and, seeing his enemy mindlessly slashing through the air, leaped high above him, creating a sort of somersault, and struck a blow

with his sword, which the surprised Waron barely managed to parry. Naimad's attack was beyond him. He would never have suspected him of possessing such power. The only explanation he could think of was the use of a strengthening potion, which had a delayed effect. Waron found no other explanation.

They clashed for a brief moment, during which the sorcerer looked his opponent in the eye. He was terrified by what he saw there. So it was him! He came for me! NO! I will not surrender, I will not give him my life without a fight!

Naimad pushed his opponent away and delivered a powerful kick to the ribs. Waron flew backward, slamming his back against the tree. He felt pain in his lower back, but he had no time to dwell on it, as Naimad, who had just leaped at the sorcerer, aimed a slash at his head. The sorcerer ducked his face just in time, saving it from the opponent's ruthless blow, which slammed into the tree trunk and severed it completely.

The severed part slid across the smooth surface of the now protruding stump and tumbled to the ground. Waron, in the path of the falling tree, had no chance of escaping. He threw himself to the side, hoping the tree's crown wouldn't fall towards him. Branches caught in the treetops, pushing the bulk of the falling wood away from them, simultaneously breaking more and more and scattering in all directions. Waron was unlucky. The large tree's crown fell directly on him, crushing him with its weight. Single branches pierced his flesh, and red goo began to flow from the wounds.

Naimad watched this sight without the slightest emotion. He didn't care how Waron died. Even if he expired, crushed by the tree's crown, he would approach him and check with his sword whether he had truly achieved his goal. He wasn't surprised when the air suddenly began to vibrate around the spot where the sorcerer lay. Small electric discharges radiated around the forming, translucent dome. Suddenly, all the branches within the sphere evaporated in the blink of an eye, leaving the air adept lying facedown on the ground.

Waron slowly rose and stood unsteadily on his feet. In a voice full of irritation and rage, he said,

"I've had enough! The very fact that you're alive is a disgrace to me. I'll end this now!"

Naimad listened intently to his interlocutor, who, in his opinion, was beginning to ramble.

In one great leap, he leaped several meters from Naimad, then, aiming his sword at him, summoned power. "I am more powerful!" Not him, he thought. He had nothing left to lose. If he died, he would have the satisfaction of having done everything in his power to defeat his enemy.

He spoke to the air silently. He asked for its strength, which would support him in battle and allow him to win. A soft rustle of wind answered him, whispering something directly in his ear. The hem of his robe began to ripple in the rising wind. He closed his eyes and focused the energy he had received, the amount of which began to almost overwhelm him. Naimad felt no fear. Something told him that even one of the most powerful air spells would not help Waron if a fire adept like him fell into a rage.

Gusts of wind buffeted the figures facing each other. Naimad's hair began to wave; he liked the feeling, but he paid it no mind at the moment. He focused on his opponent, who had sheathed his sword and, holding his hands in front of him at chest level, uttered spells incomprehensible to the fire mage.

Naimad felt energy fill his enemy, feeling threatened by his growing strength. He transferred the sword to his left hand, straightened his right elbow, and summoned his own power. A fireball formed in his hand, causing his entire arm to ignite along with it. He waited for the right moment.

Suddenly, what Waron had planned happened. Naimad had never seen such a phenomenon. The sorcerer's heavy body slowly rose a few centimeters from the ground. Suddenly, the air mage looked at the disoriented sorcerer. The sight shocked him even more. Waron's eyes looked like those of a blind old man. The entire eyeball was white with a hint of blue. They pierced with their depth and uniqueness.

Naimad stood prepared to repel the attack, but he couldn't explain what was happening around him. This world is incredible, he thought. Meanwhile, Waron had risen to such a height that he could touch the leaves of the nearest tree with his toes. He raised his arms and, with sheer force of will, caused gray, storm clouds to appear over the battlefield. The wind had been growing stronger since then, shaking not only individual leaves but entire trees.

A single flash of thunder pierced the dark sky. A moment later, the sound of thunder reached them, sending fear through Ksaia and the old witch. They were watching two battles simultaneously: one on the ground, the other high in the sky. The clouds obscured the dragon fighters to such an extent that only an occasional blurry flash could be seen from the center of one of the clouds.

Waron summoned the power of the thunder, which in that second struck his outstretched hands. A wave of power filled his body, transforming him into the image of an all-powerful god descending from the heavens to his subjects. Blue discharges coursed through his entire body, striking fear into everyone below.

Naimad didn't want to wait. He didn't know what Waron would be capable of if he took another dose of lightning. He hurled his fireball at his opponent, which, upon release, multiplied several times in size. The airbender glanced at the incoming projectile, which stopped a few dozen centimeters from him and vanished into thin air. Now Naimad wouldn't even get a chance to say goodbye, he thought. He reached out his hand toward him, and a split second later, a powerful bolt of lightning shot from his hand, striking the ground right next to the firebender's foot as he dodged the blow.

He crouched, caught his breath, and then rushed at his enemy, who began attacking him with deadly doses of pure lightning energy. Naimad leaped toward a tree trunk, then pushed off with both feet with all his might, flying straight at his opponent. Waron, recognizing the danger, drew his sword with a single movement of his hand and parried the fire mage's powerful blow at the last moment. The mage fell to the ground, cushioning his fall, and then spoke mockingly to the levitating Waron:

"You're so strong that you hide out of reach!? What kind of sorcerer are you?!

"I want you to die in pain," he replied, his voice slightly altered. "You'll see, this won't be pleasant at all!"

With these words, he dove down toward Naimad, then slammed his

sword, meeting his opponent's blade. He soared higher again and struck with a bolt of lightning. Naimad extended his hand toward the discharge and focused his power. The lightning bolt didn't stop for a moment, but striking the fire mage's hand, it bounced off and flew skyward. Naimad took a deep breath. He had never stopped such a powerful attack, delivered with such precision and force.

He decided to end this devastating duel. Waron was levitating too high to reach it. A devious idea occurred to him.

"Waron!" he said.

"Do you want to say something before you die!?" the air mage asked.

"Yes! I mean, I've never met such an idiot, arrogant, and impertinent person as you! Your last wish will be to die in great agony!

" "You've got that, fire salamander!"

"Time to do it! HOLD!"

Naimad spun around, then released

the sword in his right hand, which circled in the air and flew towards his enemy. Waron was greatly surprised by his opponent's thoughtlessness in dropping the weapon mid-fight. Now he had a chance to seize his blade, which would have contributed to Naimad's defeat in his last duel. He prepared to defend himself and, as the sword flew, easily blocked the blow.

At that moment, the unexpected happened. A powerful explosion echoed in the air. A white cloud enveloped the spot where Waron had been moments before. Naimad ruthlessly exploited his opponent's naivety for easy victories and attacked where he least expected it. A figure emerged from the cloud, wrapped in a bandage of smoke, and fell hard to the ground. The sword plunged into the ground near the cottage of an old witch, who stood frightened beside the distraught girl.

Naimad quickly ran to Ksai, but didn't even look at her. He snatched his sword, which, stained with soot, looked worn and worn. Waron slowly rose to his feet, incredulous at what had happened. He had fallen into such a foolish trap that it was embarrassing to even think about it. His sword lay a few meters away. He drew it and decided to take to the air again, but before he could even think about it, Naimad leaped at him and began raining blows, which he found increasingly difficult to block.

The airbender's eyes returned to their former state, and he began to feel weary. His opponent continued to attack him, striking with ever-increasing precision, and Waron's mind flashed with images of him lying defeated on the ground with a sword blade embedded in his chest.

Naimad felt exhaustion, but he ignored it. The most important thing was to fulfill his duty. Everything else was irrelevant. Whenever he shows weakness, it will be turned against him. As he struck, he summoned his power and delivered a final blow, then pushed his opponent's sword away and hurled a fireball from his left hand. The force of the blow pushed him back several meters, and his robe caught fire. After a moment's delay, a cold wind fell upon the prone figure, smothering the flames and refreshing the air he breathed.Waron quickly rose to his feet just as his opponent was rushing at him, sword poised. "He will not surrender! Naimad cannot win!" He attacked with his sword, which, meeting resistance from the enemy blade, stopped mid-range.

Both mages exerted all their strength to win this decisive clash. Veins bulged in their strong muscles, and sweat poured down their faces like a waterfall. They stared at each other with contempt, the fire of hatred burning in their eyes. Naimad's blazing sword singed Waron's hair slightly, but he paid no attention, completely absorbed in the fight.

Ksaia, disoriented for a long time, increasingly felt that none of this should have happened. She realized she shouldn't have done what she had done. To Naimad's detriment, it was Waron who she loved. The fire adept was, in her opinion, intrusive, restricting her personal freedom, yet he fought for her, risked his life, and was willing to do anything to have her return to him.

The old witch, astonished by the turn of events, could no longer predict who the victor of this duel would be. But she was certain that if Waron lost, she would be captured by his enemies or simply killed for her sorcerous predilections. Her hands trembled as she waited for the battle's outcome.

Above them, an equally dangerous battle was unfolding. Naimad's ally was dealing devastating blows to the riders of darkness. They were unable to repel the water mage's powerful attacks, for he had imbued his sword with the magic of the Holy Water of Hexunus, so feared by the wraiths. Without its rider, the dragon performed less well in direct combat, but it compensated for this weakness with attacks of fireballs, which it, as it were, spat from its throat.

Neither of them gave in. Naimad, straining with all his strength, thought nothing. His mind was like a blank book, ready to be written. Unlike his enemy, he paid little attention to the situation unfolding beside them. One of the wraiths struck the hard ground with great force and immediately burst into flames. Horse and rider howled as the hellfire consumed them. Suddenly, the howling ceased, and only dark gray ash remained.

Waron, using his last remaining strength, held Naimad back from taking the initiative, but he knew it wouldn't last long. His power proved too weak compared to his opponent's. He'd been mistaken about his own abilities. He'd believed that with his third-level magic, he could defeat a man of a lower rank. Unfortunately, it proved too much for him. He didn't understand it, but it no longer mattered. It certainly didn't matter now.

Suddenly, Waron felt a strong gust of wind, strange because the trees nearby hadn't even moved. The air heated to the point he could barely breathe. Despite this, he continued fighting with all his might. Something like an invisible energy wave struck Naimad and stunned his opponent. The warrior's skin softened and flowed down his body, simultaneously burning like a blazing bonfire. Not a single tissue, not a single muscle, remained. Everything melted incredibly quickly, almost evaporating. Only bare bones remained in their places. He couldn't believe his eyes. His enemy had transformed into a burning skeleton, still putting up a fierce resistance. Naimad was alive and had no intention of surrendering at that moment. Waron was stunned. He could no longer explain what had happened. He mentally tried to recall some farewell words, something he would say to Ksai if he could.

The creature, drowning in flames, opened its jaw and let out a terrible sound, several times more terrifying than the dragon's roar. Waron, terrified, pushed Naimad's sword away and backed away from him as far as he could. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to think of anything, as he was overcome with fear and choking on the air he was breathing. Meanwhile, the skeleton, gazing strangely at its enemy, let out that strange sound again, then attacked the trembling mage.

Waron, his mind clouded, couldn't concentrate on the fight. He barely parried two blows, then was afraid to launch a counterattack. The burning monster attacked again, this time from the side. The blow was blocked, and, taking advantage of a gap in his opponent's defense, Naimad spun around and struck the same spot where the sword's hilt had been. In that instant, everything returned to normal. There was no longer a burning skeleton, but the same powerful sorcerer with whom the airbender had fought for so long.

The severed stump fell to the ground, still clutching the heavy sword. Waron fell to his knees, holding the bleeding part of his body with his left hand. He tried with all his might not to let out a moan, as that would give his opponent the satisfaction of inflicting pain. However, the suffering was unbearable, and the sorcerer could not resist. His moans had no effect on the warrior. He readied his sword to decapitate his enemy, then said, as if in a voice not his own:

"I am he who comes to receive his due!" The sound was metallic and completely out of character for Naimad. "You have broken the promises you made to me! Your soul will never leave the Abyss again! Do you wish to say something, mortal?!

" "Aargh...go away," Waron choked out.

"I thought so." Naimad uttered these words in a gesture of triumph.

He slowly raised his sword, reveling in the sight of his victim's suffering, and then decided to end his life with a single blow. Ksaia suddenly stood before Waron. She shouted for him to stop the weapon, but stepped in the path of the blade. Naimad barely stopped the flying blade. Surprised, but still focused on his task, he spoke in a normal voice to the girl:

"Get out of the way! I don't want to—

" "Kill you?" Ksaia interrupted. "You will kill the person who saved your life?"

"What did you do?

3

Naimad stood at the very edge of the small clearing, where the path down the slope began. He stared at the burning hut and wondered why it had taken so long for this traitor to emerge.

He didn't consider that his attack could have injured or killed the person for whom he had walked almost 60 kilometers without rest, through toil and suffering. He didn't know how it was that he hadn't rested along the way. He remembered how terribly his back ached from carrying his sword, and how his feet, which, thanks to a mysterious force, had carried him this far. He didn't really know where he was. He had followed his instincts, which had unerringly led him straight to Waron's hideout.

Aside from a few details, he didn't remember much about how he had gotten there. It was as if something had clouded his mind and caused him to walk without the slightest awareness of what was happening around him.

Now he was here, and he had to do everything in his power to defeat this arrogant man who thought he was a mage. Naimad spat on the ground, still watching the burning pieces of wood that had collapsed part of the roof, just as if during a battle in the castle.

Suddenly, he saw the outline of a figure amidst the flames of the burning cottage. After a few seconds, the figure emerged, and the flames, as if afraid of something, died down as they passed. Naimad felt a cold wind blowing from the heavens, smothering every flame, extinguishing the fire the fire mage had ignited.

The warrior was surprised by how easily Waron summoned his power. Perhaps he had achieved a higher level of magic, or as they called it in the Academy, a "higher circle."

"Have you grown tired of creating spells with your hands?" Naimad sneered.

"There's nothing to be happy about. My power has doubled this week, and I've reached one of the highest circles," he replied proudly. "I've also made a few new friends."

While he was still speaking, an old woman with disheveled,

charred hair emerged from the burned-out cottage, leading a woman dressed in a soiled, white nightgown outside. Naimad didn't have to stare at the person for long. He recognized her immediately.

"Ksaia," he whispered softly, following the frightened girl with his eyes.

"May you not disappoint me," Waron warned the witch.

The old woman left her by a cut-down tree stump that served as a small

stool, then pulled a pendant from a pocket in her patched clothes, the function of which Naimad couldn't fathom.

She began waving it in the air, creating various figures and signs.

At the same time, she whispered something under her breath, but the warrior couldn't tell what it was, as he was standing too far away.

The air began to grow warmer. The fire mage felt it throughout his body. He felt terribly stuffy. He tried to take a deep breath, but only caused himself pain as the already hot air rushed into his lungs, irritating everything it touched in Naimad's body. He decided to take shallow breaths for his own safety. This was strange, because as a fire mage, he shouldn't feel such things due to his affinity for that element.

A few meters above the hut, the air began to vibrate. One could have sworn the gods were making signs in the sky to inform people of something important. The witch continued whispering, and Naimad realized these strange phenomena were her work. With a quick gesture of his right hand, he drew his sword from the sheath slung on his back and slowly approached to within a dozen meters of Varon, holding his weapon at the ready.

When he reached the spot, the vibrating air was gone. Instead, a figure as black as the bottom of an abyss, shaped like a cat's eye, appeared. Naimad was gripped by fear. What was this? He'd never seen such a weather phenomenon. This had to end as soon as possible, he thought.

At that very moment, several shapeless masses, roughly half the length of a fire adept's sword, flew out of the interdimensional portal. Naimad counted seven of them. They flew toward the warrior and surrounded him in a wide circle. Now he saw their true forms. From the shapeless masses, the forms of people, or rather, their cursed souls, had formed. Each specter looked more or less the same. The hideous face and wounded body were but a small addition to their persona. The very way they moved filled him with a fear that didn't leave him easily. After a few moments, two more figures emerged from the portal. Riders in navy blue hoods, mounted on their horses as black as the void of space, rushed out of the entrance, and the gate to another dimension closed. The hooded figures held tridents that gleamed in the sunlight. They stood in midair, level with the treetops, and began to observe what was happening below.

After a brief moment, Varon had another thought. If he defeated the warrior himself, he would gain enough experience to attack the Academy of Magic in Eclimicos, and the elemental masters would have to accept his rule if they weren't slain first.

"Wait!" Varon said to the witch, seeing the wraiths slowly tightening their circle around Naimad. "Call them off, I'll defeat him myself."

"You can't. He's more powerful than you imagine...

" "Call them off, or I'll rip your throat clean through, and you'll never be able to tell anyone anything." "The warrior threatened, squeezing her neck with his strong hand and bringing it closer to the blade of his sword. After a moment's hesitation, she nodded in approval. Waron released his grip and turned to Naimad, who was completely lost. A small ball of fire vibrated in his hand, ready to attack, now slowly fading.

The ghosts continued to form a circle, but they retreated far enough to allow

the mages to duel. They faced each other, swords poised.

"Your new acquaintances won't be much help to you," Naimad said, trying to buy time. "Their bodies will crumble to ash when sprinkled with the Holy Water of Hexunus. Spirits fear purity.

" "Perhaps you're right," the airbender replied, though he knew he was speaking the truth. "But you can't summon Holy Water. That's the domain of water adepts."

- Don't be surprised if a novice wizard destroys your entire army of ghosts.

"Enough talk!" Waron shouted, angered by his words, which were true, but he knew there weren't many water adepts in the world. It was a vanishing domain of wizards. Few studied it anymore, as it was difficult to master a higher level than verbal magic, and the techniques of this magic specialized more in defense than attack. He had once seen a powerful wizard use powerful, offensive spells, but he had only encountered him once in his life. He was probably dead by now, he consoled himself.

So many times, Waron had wished for Naimada to be swallowed by the abyss or for

some other misfortune to befall him, now he longed to end his life himself. He was confident in his abilities and trusted in his power, which had never failed him before. He noticed how haggard the warrior who had come to kill him looked. He was pale, his hair limp, and he seemed very tired. Now he would repay him for destroying the castle and disfiguring his face. If not for a miracle, he would now look like a man whose face had been run over by a miniature plow, leaving permanent wounds that would never heal.

Naimad attacked first. A swift uppercut was effectively blocked by Varon's sword. He didn't hesitate, striking the mage from the side. The mage managed to dodge before the blade reached his armor and made a shallow scratch.

He launched a counterattack, striking seemingly blindly with his sword. Varon was forced to recoil under the blows, but he didn't let any blow reach him. He struck from the right, and seeing his blow blocked, he dodged the incoming counterattack. When Naimad's blade missed his head, Varon rose and struck his enemy's cheek with his fist, then with a single kick, knocked the fire mage to the ground.

He wanted to seize the opportunity to end this duel, and without waiting, he grabbed his sword and threw it at the fallen man. Naimad, in the impact of the fall, dropped his sword and, seeing the blade approaching his heart, rolled to the left, narrowly avoiding the blow. Waron's weapon dug shallowly into the ground, allowing him to quickly withdraw it, but he didn't have time to defend himself from the kick flying towards him. Naimad struck him in the stomach, causing the sorcerer to cringe slightly. This gave him the opportunity to land another blow, this time striking his enemy squarely in the chin.

Waron staggered and would have fallen had he not fallen backward and leaned on his sword. Naimad straightened and ran for the sword lying on the ground. When he turned, he noticed that Waron disliked his blow, as he was holding his stomach with one hand. But seeing the warrior watching him, he quickly attacked him with a powerful blow from above. Naimad managed to block the blow, but the force of it surprised him immensely.

So he had become more powerful than before. But how could that be? What had he been doing all week? Naimad looked into his face and didn't notice any of the wounds he'd inflicted on him in the castle that day. No doctor in the Academy could heal a wound without leaving a trace; usually, a smudge or a barely perceptible scar remained, and his face showed no trace of any injury.

They both strained to defeat their opponent in this melee, but they couldn't achieve any significant effect beyond shaking their swords. Waron looked into Naimad's eyes. He saw an unfamiliar light in them, one he hadn't detected in their last clash. He saw hatred, bitterness, and something more. The latter terrified him. It reminded him of his past with the Academy in the city of Eclimicos. He didn't want to remember it, but he knew that sooner or later, responsibility would catch up with him.

Suddenly, Naimad's eyes flashed with a fiery light. He began to unleash his hatred and direct it directly at Varon, who stood before him. Something unexpected happened. The warrior's entire blade ignited with a living flame that made Varon's heart beat faster. "He wants to scare me," he thought. "I can also make lightning shoot from my sword, which would be a nice fake."

Naimad screamed with all his might, which gave him additional strength, allowing him to push Varon away and launch an attack. The sorcerer, pushed back with unprecedented force, fell to his knees, still clutching his sword. Contrary to his expectations, the warrior's blade didn't extinguish, and he could have sworn it began to burn with even greater flame. What was happening? This isn't normal, what he was doing, the thought flashed through his mind like an arrow.

The air around the sword quivered, as if in a desert. This was due to the hot air, which was moving, heated by the sun's rays.

The airbender had miraculously blocked the blow Naimad had landed on him immediately after his fall. He felt it now—the heat radiating from the fire. It wasn't meant to frighten him. The firebender, summoning his power, had inadvertently set his sword ablaze. It's not difficult to tap into a mage's dormant energy reserves in battle, but such phenomena are rare; Naimad isn't powerful enough to achieve such a thing. No, never in his life, Waron assured himself.

Hatred grew, and the firebender delivered increasingly powerful blows. His opponent was astonished, unable to land a single blow, yet seemed helpless in a situation where he had to constantly block the enemy's attacks.

As their swords clashed, individual flames fell on the trampled grass, breaking away from the main flame that Naimad's blade held. More and more often, the tip of the fire adept's weapon narrowly missed Waron's armor, causing pain that normally wouldn't have occurred if the blade hadn't been hotter than the hearth. This wasn't a swordfight now, but a life-saving attempt.

They clashed again, and the impact of their blades caused several flames to break free, landing on Waron's arm, searing him despite his iron chainmail. He didn't withdraw his hand, but tried with all his might to forget the pain. They both pushed each other away, and the sorcerer decided to seize the opportunity, leaping several feet into the air and somersaulting backward. Naimad slashed, but his blow missed. He landed softly on the grass, then drove his sword into the ground and crouched.

Naimad didn't suspect any trap, so he slowly approached the air adept, swinging his sword in front of him. Waron noticed the warrior creating rings of fire around himself. He remembered this was his favorite tactic for throwing his opponent off balance and unsettling them, as he formed figures in the air and closed in to deliver the final blow. But he didn't expect one thing. The sorcerer now possessed greater power than before; Naimad would surely be surprised, if not dead, thanks to Waron's trick.

He focused his power on a single point at eye level and began preparing for an attack. In an instant, the air in front of him began to flash, as if a concentration of lightning were within it. White discharges spread throughout his body, making him an extremely menacing figure.

Naimad was now close enough to launch an attack. He leaped into the air, gripping his sword with both hands, and delivered a battle-ending blow. While he was in the air, Waron reached out his arms, as if to catch him and prevent him from falling. When the warrior approached at the right distance, all the power accumulated before the sorcerer was released in an instant.

The fire adept couldn't remember what he had felt. Most of his body was paralyzed. A tangle of white and blue struck the sorcerer with the force of a thunderbolt. The sorcerer, struck by a terrifying force, flew higher than before, spinning around until he finally hit the hard ground with his back.

Despite all this, he still had his sword with him, but its flame had faded. Naimad lay limp, slowly losing consciousness.

Waron, seeing that his powerful attack had passed, decided to finish what he should have done long ago. With a single movement of his hand, he ripped his sword from the ground and leaped towards his defeated opponent. He stood confidently on his feet right next to the warrior, then, circling his sword in classic circles in the air, and when the point landed just above Naimad's heart, Waron grabbed it with both hands and delivered the final blow.

As far as his consciousness allowed, the sorcerer, through half-closed eyes, saw the inevitable defeat. In the last moment of his life, he found the strength to lift what seemed to him to be a terribly heavy sword and try to parry the attack.

The force of his final move wasn't strong enough to protect him from the blow. However, he managed to deflect the blade enough to avoid hitting the heart. His sword fell, lacking the strength to hold it steady. A terrible pain shot through his entire body. He felt as if hundreds of needles were being stabbed into him at once. He screamed with all his might as Waron's sword sliced ​​through his skin, shattered several ribs, and pierced through, burying himself deep in the earth. The unbearable pain, the likes of which he had never experienced, nearly caused him to lose consciousness.

The ruthless sorcerer braced himself against the wounded warrior's shoulder, then with one powerful movement, ripped his sword from his body. The scream he heard next gave him immense satisfaction. He had finally defeated the great Naimad, whom he had feared since he had taken Ksaia from his life.

Naimad spat blood, staining his beard with red ichor. He looked at the sorcerer. There was no hatred in his eyes anymore, but despair and pain, not physical but mental. He had been defeated and gravely wounded by his rival from his academic days. It was over.

"I warned you!" The sorcerer had barely uttered the words before he sighed with relief and added, "Your death was unnecessary." You could have lived with the belief that Ksaia was with the one she loved. – Naimad spat blood at him in protest, but the drops of red goo did not reach Waron.

– She… doesn't love you! – Naimad choked out, then turned his head to the side, as his strength was slowly fading.

– Poor man. You don't even know the truth! She never loved you! – he said the last words with superiority in his voice. – Anyway, it doesn't matter. – He turned his back on him and walked towards the cottage. Halfway there, he turned to the wraiths, still waiting at the ready. – You can tear him apart!

The witch said something in an incomprehensible language, and after a moment the wraiths began to scream.

They slowly flew towards the helpless mage. Where their hands should have been, there were only the long, torn sleeves of some black robe. However, just because they were currently weaponless didn't mean they were helpless. Varon watched as the air around those sleeves began to vibrate, just like with his spell. He saw a flash accompanying the strange sound that suddenly emanated from each ghost. There was no joking around with such things. He blinked, then his mouth dropped open in astonishment. Each ghost now wielded a short sword, its blade protruding beyond the ends of its dingy robe.

Naimad saw a beautiful sight. A majestic golden dragon flew just above the canopy of the distant forest, its scales gleaming like diamonds in the morning sun. The mage thought he was already dead; now the dragon would take him to the meadows of Artesion, where all worries and suffering would vanish from him. He would finally be happy.

The dragon sat gently on the edge of the clearing. He let out a terrifying roar and spread his great wings, giving the impression of a divine creature. A dark silhouette moved on the legendary creature's back. Oh no! This is not that dragon! No one has the right to ride the messenger of the gods! He himself comes for those with pure hearts and takes their souls to paradise. No one can help him. So why was this man riding him?

He felt a surge of energy. It wasn't his own, nor Varona's, for it came from an entirely different realm. The water adept was using it! Suddenly, out of nowhere, icicles appeared near the ghosts' figures, piercing their bodies in an instant, then emerging and repeating the attack several more times. Finally, the bodies of the terrifying spirits crumbled into gray powder, which, driven by the wind, spread across the entire area around them, blanketing the grass with a layer of ash.

From behind the golden dragon, a second dragon rose into the air, this time silver, but its majesty was no less impressive. It rose to a suitable height and briefly obscured the sun's disc with its great wings. The first dragon, with its rider on its back, also lifted its powerful body into the air and moved toward the second dragon.

"Take them!" shouted Varon, glancing at the hooded figures still mounted on their horses. "You must kill them!"

2

A small, gray sparrow perched on the window. It hopped from leg to leg, then sang its soothing song. A series of short chirps filled the interior of the cramped cottage, standing in the middle of a small clearing surrounded on three sides by forest.

Waron sat on a wooden stool, leaning against the wall, watching the little bird's activities. Even now, dozens of kilometers from his castle, he felt unsafe. The peace in his soul was disturbed by the uncertainty he had felt since he had managed to escape with his life. Had Naimad survived? If so, what would their fates be like? These questions held no clear answers, so he stopped dwelling on them.

He shifted his gaze to the sleeping figure in the corner. Lying on the narrow bed, covered with gray sheets, Ksaia looked like someone from whom all earthly problems and suffering had been removed. Immersed in her dreams, absorbed by the image of her dream, she seemed even more beautiful and delicate than in reality, Waron thought. There was something special about this person. Something that took one's breath away and yet made it impossible to forget the extraordinary woman Ksaia undoubtedly was. Was it her voice, her blue eyes, or her delicacy and sensitivity? Who knows?

The dull sound of an iron object falling broke Waron's contemplation. The frightened sparrow flew away, ending its concert. The warrior glanced toward the door and, on the other side of the hut, noticed an old woman with loose, curly hair that gave the impression of an unnaturally large head.

She was bending down to pick up a soup ladle from the ground. She wore old, faded robes, sewn together with patches in several places. As she picked up the ladle, she reached for something on the table and disappeared behind the wall, walking away from the door.

Waron knew exactly who she was and what she was doing there. He met her on the road leading to the heavily fortified city of Bihrgam in the east. On a forest path, she leaped from behind a tree right in front of his mount. She made him an incredibly tempting and absurd proposition. She said she would help him defeat his enemies and take possession of all the lands he could see from the top of a high mountain. He remembered well what he had said to her then: "I no longer have enemies, and these lands will soon be mine anyway!" These words clearly made no impression on her, for, mocking him, she began to laugh at his recklessness. When she stopped, she told him about the battle he had fought and the opponent he had not defeated. Her words surprised him greatly, so he decided to listen to her until the end. She promised him that she could summon an army of warriors from the afterlife who would fight alongside him and tip the scales of victory in his favor. However, to conquer most of these lands, he must defeat the powerful fire adept who stands in his way.

She gave this incredible information to Varon when he agreed to take her with him. Just before the city, she ordered him to turn toward the mountains to avoid people who would surely be interested in suspicious-looking travelers possessing superhuman abilities.

After a full day of riding, they finally reached a small hut in the middle of a small clearing, where the witch had her "arbor," as she called it.

To the east of the hut, the ground fell away, creating a rocky chasm that, up close, seemed even more terrifying than usual. From other sides, the place was surrounded by deciduous trees, their leaves rustling with the slightest breeze.

Varon didn't understand why the witch was afraid of other people. In a sense, he was afraid too. Otherwise, he wouldn't have fled from Naimad.

A new day was beginning. After a week in this dreadful dungeon, he was beginning to tire of the company of this old woman, who made soups from insects and old leaves. He grew increasingly impatient. The witch told him that soon there would be a clash between two elements: fire and air. Who would win would depend not on skill, but on outside help, which, she assured him, he would surely receive from her.

In all this, he was curious about what she wanted in return. When he asked her about it on the way to the city, she told him that once she possessed the land, she would raise a large army with which to attack and capture the citadel of Eclimicos in the south of the continent. He didn't fully understand why she needed this. It was in this citadel that the Academy of Magic, which Varon and Naimad had attended, was located. No one had yet managed to breach the walls of this city. In the past, it had been besieged for many years without success. The city possessed a large army, but in the face of danger, it could call upon the allied forces of the ruler of the neighboring land called Ularlium, who had pledged to provide aid in the event of an attack on the metropolis. Residents called this city the capital or cradle of adepts, because, according to legend, it was founded by an ancient wizard who initiated the training of people with exceptional abilities, transforming them into powerful adepts of the four elements, who initially served as guardians of peace in a world saturated with hatred and evil. To prevent young wizards from using their powers for nefarious purposes, he ordered a strict selection process at his Academy, selecting only those he believed had no evil in their hearts. Those rejected were sent to a secluded location so that they could live out their days away from the public eye without harming anyone should they accidentally use their abilities.

After the mage died, the people of the new settlement began to worship him as a god, erecting numerous monuments and temples, and subsequent generations of masters of the four elements began to abandon the principle of strict selection, as it was a harmful addition to the lives of some young adepts.

The city had a system of fortifications, walls, and defensive towers that made it impregnable. Many had tried to seize the Prince of Eclimicos's wealth, but none had managed to defeat the combined army of warriors and mages. It was the latter that Waron feared most.

In that fateful place, on the road to Bihrgam, it had seemed to him an eternity to make his decision. In reality, it had taken him a few seconds of internal struggle, before the lust for power overcame reason and decided the fate of everyone around him.

Now he could not retreat. Nor could he kill the witch, for he feared the army of warriors that might already be waiting, hidden in that mysterious forest, ready to answer their mistress's call. He had become entangled in a great intrigue, of which he had become the protagonist. If I were truly to be king of the Northern Continent, it was better to have such an ally than none at all, Waron thought.

The sun had risen high enough to make the day more pleasant. A light breeze blew into the cottage through the open window and made Varon feel that despite so many difficulties he was not alone and could count on the spiritual support of a certain person.

He approached the sleeping Ksaia and gently brushed her hair from her forehead, then looked at the innocent expression on her face and smiled. "I will never give her to Naimad! I'd rather die than know that he…" Waron, but he didn't want to even think about what might happen if he lost the duel to the warrior. He pushed all thoughts aside, leaving only one that made him feel happy. He leaned over the girl and kissed her gently on the lips. When he stepped back, Ksaia opened her eyes and smiled at the sorcerer.

"Are you going somewhere, my king?" she asked quietly, gazing into the worried man's face. "

I'm going out for some fresh air. I'll be back in a few minutes. I hope you haven't run away by then," the sorcerer assured her, returning his smile.

Waron walked through the door into the small vestibule where he had left

his sword. The blade, leaning against the wall, reflected the sunlight, blinding the man standing in the corner. He raised his weapon and looked toward the exit, where a half-open door let in fresh, warm air. At the very end of the clearing lay the steep path he'd taken to get here. No trees grew there, for there were exposed rocks covered only by sparse, light-green moss.

Suddenly, the entire hut trembled, as if an earthquake were beginning. The tremors were brief, but powerful enough to unsettle Varon. At the same moment, as he leaned against the wall, a section of the wooden roof in the center of the vestibule collapsed. Burning shards fell to the ground, creating a large bonfire in the center of the small room. Varon understood everything. This wasn't an earthquake. The fire adept had arrived to steal the mage's only happiness.