The fortress summit, swept by the wind, seemed built for this.
A circle of bare stone, solid, ringed by age-old pillars.
Marenna settled beneath one of the arches, arms crossed. Her look said it all: “I’ll be patching muscle back together soon enough.”
Arcalion slowly unfastened his cape, the wind whipping it like a banner. He drew a longsword of pale steel—no ornament, pure and lethal.
— No killing blows, he said. No destructive magic. But no restraint either.
Garlan stepped forward. His breath steamed in a reddish mist. His eyes narrowed, pupils thin. He shifted into his draconic form, dark crimson scales forming with the rumble of an inner storm.
— I’ve no plans to die. But I sure as hell plan to hit.
They moved.
Arcalion struck first, from a distance. Two slashes in the air—blades of pure mana shot forth. Garlan crossed his arms, taking the impact. The blow reverberated in a dull wave, but left not a scratch.
— Too slow, he muttered.
But Arcalion was already gone.
Instinct flared. Garlan leapt back, wings of fire spreading as he took to the air.
He swept the arena with his gaze. Nothing.
So he closed his eyes. Breathed out a passive draconic pulse, like a sonar.
— There.
In a flash he vanished, fist first.
Arcalion barely had time to turn.
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The punch slammed into his back, hurling him straight through four stone columns. He crashed into the fifth, splitting it from base to crown.
Garlan landed, arm still outstretched.
— First lesson: always think in three dimensions.
Marenna half-rose, mana sparking in her palm.
— Need healing?
— Not yet, Arcalion growled, pushing upright. Blood trickled at his temple, but he was smiling.
— You hit hard. But you forgot one thing.
He dropped his sword.
And began to grow.
Muscles swelled. His frame widened. His skin hardened into ancient stone. A golden, earthen halo engulfed him. When he stepped forward, the ground bowed beneath his weight.
Even the stone golems guarding the fortress recoiled a few steps.
— He’s enormous… Marenna breathed.
Garlan stepped back once. Not out of fear. But the battleground had shifted.
He charged.
Arcalion caught him mid-flight. A sharp clash—wrists locked. Their bodies strained, the platform trembling under their struggle.
Then Arcalion loosened his grip.
And drove a rising knee into Garlan’s gut.
— Lesson two: brute strength ≠ strategy.
Garlan doubled over, gasping. In that instant, Arcalion seized his draconic tail.
— And this… is for the pillars.
He swung Garlan like a celestial hammer. Once. Twice. Thrice.
Then released him.
Garlan streaked across the sky, a blazing red trail tearing the air. He slammed into the fortress wall with seismic force. The stone fractured in a starburst, debris crashing down, stained glass shattering.
The golems’ eyes flared crimson.
— STOP! Arcalion thundered.
The creatures froze in place.
The paladin’s immense form shrank back, dissolving into a golden haze. He exhaled, his shoulder cracking audibly.
— Let’s call it… a technical victory.
Marenna dashed to Garlan, hands glowing with healing light.
— Still breathing?
— I think… I just saw my life flash by. Mostly food. A little bit of you.
— You’re alive. And stupid.
She began mending him.
— Still… that old dwarf’s got style, Garlan muttered.
Arcalion approached, rubbing his arm.
— You hit like a dragon. But you still aim like a child.
Garlan grinned through the bruises.
— Guess you’ll have to train me. When I come back.
Later, they ate in the open air.
A stone table, an enchanted lantern. Herb soup. Bread. And the heat of battle fading.
— To our duel, said Arcalion, raising his mug.
— To the next beating you’ll give me, Garlan shot back.
— And to the potion I’ll need to invent to fix you both, Marenna added, half-smile, half-sigh.
Their cups clashed.
And above them, the wind was already shifting.
