Forged By Falcrest

Atlas's breath came in shallow gasps, his chest rising and falling as his eyes locked on the woman standing above him. Her curved dagger was still embedded in his leg, pinning him to the burning floor. Smoke swirled around her, framing her sharp silhouette like a specter of death.

She tilted her head, a playful smirk curling her lips. "You've got some fight in you, don't you?" Her voice was smooth and teasing.

"Most would be begging by now."

Atlas clawed at the ground, trying to pull himself away, but the pain in his leg was searing. He bit back a scream, his fingers trembling as he braced himself to push. The dagger stayed firm, anchoring him in place.

The woman knelt beside him, her crimson scarf catching the firelight as she leaned closer.

She studied him like he was some fascinating specimen. "Red hair," she murmured, reaching out to twirl a strand of his matted locks between her fingers. "I've never seen it before. I like it… reminds me of blood." Her smirk deepened, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "Cute, too, in a pathetic sort of way."

Atlas flinched, his teeth gritted against the pain and her words. He felt the heat of her presence, something intangible yet oppressive. It pressed down on him, suffocating and inescapable, like the very air was alive with her power.

Despite the moment he was in, or perhaps because of the moment he was in, his mind wondered as he felt her power. It wasn't just her. He could feel… something else. A faint thrum in the air, like a distant hum resonating through his body. He recognized it, dimly. He'd felt it when the fire-wielding man had unleashed his flames. He'd felt it in the alley earlier, when the Nightblade's gaze had swept over him.

It wasn't fear, not exactly. It was a presence. A weight. Like standing too close to a raging storm.

The woman tilted her head, watching him with faint curiosity. "What's that look in your eyes?" she asked, her voice almost mocking. "You're not crying, so you must be thinking. What's on your mind, little mouse?"

Atlas didn't answer. He barely heard her. His focus narrowed, locking onto that sensation, that faint pulse of power around her. He could almost see it now, like ripples in the air. It radiated from her, from the space around her blades, and from the floor beneath him where the fire had burned hottest.

He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to focus. The pain in his leg, the smoke in his lungs, even the mocking tone of her voice—all of it dulled as he reached for that feeling. It wasn't something he could touch, but it was there, faint and distant. And the more he focused on it, the clearer it became.

"Cute and quiet," the woman purred, leaning closer. Her breath was warm against his ear. "But you're no fun if you don't scream."

She reached down and twisted the blade.

Atlas clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms and let out a scream. The thrum grew louder, resonating deep within him now. It wasn't just around her anymore. It was in the air, in the earth, in his very bones.

And then, all at once, it was inside him.

A shockwave of warmth burst through his chest, spreading outward like fire in his veins. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he thought the smoke and pain had finally taken over. But this wasn't smoke. It was light. Blinding, radiant light that seemed to pulse from somewhere deep within him.

The woman drew back, ripping the dagger out as she moved. Her amused expression shifting to something more cautious. "Well, now," she murmured, her eyes narrowing as she watched him. "That's interesting."

Atlas gasped as the warmth condensed, tightening into a single point just below his ribs. It felt like something had ignited within him, a spark catching flame. His body trembled, not with fear, but with energy—raw, unfamiliar, and terrifying in its intensity.

His hands gripped the floor, and with a burst of strength, he pushed himself upright. The pain flared, but it was distant now, drowned out by the roaring heat inside him.

The woman stood, her head tilted as she observed him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. "Well, well, little mouse," she said, her voice lilting. "Looks like you've got some teeth after all."

Atlas staggered to his feet, his breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts. His body felt… different. Stronger. The pain in his leg still throbbed, but it no longer threatened to overwhelm him. Around him, the world was chaos.

The manor behind them was a broken shell, its roof caved in and flames licking the night sky. Smoke billowed into the frigid air, mingling with the falling snow. Embers floated around them, glowing like fireflies against the darkness. The icy ground beneath Atlas's boots was slick with melted snow, ash and blood. His footing unsteady as he turned to face the woman.

She stood a few paces away, framed by the blazing ruins like a demon stepping out of hell. Her crimson scarf fluttered in the cold wind, her dark armor glinting in the firelight. She held her curved blade loosely at her side, her predatory grin never wavering.

"Oh, this is delightful," she said, her voice brimming with amusement. "I didn't expect much from you, little mouse, but you're full of surprises. I wonder how long you'll last?"

Atlas's chest heaved as he glanced toward the debris-strewn courtyard. He could see Ren still buried beneath a pile of shattered stone and wood. The boy hadn't moved. His heart twisted, panic threatening to overwhelm him. But there was no time to check. Not yet.

The woman's presence pressed down on him, her power shimmering in the cold air. It mingled with the remnants of Darion's fire, an invisible weight that set every nerve in Atlas's body alight. But he didn't shrink back. He clenched his fists, the unfamiliar energy coursing through his veins.

With a roar, he lunged at her.

The frozen ground cracked beneath his feet as he charged, snow and ash spraying up around him. He swung his fist, clumsy, but fueled by desperation. The woman sidestepped effortlessly, her blade flashing out. A sharp sting cut across his arm, blood splattering onto the snow. He stumbled, nearly falling, but caught himself and swung again, aiming for her head.

She ducked, laughing as his fist sailed over her. "Oh, you're adorable," she said, circling him like a cat playing with its prey. "That strength is impressive, but you've got no idea what to do with it."

Atlas gritted his teeth, refusing to let her words sink in. He charged again, this time leading with a kick. She blocked it with the flat of her blade, the impact ringing out in the cold air. Pain lanced up his leg as her weapon scraped against his shin, he tried to ignored it and swung again. This time, his fist grazed her shoulder, and she staggered back slightly.

"Not bad," she said, rolling her shoulder as if shaking off the blow. "You've got some fight in you, I'll give you that."

But before Atlas could press the advantage, she moved. Her speed was blinding, her blade slicing across his ribs before he even saw her coming. He gasped as the pain flared, warm blood soaking through his shirt. He stumbled back, the cold wind biting at his wounds. He held his hand where he had been cut, blood was flowing through his fingers.

"You don't know when to quit, do you?" she said, her voice carrying over the roar of the flames. "I like that."

The icy ground beneath them was slick with slush and blood. Atlas slipped as he tried to regain his footing, his socks skidding against the frost. Snowflakes swirled around him, melting instantly as they drifted too close to the heat of the burning manor. He fell to the floor, blood pooling beneath him from his wounds.

Still, he didn't stop. He couldn't. His eyes burned from the smoke, his legs felt like lead, but he surged forward again, swinging wildly. The woman danced around him, her movements fluid and precise. Her blade found him again and again—a cut across his shoulder, a slash to his thigh. Each wound sent fresh pain coursing through him, leaving streaks of crimson in the snow.

Atlas stumbled, his vision blurring as the world spun around him. Blood dripped from his temple. The flames behind him cast shifting shadows that seemed to mock him, their flickering light making the woman appear even more menacing.

"Get up," she said, her tone almost playful. "Come on. Show me what else you've got."

Atlas planted his hands on the icy ground, his fingers scraping against frozen debris. The cold bit into his skin, numbing the pain in his limbs, but he forced himself upright once more. His breaths came in ragged gasps, the taste of blood thick on his tongue. He didn't know how he was still able to stand. There was no white in the snow anymore.

He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. "I'm not done yet," he growled, his voice raw.

The woman's grin widened as she tilted her head, watching him with amusement. "You're the most fun I've had in years," she said, her voice soft and almost affectionate. She tapped her chin before nodding, "I should savor this."

The embers falling around them glowed brighter as the fire behind them roared louder, and the snow-covered courtyard seemed to shrink as the fight dragged on. Atlas could feel his strength fading, but something deeper burned inside him. He wasn't going to stop—not now, not while Ren lay in the rubble.

The woman raised her blade again, her eyes gleaming with excitement, as Atlas stumbled forward once more, more dead than alive, fists clenched and resolve burning brighter than ever, if this was his last moments then so be it.

Atlas lunged forward again, his body aching with every step. He swung his fist, his movements wild and desperate, but she danced out of reach effortlessly. Her blade flicked toward him, grazing his arm in a deliberate, shallow cut. The sting was sharp, and warmth trickled down his sleeve, but he barely registered it.

The woman's grin widened, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Still standing? Impressive, but stubbornness can only take you so far."

She moved like the wind, her blade a blur as she delivered another strike—light, almost teasing, yet precise. She nicked his cheek. Atlas stumbled back, slipping on the icy ground, but he caught himself before he fell. He knew if he hit the ground again he wouldn't be getting back up.

"You're fun," she said, circling him. "Most would've given up by now. But you just keep getting back up." She tilted her head, her expression shifting to something almost thoughtful. "Do you even know why? What are you fighting for?"

Atlas didn't answer. He couldn't. His breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps, the air freezing in his lungs. His legs felt like they could give out at any moment, but he stayed on his feet. His gaze flicked toward the debris-strewn courtyard, where Ren was still buried somewhere. That was his reason. That was why he couldn't stop.

The woman followed his gaze, her grin sharpening. "Ah, I see. It's for someone else. How boring." She stepped closer, her presence overwhelming. "But tell me, little mouse, what happens when you fail? What happens when they fall because you weren't enough?"

Atlas clenched his fists, the unfamiliar energy in his core flaring briefly before fading. He felt its warmth, but it wasn't enough to drive back the cold fear spreading through him. Still, he grabbed a burning splinter of timber and he forced himself forward,. She sidestepped with ease, her blade glancing off his shoulder in a quick, controlled strike.

"Pathetic," she said, but her tone was light, teasing. "If only I could keep you alive, just so I can see how long it takes for your spirit to break."

Atlas swayed, the world tilting around him as exhaustion threatened to take over. The snow beneath his boots was stained red, the cold seeping through his torn clothing. His vision darkened and he finally fell to his knees, dropping the burning timber.

The woman stepped closer, her blade gleaming in the firelight. "Unfortunately it's time to end this," she said, raising her weapons.

Atlas braced himself, his fists clenched and his knees trembling. He knew he couldn't block her, couldn't dodge, but he wasn't going to cower. If this was the end, he'd face.

But just as she began to move, she froze.

Her head snapped up, her sharp eyes narrowing as she stared into the distance. The air seemed to shift, a subtle ripple that Atlas could feel even through the haze of his exhaustion. Her grin faded, replaced by a look of irritation.

"No," she muttered, stepping back. "Not here. Not now."

Her gaze flicked back to Atlas, and for a moment, she seemed almost… happy. "You're lucky, little mouse," she said, her voice tinged with annoyance. "I'll be seeing you later. Do keep impressing me."

Then, just as suddenly as she'd appeared, she vanished. The space where she'd stood shimmered faintly, and she was gone, leaving only the faint echo of her presence in the cold night air.

The world spun, the edges of his vision darkening. He struggled to keep his eyes open, his thoughts drifting to Ren. He had to get to him. He had to make sure he was okay.

A faint sound reached his ears—a measured, deliberate footstep crunching through the snow. Atlas turned his head, his gaze locking onto a shadowy figure approaching through the smoke and firelight.

The Nightblade.

Even at a distance, Atlas could feel the weight of his presence. It pressed down on him, suffocating yet strangely steady, like the calm at the center of a storm. The man's dark coat billowed slightly in the cold wind, his face obscured by shadows. He moved with the precision of someone who had nothing to fear, his aura humming faintly in the frozen air.

Atlas tried to move, to speak, but his body refused to obey. The last thing he saw before the darkness overtook him was the Nightblade's piercing yellow eyed gaze, unyielding and cold.

Then everything faded.