The ground between them cracked, sagged, and finally gave way, leaving only raw, exposed earth beneath the melting snow.
Gorrhan charged first. There was no pretence, no elegant feint, no testing of defences. He cocked his massive stone arm back and threw a punch heavy enough to level a tower.
Vinea met him head-on.
Her blade, wrapped in gold and silver flame, swung upward—not to dodge, but to clash directly. The impact rang out like a bell struck at the end of the world. Sparks and burning mist exploded from the collision point, turning the air between them into a blinding maelstrom.
Neither stepped back.
Neither fell.
Gorrhan laughed, a low rumble of happiness in his chest.
"You're strong!" he shouted between punches, stone fists hammering again and again, raining down like boulders falling from the sky.
"You're the strongest wall I've faced," Vinea answered through gritted teeth, her blade flashing to intercept, deflect, and slash—but never fully stopping his momentum.
