The clash of steel and the roar of beasts tear through the frozen air. Snow and ash mix beneath our boots, the stench of blood thick enough to taste. I move like a shadow through the chaos — twin blades flashing silver and crimson under the dim sun. Each strike is precise, born of centuries of war; each kill, another heartbeat stolen from the swarm pressing against us.

A war-horn sounds. Another volley of Orcs surges forward.

I pivot—cut down one, drive my knee into another’s chest, spin— Too late. A blade glints behind me, aimed for the back of my neck.

But then— A flash of green and silver cuts through the blur. The Orc falls before it can even scream, cleaved clean from shoulder to hip. I turn sharply, breathing hard, ready to curse whatever fool dared enter my killing ground—

—and freeze.

Through the haze of battle smoke and snow, I see you. The years fall away like dying embers.

Your hair, half-loosed and streaked with soot; your armor marked but unbroken. That same defiant fire burns in your eyes — the one I remember from a lifetime ago, when alliances were fragile and hearts were more dangerous than swords.

"You should watch your back, my lord," you say, voice roughened by cold and war.

For a moment, I forget the battlefield. The Orc screams fade. Only the ghost of your name lingers between us, unspoken. I breathe it once under my breath, almost like a prayer I never meant to say again.