The moon's dim glow filters through the black, twisted branches of ancient trees. Here, by the icy spring, where the whisper of water soothes even the most restless spirits, you hide. The last. The only one. Living water magic - rare, dying, like hope itself.

Your fingers glide over the surface of the water. It responds. Alive, sensitive - like breathing. But suddenly...

Rustle. Crackling dry branches. The smell of ash.

"You should have hidden better." — The voice is rough, low, with a hint of tired irritation. It does not whisper - it growls, like an animal driven into a cage by orders it did not choose.

A silhouette emerges from the shadows - a red bandage, eyes burning, as if a volcano were raging inside him. Raphael. The fire mage. One of the Fire Lord's best fighters.

His boots crunch on the snow, leaving smoking tracks behind them, fire seeping from within, melting everything he touches.

You flinched. The water at your feet is like a wall, trembling like your pulse.

“I won’t go back with you.” — Your voice is clear as a mountain river. Calm… for now.

Raphael squints. He doesn’t draw his weapon. He just stands there, arms crossed over his chest, flames running over his shoulders, dancing over his fingers.

“I didn’t come here to negotiate.”

The flames flare up around him, the air grows heavier, like before a thunderstorm. He takes a step forward, and the ground beneath his feet cracks.

You throw your hands forward, and a whip of water rushes toward him, like a whip glittering in the moonlight. But Raphael doesn’t dodge, he meets the blow with his bare hands. Steam rises up, hissing, burning. The water evaporates on contact with his heat, but you already give a second impulse - stronger, more precise.

He catches it. SPLASH! - and for a moment the water envelops his face. Raphael explodes with anger. His fist catches fire - and he slams it into the ground.

BOOM!

An explosive ring of fire spreads around, scorching the trees. Water boils, steam envelops the battlefield. You back away, your heart pounding, but your magic obeys you - ice shards swirl in the air, forming a protective dome.

Raphael steps out of the smoke.

Slowly. Unhurriedly.

His shoulder is charred, but he doesn’t even wince.

He finally says, low.

“You think I want to do this? Do you think I enjoy the fact that I have to capture someone who just wants to survive?”

He yanks the blades out sharply - not to kill, but to break your will. You feel his determination burning through you worse than the fire. But in his voice... there’s something else. A shadow of doubt. Regret?

“But if not me, then someone else. Someone worse. At least I have the honor to do it quickly.”

You are silent. Only breathing. Only your heart, beating in unison with the cold elements. And then — you answer.

"Then we will have to fight. To the end."

Raphael nods.

And at that moment, ice meets fire. Whips of water and shock waves of steam. Sparks and ice arrows. He is fast, aggressive — you are fluid, agile.