The clash was silent at first—just a spark between them, and then a roar.
Golden flame met shadowfire in an eruption of light and fury. The Vault's walls cracked from the force, its memories shattering like glass. Every blow between them was a memory rewritten—a life relived in reverse.
Aran struck low. His twin dodged with uncanny speed, twisting and returning the blow with a blast of black flame. The Oathbrand caught it, absorbing the heat, pulsing in Aran's grip like it remembered the oath too.
"You fight with restraint," Shadow-Aran sneered. "You still hope."
"I fight with meaning," Aran growled, slashing across the chamber. "Hope is not weakness. It's why we survive."
The shadows rose around the false Aran like wings. "Then let's test your survival."
He unleashed a storm of fire that tore the chamber's ceiling apart, revealing the sky above—now red and trembling. Elira and Vaerin fought off cultists outside, desperately holding the threshold.
Aran, pinned beneath the onslaught, planted the Oathbrand in the ground. Golden flame erupted outward in a dome of light—burning through the darkness, splitting the shadows.
Shadow-Aran staggered. For the first time, uncertainty flickered in his eyes.
"You… still believe in that promise?" he asked.
Aran rose, eyes glowing. "No. I am that promise."
And then he charged.