Chapter 6: Aurette vs. Vaerond

Vaerond’s blade halted mid-air, an instant before it could cleave through Raye’s struggling form.

Steel rang out.

Aurette Rhimehart stood between them, her expression calm, her twin braids swaying as frost began to gather at her feet. Smoke curled away to reveal the unmistakable sigil of the Ice Kingdom embroidered on her shoulder.

Vaerond raised a brow. His blade lowered slightly, still humming with aura.

“Oh?” he mused with a crooked smirk. “Didn’t expect the Ice Princess herself to pay me a visit.”

“You made it impossible to ignore,” Aurette replied coolly. “Marching your army right to our doorstep.”

“And here I thought you were all tucked away, counting snowflakes and sipping on cold tea.”

His eyes flicked to Raye behind her. “Didn’t know you took pity on wounded dogs too.”

“Oh, don’t mistake this for pity,” Aurette said, glancing at Raye briefly. “I just don’t like arrogant wolves barking at my gates.”

Her voice was smooth, but her tone carried the edge of steel. She had been watching. Observing. Every shift in Vaerond’s stance, every feint and weight shift, the tempo of his swordplay — logged and analysed in silence as fire and aura clashed just moments ago.

Now it was her turn.

Aurette stepped forward.

Her boots crunched the frost forming beneath her. With a wave of her hand, five crystallized ice swords shimmered into the air around her — levitating in a circular pattern like a frozen crown.

“Let me show you Caelrhime’s Ice Technique.”

The Caelrhime Ice Sword Style — a legacy passed through Rhimehart’s royal lineage — wasn’t just elegant swordplay. It was the harmony of ice manifestation, freezing pulses, and blade rhythms — a ballet of cold fury and precision.

She lunged first — her main sword flashing, the ice swords spiralling behind her like trailing stars.

Vaerond was ready. He parried the initial strike with a short swing, deflecting the floating blades with precise motion, but even he was caught off guard when one of the ice swords curved mid-air and froze the ground beneath him.

A thin sheet of ice tried to trap his foot.

He broke free instantly, aura flaring.

“Tch. Nasty trick.”

Aurette’s second strike came immediately — she blinked behind him mid-motion, another ice sword forming mid-air as she swept it across his blind spot. Vaerond spun, parrying with the back of his blade, midnight-purple aura pulsing faintly from his hand, forming a haze that slowed the surrounding frost.

“You’re good,” he muttered. “Better than I expected.”

But he wasn’t flustered — just mildly impressed.

Raye, watching from behind, could tell something:

Vaerond was only toying with them.

Even with his aura activated… he was fighting at maybe a quarter of his power.

Yet—

Aurette held her ground.

She weaved between strikes, sending spears of ice from her heels, coating her blade in rime that slowed Vaerond’s slashes just long enough to control the tempo. She summoned a cluster of jagged icicles overhead, and they rained down as she clashed blades directly, forcing Vaerond to dodge and deflect with more effort than before.

For a brief moment, he was pushed back — not wounded, but definitely pushed.

He shifted his stance, moving more fluidly.

A slight smile touched his lips.

“You’re not bad. But don’t get excited.”

Suddenly, his aura rippled — a deeper shade of midnight purple, darker and colder, pulsing out like a predator’s breath.

Behind him, a faint shimmer took form — the spectral shadow of a lupine beast.

The Nightslayer Wolf’s blessing.

But Vaerond didn’t summon it directly.

He was still holding back.

Still fighting casually.

Even then, Aurette's sharp eyes narrowed.

“He hasn’t even begun to fight seriously… and yet…”

Still, she didn’t step back. Her eyes locked onto him with regal defiance.

“You may have marched into the Ice Kingdom… but you won’t leave untouched.”

She raised her blade again.

The battle — had just begun.

The wind shifted.

Vaerond’s calm stance snapped into a sudden surge — a blur of motion as he lunged forward, sword cloaked in that haunting midnight-purple aura, the air trembling.

Aurette’s body responded instinctively.

She parried the first strike, but the force pushed her back — skidding on a trail of frost she summoned beneath her to absorb the blow. She raised her hand — five ice swords materialized again, firing forward like arrows of frozen death, aimed at Vaerond’s joints, eyes, and shoulders.

He weaved between them.

One was shattered mid-air with a casual backhand swipe.

Another he sliced clean through as he advanced, never slowing.

“Too slow,” he muttered.

Aurette gritted her teeth — shifting to defence. She stomped once, and a wall of thick ice erupted between them, jagged and wide like a glacier’s edge. Without pause, she spun behind it, channelling energy from her core. Dozens of icicles formed mid-air, surrounding her like a blizzard about to be unleashed.

She flung them forward just as Vaerond broke through the ice wall, blade-first.

The blizzard hit.

Chunks of sharpened frozen glass and spiralling spears pierced the space around him — exploding like tiny bombs of frost. For a second, the entire field was filled with icy mist.

But—

A shadow burst through it.

Vaerond emerged, aura pulsing, two icicles stuck harmlessly in his shoulder pauldron.

“You’re clever,” he said coldly, “but not dangerous.”

He leapt into the air, sword overhead, his silhouette merging with the image of the Wolf, fangs bared behind him like a phantom.

Aurette responded — gliding up with a burst of ice from her heels, meeting him mid-air with both her sword and a summoned blade. They clashed in the sky, weapons ringing out like thunder.

Mid-air.

She spun, trying to flank him — but his blade was already moving.

One clean, precise horizontal slash.

Time slowed for a heartbeat.

Aurette’s eyes widened — her sword only halfway into position when Vaerond’s blade swept across her side, carving a slash across her abdomen, just above the hip.

Blood mixed with frost.

The force hurled her downward — her ice constructs shattering from the impact.

She crashed into the ground, sliding across the snow, breath knocked from her lungs.

Vaerond landed softly. Calmly. Blade still humming.

He rolled his shoulder, knocking off a splinter of frozen steel embedded near his collarbone.

“I told you,” he muttered. “Don’t get excited.”

Aurette clutched her wound, blood seeping through her gloves, her breathing sharp. She wasn’t out — but she was hurt.

Darkness.

Thick. Suffocating.

And then — a faint flicker.

A single fire, glowing dim and low in the endless black.

Raye stood, barely, vision blurred, body numb. He didn’t know how long it had been since the strike.

He remembered Vaerond’s sword.

He remembered falling.

And then... her.

A silhouette descending between them. Aurette.

The ice princess.

The last person he ever wanted to owe his life to.

He clenched his fists as he staggered toward the flickering flame. The heat was faint, barely enough to warm his fingers, but he crouched in front of it, staring.

“Did I really lose?”

“Did she… save me?”

The thoughts swirled like embers.

Frustration clawed at his chest. Not just from losing — but from failing.

He couldn’t even protect himself.

Couldn’t protect his cause.

Couldn’t stand for the Fire Kingdom.

He sat in silence.

The flame crackled softly, as if whispering back.

A part of him wanted to stay in that quiet place — where shame and defeat couldn’t reach.

But another part burned hotter.

A stubborn ember inside him — one that refused to go out.

“I’m not done.”

“I can’t let it end like this.”

He rose to his feet, slowly at first, legs heavy. But his eyes never left the flame.

“Even if I fall again, I’ll rise again.”

He turned — and began running.

Deeper into the darkness, lungs tightening, heart pounding.

The flame behind him flared — no longer dim, but brighter. Hotter.

The ground beneath him shifted — the dark fading into glowing ash.

The fire was no longer flickering.

It was alive.

And in that final moment — the fire roared like a phoenix taking flight.

Raye’s eyes snapped open.

His body ached, his breath sharp — but he was awake. Alive.

And his fire...

was burning again.