The sound reached first.

Not footsteps. Not the shuffle of men.

Scraping.

Claws against stone, a chittering rhythm that rolled like the gnashing of teeth.

The cavern air grew heavier, damp with the stench of rot and sulfur. The humans stiffened, swords rattling in their hands. Mothers pressed children deeper into the tunnels. The commander's scarred face hardened as he raised his blade, but even he looked toward Lindarion.

Always toward him.

'So it begins,' Lindarion thought, fingers tightening on his hilt. His shadows stirred, eager, restless.

[System Notice: Hostile wave approaching. Estimated number: 142.]

Selene's voice slipped through the tension, warm against his mind. "One hundred or a thousand—it makes no difference, Master. We will break them all. You need only stand."

'You make it sound simple.'

"It is. Because it is you."

The first mutant burst from the shadows. Its jaw split unnaturally wide, teeth jutting at grotesque angles, arms long enough to drag along the ground. Its shriek shattered the camp's thin silence.

Lindarion moved.

His blade rose, shadows lashing around it. The strike was clean, precise, splitting the creature from chest to skull. Blood sprayed, sizzling on the stone. The body crumpled before it even finished screaming.

The humans gasped.

But there was no time for awe. The walls split with more claws, more shrieks. Mutants poured into the cavern like a tide of flesh and hunger.

"Form a line!" the commander roared. But his men stumbled, too few, too tired, their fear choking them.

Lindarion stepped forward. His shadows spread, a black tide curling across the floor, weaving between the humans to form a wall. Fire flared in his other hand, weaving through darkness, light and shadow braided into one.

The first wave crashed against him.

He cut. Each swing tore through more than flesh, his shadows lashed, ripping creatures apart, while fire seared the pieces before they could twitch. He moved with the precision of one born to war, each step calculated, each breath a strike.

The humans stared, frozen.

'Too slow,' he thought, slicing through another. 'They're not ready. They'll die if they hesitate.'

Selene's voice hummed like steel against silk. "Then do not let them, Master. Show them the difference between prey and a prince."

He surged forward. Shadows exploded outward, spears lancing through a cluster of mutants. Their shrieks rose, gurgled, died. Fire burned the air, painting the cavern in red and black.

Behind him, the humans rallied, emboldened by the sight. Their swords lifted, voices rough as they charged. Even fear bent to the momentum of a prince unyielding.

But the horde pressed harder.

A mutant larger than the rest barreled forward, its skin like cracked stone, its claws longer than spears. It slammed into Lindarion's wall of shadows, shattering them.

Lindarion gritted his teeth, twisting his blade. His shadows surged back, binding its arms, straining against its monstrous strength. The creature roared, snapping teeth inches from his face.

"Fall," he hissed. Fire surged down his blade, exploding point-blank. The blast tore its head apart in a shower of gore. The body slumped, dragging his shadows with it.

[System Notice: Core strain increasing. Stabilization delay extended.]

Pain lanced his chest, sharp and hot. His knees buckled for half a heartbeat before he forced himself upright.

Selene's presence wrapped tighter, soothing the pain. "Steady, Master. Do not push alone. I am here. Share the weight."

'I can bear it.'

"You always can. But you don't have to. Let me."

Her warmth flowed through him, soft but unyielding. The ache dulled, his breath steadied. Shadows thickened, no longer fraying under the strain.

He inhaled sharply, then cut down another wave with renewed precision.

Nysha's voice rose from behind, furious and desperate. "You'll burn yourself alive!"

He ignored her.

Because the humans were watching. Because if he faltered now, they would crumble.

Because he was Lindarion Sunblade. Prince of Eldorath.

And Eldorath's princes did not fall to filth.

—

The battle stretched like a storm with no end. Blood slicked the stone, screams rose and fell. Mutants threw themselves into the fray with mindless hunger, and still Lindarion cut them down.

His shadows spread wide, weaving barriers that blocked claws, spears that impaled, tendrils that tore. Fire licked through every gap, burning where darkness left ash.

The humans fought behind him, their courage stoked by his presence. They shouted, voices ragged, pushing back when they would have broken.

But Lindarion felt every strain. His Luminous core pulsed, cracked faintly at the edges. He tasted blood in his mouth, each breath sharper than the last.

[System Warning: Vessel approaching overload threshold.]

Selene's voice pressed firm against him. "You are prince. You are mine. Let the world strain first."

He almost laughed through the blood. 'You always did speak like I was more than I am.'

"Not more. Exactly what you are. Stand, Master. For them. For yourself."

He did.

He raised his blade again, shadows screaming outward, fire burning white at the edges. The cavern shook with the force. Mutants shredded in waves, their blood raining like black storm.

Gasps rose behind him, not fear this time, something closer to reverence.

And still he stood.

—

When the last mutant fell, its body torn by spears of shadow, silence swallowed the cavern.

The humans panted, bloodied, but alive. They looked around in disbelief at the corpses piled high. The commander lowered his sword slowly, his eyes fixed on Lindarion.

Lindarion's chest heaved. His shadows twitched, his blade dripped with black blood. Fire dimmed from his hand.

Pain thundered through him, worse than before. His legs nearly buckled.

[System Alert: Core synchronization exceeding safe limit.]

Selene's voice was sharp now, firm as command. "Master. Enough. You proved yourself. No more tonight."

His grip tightened. He wanted to keep standing, to prove he would never falter. But the warmth in her tone, steady, familiar, was the anchor he always obeyed.

Slowly, he lowered his blade. Shadows sank, curling back into him like breath.

The humans stared at him, whispers rushing.

"Prince."

"Elf."

"Shadow-bearer."

"Savior."

He ignored them. His gaze found Nysha, crimson eyes locked on him with equal parts fury and fear. She took a step toward him, her voice low, shaking.

"You'll kill yourself," she said.

He almost smirked, faint and bitter. "Not tonight."

Selene's warmth wrapped around him again, a quiet echo in his mind. "Not ever, as long as I am here, Master."

He let his breath slow. The cavern stank of blood and ash. But for now, it was silent.

For now, he still stood.

Because he was Lindarion Sunblade. Prince of Eldorath.

And he would not kneel.