Linus stepped forward, his expression calm, closing the distance between himself and Curtis. He lowered his voice just enough to maintain a semblance of secrecy while still being audible to the others. "The prince has been killed, as instructed," he murmured, holding the prince's signet ring as proof.

  In the same motion, he dropped the object he had taken from the horse—a small, ancient device known for temporarily sealing an area. Shadows twisted and writhed as it hit the ground, stretching unnaturally to form a dark barrier over the entrance. From the outside, it appeared as though the tent flaps had merely fallen shut, but those inside felt the sudden shift, a subtle pressure in the air as the room became sealed off.

  Curtis’s face drained of color, and his eyes widened in shock and realization. The implications of Linus's words and the dark magic sealing them in hit him instantly. War was no longer a looming threat but a certainty, and Linus had orchestrated this perfectly. The realization struck Curtis like a physical blow, and his survival instincts kicked in immediately. He knew he had to get out and regroup his forces before the conflict erupted.

  "You treacherous bastard," Curtis spat, his hand flying to the hilt of his weapon, the blade crackling with embedded lightning magic.

  The atmosphere in the tent shattered. The Sorenputhran officers, hearing that their prince was dead, erupted into a frenzy. Weapons were drawn, and the sound of steel slicing through the air filled the enclosed space. Their faces contorted with a mix of rage and grief, the promise of violence sparking in their eyes.

  Curtis lunged at Linus, his long blade surging with crackling lightning energy. Linus sidestepped the strike with practiced ease, drawing his sword in one smooth motion. Their blades met with a resounding clash, the sharp ring of metal against metal echoing through the confined space. Sparks erupted from the impact, lighting up their faces with brief flashes. Curtis pushed forward, his strikes relentless, but Linus parried each one precisely, his movements calculated and fluid.

  Just as Curtis prepared for another powerful swing, Mara darted in, her fire-infused short sword blazing with an intense orange glow. She intercepted Curtis’s attack mid-swing, deflecting the blow aimed at Linus. Her blade cut through the air, leaving a trail of heat that sizzled and sparked as it clashed with Curtis’s lightning-imbued weapon.

  Curtis’s expression twisted with fury and disbelief, his attention shifting from Linus to Mara. "You!" he spat, his voice filled with venom. He lunged at Mara, abandoning his assault on Linus, his strikes aimed with lethal intent at her heart. Mara moved like a dancer, sidestepping his wild thrusts, her movements graceful and precise. She countered with a slash of her own, her fiery blade meeting his with a burst of steam as the elements collided.

  Taking advantage of Curtis’s momentary distraction, Linus stepped back to assess the situation. One of Curtis’s guards, a hulking figure wielding a war hammer infused with earth magic, charged at Linus with a roar. Linus pivoted smoothly, deflecting the hammer's downward swing with a swift parry. The ground trembled with the impact, but Linus was already moving.

  Curtis, now fully engaged with Mara, swung his blade in a wide arc, arcs of electricity sparking off the edge. Mara ducked beneath the strike, her sword slashing upward in a blaze of orange light. Mara spun away, slashing upward with her fiery blade. The heat from her attack singed the tent's fabric, filling the air with smoke. Curtis sidestepped, countering with a precise thrust that Mara narrowly avoided.

  Two Sorenputhran officers suddenly lurched forward, clutching their throats, their faces contorting in agony. They collapsed to the ground, blood seeping from their mouths. The realization spread like wildfire—Mara’s men had made their move. The Sorenputhran ranks erupted into chaos, weapons drawn.

  Mara’s men joined the fray with shouts of loyalty and battle cries, engaging the Sorenputhran officers and Curtis's men in a frenzy of clashing steel and elemental magic. The confined space turned into a chaotic battlefield, with fire, ice, and earth colliding in bursts of energy.

  Linus, positioned near the edge of the fray, continued his fight against Curtis's guards. The guard swung with brute force, the ground shaking beneath him. Linus dodged, but his movements appeared labored as if he were struggling to keep up with the relentless assault. He parried a heavy strike, the impact jarring his arm. He stumbled back, gritting his teeth, buying time as the shadows subtly gathered around him.

  Mara pressed her attack against Curtis in the tent's center, her strikes growing more ferocious. Curtis’s face was a mask of focused rage, each swing of his blade filled with lethal intent. He slashed horizontally, the blade crackling with lightning, but Mara ducked beneath it, coming up with an upward slash that scorched his side. Curtis staggered, the smell of burnt flesh filling the air.

  Seeing her opening, Mara lunged forward. Her blade was a blur of fire and steel, aimed directly at Curtis’s exposed neck. He barely managed to deflect the blow, the force of it driving him back against a table. Ink and parchment scattered to the ground as Curtis pushed himself away, his breath ragged, eyes wide with a dawning realization.

  "Princess Mara," Curtis spat, his voice a blend of fury and raw betrayal. "This is treason!"

  Mara’s eyes were steely, cold, and unflinching. There was no hesitation, only a simmering rage. "Treason?" she echoed, her voice dripping with venom. "Was it not treason when you drove a blade into my mother’s heart?"

  Curtis’s face contorted with raw, unmasked rage. Spittle flew as he snarled, his voice rising in fury. "You stupid, ungrateful girl!" he spat. "I warned the prince about you—just like your whore of a mother, only good for spreading your legs! He should have killed you when he had the chance or sold you off like the worthless pawn you are!"

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  His words were laced with venom, the desperation of a man whose control was slipping away.

  The words landed like a slap, but Mara did not flinch. Instead, her grip tightened around her fire-infused sword, the flames flaring brighter, mirroring the fire in her eyes. "I’ll make you regret those words, Curtis," she hissed, stepping forward, her blade poised for the strike.

  Meanwhile, the Sorenputhran leader slipped on the spilled ink, giving one of Mara’s men an opening. A soldier lunged with a fire-infused spear, piercing the leader’s side, searing through his armor and drawing a pained gasp. Enraged by the injury to their commander, the earth-infused officer slammed his blade into the ground, creating a shockwave that sent several of Mara’s soldiers stumbling back.

  The chaos intensified. Linus, still feigning weakness, caught his opponent off guard. With a swift twist of his wrist, he summoned a shadow tendril that wrapped around the guard’s ankle, pulling him off balance. The guard fell hard, and Linus, quick as a viper, slashed across his throat. The man gurgled, clutching his neck before collapsing.

  Seeing his forces crumbling and the Sorenputhran officers faltering, Curtis realized he was cornered. Desperation and rage twisted his expression as his gaze locked onto Mara. He knew if he could take her down, he might still regain control of the situation. Summoning every ounce of his strength, Curtis let out a battle cry and charged at Mara, his lightning-imbued blade crackling with lethal energy. The air hummed with the raw power coursing through it.

  Mara stood her ground, her eyes narrowing, the fire-infused sword in her grip blazing like a torch. Just as Curtis closed the distance, she prepared to parry his strike, but the sheer force of his attack was overwhelming. Their blades met in a violent clash, the impact sending a shower of sparks across the tent.

  Curtis pushed forward, the electricity from his blade surging through Mara's weapon. She gritted her teeth, feeling the painful jolt course up her arm. The strength of his assault drove her back a step, then another. He was winning the struggle, inching closer to breaking her defenses.

  But Linus wasn’t about to let Curtis have the upper hand. He stepped in and swung hard at Curtis’s exposed side. Curtis barely had time to react. He turned, managing to block Linus’s strike with the flat of his blade, but its force sent him staggering to the side. Linus pressed the advantage, launching a series of rapid, brutal attacks. Each blow drove Curtis back, his feet slipping on the blood-slicked ground. The precision of Linus’s strikes left no room for error, and Curtis found himself defending desperately.

  Mara, seeing her opening, moved in tandem with Linus. She stepped around Curtis, her fire-infused sword a blur as she slashed at his exposed back. Curtis twisted just in time to deflect her strike, but the effort left him open to Linus’s next blow—a brutal cut across his chest. Blood sprayed from the wound, staining his uniform.

  Curtis dropped to one knee, clutching his side, his breathing ragged. He looked up at Linus, his eyes filled with hatred and disbelief. “You… traitorous bastard,” he spat, his voice a rasping whisper.

  Linus met Curtis's gaze with an icy, unyielding stare. "Loyalty?" he scoffed, his voice thick with disdain. "We both know its price. And you've sold yours before."

  Before Curtis could respond, Mara stepped forward, her expression a mask of cold fury. “This is for my mother,” she said, her voice steady.

  With a decisive thrust, she drove her sword into Curtis’s chest. He gasped, his body shuddering as the blade pierced his heart. The light in his eyes flickered, then faded. Mara twisted the blade for good measure, then pulled it free with a sharp jerk.

  Curtis’s body crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Linus and Mara stood over him for a brief moment, the tension in the air dissipating as the man who had once been a formidable foe lay dead at their feet. The tent was silent for a moment—only the crackling of Mara’s fire-infused sword and the distant clamor of battle filled the space. Linus exhaled slowly, his grip on his sword loosening just slightly.

  With Curtis defeated, Linus surveyed the remaining chaos. Mara and Linus stood side by side, their eyes locked on the remaining Sorenputhran officers and Curtis’s men.

  Mara moved as her fire-infused sword cut through Curtis’s men and the remaining Sorenputhran officers. Linus moved alongside her, but Mara led the charge, her strikes swift and unyielding.

  The Sorenputhran leader, ice spear in hand, launched a desperate attack, hurling shards at Mara. She met his gaze, slicing through the projectiles as her flames consumed them. She cut through his defenses with a single, decisive strike, leaving him crumpled on the ground.

  Curtis’s enraged soldiers surged forward, but Mara’s men, spurred on by her ferocity, met them head-on. Wielding a flaming halberd, her lieutenant carved a path through the enemy line. Mara followed, her sword slashing rigorously, leaving a trail of scorched armor and fallen foes.

  Linus faced off against one of Curtis’s elite guards, who snarled, his blade crackling with lightning as he slashed wildly at Linus. Sparks danced through the air, the energy sizzling where his sword met the ground.

  Linus remained calm, his eyes tracking every erratic movement. The man was desperate, and his strikes were powerful but reckless. Linus let him come, dodging each attack with minimal movement, letting the man wear himself down.

  The moment the guard overextended, Linus stepped in. He caught the soldier’s wrist, twisting it just enough to disrupt his grip, and drove his blade into the soft space beneath the man’s ribs. The soldier gasped, his body jerking as the blade sank deep.

  Linus withdrew the blade and let him drop, already turning toward the next threat.

  Nearby, Mara confronted Curtis’s last lieutenant, a burly warrior swinging a massive, crackling blade. His eyes burned with rage as he swung, aiming to cleave her in two.

  Mara darted to the side, the blade whistling past her ear. The electricity sizzled in the air, raising the hairs on her skin. The man was strong, but he was slow. She stepped forward, feinting left before twisting right, her fiery blade flashing in the dim light.

  The lieutenant barely had time to react before her sword carved through his side. Fire surged through the wound, burning from the inside out. He let out a strangled gasp, his weapon slipping from his fingers as his legs gave out beneath him.

  With the last resistance crushed, Mara paused, taking a moment to survey the aftermath. The tent was quiet now, save for the flickering of flames and the ragged breaths of the survivors. Bodies lay scattered across the blood-soaked ground, weapons abandoned where their owners had fallen. The thick scent of smoke and iron clung to the air.

  Mara exhaled, her grip on her sword loosening. Her soldiers stood around her, weary but victorious, their armor streaked with blood and soot.

  She met Linus’s gaze, then lifted her chin.

  Linus sheathed his sword and glanced at Mara. The flickering flames from her blade cast long shadows across the smoke-filled tent. The air was thick with the scent of blood and ash—a grim reminder of the first strike in the war that had now begun.