Date: February 12, 542 since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
Mirza slowly approached the base of the central octahedron, and each of his steps echoed in Arannis's ears like the heavy toll of a funeral bell. The ethereal blue light of the Shaman's Blessing began to slowly fade in the Orc's ritual scars — Mirza felt this Spirit form had fulfilled its purpose, and now his Vessel required a different quality of power for the final blow.
The Orc paused for a moment. The wounds on his side and back continued to smoke, filling the air around him with the smell of burnt blood. Arannis, pressed against the cold base of the crystal, looked pitiful: one of his emerald blades was shattered, his ironwood armor hung in tatters, and the foggy vortices in his eyes rotated slowly and unevenly.
"You were a worthy opponent, Sylvan," Mirza boomed, shifting his cleaver to a two-handed grip. "Your wind has left its mark upon me. But here, at the very heart of Balance, your songs come to an end."
Mirza took a deep breath, and the light of his scars shifted to a heavy, crimson-black hue. The spectral silhouette of the shaman behind him dissolved, and in its place began to form a massive, stocky figure of an ancient warrior, from which emanated a sense of absolute, unstoppable weight.
"Ancestor Spirit: Boneshatter's Blessing," the Orc Harbinger rumbled.
As soon as the new Spirit form took hold, space itself for a radius of five meters around Mirza sagged. The obsidian floor tiles began to crumble under the weight of his presence. This was a form designed for a single, final strike, one that could neither be dodged nor blocked.
Arannis watched the approaching death, and within his soul, fear was gone. Only cold, searing rage remained, and the realization that he could not allow this barbarian to touch what rightfully belonged to the forests. The Sylvan understood: his inner essence was nearly exhausted, and the next exchange of blows would be his last.
"If I cannot defeat him with steel, I will become the storm itself," Arannis thought, pressing his palm against the pulsating base of the Central Crystal. "The Temple demands balance? Fine. I will give it a chaos it will never forget."
While at the other end of the hall, Grak Axe was trampling Baron Kaellen into the floor, and Magnus was ensnaring Valerius with his puppets, Arannis began his final technique. He did not summon the wind from outside. He began to burn his own life force, turning his Vessel into fuel for one last surge.
"Secret Art: Wind Soul Sacrifice!" Arannis cried out, his voice breaking into a high, inhuman whistle.
In that instant, his body burst into dazzling emerald flame. This was not a protective haze — it was the process of his own structure disintegrating for the sake of transcendent speed.
Mirza, whose Boneshatter strike had already begun its descent, met only emptiness. The colossal cleaver slammed into the floor where the Sylvan had stood a moment before with monstrous force. The obsidian platform split in two, and the shockwave radiated throughout the Nexus, knocking down both Warriors of the Order and Alvost's legionnaires.
But Arannis was no longer there.
He had transformed into a thin, luminous thread that ignored gravity and inertia. The Sylvan did not lunge at Mirza — he soared upward, arcing around the Orc, and shot straight towards the floating octahedron. His Storm Wind Spirit, spurred on by self-sacrifice, roared in his veins, tearing channels and burning his eyes.
"The Relic... will... be mine!" Arannis wheezed, reaching out his hand towards the pulsating heart of the Temple.
Mirza, bound by the weight of his own blessing, could not turn in time. His energy was focused on crushing, not on chasing phantoms. He could only watch as the emerald shadow reached its target.
The hall fell silent. The clang of steel ceased, the groans of the wounded stopped. All eyes — Grak's, Kaellen's, Magnus's, Kaedan's, and Iskon's — converged on a single point. Arannis, whose armor was already crumbling to ash from the overload, touched the surface of the Central Crystal with his fingers.
For that brief moment, time in the Temple of True Balance stood still. And in the next second, the silence exploded.