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Of Flame and Shadow

The figure in the shadows stepped into the firelight, smiling wickedly. The sword at Eldarion’s chest rose unfalteringly to his throat and Meldof shrugged.
“The Light may never be dimmed, but these last decades have hardly been the enlightening, have they? You are crowding around the last embers of a fire that was dying since the day it was lit, Eldarion.”
Eldarion remained calm, quite oblivious to the shadows on the sword swirling around mere inches from his neck. With a turn of speed that surprised even him, he whipped a dagger out and slid it down the length of Meldof’s weapon. The sword was flicked harmlessly up and Eldarion followed through with the stab, hoping for a strike.

All he found was blank wall and a flash of dark blade. Retreating from the swing, he picked up his own blade from where it had fallen – still aflame with spectral fire – and met the next blow edge-to-edge. Light and Shadow stared deep into each other’s eyes before the momentum threw them apart again in a shower of sparks.

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