In the Capital, the former Gold King now enjoyed house arrest in the royal quarters of the palace. He was well fed, attended day and night by palace staff, and provided with any material luxuries that his heart desired.

　　The Cloud Queen knew well that martyring the Gold King would only result in massive outcry from his supporters. This solution was the perfect means of rendering the Gold King harmless while simultaneously pacifying his followers. Nowadays, people throughout the Empire praised the Cloud Queen for her mercy and forgiveness, while the Gold King`s power had diminished from ordering the Empire`s affairs to ordering a gourmet dinner.

　　Many, including the former Gold King himself, would say that he lived like a king. One Shadow—recently escaped from his own house arrest, courtesy of a few sweet words to the door guard`s gullible daughter—knew better. The Gold King`s new existence was the treatment of a caged pet, akin to the Gold King`s own treatment of his former Chancellor. However, the Chancellor had chafed under imprisonment, rejecting every luxury offered as trivial and unnecessary while she schemed her days away. In contrast, the Gold King accepted the bounties offered to him with no sign of discontent or grander ambition.

　　In taverns and dark places, the Shadow gathered support for his trapped King. If the Cloud Queen could use the Gold King as a tool for ascendance, then the Shadow could surely do the same. The people still remembered the bounty of the Gold King`s sovereign rule; they still shivered at the memory of the Sheriff who became Interior General, hunting down criminals and corruption within the homeland while other commanders charged off to war and devastation.

　　In the guise of a disillusioned commoner, the Shadow spun promises of fame and power through revolution, luring hundreds of vengeful orphans and hotheaded youths to pledge their blades to his cause. He soon gathered a sizable number of sworn followers, including several low-ranking palace attendants. This network allowed him to gather information on happenings within the palace.

　　To any outside observer, the Marshal of the West`s path today would have seemed peculiar. The highest military official in the nation did not often stop in roadside cafes for food. However, even less often did he catch the scent of treason in the drink.

　　The Marshal`s mouth curved upward, and ember-bright eyes glittered in the firelight. He raised the cup another inch to his mouth, downing the drink in one sip. At the corner of the room, a certain Server watched his every move with premature glee.

　　The Marshal began a dinner that should have been his last.

　　Half an hour later, after a hearty meal and two more drinks, the Marshal waved over the Server. Dismay and fear mixed in the Server`s heart, yet he met the Marshal`s summons with a lowered head and the clumsy bow of a commoner.

　　"How can I help you, sir?"

　　The Marshal chuckled at the Server`s pathetic attempt at humility. A timid demeanor and a tray of food did not make for an effective disguise. Even were it not for the swordsman`s grace in this one`s every footstep, the malice curdled in this one`s eyes would have been recognizable anywhere.

　　"Did you not think an Alchemist would have hardened his flesh against common poisons?" The Marshal lowered his voice, speaking for the Server`s ears only. "You are not my greatest enemy, but I will be yours." He pressed a stack of coins into the Server`s hand: payment for the meal and a generous tip. "Enjoy this gold while you can. Never forget your steel."

　　The army obeyed the Marshal of the West with respect born of long camaraderie, but they were more ambivalent toward the Cloud Queen`s direct orders. Whispers and sideways glances often traveled among the ranks when commands trickled down from the Cloud Queen herself, and only the Marshal`s confirmation would turn those whispers into action.

　　One day, the Marshal of the West left the Capital for a routine inspection of the border defenses. The Shadow seized this opportunity to revolt. With the Marshal away from the Capital, the Cloud Queen`s military authority would be greatly diminished among the reluctant army ranks.

　　Palace attendants supporting the Shadow`s cause helped smuggle the Gold King from his house arrest. Simultaneously, the Shadow and his followers attacked the Sun Pyrotechnic Institute as a diversion. The soldiers stationed in the Capital immediately rushed to guard the Institute, for the Marshal had impressed upon them the key importance of that facility. It was the most vital building in the Capital, according to the Marshal, and the military had been trained to prioritize it accordingly.

　　When the Cloud Queen became aware of her hostage`s escape, however, she countered these orders.

　　"Attacking the Institute must be a diversion," said the Queen. "Find the Gold King at once."

　　The soldiers hesitated and traded conflicting orders among the ranks, but eventually, the majority of them chased after the escaping Gold King. Amid the chaos, the Shadow and his followers looted the Institute. In the end, both the Gold King and the Shadow escaped the Cloud Queen`s clutches, taking with them a large portion of the Institute`s inventory.

　　Afterward, Marshal tallied the losses and reported his findings with displeasure. The rebels had broken into the armory, stealing a large supply of explosives, experimental weapons, and one suit of legendary black armor.

　　"The armor of the Marshal of the East?" asked the Cloud Queen.

　　"Indeed. Its design is similar to my own: the one who wears this armor will resist ranged and fire attacks. However, the armor is damaged beyond function. Only one who has learned the skills of the Sages can restore it. Otherwise, the armor will be of no use to the rebels."

　　The Cloud Queen accepted this assessment. "In time, the rebels` strength will only grow. Strike now and crush them while they are still disorganized."

　　Mustering the armies once more, the Marshal set out to this final battle of Cloud and Gold.

　　The Cloud Army pursued the rebel forces through the night and past the dawn. Blood soaked fields like rain, and the rebels fell like wheat before the harvest. By mid-morning, only two days past the raid of the Institute, pale rays of sunshine garnished a trail of death, and the Marshal`s elite troops had cornered the rebels in a treacherous canyon.

　　The rebels held their ground amid the maze-like rocks through five days of siege, hiding the Gold King and defending each other from the Cloud Army`s justice, but lack of sustenance soon drove them out from this shelter. A General in black armor came forth, followed by every rebel capable of holding a sword. Yellow pennants flew over their charge, tied to spears or waving from sharpened sticks alike. In numbers, the rebel force was not less than that of the Cloud Army.

　　During the raid of the Institute, the General had stolen the black armor of the former Marshal of the East. In the days under siege, the General had repaired this armor with skills gleaned from his time under the Marshal of the West`s tutelage. This black armor had capabilities equal to the Marshal`s own: firstly, it made the wearer invulnerable to fire attacks, diminishing the effectiveness of the Cloud Army`s most common ranged attack. Secondly, the armor`s mechanisms multiplied the wearer`s strength by tenfold, leveling the power differential that had previously raised the Marshal above all other fighters. With these boosts in hand, the General cut through the Cloud Army`s front lines like a brand through paper, charging straight for the Marshal`s chariot.

　　As rebels threw stones at elite archers and desperation stained the air, a Light and a Shadow danced under the open skies. The Marshal and the General fought from the gorges to the cliffs, from canyon to peak and back again. Each fought for the chance to call his leader the true leader, his cause the righteous Cause—yet this Marshal did not believe in the one he served, and this General did not serve the ones who despised him.

　　Hours passed with the two forces caught in a deadlock. The Cloud Army had formal training and better equipment, but the ragtag rebels serving the Gold King had desperation on their side: in a fight to the bitter end, there was nothing they dared not risk. When a single Cloud soldier fell, dozens of rebels would swarm the body to steal weapons and armor scraps, seizing every advantage without hesitation.

　　Where the Marshal of Cloud fought the General of Gold, thunder and lightning scarred the earth. Ordinary soldiers of both sides ran for shelter, unable to withstand the power of the Fell Magicks of the Sages. To stand near these two at the height of their conflict, one`s skin would blister and blood boil from the heat, while one`s ears would pop and eyes rattle in their sockets from the shockwaves of the blows exchanged.

　　The duel of champions progressed through the canyon, each combatant leaping up and down stone walls in bounds that would have shattered the bones of any ordinary man—such was the enhancement granted by armors imbued with the power of the Sages. The Marshal soon drove his enemy to the edge of a cliff overlooking a deep river gorge.

　　Here, a Standard-bearer from the rebel force had taken refuge among a loose tumble of boulders by the cliffside, safely isolated from the slaughter happening further inland. He carried a golden flag and wore a common peasant`s attire, but there was a shrewdness in his eyes as he watched the battle from afar. This lookout point was the perfect location for an observer: directly below the cliffs was a stunning view of a river gorge, while just beyond that, one could see the layout of the entire canyon and discern the status of the two armies. From time to time, the Standard-bearer would raise his flag, and the rebels below would subtly regroup or shift into a different formation.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

　　As stone shattered nearby, the Standard-bearer`s calm turned to despair—the most dangerous conflict of all now intruded upon his hideaway. Marshal and General crashed from the sky to the Standard-bearer`s overlook, breaking apart just in time for each to gain stable footing on the treacherous ground. The Marshal waved an arm, unleashing a wave of fire and metal pellets. The ground turned to liquid stone beneath the Standard-bearer`s feet, and the poor man leapt away with a cry. When the flag of woven gold burst into orange, the Standard-bearer flung it aside and dove for cooler ground.

　　The General saw his ally trapped by the rocks, saw the flag of burning gold and a crown not worn but nevertheless deserved. The Standard-bearer`s plight gave the General new strength. He plunged a knife between the Marshal`s armor plates, driving the Marshal back a few steps. The Marshal retaliated without pause, focusing all attention on the General again, and weapons flashed while steel cut through the flames.

　　In the chaos, the Standard-bearer hobbled away, coughing from smoke and deafened by the dissonant drumbeat of abused metal. As he crawled along the rocks, trying to stay out of sight of the terrifying enemy Marshal, a Medic swooped down to haul him to safety. Glancing back, he saw only two dark silhouettes against the orange embers. Similar in form and aggression, both haloed in an aura of otherworldly magicks, it was impossible to tell which was friend or foe.

　　Both Marshal and General were covered in blood and ash, armor scored in dozens of places, but neither had yet succumbed to exhaustion. Each held a sword scavenged from an unfortunate soldier passed during the battle; their original blades had long since shattered. With the same armor and weaponry on both sides, neither could gain the upper hand.

　　Sweeping low to the ground, the General transferred his sword to his left arm and picked up the burnt flag. Black smoke trailed from remnants of golden fabric as he lifted it in the air. Dual wielding the sword and flag, the General lunged.

　　The Marshal met sword with sword, flinging out his arm to block the flagpole. It was a defense that the latter had executed successfully a thousand times; the General`s advance should have deflected harmlessly. Yet the Marshal was not as young as he had once been, while the General`s eye remained as keen as his sword.

　　At the last moment, the General twisted the flagpole sideways instead of thrusting, as the Marshal had expected. The pointed metal at the flag`s tip caught a hidden latch on the Marshal`s armor. The fuel reservoir of one gauntlet burst open completely, and clear fluid streamed everywhere. At the next strike, sparks ignited the spilled fuel in a flash of white flame, and the sound of thunder pounded the air.

　　The force of the explosion threw the Marshal backward, but there was no ground behind him to break the fall. Propelled by the jet of escaping fuel, the Marshal lost balance and tipped over the edge of the cliff. As the Marshal flew downward, the echo of old pursuits took hold of the General. Casting the flagpole aside, the General lurched forward as though to seize the plume of flame that escaped his enemy`s grasp. He skidded to a stop at the edge of the cliff, loose rubble crunching beneath his armored boots, one hand still outflung but forever too slow to seize that elusive flame.

　　A luminescent trail billowed out in the Marshal`s wake, plunging into the gorge like a burning arrow from on high. Before the eyes of the General above and the countless soldiers battling below, the hero of ages past fell from the sky to the river. The Marshal`s fall ended in water, and his halo of flame extinguished upon impact. A plume of steam rose from the river.

　　Behind the General, one allied voice took up the cry of victory—then, from below, more voices rose: ten, a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand. Rebels cheered for their General`s impossible triumph, throwing themselves into battle with renewed vigor. The nearest Cloud Army soldiers and rebels alike rushed into the river, fishing through the water with hands or spears to retrieve the Marshal`s body. However, the swift waters swept that fallen champion away from their grasp, carrying him downstream to places unknown.

　　The General knelt at the edge of the cliff, more solemn now than he had ever been during past defeats. Wounds wept crimson across his black armor, torn flesh proof of his achievement. With this victory over the most feared warrior in the land, the Gold King and his people were at last safe. Without the Marshal of the West to rally the Cloud Army, the battle would be won. The General picked up the Marshal`s discarded sword. The burning blade flickered and went out, its fuel supply at last exhausted. The Student had finally overcome his Master. He should have been proud, yet bitterness tinged his voice as he looked at the distant spot of red and gold armor against the grey riverbank below.

　　"If not for your guidance, I would never have risen further than the rural militia. I owe this victory to you, above all..."

　　"Today, tomorrow, a thousand tomorrows:Though you must forget, I never shall.My purpose, my duty, my fell sorrowsI will remember when you are no more.

　　My blade is steel; your eyes are fire.Long ago, destiny foretold this dayWhen the peace would split before our ire,But I will see that your embers never fade.

　　You were born to rise in the light;Ever alike we were: you, chariot of the sun,And I, your shadow, a sword in the night—Two champions of the same cause.

　　In the end, you and I are two faces of one,Duty-bound and pledged to star and void,Yet your duty is over, and mine is done.Our work at an end, I bid you this final farewell."

　　The Marshal stared into the vast blue sky. Cool water lapped at his broken body, soothing the wounds and carrying him far from the bitterness of defeat. In the distance, enemy trumpets called out in triumph: "The Cloud Army is defeated; long live the Gold King!" Joyous cries resounded from enemy throats, mingling with the alarm of allied voices.

　　The grimace on the Marshal`s face turned upward in a semblance of pride, a moment of satisfaction amid the pain of impact. A breath escaped him, "Worthy student&"

　　"You named my creations monstrous,And cursed me as your one true enemy,Bound in opposition, until one day,Your wish came to be.

　　Little shadow, so vengeful,Confusing fantasy with what is true,How could you not realize?—My greatest creation is you.

　　Fervor in your eyes, I am proud to behold;Never was there one so fair,As you who pronounce my judgement,My child, now strong and righteous as I.

　　If I must die, that your legacy may begin,Then go on—may you live forever: Your legacy is my own,Though you know it not."

　　Darkness seeped across the world, and shapes clouded out as though obscured by morning haze. He drifted, lost in thought. Through the mist, a hand clasped the Marshal on the shoulder. The Marshal opened his eyes one last time, and green eyes in a familiar face welcomed him into the afterlife. The Marshal forced one last sigh from broken lungs.

　　"You appear as from a memory, O brother... of East& how true the Sun`s words, I dare& ask for& only the grace of your memory.`"

　　A misquoted apology to a phantom of his own dying mind was better than none at all.

　　The Sage knelt by the river, letting cool water cleanse his soiled hands. His faded green robes blended with the grey stone riverbank, rendering him invisible in the fading light of day. Above raged the battle that he had come to witness, the fateful clash between the Cloud and Gold Armies that promised to decide the fate of the world for decades to come. The Sage had toiled for hours in the guise of a simple field medic, helping wounded followers of the Gold King to safety, but he could never forget the sight of two champions colliding in a battle that would be remembered through the ages.

　　In the end, only the General of the Gold Army remained atop the cliffs. Below, the Marshal whom the Sage had once called brother drifted in the shallows, small waves lapping at pitted golden armor. The Marshal had tried to talk before, when the Sage dragged him from the rapids to the shallows near shore, but now the Marshal was quite firmly unconscious.

　　The Sage drew a blunt-tipped steel dagger from his sleeve. Lightly etched glyphs in the mystical language of the Northern Sages shimmered along the center of the blade: "1095 carbon steel." This blade had once tasted his own flesh and blood, plunged between his ribs and deep into his lung. He pressed a hand to his chest, dispelling the echo of that old pain. It was only fitting that he returned the dagger to its owner in the same manner. The Sage cut the knotted straps holding together the Marshal`s armor, removing the multi-layered metal shell from the flesh beneath. Without a full suit of armor, the Marshal looked just as mortal and harmless as the Sage himself.

　　The Sage held the knife vertically over the Marshal`s heart, gripping it with both hands. The tip hovered mere inches from the outermost leather vest. The Sage took one last look at the Marshal`s face, that perfect mirror of his own. Once bound in duty, forever following the will of a dying star, even unconsciousness could not erase the determination from that furrowed brow.

　　The Sage`s hands trembled, caught with a hesitation he dared not dismiss.

　　"You did not even wrong me once. How can I betray you twice?"

　　The Sage hurled the knife into the river, where it slipped below the dark waves with hardly a ripple. The stream flowed on, unaffected by the turmoil in the one sitting beside it. Releasing a shaky sigh, the Sage took off his pack and retrieved a case of medical supplies. He bound the Marshal`s most severe wounds, displacing cloth and leather layers where necessary for better access. When all stitches and bandages were placed, the Sage gathered the remaining medical supplies into his pack.

　　A vial of dark liquid tumbled out of a side pocket, and the Sage paused. This vial contained a potent anesthetic. In small doses, it dulled the senses to ease pain. However, doctors avoided using this serum in large quantities, since overdosing could cause permanent memory loss. Most doctors would not even carry enough to fill an entire vial, but the Sage had packed this quantity in anticipation of treating an entire battle`s worth of wounds. Instead, he had saved only a few dozen soldiers before finding the Marshal.

　　"Forgive me."

　　The Sage administered the contents of the vial. Even while unconscious, the troubled lines of the Marshal`s face softened into tranquility as the burden of decades unraveled. If not for the eyes, the Sage and Marshal could have been the same in every way. Yet now one had lost his ability to fight, while the other would lose his will to fight. The Sage sighed, seeing his deepest desire echoed in the peace of those identical features.

　　"It is better if you do not know; better yet if you had never known. I envy you this future, brother: it is the highest luxury to live without the burden of past regrets."

　　The Sage pushed the Marshal into the river, and the waters frothed and boiled around the body. The Marshal slowly floated downstream, carried toward the sea by the restless currents.

　　"Enemy mine; brother mine, Equal and opposite by fated design,By whose side I did right and betrayed, Dream now of cruel years unmade, And wake unto a life that is free, Where neither oath nor liege bind thee."