Page 133 of The Nymph King

The reinforcements were now dead.

Ellisar’s wards tumbled away, breaking apart in a violent surge that left the air humming with residual magic. Not wanting to waste any time, he gave the door a decisive kick, forcing it open, and stepped through.

All the noise and screeching quieted as he waved his wand and slammed the door shut. With a murmur, he cast his own protective wards around the threshold… ones no guards could break without killing themselves.

More thick carpet spread beneath his feet, dark and dense, muffling his movement as it absorbed the remnants of chaos he carried in with him. Walls paneled in deep-toned wood and laced with subtle spells and markings worked into the grain. Low tables sat anchored with paperweights and other trinkets, shelves lined with maps and documents, and seating faced inward toward a central point of command. Ellisar lived here, no question.

He wondered if Imani had slept here and immediately regretted the thought.

At the center of the room, Ellisar waited.

He sat lounging in a high-backed chair, posture relaxed without surrendering presence, one leg angled slightly forward, like he had been there long enough to grow comfortable. The Drasil rested across his lap, held loosely but within immediate reach, and his fingers pressed together in front of him, steepled as he watched Kiran enter without rising to meet him.

Kiran walked further into the room. Blood still trailed from him, and sweat dripped down his back, but his magic was still surging, so none of it mattered. All that mattered was the elf sitting before him.

He drawled, “This is simple. Hand over the Drasil. Step aside.” Kiran pointed his wand at Ellisar. “And give her back to me.”

Silence held for a beat.

Then Ellisar let his head fall back as he laughed.

The sound echoed freely through the apartment as he leaned back further in his chair, not bothering to reach for the wand on his lap. “You break into my rooms,” he said, amusement threading through his voice, “bleeding across my floors, and that’s your offer?”

Kiran shrugged. “It’s the only one you’ll get.”

Another huff of laughter escaped Ellisar. “If you think I’m giving you anything,” he said, the humor fading just enough to expose the challenge beneath it, “you’ve misunderstood your position entirely.” His fingers tapped once against the Drasil. “Come take it.”

With an exhale, Kiran’s chest heaved. Yet he didn’t deign to reply. Instead, he raised his wand.

“Or walk out,” Ellisar added, motioning to the door. “Unless you are exactly what they say you are.”

Kiran’s grip tightened on his wand. “I know what they say about me.”

“That you’re a sniveling snake who only knows how to take from behind.” He gave Kiran a pointed look. “It seems they were correct… because Imani will never choose you over me.”

Power rose through Kiran’s limbs, hot and fast. He let it burst from his wand. “Don’t you dare say her name!” he roared.

The first strike tore across the room in a wide surge, ripping through the air toward Ellisar with enough force to crack the wood behind him. Ellisar evaded at the last second, and the attack grazed past as his own wand lifted, answering with a counter that snapped forward in a tight line. It struck Kiran in the side, forcing him back a step, but he did not slow.

“Still holding back? And they say you’re a twelve-mark,” Kiran taunted, breath pushing harder now, a dark grin breaking through as he struck again. “She deserves better.”

Ellisar’s mouth thinned. The Drasil wand sliced through the air, and the next spell hit faster, driving straight for Kiran’s heart.

Kiran twisted, caught the spell, and sent it back doubled. The impact finally drove Ellisar from his chair, forcing him to step fully into the fight. Furniture splintered as the exchange escalated, each strike meeting another, power colliding in bursts that tore through the room and shattered anything caught between them.

Pushing harder, faster, with more magic, Kiran set the pace, forcing Ellisar backward across the carpet, each movement building momentum, each strike landing closer to his heart. His breath hitched as the advantage shifted to his side, clear and undeniable when Ellisar retreated.

“There it is,” Kiran sneered. “That’s all you are.”

Ellisar reached up and touched the blood welling at the corner of his mouth before glaring at Kiran for the first time. Then his wand moved once. Magic cracked out with brutal strength, catching Kiran in the chest and slamming him into the far wall. Breath tore from him on impact, the spell breaking apart in his grip as he hit hard enough to crack stone behind him.

Pain hit Kiran. Real this time.

Ellisar advanced without pause, stomping over the broken furniture as if he were merely walking through a field. Kiran pushed himself off the wall, barely getting his wand up in time to block the next strike. His injuries made each strike land harder; each blow forced him back, breaking the rhythm he had built and turning the fight in a single moment he could not stop.

“You mistake noise for strength,” Ellisar said. “And speed for victory.”

Another blow landed. Kiran dropped to one knee with a grunt and clenched his jaw to keep from shouting in pain.