Gamlas and Rurik moved like shadows toward the faint glow of the campfire. They had no idea how close The Nameless truly was—only that the Stranger sat alone by the flames, unaware. With a shared nod, they struck. Steel crashed into the quiet night. The Stranger whirled around, blade flashing, a surge of magic crackling from his free hand. Gamlas’ first attack was blocked, Rurik’s rune-fire scattered in a burst of sparks. The fight was brief but violent—steel, fire, and grit colliding in the darkness. And when the dust settled, the Stranger stood firm, breathing hard, looking very much like the one who would walk away in victory...
