Two figures battle in a ruined Gothic cathedral during a lightning storm.

Chapter 3: The Final Silence Rain fell in sheets, relentless and cold, washing the city in silver. Thunder cracked above the old cathedral as Wraith stepped through its broken doors. She was already there. Ms. Rere stood beneath the shattered rose window, her cloak soaked, her staff extended and steady. No words. Just silence. Heavy. Final. Wraith’s boots echoed across the stone floor as he approached, his cape trailing like a shadow behind him. He stopped ten feet away. “You’ve been busy,” he said quietly. “So have you,” she replied. “But it ends tonight.” He nodded once, almost a bow. “It always was going to.” And then they moved. It wasn’t a fight—it was a storm. Staff clashing against steel, boots skidding across wet stone, breath coming in bursts of fog. They knew each other’s rhythms, counters, flaws. Each strike was precise, brutal, personal. He swept low; she vaulted over. She cracked her staff toward his ribs; he twisted, barely deflecting. Blood mixed with rain on the floor. Neither yielded. She struck him across the face, and he stumbled. “You could’ve stopped all this,” she said, panting. “You could’ve walked away.” “I did,” he answered. “When you left.” She roared and charged. He caught her mid-strike, spun her, disarmed her—but didn’t follow through. She recovered. Hesitated. Then screamed and came at him again. They fought like thunder—blows echoing in the ruined cathedral. But gradually, she began to push him back. Landed more hits. He staggered. Slower. Mehr sehen