“Are you afraid to fight then?”

“Never, but must our time be petered away on these displays?”

“T’is no waste if it will indeed verify your true identity. Claiming yourself as an elemental with falsity would make for a very underhanded deed. They were the warriors of legend who guarded these lands centuries ago. Men and women who allied with the forces of nature and called thunder from the sky and water from the earth; chosen by the mighty Father Himself. Always servants of the people, many were the tales of their exploits. Some dismiss them now as mere fairy stories, used to entertain the wild imaginations of children. But every creature here was raised on those very stories and the dreams of the realm of Sorinya and its Golden Age. These are words that give them the hope, that inspire them through the shadows that now engulf these lands. To declare your standing and reveal it as total fabrication spits in the eye of my people’s very tradition. T’is an offense that cannot go unpunished.”

The clouds enshrouding the full moon dissipated, and its brilliant light illuminated the forest plaza brighter than any torch and now it could be easily seen what was lurking in the dark and the once ghostly breaths and snarls were now given faces. Arza was surrounded by a wide circle of men in Prince Silas’ company, and many more creatures of Sorinya. The centaurs stamped their hooves as if ready to charge. The wood elves stood back within the trees, hands griped tightly around their rapiers and bow strings. The dwarves held their axes and knives at ready. In the very back stood what was clearly a giant, holding a club, the remains of a trunk of a fallen tree. It rested on his shoulder as he grinned at Arza with a stupid yet menacing face. And there were others: minotaurs, griffins, dryads, wolves, bears, and other creatures had joined the ranks. All were poised and set to attack, murderous eyes glaring. What had once been only a man-to-man conversation was now a standoff between a hundred unkind faces and one sole young man and a sword.

Arza took in his new perspective for a moment, slowly letting his gaze wander across the company.  But for all the animosity hovering over the moonlit clearing, he was the calmest being there. “I don’t deny what you say, no more than I deny my birthright. If you wish for me to prove my word then now is the time before more moments, and things even more precious are lost.”

The fighters took their places; swords drawn and shining in the moonlight. Their eyes locked intensely until at last Azra stated “Shall we begin?” Silas gave no warning but surged forward brandishing his blade. Azra barely had time to counter, spinning swiftly to the side. Weapons clashed back and forth across the stone plaza. Silas being outfitted in a full shirt of mail as well as sword and shield had tremendous strength for one so young, and though his gear weighed him down he still moved with a practiced grace. Azra wearing only his blue tunic appeared gravely vulnerable, but his freedom of movement and speed were unsurpassed. But Silas was impetuous were Azra was patient. The eager prince charged with his shield, only to strike thin air as his opponent leaped out of the way. He turned quickly, just in time for Azra’s foot to connect with his left cheek. Silas tumbled to the plaza floor, light and pain exploding behind his eyes. A flick of Azra’s wrist and the prince found his sword clattering across the cobblestones and his adversary’s blade underneath his chin. “Match” said Azra without disdain or apology, but a subtle hint of respect.

“Treachery!” cried a wolf and the rest of the company roared in agreement. Azra had expected there to still be skeptics after this duel, but apparently nothing save his defeat could have satisfied the violence thundering in their hearts. He vaulted over his downed opponent, tumbling through the air and landing on the center stone. His sword returned to his belt, but the mob gave no signs of accepting a possible surrender as they converged upon him. It did not matter: Azra had no intention of yielding. In one fluid motion he crossed his arms over his chest as if in prayer then spread them wide, palms up, as if he intended to stop the tide of creatures and weapons with the sheer force of his will.

“Enough!” His voice rang through the plaza with a thousand years of inspiring authority. So much so that it was hard to discern whether it was his commanding tone that had halted the charging creatures in their tracks or the corona of fire that had flared to life around him.