The Phantom of the Past

The tunnel seemed to shrink under the sheer weight of the presence before them. The cloaked figure stood unmoving, yet his aura crackled in the air, pressing down like an unseen force. Lyria’s breath hitched. This wasn’t like the Shadowborn—they had been beasts wearing human skin. This… this was something far more dangerous.

A man.

A man who stood before Ronan without a shred of fear.

Ronan’s jaw tightened, his hands flexing at his sides. “So it’s you.”

The figure stepped forward, his boots echoing against the stone floor. As he did, the torchlight caught his features—raven-black hair, sharp crimson eyes, and a smirk that was both knowing and cruel.

“Been a long time, hasn’t it, Ronan?”

Lyria’s fingers twitched toward her blade. The way this man spoke—it was as if he knew Ronan, knew him on a level few did.

Ronan didn’t move, his expression unreadable. “Not long enough.”

The man chuckled, folding his arms. “That’s cold, even for you.” His eyes flickered to Lyria. “And who’s this? A little pet you picked up along the way?”

Lyria bristled. “Call me that again, and I’ll carve your tongue out.”

The man raised a brow, clearly entertained. “Fiery.” He looked back at Ronan. “You always did have a habit of attracting trouble.”

Lyria turned to Ronan, expecting him to launch an attack. Instead, he exhaled sharply. “I don’t have time for this, Darius.”

Darius.

Lyria’s stomach twisted. She knew that name. Everyone in the underground world did.

Darius the Phantom. The right hand of the Tyrant. The man whose blade had sent entire factions to their graves.

Lyria’s grip tightened on her sword. “You’re the Tyrant’s dog.”

Darius smirked. “A dog? Harsh. I prefer to think of myself as his trusted hand.”

Ronan’s gaze darkened. “If you’re here, then the Tyrant already knows I escaped.”

Darius spread his arms. “Of course he does. Did you think you could walk away?”

Lyria took a step forward. “If you think we’re just going to let you drag Ronan back, you’re out of your damn mind.”

Darius sighed, shaking his head. “You misunderstand.” He turned back to Ronan, his smirk fading. “I’m not here to take you back.”

Silence.

Ronan narrowed his eyes. “Then what are you here for?”

Darius exhaled, looking almost… annoyed. “You think the Tyrant is going to let you roam free? After everything? No, Ronan. He’s not sending me to capture you.”

A pause. Then, his lips curled into something darker.

“He’s sending me to kill you.”

Lyria’s heart slammed against her ribs.

The air shifted—one moment Darius was standing still, the next he moved. A blur of black steel and crimson light.

Ronan reacted instantly. His sword was unsheathed in a single breath, clashing against Darius’ blade with an explosion of force. The impact sent cracks rippling through the tunnel floor.

Lyria barely had time to step back before a second impact rippled through the cavern, the sheer force of their blows threatening to collapse the tunnel entirely.

Darius grinned, his red eyes gleaming. “You’ve gotten rusty.”

Ronan’s blade sang as he countered, forcing Darius back with a brutal swipe. “And you talk too much.”

Darius chuckled, sidestepping with inhuman speed. “Still the same Ronan. Always acting like you don’t care—” He ducked under a strike, twisting with lethal precision. “—but I know you, remember?”

Ronan’s expression remained cold, but there was an edge to it—one that made Lyria uneasy. Darius wasn’t just some enemy. He wasn’t just a commander of the Tyrant’s forces.

He was someone from Ronan’s past.

The two warriors clashed again, their speed blurring as they danced through the tunnel like specters of war. Sparks ignited in the darkness, steel scraping against steel in a deadly symphony.

Lyria gritted her teeth. She knew she couldn’t keep up with them, but she wasn’t going to stand there like some helpless spectator either.

She moved, flanking Darius from behind, her blade aimed straight at his spine—

But Darius spun as if he had predicted it, and his free hand caught her wrist in a vice grip.

“Ah, ah,” he murmured, his smirk widening. “Nice try, sweetheart.”

Before she could wrench free, Ronan’s sword cut between them, forcing Darius to release her. Lyria stumbled back, cursing. She hated how fast he was.

Darius sighed, shaking his head as he stepped away. “Alright, alright. That’s enough for now.”

Ronan’s sword didn’t lower. “You think this is a game?”

Darius shrugged. “Not a game. A warning.” His expression turned unreadable. “The Tyrant’s only just begun his hunt. He wants you to run. He wants to watch you struggle.”

His eyes flickered with something almost… amused. “But between you and me, Ronan? I’d rather kill you before he gets to you.”

Lyria’s stomach twisted. “You—”

But Ronan… smirked.

A slow, dangerous smirk. “You always did prefer to break your toys before handing them over.”

Darius exhaled through his nose. “And you always did have a death wish.” He twirled his blade, then sheathed it in one fluid motion. “I won’t kill you yet. But when I do?”

His crimson eyes gleamed in the torchlight.

“I’ll make sure it’s slow.”

With that, he stepped back into the shadows. And just like that—he was gone. The suffocating weight of his presence disappeared, leaving only silence in his wake.

Lyria swallowed hard. “That was—”

“Expected,” Ronan finished, lowering his sword. His voice was calm, but she could see the tension in his jaw.

Lyria exhaled, trying to slow her heartbeat. “He’s going to come after us again.”

Ronan turned away, his golden eyes unreadable. “I know.”

Lyria hesitated. “And you knew him.”

Ronan didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his voice was quieter.

“We were trained together.”

Lyria blinked. “What?”

Ronan finally looked at her, and in his gaze, she saw something she hadn’t expected.

Not just anger. Not just hatred.

But understanding.

“He wasn’t always like this.”

Lyria’s throat tightened. She wanted to press, wanted to ask, but something about Ronan’s expression told her now wasn’t the time.

Instead, she exhaled and looked toward the path ahead. “We should move. The longer we stay here, the more time he has to set a trap.”

Ronan nodded. “Agreed.”

As they disappeared into the darkness, neither of them spoke. But Lyria couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just a battle.

This was the beginning of something much worse.

And as Darius’ parting words echoed in her mind, she knew one thing for certain—

They weren’t just running from the Tyrant.

They were running toward a war.