BLAZING SHADOW

The Healer's Choice

Blood-soaked and weary, King Rohan carried the wounded Elvira toward his camp tent, his voice echoing across the chaotic battlefield as he called urgently for a healer's aid. The air was heavy with the stench of battle, and the moans of the wounded mingled with the clash of steel in the distance.

One of the healers rushed to Rohan's side, his eyes widening at the sight of the king's injuries. "My lord," he began, his voice filled with concern, "your wounds are severe. You're bleeding from multiple lacerations. You must let me tend to you first."

Rohan's gaze flickered with determination as he held Elvira gently in his arms. "No," he insisted firmly, his voice filled with unwavering resolve. "Treat this woman first. Her injuries are grave, and she requires immediate attention."

The healer hesitated, torn between the urgency of Rohan's command and the gravity of the king's own wounds. "But my lord," he protested, "your life is in danger as well. If left untreated, your injuries could worsen."

Rohan's eyes bore into the healer's, his voice edged with authority. "I have made my decision. Save her. That is an order."

As the healer rushed to attend to Elvira, Stasia, an ominous figure in the shadows, approached Rohan with a cold smirk on her face. Her eyes gleamed with a twisted satisfaction at the sight of Elvira's beaten and wounded state. "Oh, Rohan, how the mighty have fallen," she sneered, her voice dripping with condescension. "It seems your precious peasant couldn't protect herself after all."

Rohan's jaw tightened, his grip on his sword growing tighter. He turned to face Stasia, his gaze filled with a mixture of anger and defiance. "Leave, Stasia," he growled, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "Your presence is neither welcome nor desired."

Stasia's laughter echoed through the air, a chilling sound that sent shivers down the spines of those nearby. "Do not forget your place, Rohan," she spat, her voice filled with venom. "Hand over the ring and remember that darkness is your master now."

Rohan's eyes flashed with fury as he bared his teeth at Stasia, his sword gleaming in the dim light. "You speak of masters, but I have none," he declared, his voice filled with a fierce determination. "I am the master of darkness, and it is at my command!"

In one swift motion, Rohan swung his sword, severing Stasia's head from her body. A hushed silence fell over the camp as Stasia's lifeless form crumpled to the ground, blood spilling onto the earth.

The air seemed to crackle with energy, as if the very fabric of the world held its breath in response to the king's defiant act. Shadows danced around Rohan, a testament to the power he wielded and the darkness that coursed through his veins.

With a steely resolve, Rohan turned his attention back to the injured Elvira, his heart filled with a mix of determination and protectiveness. The battle may rage on, but in that moment, he knew that his duty was to ensure her safety.