Page 183 - B. Ing_Antologi Cerpen Xl-6

Tornike’s soldiers fought desperately, their formation

tested against an enemy that would not bleed, would not
fall. Rostam loosed arrows that shimmered with the

light of enchantment, each shot tearing through
darkness with unerring precision. Vahan became a blur

among the enemy, his twin blades carving paths through

the chaos.

But the tide was relentless. Rhahzadh joined the
battle himself, wielding fire that did not burn it

consumed. Each time he fell, he rose again, his body

knitting itself together with power drawn from the
stone. Steel alone could not stop him. Tornike fought

with all he had but Rhahzadh was as eternal as the curse
itself. The stone had given him immortality, but not

peace. It was not strength that changed the tide. It was
memory. In a moment between blows, Tornike saw not

a monster, but a man torn apart by betrayal, consumed

by sorrow, buried alive by fear. He understood then that
the battle was never meant to be won by force, but by

truth.

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