Sacri stood on the dais, staring at the spot before the throne where Feli had stood, two years ago, and told him, "You are not king." He had already removed the spells preventing teleportation into the throne room. Now he just had to wait for his brother to bridge the distance between the battlefield and the palace.

He didn't have to wait long. Within ten minutes, Feli appeared in the exact spot Sacri had been staring at. His scimitar was angled down and away from him defensively, ready to be swung up to protect against any attack. He stood, wary, watching his brother like a hawk.

Sacri felt energy surge through him, lending strength to be employed in the final battle. It didn't matter that he lacked faith in his ability to win. It didn't matter that he had already acknowledged Feli as the next king.

All that mattered now was this battle. And despite Sacri's foreboding that this would not end well for him, despite his unwillingness to kill his brother, he was not going to be dethroned without a fight.

He simply wouldn't.

And the desperate energy that now flowed through his veins lent assurance to his resolution. Perhaps he'd lose. But Feli would then feel the sting of victory.

"Why do you summon me here?"

Feli's voice echoed in the chamber, despite its quiet tone. Sacri stepped forward, idly twirling his sword in the air. "We both knew it had to come to this. Brother versus brother. You versus I. We have to fight to end this, so why not in the same place where the splintering of Riko's peace began?"

Feli snarled at the implication that he had started all this. Sacri inwardly smiled. The fact that his brother had caught the inflection proved it was on his mind more than he'd like it to be. "I'll have you know, brother, that I am not the reason behind this," Feli said hostilely. "You are."

"Am I?" Sacri mused. "Am I the full reason, brother? Are you truly innocent? Or are both of us stained with failure to preserve our parents' greatest legacy?"

Feli was silent.

Sacri allowed his eyes to flicker away from his brother, to the two thrones on the dais. His eyes touched on his mother's throne and then on his father's, a sliver of pain needling at his heart. The joined circlet of lifeless, drained crystal sat on his mother's throne, the united royal, golden and silver cloak gently folded on the seat of his father's. The two emblems of the still new and fragile monarchy had been Sacri's for two years.

Could he give them up?

Sacri turned his gaze back to Feli. His earlier resolve to fight his brother for the sake of fighting was gone. Now, he would fight to win.

Feli twisted his scimitar up into a defensive position, eyes trained on Sacri as his brother descended the dais steps and then lunged with his sword. And once more, they were battling.

But this time, Sacri was fighting to win.

And so was Feli.

Sacri lunged and leaped, struck and blocked, always seeking for an opening in his brother's guard. Feli dodged and ducked, parried and swung, always seeking to close the holes in his defense. And then the tide would turn, and Sacri would dodge while Feli lunged and twist while he jabbed, and then he would assume the offensive once more.

It didn't take long for the two to realize that their prowess was equal in the dueling arts. This war would not be decided through their blades. It couldn't.

Sacri, after repulsing one of Feli's attacks and shoving his brother back, called his corrupted golden Streaks to him. This war would be decided using the very weapons that had started it in the first place.

Magic.

Feli caught the drift of Sacri's thought a second before he released his first strike. The pent up power of the Streaks struck Feli hard in the chest, sending him flying backwards. The glint of silver was in the air as the prince summoned his own Streaks to his hand. They formed a defensive, invisible weave around Feli, protecting him from Sacri as he regained his footing.

Then the battle began for real.

Feli and Sacri launched attack after attack, spell after spell, calling on their immense knowledge of magic lore from their differing sides. Black magic battled Light as the two brothers practically tore apart the throne room with their blows. Each bore a rage and intensity that rivaled every encounter up until this one.

Sacri, in the midst of blocking Feli's rain of strikes, began to prepare one last, final blow. Commanding his Streaks to inhabit his body, he gritted his teeth at the intense flow of pain that surged through him. The power was almost blinding, but it wouldn't last long. It couldn't. Physical contact with the Streaks was nearly forbidden among the Elves due to the extreme consequences that would follow. But Sacri had learned, from his dark studies, how to contain the Streaks in such a way that the damage they would inflict on his flesh wouldn't affect his soul.

His body began to glow a tainted gold as he dropped his shields and jumped. Hurtling through the air towards the unsuspecting Feli, Sacri felt a smile slip onto his lips as he channeled his Streaks through his body and out via his sword blade, directly at his brother.

Feli took the full force of Sacri's Streaks in his chest and was flung backwards, limply slamming into the large double doors and dropping to the floor. Sacri fell to one knee, his Streaks far from his grasp at the moment. But they would return in time to ensure Feli would never threaten him again.

But the explosion of silver power came first.

Sacri felt himself fly backwards, like Feli had done mere moments before, and he struck the dais, the stairs protruding right into his back. Momentarily blinded, Sacri could only gasp and wonder as feeling fled from his body. How had Feli been able to summon that much power, that much magic, that quickly?

And as Sacri's vision allowed himself to view a looming blurry image before him, he felt despair fill him.

He had foreseen the correct answer.

Feli had won.