Cauldrus lay sprawled on the cold earth, his breath ragged, his body battered beyond anything he had endured in centuries. His vision swam, blood dripping from his lips as he looked up at Ithil, who loomed over him like a conqueror. The younger elf's golden-green eyes shimmered in the dim light, his expression stale as he pressed a foot into Cauldrus' chest, pinning him effortlessly.
"You were strong once," Ithil murmured, his tone almost contemplative. "But that was it, you never went past that, you remained adequately strong, powerful, but now, do you still feel that is enough? After all, why else would you not make any effort to improve?"
The Elven King clenched his jaw, his fists trembling as he tried to push himself up, but Ithil's foot pressed down harder, keeping him in place.
"I will give you one last chance," Ithil said. "Join me, or be swept away with the old world."
