Dawn breached the ironwood forest. Vardan's pale fingers twitched as he measured the scorching sun. He turned to Miikka. The prospect of separation from the insufferable rogue brought him pleasure, yet Crimson Ruby's orders forced an unbearable compromise.

  "My path leads me south, to Clan Soneo," Vardan said. "To the southern border of the Enchanted Expanse, where those prehistoric beasts still roam. The primal lands where dinosaurs hunt beneath ancient trees." His jaw tightened before continuing, "You can take Shadowmane... my winged steed." The words nearly choked him. "Your path is North, to Clan Lugh."

  Vardan's heart constricted as he entrusted the hated Miikka with his companion. Each word landed like a stone from his mouth, a bitter reminder of the coming separation from his four-legged friend. He closed his eyes, attempting to memorize the sensation of soaring through the sky one final time. But Crimson Ruby's orders demanded completion.

  Miikka stared at Vardan, his face a mask of indifference while inside, a battle raged. His hands clenched at the thought of the three hills separating him from Shadowmane. The promise of a swift, cool flight to Clan Lugh won against the grueling march to retrieve the winged horse. "Fine, but I swear if that beast turns on me..." he said, spinning his coin faster between his nimble fingers. "Life's a rumble, eh? Better your fancy flying pony than my boots wearing thin on these savage trails," he added with a roguish grin splitting his face.

  Despite the simmering enmity, Vardan granted Miikka use of his flying horse with a curt nod. "Remember, Miikka," Vardan said, fingers tracing one of his chilling tattoos, "My wrath will eclipse any damage done to Shadowmane. Three days, Oak-Star Hold's bar Twisted Trails."

  "Trust is such a fragile thing, wouldn't you agree?" Miikka said with mock reverence, tossing his coin and catching it mid-air. "Perfectly sized for sneaking away if your horse decides I'd make a tasty snack. Built to slip through cracks, that's my specialty."

  Vardan's eyes narrowed as his lips began to form ancient syllables. The air around him shimmered and crackled with purple energy. His fingers traced intricate patterns. The spell built slowly, gathering power with each precisely articulated word.

  Swift-River darted from her hiding spot beneath a nearby thornbush, her shadowmink form. Ten heartbeats. That's all I have. Her tiny paws barely disturbed the fallen leaves as she slipped closer to Vardan, just beyond his peripheral vision. The spell's energy tingled through her fur, raising each hair on end. Too close and he'll sense me. Too far and I'll miss the transport entirely. She crouched, muscles coiled tight, waiting for the perfect moment. One chance to uncover what he's planning for the Orcs.

  As the final arcane word left Vardan's lips, Swift-River launched herself into the spell's perimeter. The magic enveloped them both. Vardan's form dissipated into violet smoke, unaware of the small shadowmink that had joined his magical journey. Together, they vanished from the clearing.

  Vardan materialized amid ancient cycads at the realm's southern edge. Prehistoric ferns towered overhead. Bioluminescent fungi lit the primordial undergrowth as he prowled the spongy floor, studying where three-toed beast prints crisscrossed with Orc tracks.

  Swift-River shadowed him in her shadowmink form. She remained hidden, as her keen shadowmink eyes tracked his every movement.

  The intoxicating fragrance of flowers lingered in the air, reminiscent of his sister's favorite perfume. Her face, marked by illness yet bright with laughter, echoed in his mind. He recalled her pale, sickly features in the throes of an illness he couldn't cure. He traced his chilling tattoos, testament to his transformation from benevolent healer to dark magic practitioner.

  The primeval forest suddenly echoed with approaching clamor. Vardan's senses heightened as the unmistakable sound of a Tyrannosaurus Rex shook the ground. Small, bird-like dinosaurs froze like statues. A formidable herd of three-horned beasts assembled in defensive formation, their fierce horns jutting outward to form a bristling fortress around their young. Nearby, a burrower scurried into its intricate underground labyrinth.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  The T-Rex bore down. Vardan held still, heartbeat steady. Footsteps pounded through the ground. Heat radiated from the gaping maw. Sour breath washed his face. His fingers traced precise patterns, whispering an incantation. Illusion veiled him. He vanished.

  A cacophony erupted at the forest's edge. TorGru led a horde of Orc Berserkers charging from the thicket. His colossal, battle-scarred form towered in the foreground. His Berserkers, their battle lust evident in their gleaming eyes, brandished mighty tusks protruding from gnarled lips. Their long, deadly spear tips glowed in the dim light as they steered the earth-shaking T-Rex toward Vardan's former position.

  Vardan dove behind a colossal root. From his vantage point, he observed the Orcs skillfully maneuvering the monstrous T-Rex. "Clever beasts," he said, eyes narrowing as his fingers twitched with anticipation. "No sign of poison or sickness."

  Vardan scanned the Orcs, noting their raw courage and determination. He peered into their fears. The abuse of their offspring, their enslavement. And savored the taste of their vulnerability. The T-Rex's roar snapped him to the present. He visualized the shame their one-eyed god would inflict upon them for surrendered weapons and lost freedom.

  From the shadows of a massive cycad trunk, Vardan watched the Orcs butcher the fallen T-Rex. Their massive blades carved through prehistoric flesh, warriors laughing and shouting as they hauled slabs of meat away. His breath misted in the warm evening air as his fingers danced through icy blue sigils.

  "May you drown in the disssssgrace of your one-eyed god," he whispered. "May your sssleep be haunted by the sssscreams of your offspring." His violet eyes blazed white as the spell launched. His chest pulsed with forbidden energies that made his shadow writhe independently.

  An Orc with a scarred face paused mid-cut, shoulders tensing. He glanced around, uneasy. "Feel that?" he asked his companion.

  "What?" A female Orc continued sawing through sinew, not looking up.

  "Like... ice on my neck." He rubbed his nape, shuddering.

  Another Orc stopped working, her amber eyes scanning the forest edge. "Something's watching," she said, grip tightening on her blade.

  Vardan cast again, his second spell floating like toxic mist toward the busy workers. An Orc elder dropped to one knee, clutching his head. "Ancestors protect us," he gasped before his companions pulled him to his feet. The hunters hurried their work, casting suspicious glances toward the shadows, eager to leave with their prize.

  Vardan spent the day observing the Orc camp from different vantage points. He watched their rituals, studied their defenses, and memorized the faces of their leaders. As the fiery orange sun began to sink behind the massive ferns, he slipped closer to the camp's perimeter.

  Hidden between two massive cycad trunks at the edge of the Orc settlement, Vardan savored visions of torment. Orc children in chains. Elven lords forcing them to kneel. Terror etched on young faces. Their pleas dissolved into silence

  Warriors sharpened blades near fire pits below. Mothers cradled infants against weathered breasts. Elders passed stories between calloused hands.

  Vardan selected his prey with precision. Already his fingers twitched toward shadow sigils. His breath fogged despite the humid air. Strange syllables leaked between his lips. "Come now, my sweet tendrils," he breathed. His arms cramped as he held the invocation pose. "Taste their pathetic courage."

  Pact energy thrummed against his ribs. Built with each whispered promise. It slithered toward three warriors sharing fermented fruit.

  The youngest warrior's laughter died. His cup shattered against stone. "Something's wrong." He pressed palms to his temples.

  Vardan's mouth twisted. Not quite a smile. His teeth ground as he shifted focus to the elders. Ash coated his tongue like crematorium dust.

  "Such wisdom deserves exquisite nightmares," he whispered. Unknown syllables fractured his voice. Each word fought past the metallic taste flooding his mouth.

  The spell drifted across camp. Invisible smoke hungry for new minds. An elderly female clutched her chest. Eyes wide. Face contorting as visions.

  Heat crawled through Vardan's palms. Pact magic eating flesh from inside out.

  Full darkness descended. Bioluminescent fungi painted him in corpse-light blue. He arranged bones and powders with trembling fingers. Internal heat made his joints glow faint orange at the knuckles.

  His final incantation demanded everything. Words of power ripped from his throat. Black veins spread from the pact mark on his chest, creeping up his neck. His voice multiplied. Something else speaking through him. Muscle spasms rippled down his casting arm.

  The spell detonated into night. A chieftain's scream shattered the quiet. Vardan watched chaos bloom through the camp. His grin stretched wide even as his hands pulsed with visible heat.

  Cool breath kissed his neck. Vardan froze.

  Swift-River observed Vardan from the shadows. She slipped silently behind a massive fern frond. She reverted to her half-elven form, crouching low to remain hidden. Her eyes never left Vardan as she whispered ancient sylvan words, her fingers weaving subtle patterns in the darkness.

  "Vardan..." Darkness itself spoke the whisper. "You are not unseen."

  The sorcerer whirled around, fingers already tracing defensive sigils, but found only shadows dancing among the giant ferns.