Magic hummed as Swift-River emerged from the Operations Center. Her dark cloak trailed behind her as she slipped into the forest. She whispered an incantation. Her form shifted, clothing and body becoming golden fur. A spider monkey stood where she had been.

  The spider monkey climbed a gnarled ancient oak. Swift-River's form shimmered and melted into the tree.

  "There's power in these roots." The sap thrummed against Swift-River's palm.

  "Obey me, old roots," Swift-River pushed her consciousness downward.

  The tree's magic resisted. Currents of ancient power swirled around her Life-force, redirecting her. Swift-River fought against the pull.

  "Deeper, must go deeper," Swift-River insisted.

  She pictured the roots spreading beneath the earth, forcing her awareness into their furthest tendrils. For a moment, she glimpsed a network of connections spreading outward, but then…

  The oak's power surged. A magical current seized her consciousness like a tide-catching driftwood. Swift-River struggled against it.

  "No!" Swift-River protested.

  She attempted to anchor herself, but the unseen power thrust her northward, expelling her from the tree's network.

  Swift-River tumbled from the oak halfway up the mountainside, crashing against moss and stone. She gasped, clutching her temples as white-hot agony splintered through her skull. Her muscles seized, limbs trembling. Fire in her veins where sap should flow.

  She rolled onto her back, watching the mountainside oak's branches sway above her. The scent of salt from the nearby ocean mingled with the copper taste of blood where she'd bitten her tongue. Swift-River's fingernails dug into the earth.

  "Your secrets will be mine," Swift-River declared, tracing the scales emerging along her bronzed skin.

  Her pain subsided into a deep ache with each step down the mountainside. The rock union waited ahead, obsidian kissing granite in a seam that promised Zirien's sanctuary.

  "Show yourself, passage." Her fingers traced the stone's cool surface.

  Zirien's cloak blended him with the forest as he stepped forward. Swift-River locked eyes with him, his form a fusion of strength and wild Life-force. Copper scales warmed at her collarbone, spreading. Fire kindled where it shouldn't. A flutter stirred in her chest as she held his gaze, the intensity building between them.

  For a heartbeat, the world blurred. Swift-River saw herself step forward with unfamiliar boldness, her hands clasping Zirien's face, their lips meeting as power surged between them. A dust devil formed around them, wind and desire whirling together, lifting them into the eye of the storm. The vision held her. Phantom pressure on her lips. Pulse racing. Weightlessness as they spun upward.

  She blinked. Reality snapped back. The vision vanished. She stood rooted in place.

  "Trust in the mountain's pulse," he said.

  Zirien leaned forward with easy confidence, a subtle smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He extended his hand, the amulet at his chest pulsing with life. As their hands touched, a jolt of warmth shot through her fingers.

  Swift-River walked beside Zirien. "I missed you," she said, softer than intended. She moved closer, copper scales shimmering along her collarbone. "I've heard whispers about your dragon head bath. Is it true?" She turned to its healing properties. "Perhaps its waters might wash away the day's troubles while I tell you about Adamar's troubling inaction."

  Zirien's eyes glinted with knowing. "The bath will certainly help after being flung from that oak like a catapult stone," he said. "I was tracking a shadow lynx when I saw you tumble from the trunk. Quite the dramatic exit, even for you." His lips curved into that characteristic half-smile. "Trees can be so temperamental when you try to bend their magic. Follow closely." He raised an eyebrow, his fingers dancing over a fused black and white stone with artful showmanship. "The mountain and I have an understanding."

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  The rock face pulsed and opened like a willing conspirator. With each step deeper, the obsidian and granite obeyed Zirien's thoughts, parting before them and sealing after. A path conjured and concealed by his will alone.

  Zirien guided Swift-River through the cavern's belly and stopped near a huge emerald dragon head. A purple glow pierced the darkness from the back of the cave, revealing a colossal geode. Its jagged edges stood in stark contrast to the smooth curves.

  "Please sit," Zirien said, gesturing toward a long chair. "The couch is crafted from ancient oak and is as comfortable as the forest floor. Each cushion," he added, running his fingers across the plush surface, "is crafted from the ethereally soft fur of a Moonlight Fae Fox. The fur carries properties of serenity and peace."

  Swift-River settled into the enchanted couch, its fox-fur cushions cradling her form.

  "Tell me, Zirien, how fare your brothers, Iandel and Streed?" she asked.

  "Streed pursues his spell-casting studies in the city of White Rocks," Zirien said, leaning back with casual grace. His fingers traced idle patterns in the air as he spoke. "And Iandel, he's in the kitchen. His hunt this morning brought unexpected fortune." The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "An elk cow early birthed a calf. We'll honor its short life as dinner tonight.

  "Sadly, the frail calf broke its neck and died from the fall during its birth." Iandel entered the cave and sank into a cushion on the far side of the couch. "Wonderful to see you again, Swifty."

  Zirien swept his hands through the air, conjuring an incantation that brewed a storm within the cavern. Water rained into the dragon's empty skull, filling it to the brim.

  "Swifty, your troubled eyes speak volumes," he said. His gaze held hers. "What plagues your mind? How fares your transformation? “Tears streaked Swift-River's cheeks as she sank deep into the fox fur cushions.

  "I need to help the Orcs," she said, her voice finding strength she didn't know she had. She sat forward, shoulders squared with purpose despite her tears. "Zirien, I can't stand idle while Orcs suffer from my failures."

  Zirien cupped Swift-River's face, his thumb wiping away her tears with delicate care.

  "No one could thwart Crimson Ruby's wrath," he said. "The Orc blight was their destiny, not your doing."

  If he ever found out. The years as Crimson Ruby's pawn. The betrayals she'd committed in his name. Zirien's face when he understood. The affection draining away. The trust cracking like thin ice. Swift-River's heart raced. She straightened her posture.

  "I have the beginnings of a plan to find Crimson Ruby's hiding places," she said.

  "Wolves!" Iandel snorted, twirling his dagger between his fingers. "I've butchered more Orcs than a pig farmer handles swine." His stern gaze cut past Swift-River to the glowing geode. "Killing the ugly bastards is just business. But wiping out the whole damned species?" He shook his head with a dark laugh. "Even I've got lines I don't cross without a damn good reason."

  Without waiting for Iandel's next breath, Zirien leaned forward, eyes alight with sudden inspiration.

  "Your mind brews with schemes," he said with an appreciative smile. He spread his hands wide, a showman inviting the audience to witness something spectacular. "Out with it. How do we ensnare Crimson Ruby?"

  Swift-River eyed the water filling the dragon's skull

  . Her voice sliced through the silence.

  "We've traversed countless caverns. Remember the deep caves, where roots like whips hang from the ceiling?" She leaned forward, her voice gaining intensity.

  Iandel leaped to his feet. "Wolves! Forget hopping around like fleas on a dog's back," he said with a dark chuckle. "Dive into the damned tree guts and ride the roots like tunnels. That's where the bastard's hiding his skeletons."

  Zirien flipped a coin between his fingers before casting the spell and tossing it into the rainwater bath.

  "Every tree we enter demands a new enchantment," Zirien said. "This quest could span a lifetime." A half-smile played on his lips. "My Druid deity may give us guidance. I'll meditate in the morning."

  Iandel jabbed a finger toward the ceiling. "Wolves! That Nether Nettle stuff we brew into knockout juice," he said, his boots scuffing the floor as he paced. "Grows up where the birds get nosebleeds. One stubborn plant that shoots its suckers everywhere." He turned toward the kitchen with a cynical grin. "I'm getting the good stuff. This plan's already giving me a headache."

  "Iandel's point is valid," Zirien said, dipping a hand into the warm bath water with a theatrical swirl that created perfect ripples. He leaned back against the edge of the dragon's skull. "The nether vine's roots are legendary for producing enhanced flavors," he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr. "They are said to pierce the veil between worlds!"

  "Do you think Crimson Ruby may be hiding in another parallel realm?" Swift-River asked. She shrugged off her tunic with practical efficiency, the fabric cascading to the floor. "Imagine the hiding areas it could reveal to us!"

  Iandel returned to find Zirien and Swift-River in the bath, a careful distance between them despite the intimacy of the setting. Swift-River caught herself stealing glances at Zirien, then quickly looked away, confused by her interest.

  Iandel thrust the bottle forward with a crooked grin. "Here's to finding that red-eyed bastard before he adds our skulls to his collection," he said. "Let's hunt the son of a wolf down and make him regret the day he crawled out of whatever hole spawned him."

  Swift-River raised her glass. She thought this was the way forward, not Adamar's empty words and passive observation, but steel and action.

  Her shoulders squared, resolve settling like armor. The dragon blood surged through her veins, hungering for the hunt. Something else stirred when her gaze locked with Zirien's. She looked away, cheeks warming. The Orcs couldn't wait. People suffered while Adamar watched, and she refused to follow his example.

  If this story is working for you, a follow really helps it grow.

  If you're enjoying the story, a ? rating helps more than you know.

  Breach of Balance are now available in audio. Listen free → d.bohica.com

  SHARD SIGNAL

  Check out - The Wraith of Los Angeles by Team Wraith - Street-level superhero meets LA gang warfare. Blood rituals, Yakuza politics, and a hero who can't kill facing villains who know it.