Six sealed scrolls lay open on the great stone table, each marked by a different scout. Eldoria’s sigils glimmered faintly on the parchment in the lamplight.

  Leelinor stood at the head of the table, shoulders squared under the weight pressing down on him. Thalion sat at his right, newly appointed yet already carrying that sharp stillness, the kind that came from understanding political storms could kill as surely as blades. Caroline leaned forward, fingers interlocked. Zeeshoof gripped his wooden staff with both hands, steadying himself. Karg’s broad shadow swallowed half the table. Guhile scanned every line of every report with clinical precision, a faint smile playing at his lips.

  Leelinor’s eyes moved from one document to the next. When he spoke, every head lifted.

  “Three missions returned with findings we can no longer ignore.” He lifted the first scroll. “Edduuhf, Abhoof, and Toumar report famine turning to fury in Morthul. Hoarded grain. Burned reserves. Civilians arming themselves.”

  Caroline’s eyes closed briefly. “Desperation breeds its own alliances. If we fail them again, we lose the South.”

  Karg’s fist struck the table once. “They’ve gone too long without hearing truth from this room.”

  Leelinor opened the next scroll. “Luucner, Ziif, and Hajeel found alchemical operations beneath the Gray Stone ports. The magic isn’t Eldorian or human. Bodies modified with runes that belong to no known school.”

  The lantern flames flickered.

  Zeeshoof leaned forward. “The patterns aren’t simple runic scars. They echo something far older.”

  Guhile slid the parchment closer, his tone quiet and measured. “Alchemical fleshwork. Runic channels carved into living matter. Only one people in Eldoria’s history possess mastery deep enough to attempt this.”

  Caroline’s hand lifted, stopping him. “Guhile, don’t.”

  “The First Ones,” he finished calmly.

  Karg shot to his feet. “You suggest they betray us?”

  “I suggest,” Guhile said, hands clasped lightly, “that the kind of magic found in those corpses does not emerge from nowhere. And they alone have the foundation to attempt it.”

  Caroline’s voice sharpened. “Their art heals. It purifies. Their alchemy mends, it doesn’t corrupt.”

  “They could have changed.” Guhile’s voice remained soft. “Desperation does strange things, even to noble peoples.”

  Thalion slammed his palm on the table. “We do not build accusations out of fear.”

  Zeeshoof tapped his staff once. “Yet we cannot ignore patterns. If someone has twisted their art, we must know.”

  Leelinor set down the scroll and opened the third. “Leeonir. Saahag. Louren. Reports of ogres and orcs acting with discipline, training, and sorcery beyond their natural abilities. Enchanted veins. Enhanced strength. Children taken.”

  Karg sank back into his chair, breath escaping slowly. “My kin do not wield such power.”

  “No,” Leelinor said, “but someone is giving it to them.”

  Zeeshoof’s knuckles whitened on his staff. “A force is moving across Eldoria that understands our weaknesses. This isn’t one tribe or one race. Someone is orchestrating this.”

  Caroline nodded. “Someone who wants all of us pointing fingers.”

  Guhile’s smile twitched.

  Isaac stepped forward from the column where he’d been standing, hands behind his back. “If you seek truth about First Peoples’ magic, call someone who lived among them.”

  Every head turned.

  “Kooel,” Isaac continued. “He grew in their desert. He understands their laws, their rites, their alchemy. If anyone can tell us whether this is true First People craft or a corrupted imitation, it is him.”

  Zeeshoof nodded immediately. “He is young, but his knowledge runs deep.”

  Caroline’s expression softened. “And he is loyal to Eldoria. He earned that loyalty.”

  Leelinor exhaled. “Then Kooel will be summoned. No accusations. No assumptions. Only clarity.”

  Thalion’s voice cut through like steel. “We cannot create an enemy where there may be none, especially now with the realm shaking.”

  Karg folded his arms. “Aye. Let truth come from one who walks in both worlds.”

  Guhile said nothing, but his jaw tightened.

  -----

  When the guards escorted Kooel into the chamber, the weight in the air pressed down like a physical thing.

  Kooel stood before them, straight-backed, hands behind him, chin raised. His skin carried the deep red undertone of the First Peoples. His yellow eyes held that quiet, desert-born intensity, and his black-blue hair fell behind his shoulders in a warrior’s tie.

  Thalion pushed the reports aside. “Kooel. We called you because your people know more about alchemy than any other civilization on the continent. What our scouts found, twisted bodies, altered minds, runic grafting, none of it matches Eldorian magic.”

  Caroline lifted one of the scrolls, its cracked seal revealing grim sketches. “According to Luucner and Ziif, these abominations weren’t experiments. They were applications, functional and weaponized.”

  Guhile’s eyes caught the torchlight like polished glass. “With all due respect, we must ask the question that prudence demands. Could the First Peoples be turning their craft toward war?” His tone remained calm, logical, elegant. “Every record states your alchemy can reshape flesh.”

  Karg’s fists hit the table. “They are allies, Guhile. They bled with Eldoria long before you were born.”

  “Allies can change,” Guhile said.

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  Kooel stepped forward before anyone else could speak. “My people do have alchemy. We use it to heal, to mend bone, to regrow limbs lost to war or sandstorms. Yes, we can alter strength, mind, instinct, but such practices are forbidden. Punishable by execution. No one who defies this law lives long enough to escape the desert, much less build an army.”

  Zeeshoof’s eyes narrowed. “But rules break. Cultures fracture. If someone among the First Peoples strayed?”

  Kooel’s voice hardened. “The First Peoples have never broken a pact with Eldoria. We’ve held for three hundred years through famine, war, and dragonfall. We guard our borders fiercely, and we guard our honor more fiercely still.” He paused. “You ask if there is a traitor among us. I cannot answer that with certainty. Those who ever tried such forbidden magic were executed. No one remained to flee, to be recruited, or to build something in secret.”

  Leelinor studied him for a long moment. “I know your mother, Kooel. I fought beside your father. I trust the honor of your people.” He inclined his head. “For now, you are dismissed. You have served Eldoria well.”

  Kooel saluted, fist to chest, and left.

  The doors had barely closed before Karg spoke. “It is not his people.”

  Caroline raised a hand. “We need evidence, not assumptions.”

  Zeeshoof’s staff struck the floor. “But the possibility must be acknowledged.”

  Guhile spread his hands. “We now have alchemy on our soil. Modified bodies. Experiments with runic grafting. Someone learned this craft. Someone taught it. If the First Peoples didn’t, then who did? The cyclopes? The ogres? The tribes?”

  Thalion exhaled sharply. “We’re speculating in circles. We need facts.”

  Leelinor’s fist came down on the table. “Then we summon those who saw it with their own eyes. Order Luucner, Ziif, and Hajeel to return to the capital at once. Their testimony will determine our next step.”

  Zeeshoof lifted his staff. “And until then, Eldoria watches the desert as closely as it watches its borders.”

  Guhile allowed himself a thoughtful hum.

  Leelinor’s gaze swept the room. “No one points fingers without proof here, not under my watch.”

  The torches hissed. Outside, thunder rumbled across the mountains.

  -----

  When the last councilor left and the doors sealed shut, Thalion remained at the far end of the table, palms pressed to the stone. Leelinor stood beside him.

  Neither spoke.

  Thalion broke the silence first. “Leeonir’s report worries me more than the others.”

  Leelinor’s brow tightened. “The gorge, the children, Baargol, or something else?”

  “All of it, but particularly him. The way he described that fight, the exhaustion, the wounds, and what he didn’t describe.”

  “The missing piece?”

  Thalion’s fingers tapped the table once. “Leeonir downplays pain when he writes. He always has. But this was different. He reported a burst of strength, then collapse. Then hours unconscious. And Saahag added that he looked altered. She chose her words carefully.”

  Leelinor said nothing.

  Thalion continued. “They’re alone out there. Three fighters holding back an entire southern front. If ogres and minotaurs are organizing around commanders like Baargol or whoever is above him, Leeonir cannot carry that burden with two companions and dwindling villages.”

  Leelinor’s gaze drifted across the blood-marked reports. “You want reinforcements.”

  “I want him alive. And I want the South stabilized before it collapses.”

  Leelinor’s eyes narrowed. “Kooel.”

  Thalion nodded. “He’s fast, disciplined, knows the wild lands, and has no fear of ogres. And after today’s council, he needs to remain close to Eldoria’s interests. Sending him south serves both needs.”

  “He’ll accept without question.”

  “Good. Then we call him.”

  They found Kooel waiting in the antechamber, still standing at military rest.

  Thalion gestured him forward. “You heard the reports. The South is in worse shape than any of us expected. Villages burned. Children taken. Baargol dead, but not before dealing brutal damage.”

  Leelinor added, “And Leeonir’s condition concerns us. He pushes himself beyond reason. We need someone who can reinforce them and keep him from breaking.”

  Kooel’s eyes sharpened. “Is he injured?”

  “Yes. In body and something else we don’t yet understand.”

  Kooel straightened. “Then I’ll leave before dawn.”

  Leelinor’s voice dropped. “You leave tonight. The South doesn’t have dawns to spare.”

  “I will find him. I will stand with him. And I will not return until the South stands again.”

  Thalion gripped the young warrior’s shoulder briefly. “Go quickly. And be ready for anything.”

  “I was raised for deserts where death walks in daylight. Whatever waits in the South, I’ll face it.”

  He turned, cloak sweeping behind him. When the doors closed, Leelinor spoke quietly. “If we’re sending Kooel south, we may be closer to war than we admit.”

  Thalion stared at the door. “We are. But at least now Leeonir won’t face it alone.”

  -----

  Journey to the South

  Kooel departed from the capital before dawn, wrapped in a silent, silvery mist. He carried no banner, only a traveler’s cloak and his father’s sword at his waist, sharpened with ARK stones.

  He crossed the Whispering Fields alone. The earth had been torn open beneath his feet, something massive had forced its way through the soil, leaving deep scars in its wake.

  The first villages appeared in the distance, all ruined. Houses half-collapsed, palisades shattered, footprints large enough to swallow his chest.

  In each settlement, people uttered a name in trembling voices. The Eldorians, the elves of the North, are reclaiming small pieces of our home.

  Kooel listened. He learned more from the eyes of the wounded than from words. Some wept as they pronounced the names of their families. Others whispered it like a prayer, giving thanks that the south was being liberated.

  By the time he reached the fourth village, he knew what he would find. Smoke hung in the air, ash clung to the grass, barricades stood crooked beneath desperate hands.

  On a hill of broken beams and churned earth, Leeonir stood, exhausted, blood in his hair, sweat and dust trickling down his jaw. His left hand was wrapped in a cloth that barely concealed the scales. Saahag moved among the wounded, his voice calm and firm. Louren shouted orders as he replanted a barricade, fury boiling in every movement.

  Kooel entered the clearing. Leeonir saw him, froze, then closed the distance and pulled him into a crushing embrace. Only breath, heartbeat, and relief.

  When they separated, Kooel’s eyes wandered to the bodies, ogres, orcs, creatures deformed by the manipulation of flesh. His jaw clenched. “These things shouldn’t exist. How is this possible?”

  Leeonir’s expression darkened. “There’s more.”

  He told him everything. The villages, the children, Baargol, the vengeance in Arlin’s name, his oath, the fight, the fury, and finally, the hand. Leeonir untied the cloth.

  Kooel took a deep breath.

  The scaly skin gleamed in the light, like molten stone hardened into the shape of a claw. Veins of light gold traced between the scales, penetrating the wrist like cracks in volcanic glass.

  “It seems to have grown on your arm since the last time?”

  “During the fight. It heated up, strengthened me, but took more of my arm. It’s spreading. But it made me strong enough to kill these demons.”

  Kooel touched the scales. The heat in the transformed region was intense. “This is dangerous. I don’t know anything about it, but it’s affecting more of you, and I believe it won’t stop.”

  Leeonir met his gaze. “Is this going to kill me?”

  Kooel didn’t look away. “Maybe so. I don’t know. But surely the desert sages must have some information. You and I should go to the desert.”

  Leeonir nodded, his jaw clenched. “Not now. We don’t have time to worry. There are more out there.”

  Survivors approached, bruised and trembling. A man with a bandaged shoulder bent down. “You’re the ones saving the villages. There are more ogres further south. Bigger ones. And they’re using sorcery.”

  Kooel turned sharply. “Describe it.”

  “They opened a rift in the air. Like a wound in the world. They drew fire from it. And shadows. And weapons I’ve never seen.”

  Saahag joined them, cleaning his blades. “This isn’t just brute force. They’re learning. Evolving.”

  Louren spat the words. “Someone is teaching them.”

  Kooel looked south. His people’s magic was tightly guarded, never intended to transform bodies into weapons or bend souls.

  The survivor added, “They spoke of a leader. A giant. Silent. The others obey him without question. Wherever he goes, runes glow.” Something cold settled at the base of Leeonir’s spine. He didn’t know its name, no one there knew, but the shadow of that presence pressed against the southern horizon like an impending storm.

  Kooel gripped the hilt of his sword. “Then let’s move quickly. Someone turned monsters into sorcerers, and they’ve chosen the South as their proving ground.” Leeonir slid Ecos’s blade into his belt. Saahag tightened his garment. Louren exhaled through clenched teeth.

  Behind them, the villagers began to rebuild. Hope had arrived in the village in the form of three elves and a desert child.

  Leeonir looked south, fire in his eyes. “Then let’s finish what we started.”

  Together, they marched toward the next shadow, the next ruin, the enemy no one had yet named but who would soon discover their wrath.????????????????