The camp burned. Fires crackled, smoke billowed, and screams filled the air, but it all seemed to fade into a distant hum as he appeared. Garr’khan.


    The warlord’s figure loomed large, a silhouette of armored menace standing amid the chaos. His axe, a monstrous weapon carved with glowing runes, pulsed like a living thing, the energy cascading from it distorting the air around him. The earth beneath his boots splintered with each step, and for a moment, it felt like the whole battlefield was leaning toward him, pulled by his gravity.


    The moment hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest. It wasn’t fear—not exactly. It was the oppressive weight of something unnatural, magic tied to steel, power coiled and ready to strike. My fingers tensed around the hilt of my glowing sword, the golden energy flaring like a candle caught in a storm.


    Then, all at once, the pressure vanished.


    It was like someone had reached into my head and flicked a switch, pulling away the tension and replacing it with an eerie, perfect calm. My breathing slowed, my pulse steadied, and all the noise—the screams, the fire, the pounding footsteps—dulled to a background hum.


    I’d felt this before. On the ambulance, in the chaos of triage scenes. When lives hung in the balance, and hesitation meant death. The world shrank down to the space in front of me, and everything else ceased to matter.


    But this time? There was something else underneath the calm—something I hadn’t felt then. A playfulness. Like I was walking into an old bar brawl, not squaring off against a warlord with a magical axe. My lips curled into a grin, my shoulders loosening as if someone had lifted a thousand-pound weight off my back.


    Garr’khan saw it.


    His amber eyes narrowed in confusion, his steps faltering for half a second as I tilted my head, my sword resting lazily on my shoulder. His tusks twitched in what might have been disbelief, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of hesitation in his towering frame.


    “You mock me, wizard?” Garr’khan rumbled, his voice like grinding stone.


    “Wizard? Please,” I shot back, my grin widening as I gestured vaguely at the golden wisp hovering near my shoulder. “You think I need magic tricks to make you look bad? All you’ve got is a glowy axe and some poor anger management.” I said as if  I didn’t have a glowy sword


    The warlord blinked, as if unsure whether I was serious. Around us, the battlefield seemed to hold its breath—like even the orc warriors and slavers who clashed nearby had noticed this strange, impossible standoff.


    Garr’khan’s expression darkened, his grip on his weapon tightening. “You think this is a game?”


    I tilted my head, raising an eyebrow as I casually paced a few steps to the side. The golden glow around me pulsed faintly, matching my laid-back posture. “A game? Nah. More like a sparring match with a really bad coach.” I gestured at his axe, its unnatural runes flaring with energy. “Seriously, do you pay extra for the flashy lights? Because I’d ask for a refund.”


    Garr’khan’s face contorted with fury, his tusks gleaming in the firelight as he roared. “Enough!”


    The warlord lunged forward, his axe cleaving through the air with a force that split the ground beneath it. A shockwave rippled outward, sending dirt and debris flying in all directions. I barely twisted out of the way in time, my heart pounding as I felt the pull of the strike’s wake tug at my cloak.


    And yet... the calm held.


    I spun on my heel, golden energy rippling around me as I pivoted to face him again, a laugh bubbling up from my chest. “Missed me, big guy. Need me to stand still next time?”


    Garr’khan paused, panting slightly, his eyes narrowing in growing confusion. “You laugh?” he hissed. “You mock me even as you face death?”


    “Laughing is better than crying, right?” I shot back, spreading my arms wide in mock invitation. “And you’re making this way too dramatic. Lighten up!”


    His eyes flared with a mix of anger and—was that apprehension? —as if he couldn’t decide whether I was insane or just impossible to read. I could feel it now: the edge I was gaining. Garr’khan was used to breaking his enemies with sheer presence, his size and power cowing opponents before the fight began. He’d never faced someone who grinned at him, who turned fear into a joke and met his fury with sarcastic barbs.


    I could use that.


    He roared again, charging forward with a speed that shouldn’t have been possible for someone his size. His axe came down like a guillotine, the runes flaring brighter as it smashed into the ground. A shockwave burst outward, splintering the earth and sending nearby slavers sprawling.


    But I wasn’t there.


    I sidestepped at the last second, my body moving on instinct, faster than thought. My glowing sword whipped out, striking at his side—not to cut deep, but to test his defenses. Garr’khan twisted, deflecting the blow with a grunt of effort. The momentary crack in his composure was all I needed.


    “Come on, that’s all you’ve got?” I teased, dancing backward as he advanced again. “I thought you were supposed to be scary! You’re starting to disappoint me, Garr’khan.”


    “You insolent worm!” he bellowed, his voice thunderous.


    He swung again, this time in a wide, sweeping arc. The air howled with the force of it, but I ducked low, the blade passing just over my head. I popped up on the other side, grinning like an idiot. “Oh, careful now! You’ll pull something if you keep swinging like that.”


    The warlord staggered to a halt, his chest heaving as he glared at me with open disbelief. “What are you?” he snarled, his voice thick with frustration.


    “Me?” I said, straightening up and letting my golden aura pulse dramatically around me. “I’m just a guy with a glowing sword and a knack for getting under people’s skin.” I smirked. “And right now, Garr’khan, I think I’m living rent-free in your head.”


    The calm still held me—unnatural, perfect, like my fear had been locked away in a box somewhere deep inside me.


    My body moved like it wasn’t my own, faster and sharper than I’d ever been before. Every step was deliberate, every word another barb. I’d been on the receiving end of panic before; I knew what it looked like. And right now, I was planting that panic inside Garr’khan, brick by brick.


    His hands tightened on his axe, the runes pulsing brighter as he growled, “We’ll see how much you laugh when your body lies broken at my feet.”


    I rolled my shoulders, raising my sword again, the golden glow flickering as though in response to my pulse. “Sounds fun,” I replied, my grin unwavering. “Let’s see if you can catch me first.”


    Garr’khan roared, his enchanted axe glowing brighter. But this time, I was ready—not just to dodge, but to fight back.


    The chaos of the camp burned at the edges of my vision—fires raging, orcs cutting through disoriented slavers, and freed captives stumbling toward the forest under Khaz’ara’s protection. But all of it faded into a distant hum as I locked eyes with Garr’khan.


    The orc warlord stood at the center of the storm like a mountain, unmoving and unshaken. His enchanted axe hummed with unnatural energy, runes flaring along its blade as he gripped it with both hands. Each glowing sigil pulsed, resonating in the air with a pressure I could almost feel in my chest.


    When he stepped toward me, the earth beneath him groaned.


    “You fight well for a wizard,” Garr’khan said, his voice a low rumble that carried through the din of battle. “But this ends here.”


    I didn’t reply immediately. Instead, I rolled my shoulders, the familiar calm sinking into my bones—the strange, unnatural calm washed away my fear, my nerves, and left me… well, me.


    I grinned. “You’ve got a fancy axe there, big guy. Did you steal it from a real warrior, or did it come with a ‘How to Swing Like an Amateur’ manual?”


    Garr’khan’s amber eyes narrowed, his tusks jutting upward in a snarl. Without warning, he lunged.


    The earth shook with every stride as he closed the distance faster than I expected. He swung the massive axe, its weight and magic forcing the air itself to part around the blade. I ducked, barely avoiding the strike, and the ground exploded where I had been standing—dirt and debris spraying outward in a chaotic arc.


    “Whoa! Careful!” I called out, skidding backward to avoid the shockwave that rippled through the ground. “You nearly hit me. Your eyesight okay, Grandpa?”


    Garr’khan growled and advanced again, his enchanted weapon leaving shimmering afterimages with every swing. Each blow was precise, aimed to cleave me in half, but I was already moving before the strikes could land. The golden glow around me pulsed faintly as I channeled mana into my body, heightening my reactions, enhancing my speed.


    Focus. Relax. Let it flow.


    The axe came down like a thunderclap, and I sidestepped it with ease, dancing just out of range. “Missed again! You sure that thing’s enchanted? Or did you just forget to charge it this morning?”


    Garr’khan snarled, his frustration bubbling to the surface. He swung horizontally, aiming for my ribs, but I leaned back just enough to let the blade pass harmlessly inches from my chest. His movements were heavy and deliberate, but my enhanced reflexes made it feel like he was swinging through water.


    “Maybe your axe is just too big. Compensating for something?” I added with a grin, earning a roar of fury.


    “Enough!” Garr’khan bellowed. He stomped forward and slammed the axe into the ground, the runes flaring a violent crimson.


    A visible shockwave erupted outward—rippling through the earth like a tidal wave. I felt the force hit me like a punch to the gut, my feet leaving the ground as I was launched backward. Time seemed to slow as I spun through the air, the chaotic energy roaring in my ears.


    This is going to hurt.


    Or at least, I thought it would. Somehow, I managed to twist my body mid-flight, my instincts kicking in with razor focus. My feet hit the ground in a skidding landing, the golden glow around me flaring as I crouched low, catching myself in a crouched stance. Dust swirled around me as the force settled, but I was still standing—somehow.


    I glanced up to see Garr’khan staring at me, his massive chest heaving, his brow furrowed in confusion.


    “Not bad,” I called, rising to my full height and dusting off my cloak dramatically. “But you gotta work on your aim. I’ve seen toddlers with better accuracy.”


    His scowl deepened. “How…?”


    I stretched my neck, pretending to look bored as I rolled my shoulders. “A wizard always lands on his feet”


    The warlord’s grip on his axe tightened as he stepped forward, clearly seething. His shoulders bunched as he tried to regain his composure, but I could see the flicker of doubt in his eyes—the smallest crack.


    “You laugh now, wizard,” Garr’khan said, his voice rumbling like a distant avalanche. “But you cannot outrun my power forever.”


    I grinned, spreading my arms wide. “Oh, please, you call that power? My grandma hits harder when she’s swatting flies.”


    A moment of silence stretched between us as Garr’khan’s tusks twitched in what I could only assume was bewilderment. Even the slavers still conscious enough to watch our duel seemed confused, their expressions caught somewhere between fear and disbelief.


    “Your grandmother?” Garr’khan finally rumbled.


    “Yeah. Tough lady. Mean cook, though. You’d probably like her—she makes stew out of losers like you.” I winked. “Want me to pass on a recipe?”


    Garr’khan blinked. For a brief moment, it was as if his brain short-circuited, and I could practically hear the gears grinding as he processed my words. His confusion cracked his composure, if only for a second, and I couldn’t help but laugh.


    It was a full, genuine laugh—one that echoed across the camp, far louder than it had any right to be.


    “What—” Garr’khan started, but I cut him off with a hand wave.


    “Hold on, hold on—I got one more. What’s the difference between your mama and an orc warband?” I paused dramatically, flipping my sword with a flourish as his eyes narrowed. “An orc warband can actually hit something!”


    Garr’khan roared, charging at me with all the fury of an avalanche.


    “Uh oh, someone’s mad,” I muttered, grinning as I dropped into a defensive stance.


    The golden glow around me flared to life, coursing through my limbs like lightning. My enhanced reflexes kicked into overdrive as the warlord bore down on me, his enchanted axe glowing with crimson light. Every nerve in my body sang with energy as I prepared to meet him head-on.


    Time to show him that power wasn’t just about brute strength—it was about adaptability, precision… and a damn good sense of humor.


    Garr’khan’s charge was a freight train of fury, every step a thunderous quake that cracked the ground beneath him. The runes on his axe flared brighter, casting an angry crimson glow that carved streaks of light through the smoke-filled air.


    Okay, note to self: making jokes about someone’s mom tends to escalate things.


    I let out a steady breath, my heartbeat strangely slow, even as the massive orc bore down on me. That unnatural calm—the razor-thin line between life and death—had settled over me like a second skin. My grin stretched wider as I crouched, golden energy flaring through my limbs.


    React. Move. Flow.


    The axe came down in a brutal arc, aimed to split me clean in two. My body moved before my brain could process the swing, my feet pivoting to the side in a burst of speed that left a faint golden trail in my wake. The weapon slammed into the ground, BOOMING like a cannon and sending debris flying. A jagged crack opened in the earth where I’d been standing.


    “Missed again!” I called cheerfully, already circling around him. “Do they not teach aim in Slaver School 101? What’s next—tripping over your own feet?”


    Garr’khan’s response was a wordless roar of rage as he wrenched the axe free. Without missing a beat, he spun, using the momentum to swing the weapon in a wide arc. I ducked low, the blade passing harmlessly over my head with a whoosh of displaced air.


    Focus on openings. He’s strong but slow.


    My instincts honed in on the slight delay at the end of his swing—when the massive weight of the axe forced him to recover. It was a tiny window, but it was mine.


    I darted in close, golden energy flowing into my legs and arms. My blade flashed, striking at the side of his armor where the plates didn’t quite meet. The monomolecular edge bit deep, scoring a bright line across the steel with a shriek of protesting metal.


    “First blood,” I teased, hopping back before he could retaliate. “Looks like I’m winning.”


    Garr’khan glared at me, his breath heavy and his eyes blazing with frustration. “You mock me while hiding behind tricks and speed,” he growled, his voice shaking with anger. “Face me like a warrior!”


    “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this was a formal duel. Should I get a rulebook?” I shrugged dramatically, flipping my glowing sword in my grip. “Here’s a rule for you: don’t miss.”


    His fury was a weapon in itself, but I could see it working against him. Every insult I threw chipped away at his focus, replacing calculation with raw anger. And angry fighters made mistakes.


    Garr’khan slammed his axe into the ground again, this time sending a shockwave directly at me. The earth buckled and cracked as the force rippled outward. I leapt backward, golden energy bursting from my legs as I flipped through the air, landing lightly a dozen feet away.


    The warlord stared, his expression a mix of confusion and awe. “How…?”


    I couldn’t resist. “I told you already, big guy: I’ve seen toddlers throw tantrums scarier than you.” I gave him a mock salute, then added, “But hey, you’re doing great. A solid 5 out of 10 effort so far!”


    Several nearby orcs—Khaz’ara’s warriors—were watching our duel, their own battles forgotten for a moment. I saw their wary glances, their confusion at my attitude, their awe at the spectacle. Garr’khan, the warlord who had terrorized them for years, was being… toyed with.


    And I was loving it.


    Garr’khan charged again, this time faster, the runes on his axe glowing brighter. The pressure in the air thickened, the enchantment fueling his strikes. His next swing blurred, faster and heavier than before. My grin faltered, and I barely twisted aside in time, his weapon grazing my cloak and tearing fabric.


    Shit. He’s adapting.


    I met his furious gaze, my body settling into a more focused stance. “Alright, big guy. I’ll stop holding back.”


    The golden energy pulsed brighter around me as I channeled more mana into my limbs, pushing my body’s limits. My speed doubled. The world slowed—Garr’khan’s movements became sluggish, his heavy axe telegraphing every swing like a slow-motion reel.


    He swung. I sidestepped.


    He turned. I was already behind him, my blade carving a shallow cut across his exposed leg.


    Garr’khan howled, spinning to face me, but I was already gone again, my speed leaving golden afterimages in the air. My voice carried across the camp, light and mocking. “You know, I’d be mad too if I spent all that time enchanting a weapon and still couldn’t hit a guy.”


    “Coward!” Garr’khan roared, his voice shaking the ground. “Stop running!”


    “Who’s running?” I shot back, appearing just out of reach to his left. “I’m right here! You’re just too slow to keep up, old man.”


    His fury reached a breaking point. Garr’khan slammed his axe down with all his might, a burst of crimson energy erupting from the weapon. The ground beneath us exploded in a geyser of raw force, and this time, I wasn’t fast enough to dodge it.


    The blast hit me like a truck, sending me airborne once more. I grunted as I tumbled, the wind knocked from my lungs. Rocks and dirt pelted me as I crashed into the ground, rolling to a stop in a cloud of dust.


    I coughed, blinking against the debris. My limbs ached, but my body was already pushing back—golden energy flaring faintly as it reinforced me.


    “Still alive, wizard?” Garr’khan sneered, stepping forward with his axe dragging behind him. “This ends now.”


    I got to my feet, wiping a trickle of blood from my mouth. My grin returned, wider than before. “Man, that almost hurt.”


    Garr’khan froze mid-step, disbelief flashing across his face.


    “I mean it,” I continued, staggering slightly for dramatic effect. “I think my grandma’s stew gave me a harder hit last winter.”


    A loud snort came from somewhere nearby. I glanced over to see one of Khaz’ara’s warriors—an orc with a bloodied axe—staring at me with wide eyes. He quickly looked away, but not before I caught the faintest quirk of his lips.


    Oh yeah, I thought, raising my sword once more as golden light surged brighter around me. Time to finish this.


    I straightened, energy pulsing through every muscle in my body. Garr’khan’s glare darkened as I met his eyes, the unnatural calm still singing through me like an electric current.


    “Alright, Garr’khan,” I said, my voice light and confident. “Round two?”


    The warlord roared, charging at me with everything he had, his enchanted axe a crimson storm.


    And I grinned as I sprinted to meet him head-on.


    Garr’khan barreled toward me like a battering ram, his enchanted axe leaving streaks of red light in its wake. Every step cracked the earth beneath him, the raw force of his charge shaking the air itself.


    Big, strong, and full of rage, I thought, sidestepping just as his swing tore through where I’d stood. But all that muscle needs tendons to hold it together.


    Golden energy crackled through me as I slid behind him, my blade darting out with surgical precision. My sword bit into the soft joint behind his left knee, slicing through tendons with a sharp hiss of steel on flesh.


    Garr’khan bellowed, staggering forward as his leg buckled beneath him. He caught himself with the axe, planting it in the dirt like a crutch, but I could see the surprise in his eyes. I didn’t give him time to recover.


    “Looks like someone skipped leg day,” I quipped, already darting to his right.


    He spun, slower this time, swinging his axe in a wide arc that tore through the ground. I dropped low, ducking under the massive blade as it hummed past my head, the pressure of its swing rattling my bones. But Garr’khan’s size was his own enemy—every movement carried weight, and weight meant recovery time.


    I surged up and slashed my blade across the back of his shoulder, just below the edge of his armor. The monomolecular edge bit deep, cutting through muscle and severing key nerves in his right arm. Garr’khan roared again, his grip on the axe faltering for the briefest moment as blood splattered onto the dirt.


    “That’s two strikes, big guy. I’m starting to feel bad for you,” I teased, dancing backward as he swung again.


    But there was a method to this fight. Years of EMT experience had taught me how the body worked—where arteries could bleed a man out, which nerves controlled movement, and how pain could cripple even the strongest opponent. Garr’khan was a mountain, yes, but even mountains had cracks.


    He gritted his teeth, fury twisting his face as his crimson runes pulsed brighter, compensating for his weakening body. “You fight like a coward!” he spat, dragging the axe one-handed now. His injured arm twitched uselessly at his side.


    “I fight to win,” I shot back, the golden glow around me intensifying. “And let’s be honest—you’re not exactly keeping up.”


    I dashed in again, this time targeting the exposed area just beneath his ribs. My blade stabbed in shallow and fast, twisting to scrape against the intercostal muscles that held his torso together. He recoiled violently, blood spraying from the fresh wound. His breath hitched, and I knew I’d clipped something important.


    Lung damage, I noted. He’s slowing down. Just keep chipping away.


    But Garr’khan was still dangerous. Enraged, he stomped the ground with his good leg, sending another concussive shockwave that knocked me off balance. I tumbled back, landing hard on my side as the earth groaned beneath his fury. Before I could rise, he lunged, his axe swinging overhead like a guillotine.


    Move, move, move!


    Golden energy exploded through me as I rolled, the axe slamming into the dirt inches from my shoulder. Rocks and debris pelted me, but I was already on my feet, charging forward.


    I didn’t swing my sword this time—I leapt, driving my knee straight into his injured shoulder with all the force my enhanced strength could muster. The impact sent Garr’khan staggering, his roar of pain shaking the camp. He collapsed to one knee, his massive chest heaving, sweat and blood pouring off him in rivulets.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    I landed in a crouch, my sword still glowing faintly as I rose to face him. “You feel that, Garr’khan? That’s your body giving up. Want me to tell you what happens next?”


    He glared at me, his teeth bared like a feral beast. “You… talk too much.”


    “Probably,” I admitted, pointing my sword at him, “but it’s educational. Right now, you’ve got severed tendons in your left knee, your right arm’s basically dead weight, and I’m betting you’re feeling a sharp pain every time you breathe. That’s your lung starting to collapse, by the way. Just FYI.”


    His eyes widened slightly, as if the realization was only just now sinking in.


    “See, strength is great,” I continued, my voice light but deliberate, “but your body needs to work for it to matter. And lucky for me, I know exactly how to make sure it doesn’t.”


    For the first time, Garr’khan hesitated. His immense form trembled as he pushed himself upright, his wounded leg shaking under the weight. The orcs watching our duel—from both sides—were silent, their faces a mix of awe and apprehension. They’d seen the warlord as unstoppable, a force of nature. Now, he looked… mortal.


    I raised my sword, the golden glow flaring brighter as I poured the last of my mana reserves into my limbs. The calm was still there, like a still pond beneath my thoughts. I couldn’t feel fear, just a strange, peaceful focus.


    “This is your last chance,” I said softly, my voice carrying across the camp. “Drop the axe, Garr’khan. You’ve already lost.”


    His hand trembled against the haft of the weapon. Blood dripped steadily from his side and leg, pooling around his feet. For a long, tense moment, he simply stared at me, his crimson runes flickering.


    Then, with a final snarl of defiance, he swung.


    I was ready.


    Time slowed. I saw the strike telegraphed in his exhausted muscles, the last swing of a man who had nothing left to lose. I sidestepped with a smooth, almost lazy grace, my body a golden blur as his axe carved through empty air.


    As he stumbled forward, I pivoted, my sword flashing upward in a single, clean arc. The blade bit deep into his remaining good shoulder, cutting through muscle and bone. Garr’khan’s roar became a strangled gasp as his weapon fell from his fingers, embedding itself in the dirt with a dull thud.


    The warlord collapsed to his knees, his breathing ragged, his strength finally spent. I stood over him, my golden sword still glowing faintly as I leveled it at his neck.


    The orcs around us fell silent. Even the chaos of the camp seemed to freeze, every eye fixed on the fallen warlord and the strange "wizard" who had brought him low.


    “Game over, Garr’khan,” I said softly, my grin returning.


    The massive orc looked up at me, his amber eyes blazing with pain and resignation. “You… are no wizard,” he muttered through gritted teeth.


    I chuckled, flicking a bit of blood from my blade. “Yeah? Then what am I?”


    Garr’khan slumped forward, his head bowing. “A monster,” he whispered.


    I let the words hang in the air for a moment, the weight of the victory settling in my chest. Then I stepped back, lowering my sword. “Nah,” I said with a faint smile. “Just a guy with a few tricks up his sleeve.”


    Behind me, Khaz’ara’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and clear. “The warlord is down! The camp is ours!”


    A deafening cheer erupted from the orc warriors as the battle truly ended. I exhaled slowly, the golden glow around me fading as exhaustion caught up to me. My body ached, my limbs shaking as the adrenaline finally ebbed.


    Next time, I thought wryly, maybe I’ll keep the jokes to a minimum. Or not.


    The camp was a husk of itself now—fires smoldered in patches where tents had been torn asunder, their frames little more than charred skeletons. Bodies lay scattered, some moaning, others unnervingly still. The orc warriors moved through the wreckage like shadows, their victory tempered by the grim work of gathering survivors and freeing captives.


    I stood at the center of it all, my chest heaving as sweat mixed with dirt on my face. The golden glow of my sword had faded to a faint shimmer, and my hands trembled from the strain of holding it for so long. My arms ached, my body thrummed with the dull, bone-deep fatigue of mana overuse. The adrenaline that had carried me through the fight was gone now, leaving me hollow and shaking.


    The golden wisp, silent and watchful all this time, floated toward me, bobbing gently through the smoky air. I watched it approach, too tired to question what it was doing now. It paused just in front of me, swirling like a small sun, before diving straight into my chest.


    I gasped as warmth flooded my body—like a deep breath of fresh air after drowning. The aches dulled, my trembling stilled, and clarity returned to my mind. My fatigue didn’t vanish, but something inside me shifted, like the universe itself pressing a reassuring hand to my shoulder.


    “Good job.”


    The words weren’t spoken, but they were felt—a foreign sense of accomplishment that sent a chill down my spine. For the first time since arriving in this world, I felt... whole, like I’d just proven myself to something greater than I could understand. I exhaled slowly, letting the energy settle within me, my golden aura flaring faintly before dimming to nothing.


    “Thanks, I guess,” I murmured to the quiet emptiness.


    A groan pulled my attention back to the battered form of Garr’khan. The warlord lay on his side in the dirt, his body still where I’d left him. His enchanted axe had fallen a few feet away, its crimson runes now dark and lifeless. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the scorched earth. His breath came in shallow, ragged pulls, his massive chest struggling against his ruined lung.


    I stared at him for a long moment, my fingers tightening on the hilt of my sword. He was unconscious, vulnerable. I could end it right now—one clean stroke, and the world would be rid of him.


    Justice, I thought.


    The word bounced around in my head. My eyes wandered over his battered form. Once, he had been a terror to so many. Now, he was just another dying body in the dirt.


    “Damn it,” I muttered under my breath, kneeling beside him.


    With practiced hands, I pressed my fingers against his bloodied chest, searching for the worst of the damage. The lung was collapsing; I could feel the uneven pressure in his ribs. Mana thrummed faintly in my fingertips as I channeled it into him, just enough to stop the bleeding and stabilize him. It wasn’t perfect—I wasn’t a doctor here, just a backwoods EMT—but it would keep him alive.


    “This isn’t for you,” I whispered, mostly to myself. “It’s for the people you hurt. You’ll answer for it when you wake up.”


    I finished binding the wound as best I could, tearing a strip of cloth from his own tattered armor to hold it together. Blood caked my hands by the time I stood, my shoulders sagging as the last remnants of energy drained from me.


    Grok’an’s voice carried through the clearing, rough and commanding as he barked orders to the orc warriors. Freed captives shuffled toward the forest’s edge, guided by strong hands and reassured murmurs. Some of the younger orcs stared at me as they passed, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and reverence.


    “Wizard,” one whispered, the word trailing behind him like smoke.


    “Not quite,” I muttered, though I knew he couldn’t hear me.


    Boots crunched across the dirt behind me, heavy and deliberate. I turned, instinctively raising my guard, only to see Khaz’ara approaching, Grok’an close behind her.


    Khaz’ara was a sight to behold—her armor streaked with blood, some of it her own, and her braids wild from the fight. Her amber eyes locked onto mine, sharp and piercing, and I felt the weight of that gaze settle deep in my chest. Relief softened the edges of her features, though it didn’t lessen the intensity that burned behind her eyes.


    For a long moment, neither of us said anything. Her gaze flickered briefly to Garr’khan, still breathing, then back to me. “You let him live,” she said quietly, her voice unreadable.


    I shrugged grinning and wincing at the ache in my shoulder. “Killing him would’ve been easy. Justice isn’t.”


    She stared at me for another moment, her expression difficult to read. Then, to my surprise, the corners of her mouth tugged upward into the faintest hint of a smile. “You’re an odd one, traveler.”


    ++++++++++++++


    The fires still smoldered, their embers glowing dimly in the night, casting jagged shadows over the remains of the slaver camp. The battle was over, but the weight of its aftermath hung heavy in the air. The orc warriors moved with quiet purpose, tending to the wounded, freeing the captives, and securing those slavers who had surrendered. Their victory was hard-won, but it was a victory nonetheless.


    Khaz’ara walked through the battlefield, her steps deliberate, her sharp amber eyes taking in every detail. She passed warriors kneeling to help freed prisoners stand, others binding the hands of slavers who groaned from injuries that would serve as reminders of their failure. Her axe hung heavy at her back, her body aching from the fight, but it was the weight in her chest that lingered—the heaviness of thought, of what she’d just witnessed.


    She turned her gaze to the center of the camp, where he stood.


    The traveler—the human—moved like a man who didn’t understand the meaning of exhaustion. He stood tall amidst the ruin, his back straight, his sword now sheathed. His golden glow was gone, leaving him looking strangely ordinary, yet anything but weak.


    For a moment, she narrowed her eyes, studying the way his steps didn’t falter, how his shoulders carried none of the visible wear she’d expect after facing Garr’khan. The last she’d seen of that fight, Garr’khan had been a storm of fury—magic and raw power behind every swing. Yet this human, this fool, had not only faced him but had survived. More than that—he had toyed with him.


    Khaz’ara’s brow furrowed, her gaze lingering on him as he knelt briefly beside Garr’khan’s unconscious form. She felt the sharp sting of pride, of disbelief. No human, no outsider, had the right to come into their world and walk away from a monster like Garr’khan. And yet...


    He did.


    “Commander?” One of her warriors approached, a young orc with streaks of dirt across his face and blood on his armor. He carried himself stiffly, the lingering tension of battle still in his steps. “The last of the captives have been moved to the forest’s edge. The slavers are secured.”


    Khaz’ara nodded, forcing herself to tear her gaze away from the traveler. “Good work. Have the wounded tended to. We leave no one behind.”


    The warrior nodded and hurried off, his voice ringing out as he gave orders to the others. Khaz’ara exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself as the hum of the battlefield quieted. She turned back toward the traveler just as Grok’an joined her, his massive form casting a long shadow across the scorched earth.


    “An odd human,” Grok’an rumbled, his deep voice laced with grudging respect. “More than I thought he’d be.”


    Khaz’ara snorted softly. “That makes two of us.”


    Together, they approached him. The traveler rose from Garr’khan’s side, wiping his bloodied hands on his tattered cloak. His shoulders were broad, his stance unwavering, but Khaz’ara caught the faintest stiffness in his movements—signs of strain he was trying to hide. She didn’t understand it, though. Any orc who’d spent that much energy would be on the ground by now, unable to stand.


    His head turned toward them as they neared, his face streaked with dirt and sweat, his dark brown eyes glittering faintly with exhaustion—but more than that, with something else. Pride. Or was it satisfaction? She couldn’t tell.


    Khaz’ara stopped a few paces from him, letting her gaze flicker to Garr’khan’s still form before returning to the human. “You let him live,” she said, crossing her arms. The words came out sharper than she’d intended.


    The traveler shrugged, flashing her a crooked grin that made something tighten in her chest. “Killing him would’ve been easy. Justice isn’t.” he said casually.


    Her lips twitched despite herself. Moron. She hated how his calm, laid-back demeanor always chipped away at her walls. “You’re an odd one, traveler.”


    Grok’an grunted approvingly. “Practical. I expected less from you, human.”


    The traveler raised a brow, mock offense playing across his face. “What is it with you people and low expectations? I’m starting to take this personally.”


    Khaz’ara let out a short laugh—soft but unbidden. She didn’t mean to give him the satisfaction, but the words and that insufferable grin made it impossible not to. “Maybe we’ll raise them,” she said dryly. “But you’ve got a long way to go.”


    “Good,” he shot back, wiping his hands together. “I like a challenge.”


    Her expression softened just slightly, and she found herself staring at him longer than she should have. This human—this traveler—was a puzzle she couldn’t quite figure out. She had led orc warriors into countless battles, faced enemies twice his size, and yet none of them had disarmed her the way he did.


    Her thoughts turned to the duel she’d witnessed—how he’d danced through Garr’khan’s strikes, mocking the warlord with reckless abandon while keeping himself just out of reach. His movements had been precise, deliberate, but his attitude... gods, his attitude. He’d laughed in Garr’khan’s face, as if the entire fight had been some grand joke.


    And now here he was, grinning like a fool in the aftermath, as though he hadn’t just faced one of the most dangerous warlords in the region.


    How does he do it?


    Grok’an had moved on to speak with another group of warriors, leaving the two of them standing amidst the settling battlefield. Khaz’ara hesitated, her fingers brushing the hilt of her axe as she studied him. “You look far too pleased with yourself,” she said finally, raising a brow. “Most men would be on the ground after a fight like that.”


    He turned to her with a lazy grin, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “What can I say? I’m built different.”


    She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t stop the faint smile pulling at her lips. “Built stupid, more like.”


    “Stupid’s gotten me pretty far, hasn’t it?” he shot back with a wink.


    She shook her head, feeling that familiar tug of exasperation and amusement warring within her. How did he do that? How did he make her feel as though they’d known each other for years when it had barely been a day? He was insufferable, arrogant, reckless—everything she should despise in an outsider.


    And yet...


    And yet he’d faced Garr’khan, an enemy her people feared, and he’d won. Not just through brute strength but with skill, strategy, and that maddening grin that had probably been the most infuriating part of all.


    He’s proven himself.


    The thought hit her harder than she expected, and she looked away, staring out over the ruins of the camp. Her warriors were tending to the freed captives, helping them to their feet and guiding them toward safety. The smoke was beginning to clear, the fires dimming.


    “You’re quiet again,” the traveler said softly, his tone surprisingly gentle. “Regretting trusting me?”


    Khaz’ara glanced back at him, finding those dark eyes watching her with curiosity. She opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. Regret? No, that wasn’t it. She shook her head, letting out a quiet sigh.


    “No,” she admitted finally, her voice low. “Not this time.”


    For a moment, he looked almost surprised, but then that damnable grin was back, lighting up his tired face. “Careful, Khaz’ara,” he teased, his voice light. “If you keep saying nice things, I might start thinking you actually like me.”


    Her cheeks heated despite herself, and she scowled at him, though it lacked its usual bite. “You’re impossible.”


    “And yet you keep me around,” he replied with an exaggerated shrug.


    She rolled her eyes again, fighting the urge to laugh, and turned away before he could see the faint smile tugging at her lips. As she walked, she felt his presence still lingering behind her—unshakable, like some chaotic force she hadn’t asked for but couldn’t seem to turn away.


    He’s not what I expected, she thought as the fires died around them. And I think that’s what scares me most.


    ++++++++++++++++++++


    I stood there, still half-smiling, watching Khaz’ara stalk away with her usual mix of frustration and amusement written on her face. Impossible. That word had left her lips often enough now that I was starting to think it might just be her nickname for me. Not that I minded—there were worse things to be called.


    Turning my gaze back to Garr’khan’s unconscious form, my thoughts began to drift. The guy was a monster in every sense—built like a brick wall and packing enchanted gear that hit harder than a truck. Yet here he lay, broken and defeated. I should’ve felt triumphant, but my thoughts lingered on that axe.


    The moment I’d seen the glowing runes, felt the pulse of magic in the air, something inside me had clicked. This world wasn’t just swords, sweat, and steel. It was alive with power—real magic—and I’d only scratched the surface of it. For the first time since waking up in this world, I felt that twinge of awe that I remembered from childhood, the same feeling when I’d first held a wrench or figured out how to 3D print a complex part.


    “Shit,” I muttered to myself, shaking my head. “I forgot the damn axe.”


    I turned on my heel and trudged back toward Garr’khan, my exhaustion momentarily forgotten as I reached down and wrapped my hands around the haft. The axe was massive, easily twice the weight of a standard weapon, and my arms burned in protest as I lifted it. It felt heavy in more ways than one—as though it still pulsed with the remnants of magic.


    Khaz’ara’s voice broke through my thoughts. “What are you doing, traveler?”


    I glanced over my shoulder to see her approaching, her expression unreadable. “Souvenir,” I said, grinning like a fool as I hefted the axe up onto my shoulder. “I earned it, don’t you think?”


    She snorted, but her sharp gaze lingered on the weapon. “Put that down before you drop it on your foot. You’ve had enough time showing off.”


    “Showing off?” I gasped in mock offense. “You mean my masterful performance against this guy?” I nudged Garr’khan’s boot with my own. “I’m just getting into the swing of things.”


    “Swing of things,” she repeated dryly, crossing her arms and ignoring my terrible pun. Then her tone shifted as she pointed toward the runes. “Let me see that.”


    I lowered the axe carefully, setting it on the ground with a thud that shook the dirt. Khaz’ara knelt beside it, her amber eyes narrowing as she traced the broken runes with her fingers. The lines were shattered in places, glowing faintly like embers left to die.


    “This enchantment...” she murmured, her voice distant. “This is wizard work. Powerful work.”


    I crouched down beside her, tilting my head. “Yeah, I noticed that. The guy could throw shockwaves like a video game boss.” I ran a hand through my hair, still feeling the phantom tremors rattling through my bones. “I don’t think I’ve seen anything like it before.”


    She glanced at me sharply. “You mean you’ve never seen magic beyond what you do?”


    I shrugged. “Nope. Just my golden party tricks and whatever this crazy body of mine lets me do.” I gestured vaguely at myself. “Seeing this... it changes things. Magic here isn’t just for wizards in towers—it’s real, and it can do stuff I didn’t think possible. I want to learn more. I need to learn more.”


    Khaz’ara’s expression softened slightly, and her gaze returned to the axe. “Enchantment magic is... difficult to master. Most of what I know is old knowledge passed through my clan. Wizards keep secrets for a reason. They hoard power.”


    “Then I guess I’ll just have to settle for the second-best teacher.” I grinned at her, my tone light.


    Her brow furrowed. “Second-best?”


    “You,” I said with mock seriousness, resting my chin on my fist as I regarded her. “Obviously.”


    Her lips twitched, but she didn’t smile. “You’re a fool if you think I can teach you wizardry.”


    “I don’t need wizardry,” I replied, giving her a soft, admiring look that I couldn’t quite help. “I just need someone who knows what they’re talking about. You already know enough to impress me, and trust me, I’m a tough audience.”


    “Is that so?” she said dryly, though I could see a faint color creeping up her neck.


    “Oh, absolutely,” I continued, my grin widening. “Battle-hardened warrior, tactical mastermind, and an enchantment expert? How are you not running your own empire already?”


    “Stop talking,” she muttered, though I didn’t miss the way she turned her face slightly to hide her smile.


    “Can’t,” I replied smoothly. “I’m in awe. If I don’t say it out loud, the universe might think I’m ungrateful.”


    She let out an exaggerated sigh, but her shoulders relaxed, and her expression softened into something almost amused. “If you think flattery will get you lessons, you’re wrong.”


    “Flattery? Who said I was flattering you?” I shot back with mock innocence. “I’m just a humble human, overwhelmed by your greatness.”


    She turned her amber eyes on me, sharp and shining in the dim light. “Are you ever serious?”


    “Sometimes,” I admitted, meeting her gaze without flinching. “But only when it matters. You deserve a little lighthearted praise after saving my hide.”


    The corner of her mouth twitched, and for a moment, she didn’t reply. The smoldering fires crackled softly in the distance, the hum of the orcs’ quiet movements fading into the background as the two of us knelt beside the shattered axe.


    “Fine,” she said finally, breaking the silence. “I’ll teach you what I know. But don’t expect much—what little I understand of enchantments is basic. You’ll have to learn the rest yourself.”


    My grin softened into something less teasing. “That’s more than enough. I’ll take whatever you’re willing to teach me.”


    She held my gaze for a moment longer, something unspoken passing between us. Then she rolled her eyes and stood, dusting off her hands. “Just don’t get too smug about it.”


    “Too late,” I said, standing with her and slinging the axe back onto my shoulder.


    Khaz’ara shook her head, but there was no mistaking the smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Impossible,” she muttered under her breath.


    “And yet, you’re still here,” I replied with a wink.


    She turned on her heel, heading toward the freed captives and leaving me standing there with Garr’khan’s massive axe. As I watched her go, my grin lingered. She’s more than I expected, too.


    With a contented sigh, I turned and followed her, feeling that strange, foreign sense of satisfaction settling into my bones. The fires were dying, the night growing quiet, but something told me this was just the beginning.


    xxxxxxxxxxxxxx


    The forest felt different now. The chaos of the battlefield was behind us, replaced by the crackling of small fires and the murmurs of orcs and freed captives. Scattered groups tended to wounds, shared food, and spoke in low voices, the tension that had gripped the air finally beginning to unravel.


    I sat alone, a little distance from the others, my back against a moss-covered tree. My sword rested across my lap, the faint golden glow of the blade dimmer now, flickering softly like the embers of the nearby fires. I ran my fingers along its edge absentmindedly, feeling the warmth that still lingered.


    How close had I come to losing?


    The fight with Garr’khan replayed in my mind. The force behind each of his strikes, the sheer weight of his power—both physical and magical—was unlike anything I’d faced before. I had been seconds away from losing control, from falling. His enchanted axe had been more than a weapon; it was a symbol of what magic could do in this world. Raw, overwhelming force that I wasn’t ready for.


    I exhaled deeply, tilting my head back against the tree trunk. The canopy above swayed gently, the stars peeking through gaps in the leaves. “I need to be better,” I muttered to myself. The words came out sharper than I intended. “Stronger. Smarter.” My gaze drifted back to the sword. “If magic is a weapon here, then I’ll learn to wield it.”


    The determination burned quietly within me, coiling in my chest like a slow-growing flame. I couldn’t rely on instinct and improvisation forever. Garr’khan had shown me that. The next time, I needed to know what I was doing, to stand against power like that without dancing on the edge of failure.


    A faint rustling nearby broke through my thoughts. I glanced up to see Khaz’ara stepping toward me, carrying something bundled in her arms. Her steps were quiet, her sharp amber eyes glinting faintly in the firelight as she approached. She stopped a few feet away, looking down at me with that familiar unreadable expression.


    “You’re brooding,” she said gruffly.


    “Brooding? Nah,” I replied with a faint smile, forcing the edge of my exhaustion back. “Just... thinking.”


    She snorted softly, as if she didn’t quite believe me. “Here.” She tossed the bundle at me, and I caught it clumsily against my chest. “Your cloak. It’s beyond saving.”


    I unwrapped the bundle to find a replacement—a heavy, dark green cloak, clean and sturdy. I glanced up at her, raising a brow. “Is this you being thoughtful, or do you just think I look bad without one?”


    Her lips twitched slightly, though she tried to hide it. “You looked pathetic. It was an improvement I couldn’t ignore.”


    “Right,” I said with a grin, draping the new cloak over my shoulders. It was warmer than I expected, the weight settling around me like a comforting shield. “I’ll take what I can get. Thanks, though.”


    She didn’t respond right away, lowering herself to sit nearby, her axe laid across her lap. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The fire crackled softly in the distance, and the night hummed with the quiet sounds of the recovering camp.


    “You fought well today,” Khaz’ara said finally, breaking the silence.


    I looked over at her, surprised by the unexpected compliment. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as high praise.”


    She scoffed, though there was no heat behind it. “You’re still reckless. Garr’khan could have killed you a dozen times over.”


    “Yeah, but he didn’t,” I said, leaning my head back again with a smirk. “And besides, I had it under control.”


    “You were mocking him,” she pointed out, incredulous. “While he was trying to break you in half.”


    “That’s called strategy,” I shot back, grinning. “Throw him off his game. Worked like a charm.”


    She shook her head, though I could see the faintest hint of amusement in her expression. “It was foolish.”


    “But effective.”


    Her gaze lingered on me for a moment, and her tone softened just slightly. “Why? Why take that risk? You could’ve fought him differently—without the taunting, the theatrics.”


    I hesitated, turning my gaze back to my sword. My thumb brushed its hilt, the golden glow flickering faintly as if responding to my touch. “Because... sometimes it’s better to laugh in the face of something trying to kill you,” I said quietly. “Keeps the fear from creeping in. Fear gets people killed.”


    Khaz’ara didn’t say anything for a while. The firelight flickered over her features, the hard lines of her face softened by thought. “You’re not like most humans,” she said finally, her voice low.


    I glanced sideways at her, a faint grin pulling at my lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”


    “It wasn’t meant as one,” she shot back, though there was no malice behind her words.


    “Thank you,” she said suddenly, her voice barely above a murmur.


    I blinked, glancing at her. “For what?”


    “For not running,” she said, her amber eyes meeting mine. “For standing with us when you didn’t have to.”


    I shrugged, trying to play it off. “Well, you’re stuck with me now.”


    She huffed softly, shaking her head, but there was a warmth in her gaze that hadn’t been there before. “Impossible,” she muttered, though this time it sounded almost... fond.


    “Yeah,” I replied, leaning back and letting my eyes drift back up to the stars. “That’s what you keep telling me.”


    The fire crackled softly in the distance as the forest wrapped around us, quiet and still. For the first time in a long while, I let myself feel it—the sense of calm after the storm, the flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t entirely alone in this strange world.


    And as I sat there with Khaz’ara beside me, her quiet presence grounding me, I couldn’t help but smile.


    This isn’t so bad.


    The fire’s warmth contrasted against the cool forest air, its soft crackle filling the silence between us. Khaz’ara sat a few paces away, her amber eyes flickering in the dim firelight. She looked more relaxed now, her shoulders no longer as rigid, her axe resting across her knees instead of clutched in her hands.


    I adjusted the new cloak she’d given me, running my fingers along its edge. It was well-made, sturdy—better than anything I had expected. Somehow, I couldn’t help but think she’d gone out of her way. Thoughtful for someone who calls me an idiot every chance she gets.


    I shot her a sidelong glance, trying not to grin. “You’re not staring at me because you’ve finally decided I’m the most handsome human you’ve ever seen, are you?”


    Khaz’ara snorted, though her lip twitched like she was fighting off a smile. “Handsome? You look like something a goblin dragged out of a swamp.”


    “Ouch,” I said, clutching my chest mockingly. “I’m not sure I can recover from that.”


    “You’ll live,” she replied dryly. “Clearly, you’re hard to kill.”


    I chuckled, leaning my head back against the tree. “You’re not wrong about that.”


    Her expression shifted slightly, curiosity flickering across her features. “Where did you come from, traveler?”


    I looked up at the stars through the gaps in the forest canopy. They were brighter here, clearer than I’d ever seen them before. For a moment, I let myself just breathe, searching for an answer that wouldn’t tear the veil away from my origins.


    “Let’s just say... my home was very different from here,” I said carefully, keeping my voice low. “There was no magic like Garr’khan’s. No swords that glowed or axes that could shatter the ground. We fought battles, sure—just not with things like that.”


    Her gaze sharpened, a slight frown tugging at her lips. “No magic? No warriors like Garr’khan? What did you fight with?”


    “Ingenuity,” I replied with a faint smile, tracing the edge of my sword. “Tools, machines, cleverness when brute strength wasn’t enough. We had ways of... pushing ourselves beyond limits, of creating weapons that could wipe the world clean of life.”


    Her frown deepened. “You speak like your people were gods.”


    I shook my head slowly. “Not gods. Just... flawed creatures who found ways to make themselves feel like gods.” I hesitated, my voice dropping quieter. “But even with all that, we weren’t invincible.”


    She studied me, brow furrowed, and I could feel her curiosity deepening. “And you—what were you, then? A warrior?”


    I huffed softly, my smile tinged with something she wouldn’t understand. “Not quite. I wasn’t made to fight like your people are. I spent most of my time helping others—keeping them alive when no one else could.” I turned my gaze toward her, meeting those sharp amber eyes. “But I learned something doing that. You can be surrounded by death every day and still not fear it.”


    Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if weighing the meaning behind my words. “Everyone fears death, traveler. You’re no different.”


    I let the quiet stretch between us, the firelight dancing over the rough planes of my face. “I used to,” I said softly. “But when you’ve already faced it... when you’ve already been there—” I stopped, feeling the weight of my own words before finishing, “—it’s hard to be afraid of something you’ve already met.”


    The flicker of confusion in Khaz’ara’s eyes was unmistakable. Her brows knit together as she tried to decipher what I’d just said, like she was staring at a puzzle missing half its pieces. “What does that mean?” she asked slowly, her voice low.


    I shrugged, letting my faint smile return. “It means you don’t fight the same way when you know death isn’t the end.”


    She stared at me for a long moment, her expression shifting between curiosity, disbelief, and something deeper—an edge of unease, perhaps. Finally, she shook her head, muttering, “You’re a strange one, human.”


    “That’s what you keep telling me,” I replied lightly, though I could still feel her eyes on me, trying to peel back the layers I wasn’t ready to show.


    For a while, we sat in silence again, the weight of the conversation settling between us. I kept my gaze on the fire, letting its flickering warmth pull me back into calm, but I could feel her presence next to me—solid, real. The crackle of the flames seemed louder now, the forest breathing quietly around us.


    Finally, Khaz’ara broke the silence. “You mentioned wanting to learn more about magic.”


    I looked at her, surprised by the sudden shift. “I did.”


    She gestured toward my sword, the faintest flicker of its golden glow reflecting in her eyes. “You fought well today, but you’re reckless. You don’t understand magic—not yet. If you face an enemy like Garr’khan again, you might not be so lucky.”


    “Not exactly a pep talk, Khaz’ara,” I quipped, though her words struck home.


    She ignored me, tapping the haft of her axe with one hand. “I don’t know much about enchantments, but I know enough to teach you the basics. How runes work, how mana is channeled through objects—simple things. It might help you survive the next fight.”


    I stared at her for a beat, a grin spreading slowly across my face. “Are you offering to mentor me? Khaz’ara, I didn’t know you cared.”


    Her eyes narrowed, though I caught the faintest hint of color on her cheeks. “Don’t make me regret this, human.”


    I held up my hands in surrender, still grinning. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, I’m honored. Learning from a legendary orc warrior? I’ll brag about this for years.”


    She scoffed, though her lips twitched. “Legendary? Is flattery your only skill?”


    “Among others,” I replied, winking.


    She rolled her eyes and muttered something, that I was pretty sure was a curse, but she didn’t get up to leave. Instead, she stayed where she was, resting her elbows on her knees as her sharp eyes drifted back to the fire.


    “Thank you,” I said suddenly, surprising myself with the sincerity in my voice.


    Khaz’ara glanced at me, her brow raising. “For what?”


    “For... all of this,” I said, gesturing to the cloak, the fire, the promise of learning. “For putting up with me. And for not leaving me behind.”


    She looked at me for a long moment, her expression softening in a way I hadn’t seen before. “You’ve earned it,” she said quietly. “Even if you’re still a reckless idiot.”


    I grinned, feeling something warm settle in my chest. “Well, you keep me in line, and I’ll keep making your life interesting.”


    Her lips twitched into a faint smile, and she shook her head. “Impossible,” she muttered again, though there was no anger in her voice this time—just something almost... fond.


    I turned my gaze back to the fire, the warmth of her presence beside me lingering like an anchor.


    The night stretched on, the fire crackling softly, and for just a little while, the two of us sat together in the quiet, the weight of the battle easing away into the stars above.