New DraftRozika’s Tale – Book 1, “Awakening Chaos” Prologue“Beware beauty that does not blink. It watches back.”— Ancient Dorghin Proverb Not on a world you know, a thousand years before the present time…The Dorghin hunter moved alone through the high mountain valley, his long, tufted tail flicking as he picked hisway over jagged black stone. Snowmelt trickled over his clawed feet, the cold barely registering against his olive skin. Histapered ears twitched at every shift in the wind, his sharp eyes scanning the cliffs above for movement.Winter’s grip hadn’t yet broken. Great sheets of ice still clung to the rock face, groaning in protest, shifting underthe weight of centuries.He was hunting. Not for game, but for the treasures the glacier gave up when its grip loosened. The mountainhad swallowed the ruins of an older time, and each thaw season, it spat out fragments of what once was—twistedmetal, carved stones, bones. But today, the mountain had given up something else.At the water’s edge, half-buried in silt and glacial runoff, lay a stone—or so it first appeared. About the size of agrape, smooth yet strangely organic, its color shifted in the light. A deep pink, pulsing faintly, as if something inside stilllived.The hunter crouched, ears flattening as unease crept into his gut. He had seen many things pulled from the ice—helmets of long-dead warriors, weapons still sharp, even bodies frozen mid-scream.But never this.He reached into the chill water and closed his fingers around the thing.Then it throbbed.A single, slow pulse, like a heartbeat.Pain lanced through his skull. His vision fractured—the valley vanished, replaced by a burning city, its streetsslick with blood. He saw armies, banners of black and crimson unfurling in a howling storm. He saw himself, no longer amere hunter, but a king, seated upon a mountain of skulls. A crown of fire burned above his brow, and in his hands,power beyond reckoning.He gasped, staggering back, but the vision did not fade. It pulled at him, whispered to him, promised himdominion.This was what he sought his whole life. With this, he could show everyone his true prowess. His rightful place.No one would ever mock him again.His breath came in ragged gulps as he pressed the stone to his forehead.And the world burned.Flames. War. The hunter was no more.In his place, a warlord rose.His armies swept across the land like wildfire, villages razed, their people left kneeling or perishing. His namebecame legend, his power unquestioned. The pulsing gem had chosen him, had promised him the world. And for a time,it delivered.But as the years passed, the voices grew louder.What had once whispered now screamed. What had once guided now mocked.His enemies did not bring his downfall.His own mind did.He slaughtered his most loyal generals, convinced they plotted against him. He drove his army to ruin chasingshadows. His empire crumbled, his name faded from history, his legend erased.And in the end, when all was dust and silence, he fled to the mountains.The cavern swallowed him whole.There, in the dark, he sat upon his throne. His once-mighty form withered, his skin drawn tight over brittlebones. His crown rusted, his weapons lay forgotten.But the gem remained.It pulsed in the darkness, the only thing left to bear witness to his ruin.His head sagged forward, his breath a thin, rasping whisper. His fingers clutched at the stone embedded in hisforehead, but he no longer had the strength to remove it. He was alone.No armies.No empire.Only the pulsing of the gem.Waiting.Waiting for the next.As the darkness closed in, it throbbed one last time—deep, slow, patient.And then, silence.The warlord sat unmoving as centuries passed, his flesh withering to dust, his bones settling into the throne thattime forgot. The cave breathed around him, shifting with the weight of ages, while the world beyond his tomb rose, fell,and changed in ways he would never see.Then, not far away, beneath the same sky that had once burned for him, a lone figure moved gracefully throughthe whispering woods—another hunter, another time, another fate waiting to unfold. Chapter One – Chaos UnearthedThe small Dorghin girl, Rozika, slipped through the dense underbrush, her athletic frame weaving effortlesslybetween the gnarled roots and thick vines that choked the forest floor. Her long, olive-green tail darted back and forth,aiding her balance as she navigated the uneven terrain. The humid air clung to her skin, but she hardly noticed. The thrillof exploring the unknown was far too enticing, and it wasn’t as if anyone would miss her.Certainly not her sister.Rozika snorted at the thought, her tail flicking with irritation. Ezzy wouldn’t grieve ifshe never returned—she’d probably celebrate, calling her a “grubworm” while hogging thefamily’s attention.She paused suddenly, her sharp emerald eyes catching the faint outline of a narrowcrevice in the side of a moss-covered cliff. The jagged opening was half-hidden by a curtainof ferns, but what stopped her in her tracks was the scent. Her keen sense of smell pickedup something… different. It wasn’t the earthy aroma of damp soil or the woody tang of thejungle. It was faint—ancient, and tantalizingly unfamiliar.Rozika tilted her head, her curiosity flaring. “Let’s see where this goes,” shemurmured, crouching low and squeezing through the gap.The passage was tight and dark, the air heavy with the smell of damp stone. Sheheld her breath as she crept forward, her pointed ears twitching at every sound. The crunchof dirt beneath her feet seemed impossibly loud, and as the walls narrowed, she was forcedto crawl on her hands and knees. Cold stone pressed against her palms, and gritty dustclung to her skin. She froze at a bend in the tunnel, her ears swiveling toward the faintsound of dripping water echoing somewhere ahead. A shiver ran down her spine, but she pressed on, her natural nightvision guiding her deeper into the unknown.After what felt like an eternity, the tunnel opened into a vast chamber, and Rozika’s breath caught in her throat.The space was enormous, the ceiling so high it vanished into darkness. Rows of cracked pillars lined the room like silentsentinels, and at its center, elevated on a dais of jagged stone, lay a throne—or what was left of one.The air here was different—stale, with a faint magickal tang that made her wrinkle her nose. Rozika reached intoher satchel, pulling out the torchstone her brother Zimwick had given her. With a flick, the enchanted stone flared tolife, casting a flickering white light over the chamber. Shadows danced across the crumbling walls, revealing fadedcarvings etched into the stone.She moved closer, her fingers brushing against the strange, swirling shapes carved into the surface. The imagesdepicted unknown figures locked in chaotic battles, others kneeling in reverence before an ominous, glowing figure.“Old stuff,” she muttered, squinting at the carvings. Her tone turned disappointed. “Could use more shiny.”Her disappointment evaporated when her gaze fell on the throne at the center of the chamber. Atop it sat askeletal figure, its hollow eye sockets staring blindly into the darkness. Its bony hands clutched the arms of the thronewith a grip so tight it seemed death itself had been unable to pry them free.Rozika hesitated, clutching the torchstone a little tighter. The skeletal figure was draped in tattered robes, thefabric so fragile it looked as though it might crumble at the slightest touch.But it wasn’t the skeleton that caught her attention.Embedded in its forehead was a gemstone unlike anything she’d ever seen. It glowed faintly pink, its lightpulsing softly, like a heart beating in the silence.Rozika’s mouth curved into a wide grin. “Shiny,” she whispered.Her instincts whispered caution, like a breeze before a storm—but the gem’s pull was undeniable. Hypnotic. Sheascended the cracked steps of the dais, her tail swishing with equal parts excitement and unease. The closer she came,the more the air seemed to hum—low and electric, like the breath of something ancient and waking. It thrummed at theedge of her senses, just shy of pain.She reached out slowly, fingers trembling despite herself. The instant her skin touched the gem, a searing heatshot up her arm like liquid fire.Her pupils shrank to pinpoints. Her vision shattered.Images detonated behind her eyes—blood-soaked earth, screaming warriors impaled on blackened stakes,shadowy figures prostrating before a colossus wreathed in smoke and flame. The world twisted in agony. Cities burned.The sky split open like a wound. And at the center of it all, a single red eye blinked.A voice, deep and guttural, rumbled in her skull—not words, exactly, but raw intention, coiling through herthoughts like a serpent.One image flared especially bright: herself, seated on a throne of bones, the gem embedded in her foreheadwhile the world burned to ash around her.“Ew—no!” Rozika yelped, jerking her hand back as if stung. She glared at the gem like it had spit on her. “Rude.”Shaking out her fingers, still tingling unpleasantly, she fished in her belt pouch. Right. No more touching creepyskull-jewels with bare hands. She pulled out a scrap of worn but clean linen and carefully wrapped it around her palm.She hesitated, ears flicking in agitation, then let out a resigned breath. Stepping onto the skeleton’s brittleribcage, bones crunching underfoot, she muttered, “You’re comin’ with me.”With the cloth shielding her skin, she tried to grip the gem and tug, but it didn’t budge—wedged deep in theskull.“Of course,” she grumbled. “Not gonna make this easy, are you?”She drew a dagger from her belt and wedged it carefully between gem and bone. Whispering a quick,unconvincing prayer to whoever might be listening—and not laughing, she gave a sharp twist.Crack.The gem lurched free, dropping into the folds of the linen with a weight that felt far too heavy for its size. It waswarm. Almost pulsing. Like a stolen heartbeat.Below her, the skeleton collapsed with a brittle clatter. The throne sagged and sank.“Boobytrap…”The entire chamber groaned in response.Stone grated against stone. Dust sifted from the ceiling in thin, choking curtains. Somewhere deep in the ruins,something ancient shifted.Rozika froze, ears flattening tight to her skull, every muscle locked.“…Great. Angry ruins. Just perfect,” she muttered, jamming the gemstone into her satchel like she hadn’t justrobbed a god’s grave.She scrambled down from the dais as the trembling intensified. Cracks snaked across the walls, and chunks ofstone crashed down in choking clouds of dust. Heart hammering, Rozika sprinted for the tunnel, not daring to look backat the roar of collapsing stone and masonry behind her.The earth shuddered beneath her feet, pushing her onward with every violent tremor.She burst from the tunnel mouth into the blinding light of the forest, staggering until she found a tree to leanagainst. She bent double, gasping for breath, the jungle’s hush almost mocking after the chaos below.Slowly, she reached into her satchel and unfolded the linen. The gemstone sat there in her palm, its soft pinkglow steady, pulsing faintly like a living thing.A grin tugged at her lips despite the sweat and grime.“Mama’s gonna love this,” she muttered, carefully wrapping it up again. She slung the satchel back over hershoulder and set off through the undergrowth toward the village.The dawn sun filtered through the trees like hope, golden rays piercing the mist that still clung to the forest'sedge.A buxom milkmaid sat atop a low wooden stool, humming a tuneless melody as her hands worked withpracticed ease. Her slender tail flicked lazily behind her, swaying in rhythm with each tug on the monstrous, woollymoga’s udder. The creature let out a gentle snort, its floppy ears twitching at the sound of her voice, content beneathher care.Beside her, a younger girl—still in her bedclothes, hair mussed from sleep—yawned as she approached with apail in each hand. She moved with sleepy precision, swapping the brimming bucket for an empty one without needing aword. Kneeling beside a smooth rune-marked stone embedded in the grass, she flicked her thumb across a glowingglyph carved into the side of the pail.A soft chime rang out, and the milk began to bubble almost instantly. Steam curled upward in fragrant ribbonsas if drawn from a kettle left on an open flame. When the boil steadied, the girl tapped a second rune with the flat of herpalm.A sharp crack sounded—frost laced the pail in a heartbeat, ice racing up the sides in delicate veins. The milkfroze solid. Perfect for storing.The older sister laughed softly and wiped her hands on her apron. She turned just in time to spot a lone figurestriding past the outer fence, dust swirling around her bare feet.“Rozika’s back,” she said with a knowing grin.The warrior looked like she’d walked through fire and storm both—her leathers scuffed, a few fresh scrapes onher arms—but her bright eyes remained fierce, and her stride was sure. She carried herself like someone who’d stareddown death and found purpose on the other side of it.The sisters watched her pass in quiet admiration, sharing a glance. The younger girl waved, her grin sleepy butsincere. The elder raised her pail in greeting.“Boska! Minni!” Rozika lifted a hand and returned the greeting, a faint smile tugging at her lips. The scents ofwarm milk, rune-burned metal, fresh grass, and just a hint of manure drifted on the morning air as she passed.They were small things.But it smelled like home.She strolled into the village with a satisfied grin plastered across her face, her satchel bouncing against her hip.The familiar sounds of dorghin life greeted her—children laughing, the rhythmic clang of Borkus’s forge, and the lowhum of chatter.She made a beeline for the head shaman’s hut, her bare feet kicking up little puffs of dirt with each step. Thestructure sat on a small rise at the edge of the village, its wooden frame adorned with wind chimes and hanging herbsthat swayed in the gentle breeze.As she pushed open the door, the familiar scent of dried flowers and incense wafted over her.“Mama?” she called out, her voice casual.Lilla Moonwhisper emerged from behind a curtain of beads, her sharp hazel eyes locking onto Rozika instantly.Her expression was a mixture of relief and frustration. “Rozika! You’ve been gone for three days!”Before Rozika could react, Lilla closed the distance between them in two strides, grabbing her daughter firmly bythe arm. With a practiced motion, she delivered a sharp swat to Rozika’s backside.“Hey!” Rozika yelped, hopping forward and rubbing the offended area.A small cloud of dust erupted from her at the impact, causing Lilla to cough and wave a hand in front of her face.“And you’re filthier than normal,” Lilla added, her voice both exasperated and amused. “Where have you been?”Rozika shrugged, her tail swishing lazily behind her. “Exploring,” she said, as though it were the most naturalanswer in the world.“Exploring where?” Lilla demanded, her hands on her hips. Her gaze narrowed as she took in the dirt smearedacross Rozika’s skin, the tangles in her hair, and the faint scrape along her knee.Rozika hesitated, her hand drifting to the satchel at her side. “Uh... just some ruins. Nothing big.”Lilla’s brows shot up. “Ruins?”“Yeah,” Rozika said, suddenly feeling a little sheepish under her mother’s piercing gaze. “I found somethin’ cool,though.” She reached into her satchel and pulled out the glowing gem, holding it by the linen it was wrapped in.The moment the gemstone caught the light, Lilla froze. Her hazel eyes widened, and her breath hitched. “Spiritsabove...” she whispered, her hand instinctively reaching out to touch the glowing gem.“Mama! It—”Rozika’s warning came too late.The moment Lilla's fingers grazed the gemstone, the world around her seemed to unravel. She was no longerstanding in her familiar surroundings of her hut, but instead thrust into an endless, swirling void of color and sound. Theair hummed with an ancient, primal energy, reverberating like the pulse of the universe itself.Two colossal figures emerged from the chaos, their forms barely comprehensible, shifting between light andshadow, matter and pure essence. One was an embodiment of seething, untamable chaos – its form a tempest of jaggedflames, thunderous winds, and writhing shadows. Its eyes burned with the hunger of a thousand storms, seeking to teardown all that stood in its way. Its voice was a cacophony, an endless roar of destruction, as it bellowed its claim over allcreation.Opposite it stood a figure of calm, yet unyielding strength – a being formed from the very hearth of existence. Itsbody glowed with the warmth of a thousand home fires, radiant and protective. It stood tall and firm, its eyes pools ofdeep, tranquil light. The figure’s voice was soft but powerful, like the whisper of the earth itself, calling for peace andshelter amidst the chaos.The two gods collided, their forces clashing with such fury that the fabric of the world itself seemed to quake.Lightning cracked through the sky, and the earth shattered beneath them. A deafening roar of flame was deflected bythe gentle shield of warmth as the battle raged on. Each blow sent shockwaves across reality, tearing mountainsasunder, drowning forests in fire, and drowning cities in the storm’s fury.Lilla saw the aftermath – the scorched remains of civilizations, once thriving, now reduced to dust and ash.Bodies lay in heaps, broken by the might of the gods’ conflict, their once-vibrant lands now silent and barren. The sky wasdarkened with clouds of soot and fire, and a painful silence followed in the wake of their battle. The gods, too, wereweary, their forms flickering like dying embers.And in that silence, Lilla heard the whisper of something even more ancient – a third voice, softer, more distant,warning of the price of such power, of the cost of allowing the two forces to consume one another. But the warning cametoo late. The battle was already written, and the devastation unstoppable.“I, uh—” Rozika tilted her head, masking the sudden twist in her gut. “Figured you’d like it?”Lilla blinked, recovered swiftly from the vision, quickly covering it in the linen and snatching the gem fromRozika’s hands, and holding it gingerly as though it might explode. “Rozika,” she said slowly, her voice thick with anemotion Rozika couldn’t place. “Do you have any idea what this is?”Rozika shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “A really pretty rock that makes ya see stuff?”Lilla exhaled sharply, her fingers tightening around the gem. “This... this is far more than that.” She turned,pacing toward her worktable and carefully setting the gemstone down among her collection of vials and scrolls. “Whereexactly did you find this?”“A chamber,” Rozika said, leaning against the doorframe. “This creepy ol’ skeleton sittin’ on a throne. The gemwas stuck in his forehead, so I pulled it out. No big deal.”Lilla turned slowly, her expression unreadable. “You pulled it out of a throne-bound skeleton’s skull,” sherepeated, her voice flat.“Uh-huh,” Rozika replied nonchalantly, grinning proudly.Lilla closed her eyes, muttering a prayer under her breath. “Spirits preserve us,” she opened her eyes and fixedRozika with a stern look. “Did anyone see you?”“Nope. Was jus’ me,” Rozika said. “Why? What’s the big deal?”Lilla didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she reached out and placed both hands on Rozika’s shoulders, lookingher daughter squarely in the eye. “Rozika,” she said softly, her tone heavy with warning. “This is not just a pretty rock.This is something ancient. Dangerous.”Rozika blinked, her grin fading. “Dangerous?”“Yes,” Lilla said firmly. “You were lucky to make it back unharmed. From now on, you tell me when you findsomething unusual – immediately. Do you understand me?”Rozika nodded, her curiosity bubbling beneath her obedience. “Okay, Mama. But... you’re keeping it, right?”Lilla’s gaze flicked to the gem on the table, her jaw tightening. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “I’ll keep it safe.”Safe from whom, she didn’t say.As Lilla carefully slipped the gem into a small pouch at her waist, the beaded curtain leading to the next roomrattled softly. Ezolae emerged, her platinum hair perfectly combed, and an exasperated expression firmly planted on herface. She leaned casually against the doorway, wiping henna ink from her fingers.“So, the grubworm has returned?” Ezolae said drolly, her lips curling into a smirk. Her sharp sapphire eyesflicked over Rozika, lingering on the dirt and grime coating her younger sister from head to toe.Rozika bristled, her tail flicking irritably behind her. “I’m not a grubworm,” she snapped.“Oh yes,” Ezolae rolled her eyes dramatically. “At least some grubworms know how to stay clean.”“Enough!” Lilla’s voice cut through the brewing argument, firm and commanding. She turned to Ezolae,gesturing dismissively. “Don’t call your sister a grubworm.” She paused, her gaze drifting back to Rozika. “Actually, youknow what? She does need a bath.”“Mama...” Rozika frowned, her tone anxious.Lilla ignored her protest and continued, addressing Ezolae. “Gather your sisters and a couple of the guards andhead for the hot springs. Rozika is going with you. I’ll join you after a bit.”Ezolae raised an eyebrow and suppressed a grin. “The springs? You know she hates—”“Yes, the springs,” Lilla interrupted, her voice brooking no argument. She glanced at Rozika, her expressionsoftening slightly. “If she’s been crawling through ruins, she needs more than a quick rinse. Spirits only know what she’sbrought back.”Rozika groaned loudly, her shoulders slumping. “Awwww, Mama... not the springs...” she whined, dragging outthe last word as though it might change her mother’s mind.Lilla gave her a pointed look. “Yes, the springs. Unless you’d like me to dunk you in the beezel trough instead?”Rozika scowled but didn’t dare push further. “Fine,” she muttered, kicking at an imaginary pebble on theground.Ezolae smirked, clearly enjoying her sister’s discomfort. “Come on, grubworm,” she said mockingly, turning onher heel. “Let’s get you cleaned up before the dirt starts sprouting mushrooms.”Rozika glared after her, muttering something under her breath that earned a sharp look from Lilla.“Behave,” Lilla said firmly. “I’ll join you soon.”Rozika sighed and followed Ezolae out of the hut, her bare feet dragging slightly as they crossed the threshold.Once the door closed behind them, Lilla leaned against her worktable, her fingers brushing over the pouchwhere the gem now rested. She exhaled slowly, her gaze drifting to the window. The gem seemed to pulse against herside, and unease coiled in her chest.“Spirits guide us,” she murmured under her breath.The door of the hut creaked shut as Ezolae and Rozika departed, their bickering voices fading into the distance.Lilla exhaled a long, weary sigh, her fingers brushing over the pouch at her waist where the gem rested.“Three days,” she muttered to herself. “That girl...”“…Has a knack for finding trouble,” came a low, smooth voice from the shadows.Lilla’s spine stiffened, and her hand instinctively hovered near her magickal staff leaning against the table. Herhazel eyes darted toward the far corner of the room, where a shadow shifted and took shape.Grimnok Shadowthorn stepped into the dim light, his cloak billowing softly as though it carried the darknesswith it. His sharp features were half-obscured by his hood, but the glint of his eyes was unmistakable—cold, calculating,and far too observant for Lilla’s liking.“What did she find this time, Lilla?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual.Lilla straightened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Grimnok,” she said curtly. “Skulking in my hut again, I see.”“Skulking?” Grimnok smirked, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve. “Hardly. I was merely...observing. You know how curious I am about the workings of your shamanic craft.”“You’re as curious as a dargof sniffing for weakness,” Lilla snapped knowingly, crossing her arms over her chest.“What do you want?”Grimnok’s smirk widened, but his eyes remained sharp. “I saw her with the gem, Lilla,” he said, his voice soft yetpointed. “A rather interesting find for someone so young, wouldn’t you agree?”Lilla’s jaw tightened. “She brings me trinkets often. Most of them are pretty, yet meaningless.”“Ah, but this one is different,” Grimnok said, stepping closer. “Its glow... its aura... you can’t possibly tell me it’sjust another shiny rock. I know better.”Lilla resisted the urge to flinch under his scrutiny. “Whatever it is,” she said firmly, “it’s none of your concern.”Grimnok raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “None of my concern? Lilla, you wound me. After all, I amCouncilor of Shadows and Rozika’s mentor. Shouldn’t I be privy to her... achievements?”“Mentor,” Lilla scoffed, her hazel eyes narrowing. “You meddle in her life because it suits your agenda. Don’tpretend you care about her growth.”Grimnok’s expression darkened for a fleeting moment before he smoothed it into his usual veneer of calm.“You’ve never trusted me, have you?”Lilla met his gaze unflinchingly. “No,” she said flatly. “And I don’t need to. I trust my husband, and that isenough.”Grimnok chuckled low in his throat, a sound that sent a chill through the room. “My cousin is a strong leader,”he said. “But even he must recognize that power requires... understanding. Whatever that gem is, it could affect thebalance of this tribe. Wouldn’t you agree it’s better held in capable hands?” Grimnok took another step forward.Lilla’s fingers flexed at her sides, eldritch green light flickering faintly at the edges of her sharp claws. “Capablehands,” she repeated, a flash of green energy in her eyes, her tone dripping with disdain. “And you mean yours, Ipresume?”The sudden flare of magickal energy from Lilla stopped him in his tracks. The glow intensified as her fingerscurled, arcs of green light crackling ominously around her.“You forget your place, Grimnok,” she said, her voice low and commanding. “This is my hut. My domain. You donot interrogate me here, nor anywhere else.”Grimnok tilted his head, his lips curving into a sly smile even as he took a careful step back. “Of course, HeadShaman,” he said smoothly, bowing slightly at the waist. “Forgive my... curiosity. I meant no disrespect.”Lilla held her ground, the light in her hands casting eerie shadows across the room. She didn’t blink untilGrimnok straightened and stepped toward the door, his movements unhurried, his cloak sweeping behind him like aliving thing.As he reached the threshold, Grimnok glanced back, his sharp gaze lingering on Lilla. “One day, Lilla,” he saidsoftly, “your secrets will catch up to you. And when they do... I’ll be there.” Without waiting for a response, hedisappeared into the night, the shadows seeming to swallow him whole.Lilla exhaled, the glow around her hands dimming as she slumped heavily against her worktable. She touchedthe pouch at her waist, her fingers trembling slightly.“Not if I can help it,” she whispered.Grimnok strode out of Lilla’s hut, jaw clenched, eyes narrowing against the glare of morning light. The flapsnapped shut behind him like a rebuke. The air was crisp, clean. His blood simmered with the afterburn of their‘discussion’.She always managed to needle him—Lilla, with her soft voice and unyielding calm—masking her true, rawpower. She wasn’t afraid of him, not like the others. Not even now, after everything.His feet crunched over dry leaves as he descended the slope past the shaman’s standing stones. Young warriorssparred in the circle nearby, but he barely registered them. His mind had already shifted.Rozika.She changed around her mother—less fire, more flicker. That raw, wild hunger he’d tried so hard to cultivatedulled under Lilla’s gaze. There was softness there. Confusion. The kind that got young warriors killed. With him, Rozikabared her teeth. Around Lilla, she looked like she might forget what they were for.Weak.Without her mother’s coddling, she could be something truly dangerous. His gauntlet creaked as he flexed hisfingers.Still… she had found something. That stone—Lilla had tried to conceal it, but his eyes missed nothing. Just aflash, a glimmer of rough pink crystal with a pulsing core that made his skin crawl.He didn’t need to touch it to know.The Chaos Heart.His scowl deepened.It had surfaced again, just as his contact had prophesied. And of course—by some cruel trick of chance—it wasthe girl who uncovered it first. Always reaching, always poking things beyond her grasp.But that was fine.He still had time. If he played this carefully, made the right moves…Grimnok reached the treeline beyond Ashenroot, where the wind carried no voices and the light bent strangethrough the boughs. There, in the hush of twisted roots and moss-slick stone, he knelt beside a boulder and unstrappedthe gauntlet from his left arm.Etched into the inner leather—nearly invisible to the untrained eye—was a rune of spiraling script. Not Dorghin.Not from this forest.Vythari.He traced it slowly with a clawtip. The lines shimmered faintly, cold andviolet, as though remembering.“I’ll need your eyes on this,” he muttered. “The stone’s been found.”The rune pulsed once, like a heartbeat in the dark.He strapped the gauntlet back on and rose, framed against the shiftingshadows.Whatever came next, he would be ready.He always was.persontrophy