Without dominating, without amplifying me into something larger than myself, she wove my words into the air between us.
“This looks like an attack,” I continued. “It looks like we arrived with violence on our heels. It looks like we brought this down on you.”
A murmur rippled through the orc line, rough voices clashing, disbelief and anger tangling together.
“But we didn’t,” I said. “And you know it.”
I pointed at Nova, Bella, and Ardetia, helping to heal the orcs who’d been downed.
An orc barked something sharp in response, pointing at the shadows still slicking the ground.
I nodded. “Those shadows aren’t ours. They don’t smell like us. They don’t feel like us. And if you look, you’ll see they never strike cleanly.”
Another shadow dropped from the sky, as if on cue.
It hit the ground between us.
I didn’t move.
I didn’t raise a shield.
I didn’t strike back.
The shadow rippled, recoiled, and then slid backward, away from me, as if repelled by my refusal to engage.
A sharp intake of breath ran through the orcs.
I felt it then, a shift so subtle it might’ve been imagined, but I knew better.
The shadows hesitated.
They still fell, but not as close now. Their timing faltered, their angles skewing, as if something in their design had gone wrong.
“This isn’t about you,” I said, my voice steady despite the hammering of my heart. “And it isn’t about us. It’s about turning you against anyone who might help you.”
One orc stepped forward.
He was older than the rest, his skin weathered and scarred, one tusk broken short, his armor patched so many times it told the story of decades of survival. When he moved, the others watched him, lowering their weapons just a fraction.
Respect.
He studied me with eyes that had seen too much to be easily fooled.
“You say you didn’t send the dark,” he rumbled, his voice carrying without magic. “Yet it comes when you do.”
“Yes,” I said simply. “Because someone else knew we were coming. And she wanted this moment to end in blood.”
His brow furrowed. “She.”
“The one who benefits if you fight us instead of listening,” I said. “The one who wants you afraid, scattered, desperate enough to march anywhere but where you choose.”
The shadows fell again, but they recoiled.
The older orc turned slowly, scanning the sky, the ice, the land itself. He sniffed the air, deep and deliberate.
A low murmur rippled through the orc ranks.
The ground groaned beneath us—and then stilled.
