Boruk carved a path through a barricade, scattering a handful of goblins who attempted to block him. His armor was scorched from a near-miss with one of Kaelrith's fire traps, and an arrow jutted from his shoulder, but the wounds only enraged him further. The orc chieftain's gaze swept the battlefield until he found the one figure he sought—Grak. But before he could reach the goblin leader, another sight gave him pause.
Atop the stone altar in the center of the village stood the human boy. Boruk's eyes narrowed. A human child here? In the midst of a goblin tribe? The boy's bearing was oddly calm, even as battle raged around him. Two young goblins flanked the child protectively—Boruk recognized them as barely more than whelps, bravely if foolishly standing guard.
Boruk altered his course and stomped into the open space before the altar. The ground trembled under each heavy footfall. Skarl and Igra moved to block him at the base of the stone, fear plain on their faces but resolve keeping them in place.
"You there, boy!" Boruk growled, pointing his cleaver at the small, red-haired figure. "I don't know what a human whelp is doing here, but I've heard your kind is tender and tasty." He flashed his tusks in a predatory grin. After the frustrations of this fight, he relished the thought of easy prey.
Skarl brandished his dagger, voice cracking as he squeaked, "Stay back! D-don't come any closer!" Igra braced her short spear, arms shaking yet unwavering in her stance. Though the two goblins were clearly outmatched, they held their ground in front of Kaelrith, determined to protect their lord even to the death.
Boruk barked out a harsh laugh. "Out of my way, runts," he sneered. "I'll deal with you after I've feasted on this cub's marrow." He took a menacing step forward, towering over the pair.
Kaelrith's eyes—luminous dragon-gold even in his innocent face—flicked over the orc warlord. He felt an old, familiar anger coil within him. In another life, he had seen Boruk's kind—the strong who preyed upon the weak, reveling in cruelty. Hearing this creature speak of feasting on his flesh triggered a deep, smoldering wrath. His plan had been to avoid revealing himself unless absolutely necessary, but Boruk's words and the desperate situation of his goblins convinced him the time was now.
A faint vibration hummed in the air around Kaelrith. Skarl and Igra, sensitive to their lord's mood, glanced back at him uncertainly.
"You speak of feasting on my flesh," Kaelrith said, his voice soft but carrying an icy authority that gave even Boruk pause. "Yet it is you who will taste despair."
Boruk snorted and lunged, raising his cleaver high. He'd had enough talk. With a roar, he brought the massive blade down in an overhead Brutal Slash meant to cleave the impudent human child in two.
Kaelrith did not budge. At the exact moment the orc's swing should have hit, the boy simply wasn't there. Boruk's cleaver smashed into the stone altar with a resounding clang, sending sparks flying and cracking the rock.
Boruk's eyes widened. The whelp had moved blindingly fast, sliding aside like a whisper of wind. Before he could recover, Kaelrith made a simple gesture—he lifted one open palm toward the orc chieftain.
A single word of power rolled from Kaelrith's lips, ancient and resonant. The effect was immediate and terrifying. An invisible wave of draconic aura—bloodline pressure unleashed—exploded outward from the seemingly harmless boy.
Boruk felt it hit him like a physical force. One moment he was yanking his cleaver free of the stone, the next his limbs turned to lead. An overwhelming dread seized his heart. He gasped, struggling to breathe under the crushing weight of pure dominance that now filled the air.
Skarl and Igra, standing just behind Kaelrith, were partly shielded from the onslaught, but even they fell to their knees instinctively, eyes wide in shock. All across the battlefield, combat ground to a halt as every fighter—goblin and orc alike—felt a sudden inexplicable terror skitter down their spine. Some dropped their weapons; others simply froze, looking around in confusion for the source of this primal fear.
Kaelrith's illusion flickered at the edges, the Veil's magic straining under the outpouring of true dragon might. For an instant, those nearest saw not a human child but a silhouette of something far larger, crowned with horns and mantled in wings.
Boruk's mind raced, animal panic warring with stubborn pride. What sorcery was this? He tried to lift his sword arm for another strike, but it was like pushing against a mountain. A small part of him—the part that wasn't drowning in dread—realized with dawning horror that the human boy's eyes had become slitted like a reptile's, and they glowed with an intensity that could not be mortal.