Kragg stood in the dimly lit chamber, his massive arms crossed over his chest, his sharp eyes tracking the orcs as they dragged the harpy out of the cage. The young creature, Sora, was barely conscious, his golden feathers matted with dirt and blood.

  He stumbled with every step, his wings limp and unresponsive as the orcs forced him forward. Kragg’s jaw tightened, his tusks jutting forward in irritation. The sight of the harpy—weak, defeated—only deepened the bitterness gnawing at him.

  This should have been my victory, Kragg thought, his fists clenching at his sides. He had been on the verge of reclaiming his honor, of proving his strength in a duel that would have silenced the whispers of doubt among the orcs.

  But Guldar had interfered, his dark magic ending the fight prematurely and robbing Kragg of his glory.

  The warlock’s presence was like a shadow in the room, his long cloak sweeping across the stone floor as he approached. Guldar’s face was hidden beneath his hood, but Kragg could feel the cold, calculating gaze of the warlock on him. The air grew heavier, charged with the faint crackle of dark magic.

  “You should thank me,” Guldar said, his voice smooth and confident, cutting through the silence like a blade. “I saved you from wasting time on that harpy. He’s more valuable as a prisoner than a corpse.”

  Kragg’s nostrils flared, his chest rising and falling with barely contained rage. “You robbed me of a worthy opponent,” he growled, his voice a low rumble that echoed through the chamber. “That was my fight.”

  Guldar chuckled softly, the sound grating against Kragg’s nerves. “A worthy opponent? A boy? You call that worthy?”

  The warlock stepped closer, his voice lowering to a venomous whisper. “You want to return to the frontlines, don’t you, Kragg? You dream of battle, of spilling blood in the name of our people. Or would you prefer to stay behind, gathering herbs and hunting small game?”

  The words cut deep, a reminder of how far Kragg had fallen from the glory of the frontlines. He hated the idea of being relegated to the role of a hunter, away from the chaos and honor of battle.

  The frontlines were where he belonged, where the strong triumphed and the weak were cast aside. But Guldar’s reminder of his current role only fueled his anger.

  “What do you want?” Kragg growled, his voice trembling with barely suppressed fury.

  Guldar’s lips curled into a thin smile beneath his hood, Yes good. “I want you to understand your place, hunter,” he replied, his tone cold and commanding.

  “The chief gave you to me for a reason. You’re valuable, Kragg. But not if you let your pride blind you to what’s necessary.”

  Kragg bristled at the word “hunter,” a title that felt like a shackle, a reminder of his diminished status. But he held his tongue, knowing that Guldar’s magic was powerful, and that defiance would only lead to further humiliation.

  “You want glory? You want to return to the frontlines?” Guldar continued, his voice like poison dripping into Kragg’s ear.

  “Then follow my orders. We’ll use the harpy for more than just sport. His kind can be useful, and you can be part of something far greater than a simple duel.”

  Kragg’s gaze shifted to the unconscious harpy, now being carried by the orcs. The boy looked fragile, so unlike the warriors Kragg was used to fighting.

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  But there had been something in his eyes during their battle—a fire, a determination—that Kragg couldn’t deny. The harpy had fought with skill and courage, and for a moment, Kragg had seen a glimpse of a worthy opponent.

  As much as it pained him to admit it, Guldar was right. The harpy was more useful alive, at least for now. And if playing along with Guldar’s schemes meant he could eventually return to the frontlines, then so be it.

  “Fine,” Kragg muttered through gritted teeth, his voice heavy with resignation.

  “But this isn’t over.”

  Guldar’s smile widened, a glint of satisfaction in his shadowed eyes. “Good. Now, leave the harpy to me. We have much to prepare.”

  Kragg gave a curt nod, turning away from the warlock and the harpy. As he walked out of the chamber, his thoughts were filled with the distant sounds of battle—the clash of steel, the cries of the fallen, the roar of victory. His place was in the fray, where the strong triumphed and the weak were cast aside.

  One way or another, he would return to the frontlines. And when he did, he would make sure the orcs remembered the name Kragg.

  <> ? <>

  Sora’s consciousness flickered like a dying flame, his body heavy and unresponsive as he lay strapped to the cold stone table. The dim, flickering light of the chamber cast eerie shadows on the walls, and the air was thick with the scent of blood and dark magic.

  His golden feathers, once vibrant, were now dull and matted, his wings pinned awkwardly beneath him. Every breath felt like a struggle, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven gasps.

  Where am I? The thought echoed in his mind, faint and distant. He tried to move, to lift his head, but his limbs refused to obey.

  The restraints bit into his wrists and ankles, holding him firmly in place. Panic surged through him, but it was a muted sensation, dulled by the exhaustion and pain that weighed him down.

  Footsteps echoed in the chamber, slow and deliberate, growing louder as they approached. Sora’s golden eyes flickered open, his vision swimming as he tried to focus.

  A figure loomed over him—a hunched orc draped in a dark, hooded cloak. The orc’s face was hidden in shadow, but Sora could feel his gaze, cold and calculating, like a predator sizing up its prey.

  “You’re finally awake,” the orc said, his voice low and guttural, speaking in a language Sora couldn’t understand. The words sent a shiver down his spine, though he couldn’t tell if it was from fear or the lingering effects of whatever magic had been used on him.

  Sora tried to speak, to demand answers, but his throat was dry and raw. Only a faint rasp escaped his lips, barely audible over the crackling of the torches that lined the walls.

  The orc ignored him, his attention shifting to the strange objects that surrounded the stone table—vials filled with glowing liquid, twisted bones arranged in arcane patterns, and tools that looked like they belonged in a nightmare.

  The orc muttered something under his breath, his clawed hands moving with practiced precision as he picked up one of the glowing vials. The greenish light spilled from it, bathing Sora’s skin in an eerie glow.

  He wanted to recoil, to pull away, but his body wouldn’t respond. The orc’s presence was suffocating, his dark magic pressing down on Sora like a weight.

  “Let’s see what you’re made of, little harpy,” the orc hissed, his voice dripping with malice. He lifted a thin, needle-like tool, the glint of metal catching the dim light. Sora’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in shallow gasps as the orc leaned closer, the needle hovering over his chest.

  The sharp prick of the needle sent a bolt of pain through Sora’s body, and he gasped, his muscles twitching involuntarily.

  He tried to thrash, to break free, but the restraints held firm, and the orc’s magic kept him paralyzed. The pain was overwhelming, a searing heat that spread through his veins like fire.

  The orc began to chant, his voice low and guttural, the words twisting and writhing in the air like living things. The symbols carved into the stone table beneath Sora began to glow, pulsing in time with the orc’s words. Dark energy crackled in the room, seeping into Sora’s body, crawling beneath his skin like a thousand tiny needles.

  No… no, no, no!

  Sora’s mind screamed, but his voice was gone, swallowed by the suffocating darkness. His vision blurred, the room twisting and warping around him as the orc’s magic took hold.

  He could feel something cold and alien pushing into his chest, sinking deeper with each syllable of the orc’s chant.

  The pain was unbearable, a searing agony that threatened to tear him apart. Sora’s body convulsed, his wings twitching uselessly beneath him as the dark magic twisted and warped something deep within him.

  He wanted to cry out, to beg for it to stop, but he was powerless, trapped in a nightmare he couldn’t escape.

  Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the chanting stopped. The pain receded, leaving Sora trembling and gasping for breath. The dark magic still clung to him, a shadow that wouldn’t leave, but the worst of it had passed—for now.

  The orc stood over him, his expression unreadable beneath his hood. “Interesting,” he muttered, more to himself than to Sora. “You may prove useful yet.”

  He stepped back, leaving Sora strapped to the table, his body shaking from the aftershocks of the magic. Sora’s mind was a haze of pain and exhaustion, his thoughts scattered and disjointed.

  He tried to focus, to think of a way out, but the darkness pressed in again, threatening to swallow him whole.

  As his vision began to fade, a familiar screen appeared before his eyes, glowing faintly in the dim light of the chamber.

  Sora barely had time to process the words before the darkness claimed him, his body going limp as he slipped into unconsciousness

  "Danger host under curse initializing curse removal."

  "Curse failed to removed."

  "Searching for solution...'

  "Solution found."

  "Using authority to counteract the Curse"

  "You have been given the skill: Divine Light"