The deeper Iris and I ventured into ogre territory, the more suffocating the air became. The forest grew twisted, unnatural—trees blackened and warped by years of foul energy, their roots curling like claws from the earth. Bones littered the underbrush—small ones, too small. I didn't have to ask what they belonged to. Iris didn't speak, and I didn't press her. She was shaking already.
I took point, sword drawn, fire magic charged at my fingertips. She walked behind me, quiet except for the occasional hum of her detection spells. Even those seemed subdued, like she was too afraid of what she might find.
We moved through bloodied clearings and sharp, jagged ridges, remnants of past raids. At one point we crossed a pit filled with broken weapons and half-rotten corpses—orc, beastman, even human. One step further, and we reached a burnt-out campsite, the ash still warm. I kicked at the debris and found a snapped elven arrow.
Iris gasped softly behind me.
"Fresh?" I asked her, glancing back.
She nodded. "Hours old. They're nearby."
I didn't like the tremble in her voice. She was trying to stay calm, but I could see it—how her hands clutched the edges of her robe, how her eyes darted toward every noise. I slowed my pace and offered my hand. "Hey."
She hesitated, then took it.
I held her hand firmly as we passed under a crooked stone arch leading into another ravine. The walls were steep and narrow, and it smelled like dried blood and damp leather. Ogre territory, no question. We pressed on in silence until we crept around a corner and found a grisly camp—skulls stacked like trophies, cages fashioned from bones and rusted steel, and ominous red runes painted in drying gore.
"This is…" Iris stopped walking.
In front of us, hanging from a hook, was a shredded piece of forest-green silk—torn and stained. Elven fabric. Maybe a sash. Maybe part of a dress. Maybe worse.
Iris froze in place, her breath hitching. "That… That's from the Verdellian tribe," she whispered, eyes wide. "I recognize that weave. My cousin… she used to wear something just like…"
Her voice cracked.
I turned and caught her just as she swayed on her feet, her legs giving out beneath her. She nearly collapsed, but I grabbed her by the waist and pulled her in close. Her breathing was fast and shallow, and her forehead pressed into my chest as her arms clutched my tunic.
"They're monsters," she whispered. "Ogres don't just kill. They take. And they break you before they do. That's why… that's why the women never come back."
I rested my chin gently on the top of her head. "I know."
Her voice was barely audible. "I'm so scared…"
I didn't have some heroic, cheesy line to offer. I wasn't some perfect knight. I was terrified too. But I wasn't going to let her see that. I took her shoulders and brought her forehead to mine, looking her directly in the eyes.
"Iris… I'll protect you. Even if it kills me."
Her lips quivered, and tears pooled at the corners of her eyes. But she didn't cry. Instead, she nodded, firm and slow, like she was placing her entire soul into that motion. She placed her hand over mine, squeezed it tightly, and took a long, shaky breath.
"Then I trust you."
I gave her a nod and turned my attention back to the camp. We needed to find the others—fast. Every moment we waited, they were in more danger. I used a detection spell, sending a small pulse of fire magic through the surrounding air, searching for aetheric signatures.
There—deep underground. Faint flickers of Frye's energy. Zion's mana pulsed like a slow heartbeat. Mochi's was more erratic, like she was still resisting whatever held her.
"Found them," I said.
Iris narrowed her eyes. "Where?"
I pointed to a jagged opening beneath a cliff. A foul stench wafted from the entrance—a mix of sweat, blood, and decay.
We approached quietly, avoiding guard patrols by freezing the ground to mask our footsteps. Every ogre we encountered along the way, I burned down quickly, hiding the evidence in scorched grass. Iris healed minor cuts I received in silence, her hands glowing with soft green light each time.
The tunnel inside led to a hollowed-out prison cave. It was worse than I imagined.
The girls were there—hanging in cages suspended by chains from the ceilings of bone pillars. Their weapons were gone, their armor stripped. Their mana was faint, flickering like candlelight in a storm. Frye's lips moved weakly, whispering something I couldn't hear. Zion was unconscious, blood trailing from her temple. Mochi's claws were broken.
My heart twisted.
"We're getting them out of here," I said.
I used my last remaining mana to melt the iron hinges of the cages, lowering them gently to the ground. Iris worked fast, healing the worst wounds and using her magic to stabilize them. But we didn't have time to rest.
A roar split the chamber.
The ogre general stepped into view—eight feet tall, four arms thick with muscle and veins, clad in skull armor stacked in jagged layers. His tusks jutted out like daggers, and his eyes glowed red beneath his heavy brow. He pointed his war club at me and snarled something in a language I didn't know—but the intent was clear.
He wanted blood.
"Get them out of here," I told Iris.
"I'm not leaving you—!"
"Now!"
I stepped forward, igniting my blade with the last bit of fire magic I had left. The first blow from the ogre came fast—I blocked it, but the second, from another arm, knocked my sword away. The third slammed into my ribs, sending pain shooting through my body. I dropped to one knee.
I tried to cast something—anything—but my mana was gone. My vision blurred.
Another strike sent me sprawling onto my back. The ogre raised his foot, bringing it down onto my chest. I heard a crunch. My ribs cracked. I couldn't breathe.
Everything faded to black.
And then I heard her.
Screaming my name.
Iris.
And just before I lost consciousness completely, I felt it—a surge of wild, divine energy rippling through the chamber like a tidal wave.
Her forbidden healing magic had awakened.