The trees whispered just before it happened.
Nyxara's hand shot up.
"Hold," she hissed.
Asuka's boots skidded in the moss. Sylvie's spell halted on her fingertips, ice crystallising silently. Erina stopped breathing, the weight of the forest pressing down hard. Something in the air—heavy, thick, primal—crushed the silence.
Then it broke.
A roar, raw and guttural, shook the undergrowth.
Orcs.
They charged from the trees, howling, massive arms swinging cleavers and rust-worn axes. Crude armour jangled over their thick frames—eight feet tall, maybe more. Green-black skin, tusked mouths foaming with spit and fury.
"Contact front!" Nyxara snapped, drawing twin hooked daggers.
The first orc slammed into Asuka with enough force to shake the ground. Her blade met it mid-swing—steel on flesh—cutting halfway through a thick wrist before she was knocked back into a tree with a pained grunt.
"Shit—!"
Erina raised her staff, eyes wide. "H-heal—!"
