Chapter 30 – The Words That Shatter Armies
When Keal returned to the Dead World's new castle, he was greeted not by Astrili's usual report, but by frantic shouts.
A hunting party had stumbled through the gates — torn clothes, blood on their faces — gasping that an army was coming.
"Ogres," one man panted. "Hundreds of them. Marching this way."
Nyx stepped forward, her voice cold. "And why would ogres travel this far into our lands?"
The answer came from another hunter — his voice trembling.
"They said… they came to take the king's throne."
Keal's gaze sharpened, but instead of anger, a dangerous smile crept across his face. "My throne, huh?"
He didn't wait for council.
Within minutes, his commanders gathered — the Seven Dragons in human form, Astrili at his side, and Nyx ready for blood. The healer remained behind to guard the villagers, her hands already glowing in preparation for wounds to come.
The march was short. Dust rose on the horizon, and the ground trembled beneath heavy steps. The ogres were massive — easily twice a man's height, with bodies like living boulders and tusks dripping with saliva. They wore scavenged armor, dented and mismatched, yet their eyes burned with hunger for dominance.
At their head strode an ogre warlord, his shoulders draped with the pelts of slain beasts, his warhammer the size of a tree.
"So this is the king who thinks he can rule the Dead World," the warlord roared, pointing the hammer at Keal. "Bow now, and I'll make your death quick."
The Seven Dragons stepped forward, their auras flaring like storms. Nyx's wings of shadow unfolded, and Astrili's sword glimmered with lethal promise. Keal simply cracked his neck.
"Kill them all."
The battlefield erupted. Flame, lightning, and shadow tore through the ogres. The ground shook under their roars, and the air split with the sound of weapons clashing. Keal himself carved through the front lines, each swing of his blade ending more lives than most warriors could in a lifetime.
And yet… there were too many. For every ogre that fell, two more surged forward. The warlord laughed, swinging his hammer with bone-crushing force, scattering Keal's forces.
That was when the air… shifted.
The sky dimmed, not from clouds, but as though light itself had retreated. Keal's eyes snapped toward the cliffside overlooking the battlefield.
She was there.
The cloaked woman from the ruins. Her presence wasn't loud, wasn't flashy — and yet every living thing seemed to feel her.
She stepped forward, her voice calm but carrying across the entire field without effort.
"Stop."
The world… stopped.
The wind froze mid-gust.
Dust hung in the air like suspended glass.
Even the ogres' eyes went wide as their bodies locked in place, muscles refusing to move.
She descended from the cliffside, each step deliberate, her words weaving into the air.
"Fall to your knees."
And they did.
Hundreds of ogres — creatures who bowed to no one — crashed to the ground as if dragged by invisible chains. Their warlord struggled, veins bulging, but even he could not resist.
Keal stepped toward her, watching as she moved among the frozen enemy. Her voice was almost a whisper now, but the power in it was absolute.
"Sleep."
The ogres collapsed where they stood, weapons dropping from limp hands. The battlefield became a graveyard of the unconscious.
She turned to Keal, lowering her hood just enough for him to see the edge of a smirk. "Now you know."
Keal studied her for a long moment, then finally spoke. "You'll serve as one of my commanders."
Her smirk deepened, and she bowed — not out of submission, but acknowledgment.
"As long as you don't waste my words, King."
And so, the woman who could shape reality itself with her voice joined the Dead World's new court — a weapon as dangerous as any blade.