It sounded like nonsense, but he'd seen stranger truths in this life. Lirien's next swing ended with a grunt as her blade lodged in the tree, a wisp of smoke rising where the fire had caught. "Got it!" she crowed, yanking it free. "Told you I'd figure it out."
"Good," Kaelith said, setting the book aside. "Now do it ten more times."
She groaned but complied, her swings steady and deliberate. He leaned back against the rock, letting the forest's hum wash over him. The cicadas' song, the whisper of leaves—it was peaceful, a rare moment of calm in a world that felt too big, too uncertain. He closed his eyes, just for a second, and let himself breathe.
Then the air shifted. The cicadas fell silent, their drone snuffed out as if a hand had smothered them. The breeze died, leaving the leaves still and heavy. Kaelith's eyes snapped open, a chill prickling his skin. "Lirien," he whispered, rising slowly. "Listen."
She paused mid-swing, frowning. "What? I don't hear anything."
"That's the problem," he said, scanning the trees. "It's too quiet."
The ground trembled beneath their feet, a low rumble that grew into a thunderous quake. Lirien stumbled, clutching her sword, her eyes wide. "What's happening?"
Before Kaelith could answer, the underbrush exploded.
Twigs and leaves sprayed outward as a massive figure barreled into the clearing, its bulk shattering saplings like dry kindling.
An ogre—ten feet of muscle and menace—loomed before them, its skin a mottled patchwork of green and gray, streaked with dirt and old blood.
Its eyes glowed a sickly yellow, slits of hunger in a face twisted with jagged teeth and a flattened snout. Thick arms ended in fists the size of boulders, and a tattered loincloth hung around its waist, the only sign it knew anything beyond savagery.
Kaelith's breath caught, his mind reeling. An ogre? Here? He'd studied Seraphine's bestiary front to back—ogres roamed the northern mountains, not the forests of Talsara. This was wrong, impossibly wrong. "This shouldn't be here," he stammered, stepping back. "The books—they said—"
The ogre's head swung toward them, nostrils flaring as it sniffed the air. "Lost…" it rasped, its voice a guttural scrape, like stones grinding together.
"Hungry… small humans… quench thirst." It took a lumbering step, the ground shuddering under its weight, and bared its teeth in a grotesque snarl.
Lirien's face drained of color, her knuckles whitening around her sword. "Kaelith," she whispered, her voice trembling but firm. "What do we do?"
"Stay behind me," he said, shoving his panic into a box and slamming it shut. His hands rose, palms tingling as mana surged through him. "I've got this."
The ogre advanced, its fists dragging furrows in the dirt. Kaelith steadied himself, drawing on the spell he knew best. "Ignis spherus!" he shouted. A fireball erupted from his hands, a roaring orb of flame that streaked through the air and slammed into the ogre's chest.
The impact flared bright, embers scattering, but the creature barely flinched. It swatted the lingering sparks away, its hide unmarred save for a faint singe.
"Too weak," it growled, its lips curling into a mockery of a grin.
Kaelith's stomach plummeted. Fireball was his strongest opener, and it hadn't even slowed the thing. "Lirien, move!" he yelled, his mind scrambling for options. "Distract it!"
She hesitated, then darted forward, her sword raised. With a cry, she slashed at the ogre's leg, the wooden blade striking its hide with a dull thud. The ogre roared—not in pain, but annoyance—and swung its head toward her, its eyes narrowing. Kaelith seized the moment, chanting faster this time: "Ignis lancea!"