The cloud descended through layers of warm air that smelled of thyme and sun-baked stone.

  Sael stood at the front edge, pipe tucked away now, watching the terrain resolve into clearer detail as they dropped altitude. The white grass rippled in patterns that suggested wind, but also movement: things pushing through it that didn't want to be seen.

  Cypress trees clustered in tight groups, their dark silhouettes offering cover. Ruins littered the landscape: broken columns, half-collapsed archways, the skeletal remains of what might have been a temple or forum.

  His attention fixed on a particular cluster of vegetation near the base of a ruined wall.

  There. Five of them, pressed low against the earth, trying to make themselves small. Orcs. Large even when they were attempting to hide, their green skin mottled with dirt and dust in what looked like a deliberate attempt at camouflage. Four of them registered as mundane presences; living things, nothing more. The fifth was different. Mana coiled around that one like heat shimmer, concentrated and ready.

  A mage, then. Or at least someone with a core.

  The cloud touched down with barely a whisper of displaced air, settling onto the pale grass about thirty paces from where the orcs were hiding. Sael stepped off and behind him, Robin and Oz remained on the platform. Robin had produced a crossbow from somewhere, the weapon materializing in his hands with the faint shimmer of dimensional storage.

  Sael glanced back at the movement. The fox was holding the weapon, bolt already loaded, though he kept it pointed down. On Robin's left hand, catching the light, was a signet ring. Silver band with a small gemstone set into it. It was a dimensional storage ring.

  Huh.

  Sael hadn't seen one of those in common use for... what, a hundred and fifty years? Most people used bags or pouches enchanted for the purpose now. Rings like that had gone out of fashion when the enchantment methods became prohibitively expensive compared to alternatives. Someone had either given Robin an heirloom, or the fox had acquired it from somewhere interesting.

  He filed the observation away and turned his attention back to the vegetation.

  Nothing moved. The wind had even stopped, leaving the grass perfectly still. The ruins sat silent around them, their white stone warm under the midday sun. No birds called, and no insects buzzed. It was just a thick, heavy sort of quiet .

  Sael could feel the mana gathering now, pulled tight like a drawn bowstring. The orc with the core was preparing something. Fire, probably, given the way the energy behaved. The spell was almost ready, another few seconds and it would be primed to cast.

  Sael raised both hands slowly and held them up at shoulder height, palms out. The universal gesture for peace, or at least for "I'm not holding a weapon."

  "I'm not here as an enemy," he said in Orcish, keeping his voice level and unhurried. The language felt comfortable on his tongue; he'd spoken it often enough over the years that the grammar came automatically. "We only want to talk. Perhaps trade some information. Nothing more than that."

  Silence answered him.

  The spell was ready now. Fully formed and stable, waiting only for the mage to release it. Whoever was holding it had good control, the mana sat perfectly still, not even flickering. But they weren't casting yet.

  Seconds stretched.

  Then a voice broke the quiet, strained and rough, coming from somewhere within the vegetation. "...Go away."

  It was male and... young, maybe. Hard to tell with the pain threading through the words, making them tight and uneven.

  Sael didn't lower his hands. "I certainly could," he agreed, keeping the same patient tone. "But you sound like you're in poor shape. I could help with that, if you're willing."

  There was another pause. Longer this time.

  Then the air ignited.

  A sphere of fire punched through the space between them, trailing heat and smoke. It wasn't aimed precisely at Sael; more in his general direction, a warning shot that screamed past his left shoulder and detonated against the ground fifteen feet behind him. The explosion sent up a spray of dirt and scorched grass.

  A scream followed it, raw and desperate. "GO. AWAY!"

  Sael stood with his hands still raised, staring at the scorched patch of ground where the fireball had hit. The grass there had turned black and brittle, curling in on itself. The earth underneath had been baked hard, cracked like pottery left too long in a kiln.

  He wasn't sure what to do.

  If they genuinely didn't want help, there wasn't much he could do about that. He couldn't exactly force healing on someone, and trying would only make things worse. But the orcs were clearly wounded—the pain in that voice had been unmistakable—and they were hiding in ruins in the middle of nowhere, which suggested they were fleeing from something. Given what he knew about the situation in this region, the odds were reasonable that these were members of the Orc Lord's army, separated from the rest for whatever reason.

  Which meant they might have useful information.

  But also meant approaching them was complicated for several reasons, not least of which was the fact that one of them was currently holding another primed spell and seemed perfectly willing to throw it. They very much did not want to be bothered, and Sael, more than anybody, understood the feeling.

  The problem was that standing here accomplishing nothing wasn't particularly useful either.

  Maybe the direct approach would work better.

  "Are you part of the Orc Lord's army?" Sael called out in Orcish, voice carrying across the ruins.

  The silence that followed his question stretched longer than the one before it.

  He kept his hands raised, watching the vegetation. The mana signature around the orc mage flickered, not weakening, but shifting, like someone adjusting their grip on something heavy and behind the wall of green, he could hear ragged and uneven breathing.

  Then movement exploded from the undergrowth.

  An orc burst through the vegetation in a spray of broken stems and scattered leaves, charging directly at Sael with an axe raised overhead. He was younger than Sael had expected, maybe late teens by human standards, though orcs aged differently. His green skin was streaked with dirt and dried blood, and his left arm hung wrong, the shoulder clearly dislocated and the axe was crude but serviceable.

  Behind him, another voice shouted something sharp and urgent in Orcish—"Drakk, NO!"—but the warning came too late or was simply ignored.

  The charging orc closed the distance fast. Twenty paces became ten, then five. His face twisted with fury, teeth bared, good arm drawing the axe back for a swing that would have buried the blade in a man's skull if it connected.

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  Sael cast a single spell.

  [Stasis]

  The orc froze mid-stride, one foot lifted off the ground, axe locked at the apex of its swing. His expression remained fixed in that same desperate snarl, eyes wide and burning with whatever had driven him out of hiding. The weapon hung in the air inches from Sael's head, close enough that he could count the nicks in the blade's edge.

  Then the undergrowth erupted again.

  The other four came out all at once, abandoning concealment for a coordinated rush. Three of them carried weapons—another axe, a sword with a cracked blade, a spear with a makeshift shaft—and the fourth, the mage, had both hands raised with fire dancing between his fingers. They spread out as they charged, trying to flank him from multiple angles, and Sael had just enough time to note that despite their injuries and obvious exhaustion, they moved with trained precision.

  The fireball came first, launched from the mage's hands in a tight spiral that screamed toward Sael's center mass. The three with melee weapons followed half a second behind, angling their approach to catch him from three different directions if he dodged the spell.

  Sael cast the same spell again, this time with a slight increase in mana that broadened the targeting.

  [Stasis]

  And all four of them stopped.

  The three orcs with weapons locked in place mid-charge: one with his sword drawn back for a horizontal slash, another lunging forward with the spear aimed at Sael's throat, the third halfway through a leap that would have brought his axe down in an overhead chop. The mage stood behind them with his arms still extended, mouth open in what had probably been meant as a battle cry.

  Sael lowered his hands slowly and took a step back, then another, putting some distance between himself and the frozen tableau. Behind him, he heard the cloud shift as Robin and Oz moved closer to the edge, probably to get a better view of what had just happened.

  "Huh," Robin said after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. "That was brief."

  Five orcs stood locked in place like statues, caught mid-attack, weapons raised and expressions twisted with desperation and rage and fear. The youngest one—the first who'd charged—was still frozen with his axe inches from where Sael's head had been, foot lifted off the ground in a running stride that would never land.

  Sael studied them for a moment, taking in the details he hadn't had time to process during the brief violence. All five were injured. The one with the spear had a bloodstained bandage wrapped around his torso. The mage's robes were torn and burned in several places, and his left hand looked like it had been caught in a fire and healed badly. The orc with the cracked sword had dried blood crusted in his hair from a head wound that had clearly been serious.

  They weren't just wounded. They were badly wounded, the kind of injuries that should have had them lying down somewhere safe, recovering, not hiding in ruins and attacking strangers.

  Which raised some interesting questions about what they were running from.

  He walked forward slowly, moving past the first orc's suspended axe, and stopped in front of the mage. Young face, probably no older than the one who'd charged first. His robes hung loosely on a frame that looked like it had lost weight recently.

  "I'm going to heal your injuries," Sael said in Orcish, speaking to all five of them even though none could move enough to acknowledge him. "All of them. Then we can talk, if you're willing. I'd like to understand what happened here, what you're running from, why you felt you needed to attack rather than speak. But that's your choice to make."

  He paused, studying their frozen faces.

  "I'm going to release you one at a time. When I do, your injuries will be gone. You'll be able to move, to breathe properly, to think clearly without pain clouding your judgment. What you do after that is up to you." He kept his voice level. "You can attack me again if you want, though I'll just stop you the same way. You can run if that feels safer. Or you can stay and talk. No pressure either way."

  Sael stepped back and considered which one to release first.

  The mage was the most dangerous in terms of raw capability, but also the most likely to be reasonable given that he'd hesitated before casting. The one with the spear looked older than the others, maybe mid-twenties. The youngest one—still frozen with his axe raised—needed time to calm down before he'd be capable of rational conversation.

  The older one, then. Experience usually meant better judgment, even under stress.

  Sael walked over to the orc with the spear and stepped close enough to place his hand on the orc's shoulder. The frozen warrior couldn't flinch away from the touch.

  [Heal]

  Golden and green light spread from Sael's palm, flowing across the orc's body. The bloodstained bandage around his torso brightened as the wound beneath knitted itself closed. Color returned to skin that had been pale with blood loss. The tension of chronic pain eased from muscles that had been holding it for too long.

  Sael stepped back, putting several paces between them— close enough to speak easily, far enough to give him space— and raised one hand.

  [Release]

  The orc stood frozen for one long heartbeat after the spell released him, spear still gripped in both hands, body locked in a defensive stance that his muscles remembered even if his mind hadn't caught up yet. His chest heaved as full breath returned.

  He looked down at himself. Patted his torso where the bandage still wrapped around him, now clean and bright instead of crusted with old blood. His hands moved to the fabric, fingers probing carefully, searching for the wound that should have been there and found nothing.

  His head snapped up to stare at Sael, eyes wide. Then his gaze darted sideways to his frozen companions and the spear lowered slowly, point dipping toward the ground.

  Sael waited.

  The orc's breathing evened out. He straightened from his combat stance, though his grip on the weapon remained tight. His jaw worked like he was trying to form words and couldn't quite manage it. Finally, he settled for a single nod, unmistakably grateful.

  Sael returned the gesture and moved to the next one.

  The mage went second, then the one with the cracked sword, then the one who'd been mid-leap. and finally, the youngest one. Still frozen with his axe raised, face locked in that desperate snarl, dislocated shoulder jutting at the wrong angle.

  Sael walked over and placed his hand on the orc's good shoulder, careful not to jostle the injured one.

  [Heal]

  The shoulder relocated with an audible pop. The axe remained suspended where it was—[Stasis] didn't care about gravity—but the orc's expression shifted slightly as the pain vanished. Not much. The spell kept most changes from registering. But enough that Sael could see the fury drain out, leaving only exhaustion behind.

  [Release]

  The orc stumbled forward, axe dropping from nerveless fingers to thud against the ground. He caught himself on his hands and knees, gasping, and stayed there for several long seconds before pushing himself upright.

  All five of them were free now. Standing in a loose cluster, weapons lowered or dropped entirely, staring at Sael like they weren't sure what to make of him.

  The silence stretched.

  Then the older one—the first Sael had released—drove the butt of his spear into the ground and inclined his head again, deeper this time. "Thank you."

  The others echoed him, voices rough but sincere. The youngest one looked like he wanted to say something more, started to speak twice, then just settled for another nod and looked away.

  "No problem at all," Sael said.

  He let them have another moment to collect themselves, then gestured vaguely at the ruins around them. "So. What were you doing out here?"

  The orcs exchanged glances. The mage's hands twitched like he wanted to do something with them but couldn't figure out what. The one with the cracked sword shifted his weight. The youngest one stared at the ground.

  Finally, the older one spoke. "We deserted."

  Sael waited.

  "From the Orc Lord's army," the orc continued when no judgment came. "Three days ago. We've been moving south since then, trying to put distance between us and..." He trailed off, jaw tightening, then shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable with the silence.

  The ground suddenly trembled.

  It wasn't much. Just a faint vibration that traveled up through the soles of Sael's boots, barely enough to notice. But it was followed by another, stronger this time, and then a third that made the loose stones in the nearby ruins shift and click against each other.

  The orcs went rigid.

  From somewhere to the north came a low and rumbling sound. It built slowly, growing louder, accompanied by footsteps. Very large footsteps.

  The youngest orc took an involuntary step backward, his eyes going wide. The mage's hands came up, fire already sparking between his fingers before he seemed to remember where he was and forced them down again. The one with the cracked sword gripped his weapon tighter, knuckles going pale.

  "We need to move," the older orc said quietly, urgently. "Now. It's—"

  Another tremor cut him off, strong enough that Sael had to adjust his stance slightly. The sound from the north grew louder, closer, and now he could hear other things accompanying it: the crack of breaking timber, the crash of falling stone.

  The orcs were already moving, gathering what little gear they had, preparing to run.

  Sael glanced back at the cloud, still sitting placidly on the pale grass thirty paces away. Robin and Oz stood at the edge, watching the northern horizon.

  "Why don't you come with us?" Sael said, switching back to Orcish.

  The orcs froze mid-motion, turning to stare at him.

  "On the cloud," Sael clarified, gesturing toward it. "We can discuss things somewhere you don't have to worry about... whatever that is. Somewhere safe."

  The orcs looked at each other, then at the cloud, then at the northern horizon, where dust was beginning to rise in a plume and the older orc's jaw tightened. He looked at Sael for a long moment, weighing something.

  Then he nodded. "Alright."

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