As the Horde began to settle down, exhaustion finally overtaking their adrenaline, they prepared to rest. Ogres, orcs, and even the newly-joined goblins sprawled across the clearing, some leaning against trees while others simply collapsed on the soft forest floor. The air was filled with the sound of heavy breathing, the occasional grunt, and the low hum of wind rustling through the trees.

Volk leaned against a boulder, his crimson eyes scanning the dark horizon. His gauntlets rested in his lap, still faintly glowing from the battle, though their energy was now calm. He had no intention of relaxing—not yet. Though the beasts were defeated, something about the way they moved and attacked lingered in his mind. They had been organized, perhaps unnaturally so.

Suddenly, the low murmurs of the Horde began to shift. Whispers turned into chuckles, and chuckles grew into bursts of laughter. One of the orcs, a burly figure with jagged armor, slapped his knee and called out, “Did you see him earlier? The way he vanished and reappeared like a shadow! I swear, I thought the beast had swallowed him at one point, and then—poof!—he’s behind it, blasting its hide off!”

Another orc chimed in, his rough voice brimming with awe, “Too fast, I tell you! One moment he’s there, the next he’s gone. How does someone move like that?”

An ogre, lying on his side and gnawing on the remains of a roasted leg from earlier, pointed a massive finger toward Volk. “You must teach us! Or at least tell us your trick. No one moves like that unless they’ve got something hidden!”

Volk’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though he tried to suppress it. He shifted his weight and folded his arms, pretending to ignore the growing excitement around him. But it was impossible not to hear them as their voices grew louder, their spirits high despite their earlier exhaustion.

“I bet it’s magic!” one of the goblins piped up, his small frame practically vibrating with energy. “You all saw those flashes of light! And the way the big beast couldn’t even touch him—magic for sure!”

“That’s what it is,” Volk finally said, his voice low but carrying enough weight to silence the chatter for a moment. The Horde turned to look at him, their eyes gleaming with curiosity and respect. “It’s just magic. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The words were meant to downplay his abilities, but instead, they only fueled the Horde’s amazement.

“Just magic?” one of the orcs repeated, his tusks glinting as he grinned. “You’re too modest, Chief. That was no ordinary spellwork. If we could all do what you did, there wouldn’t be a creature alive to stand in our way!”

Another round of laughter rippled through the group, and Volk, despite himself, couldn’t help but chuckle along. He leaned back against the boulder, his usually sharp demeanor softening ever so slightly. For once, he let himself enjoy the moment.

The celebration slowly began to unfold. Someone pulled out a skin of mead, passing it around until it reached even the smallest goblins. The ogres started a rhythmic beat, pounding their fists on the ground like drums, while the orcs roared out songs of victory in their guttural tongue. Even the goblins joined in, their high-pitched voices a strange but endearing harmony to the deeper tones of the larger warriors.

Volk found himself at the center of their praises. “Chief, tell us! How do you move so fast? Can you teach us?”

“Were you born with magic, or did you learn it from some ancient wizard?”

“Chief, when you vanished, I thought you had left us to fight alone—but then you were everywhere at once! Ha!”

Volk raised his hand to quiet them, though his expression was uncharacteristically warm. “Enough. It’s not as grand as you think. I’ve simply… trained.”

This only prompted more laughter. “Trained to teleport? That’s rich!”

“It’s true,” Volk said, smirking faintly. “Years of practice. Dedication. A bit of luck. And maybe just a pinch of raw talent.”

The Horde erupted into another round of cheers and laughter. One of the goblins scampered up to Volk, his wide eyes gleaming with awe. “Can you show us again, Chief? The disappearing thing? Just one more time!”

Volk sighed, though there was no real irritation in it. “Perhaps tomorrow,” he said, waving the goblin away. “For now, rest. We’ve all earned it.”

But the Horde was in no mood to sleep. The ogres had started arm wrestling, their roars of triumph shaking the very ground. The orcs were sparring in mock battles, their axes clashing in a display of brute strength. The goblins, always resourceful, were darting around collecting shiny stones and discarded trinkets, chattering excitedly about building something with their newfound treasures.

Volk watched it all, a strange sense of pride swelling in his chest. This was his Horde. Chaotic, loud, and utterly unpredictable. But they were his. And though he would never admit it out loud, their celebration warmed something deep within him.

For tonight, at least, he would let them have their victory where they could finally feel at ease on dealing with the threat from the sky.

…

The night was calm, but Volk’s senses, honed through years of battles and survival, stirred him from sleep. At first, it was faint—a subtle whisper in the wind that brushed past his cheek like an unseen hand. He shifted slightly, his eyes still closed, but the sensation only grew. The air felt different, charged, as though the forest itself was holding its breath.

Volk frowned in his sleep, his instincts battling his exhaustion. The distant rustling of leaves seemed almost intentional, like a melody played just out of tune. His brows furrowed, and he rolled onto his side, gripping the ground beneath him. The cool earth did nothing to quell the feeling that something was watching, waiting.

And then, the wind shifted again, carrying with it an unfamiliar scent. It was subtle, almost indistinguishable from the earthy aroma of the forest, but it carried a strange undertone—feathers and something faintly metallic.

Volk’s crimson eyes snapped open.

He didn’t move immediately, his body rigid as he listened. The distant sounds of his Horde sleeping surrounded him, their snores and grunts blending into the night’s natural symphony. Yet above it all, there was something else. A flutter. A faint, rhythmic sound carried by the breeze, so soft it almost blended with the rustle of leaves.

Slowly, Volk sat up, his movements deliberate and silent. His gaze shifted to the treetops, scanning the darkness. The night sky stretched above him, speckled with stars, but something moved among them. Shadows danced against the moonlight, obscured by the thick canopy.

He rose to his feet, his boots pressing soundlessly into the ground. His hand instinctively reached for his blade, though he didn’t unsheathe it. Instead, he stepped away from the slumbering Horde, his head tilting toward the sky.

The wind whispered again, this time colder, and Volk’s sharp eyes caught it—a fleeting shape cutting through the clouds.

“A bird?” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. But no ordinary bird could stir the air like this. No ordinary bird could carry this weight in its presence.

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He narrowed his eyes, his gaze piercing through the shadows as another shape emerged. The faint glint of moonlight reflected off feathers, massive wings cutting through the sky with a grace that seemed almost supernatural.

Volk’s breath hitched as he took a step forward, his boots crunching against a stray twig. The sound seemed deafening in the quiet night, but the bird didn’t react. It was too high, circling above the forest like a silent predator.

He followed its movements, his neck craning as it dipped and rose, its silhouette blending seamlessly with the clouds. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he noticed more. Another shape. And another.

“How many…?” Volk whispered, his voice trailing off.

The birds weren’t just circling. They were searching. Their movements were too precise, too calculated. The air grew heavier as realization struck him—these were no ordinary creatures.

The largest bird swooped low for a moment, just enough for Volk to catch a glimpse of its piercing, glowing eyes. His stomach twisted. Those weren’t the eyes of a beast. They were intelligent, calculating.

He took another step forward, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. The wind picked up again, swirling around him, carrying the sound of feathers cutting through the air. It was deafening now, a constant rhythm that seemed to echo in his chest.

“Another sky people?” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His lips pressed into a thin line as his gaze sharpened, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the darkness.

The largest bird tilted its wings, shifting direction as it dipped lower. For a fleeting moment, Volk saw it clearly. Its feathers were dark, almost black, with faint patterns that shimmered like silver under the moonlight. Its beak was curved and sharp, and its talons glinted like forged steel.

But it wasn’t just a bird. It couldn’t be. There was something humanoid in its shape, the way its head turned as if scanning the ground below. The realization hit Volk like a blow to the chest.

“Owl people?” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the sound of wings slicing through the air.

The thought settled heavily in his mind, his instincts screaming at him to prepare. These creatures weren’t here by coincidence. They were searching for something—or someone.

Volk’s jaw tightened, his eyes never leaving the sky as the largest bird let out a low, haunting cry. It echoed through the forest, chilling in its resonance, and Volk’s hand tightened on his sword. He didn’t know what they were after, but he was certain of one thing.

They were a threat.

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