Across the sky, Marcus soared with a steady rhythm, wings beating against the cold winds as his mind repyed the past day's events. Meeting the humans, helping them, and everything that followed had been quite an experience, one that lingered in his thoughts. It wasn’t often that he dealt with humans so directly—usually, they were nuisances to be avoided or pawns to be used. But this one had been… different. Capable. Resourceful. It's a memory worth keeping, if only for the novelty.

  He refocused, setting his mind on the tasks awaiting him back in his chamber, deep within the troll settlement. It may be time to continue his work on runes. With his power increasing significantly from the recent hunts and new materials secured, the research should progress smoothly. The trolls should have already left for Ornn’s forge by now, which meant fewer distractions and more time to refine his designs. The thought was almost comforting.

  As his thoughts meandered through pns and possibilities, a sudden pull at the edge of his mind stopped him cold. It was subtle at first—like a thread being gently tugged—but the familiarity of it made Marcus pause. It was the bond between him and the trolls, woven through ritual and power. But this… this had never happened before.

  ‘What is this?’ he mused, narrowing his eyes as the pull intensified for a fleeting moment before settling into a steady hum. No immediate danger, but it was new. Unfamiliar. His curiosity fred.

  Marcus tched onto the connection by splitting a fragment of his consciousness, tracing it back to its source. With a mental command, he sent the nearest bone summon—a skeletal crow adorned with faint runic markings—spiraling toward the location. It took less than a minute for the crow’s eyes to fill with images, and Marcus found himself peering through its gaze.

  The scene that unfolded made him still. The trolls—his trolls—were locked in battle, but their opponents were not the usual bandits or territorial beasts. No, these were rger, more brutal. Figures twisted between man and beast, eyes glowing with savage fury as they tore through the snowy battlefield.

  ‘Urshine?’ Marcus’s eyes narrowed. The half-beast transformations were unmistakable. Thick fur, elongated cws, and the telltale crackle of storm-forged lightning arcing between them. There were few in the Freljord who could shift forms in such a way—and fewer still who bore the mark of the storm.

  His suspicions were confirmed when the enemy leader stepped forward, body distorting as fur and lightning merged into one. Volibear worshippers, then. The fanatic brutes of the old god, brutal and relentless. Of all the forces in the Freljord, why did it have to be them instead of Anivia’s? He clicked his tongue in irritation.

  ‘An Urshine camp this close to the troll cave… This is not a good sign,’ he muttered internally, eyes fixed on the unfolding battle. The trolls fought with a savage grace, but the tide was turning. The line wavered, then buckled.

  But then, something unexpected happened. One of the trolls—rger than other—surged forward, his form flickering with an unfamiliar aura. Marcus’s eyes sharpened as the troll moved with sudden finesse, shadowy mist curling around him. The signature was unmistakable: Mist-tified, one of Marcus's favored maneuvers for evasion and counterattacks.

  A slow grin spread across Marcus’s face. ‘So they can draw on my power now?’ The realisation was both thrilling and perplexing. Somehow, the trolls had managed to tap into the connection between them, channelling his magic as the Urshine did their god’s wrath.

  As the battle reached its peak, the tug in Marcus’s mind ceased abruptly, the connection stabilising. The trolls had managed to hold their ground, though barely. The battlefield was littered with the dead, but the enemy was retreating, forced back by sheer resilience and borrowed power.

  Marcus leaned back mid-flight, exhaling a plume of cold air. This development was… interesting. A potential advantage if he could refine it. A direct link to empower his forces without needing to be physically present—an ability to level the field against those who wielded the power of gods.

  ‘I will need to investigate this further,’ he decided, the grin not fading. If he could harness this ability properly, the trolls would become far more than simple shock troops. They would be conduits—extensions of his own might. And with the Urshine prowling so close, he would need every advantage he could get.

  With that thought, Marcus shifted his wings, banking sharply toward the troll settlement. Research on runes could wait. There were far more urgent matters to address.

  -^-^-^-^-^-^-^-

  Around a few hours ter.

  Back in his chamber at st, Marcus exhaled, his mind still lingering on the recent battle. The troll had yet to return, but that was no concern. He ensured preparations were made for their arrival with a simple mental message to the head shaman. That task done, he turned to his research, pushing aside all other distractions.

  Watching the troll csh with the Urshine had been a revetion. Strength and courage could only take them so far. They were relentless fighters, brimming with raw power, but brute force alone wouldn’t be enough forever. If the trolls wanted to dominate future battlefields, they needed something more—a true advantage.

  His gaze settled on a parchment spread across his desk, covered in intricate notes—rune weapons, armor, firearms, and magic. Each detail marked another step in his ever-growing pn.

  “So much to do, yet so little time…” The thought echoed in his mind as his fingers traced the edges of the parchment.

  Hours slipped by unnoticed, the steady hum of his thoughts only breaking when a faint tug brushed the edge of his consciousness. The head shaman was calling—a clear signal that the scouting trolls had finally returned.

  “I guess it’s time to head out,” Marcus murmured, his voice low and thoughtful.

  Without another word, his form began to dissolve into shadowy tendrils. The air around him grew colder, thick with an eerie stillness, as his body melted into a swirl of dark mist. In the blink of an eye, he drifted silently toward the Grand Chamber—where answers awaited.

  -^-^-^-^-

  A few moments earlier, within the Grand Chamber of the troll settlement…

  “A transformed group of humans, you said?” Rok’ka, the head shaman, questioned the seated troll before him, his voice heavy with curiosity and unease.

  “Yes, head shaman,” Gunt confirmed, his thick fingers absently tracing a faint scar across his palm—already healed thanks to the guardian’s blessing. “They weren’t like any humans from the old stories, nor the ones we've fought before. Once they transformed, they became stronger—faster. If not for the guardian’s power, even I wouldn’t have survived the encounter.”

  His words hung in the air, thick with the weight of an unknown threat—one the tribe might not be ready to face.

  “And the survivors?” Dar’win, the chieftain, asked, his tone edged with concern.

  “Most scattered after their leader fell—the same with their shaman. But they abandoned the camp,” Gunt expined, gesturing to a wooden box beside him. Within y a small pile of strange trinkets and unfamiliar materials scavenged from the deserted human outpost. “We took what we could, but we didn’t linger. We don’t know how soon they’ll gather again—or what else they might bring.”

  A tense silence settled over the chamber. The items were valuable—but the power those humans had shown? Dangerous. Reckless provocation could spell disaster.

  “I will consult the guardian,” Rok’ka decred, his voice firm and steady. “Perhaps he will guide us on how to proceed.”

  Dar’win gave a curt nod, and the other leaders murmured their agreement.

  Rok’ka turned toward the guardian statue—a towering figure of bck stone, its surface cold and smooth as ice. With deliberate reverence, he knelt before it and began to chant. His voice, low and rhythmic, filled the chamber—a plea for wisdom and strength.

  As his prayer reached its peak, the statue’s eyes fred with an ethereal blue light. Tendrils of dark mist coiled around its base, thickening the air with unseen power.

  The shaman took a deep breath and spoke.

  “Oh, guardian, we beseech you—grant us your guidance.”

  A heavy silence followed, then—

  “Speak.”

  The voice that echoed from the statue was deep and commanding, tinged with a distant coldness.

  Rok’ka carefully recounted the details—the transformed humans, their unnatural strength, and the danger they posed. Hidden within the statue, Marcus listened patiently, his mind already working through the implications.

  When the shaman finished, Marcus’s voice echoed again, calm and resolute.

  “For now, avoid contact with humans if possible. Use shamanic spirits to assist with your scouting,” he instructed. “The humans you faced follow another god—one bound to the w of power. At your current strength, the tribe is not yet ready to challenge such a force.”

  Rok’ka bowed his head in understanding, but Dar’win’s voice cut through the air—sharp and unwavering.

  “And if we have no choice?”

  A pause. Marcus weighed his words carefully.

  “Peace is an option—but not a requirement,” he finally said. “The god they serve values strength above all. Avoid confrontation if you can—but if the time comes, meet them with force.”

  He recalled what he knew of Volibear’s followers—their ruthless belief in survival through strength. So long as the trolls moved cautiously, they could sidestep open conflict. For now.

  The chamber was silent again until Rok’ka hesitated, then asked, “One more thing, guardian—about the power Gunt manifested during the battle…”

  Ah, that. Marcus had felt it—an awakening deep within Gunt’s spirit.

  “It is nothing to fear,” Marcus assured them. “The power awakened because he overcame a trial. Any of you could experience the same—if the conditions are right. Even I cannot predict what abilities you may gain.”

  A ripple of excitement spread through the gathered trolls. The possibility of unlocking new powers stirred something primal—a hunger to grow stronger.

  But Marcus’s voice cut through their rising curiosity.

  “I forbid any troll from throwing their life away in pursuit of power,” he warned, his tone sharp. “Awakening comes in due time—do not seek it recklessly. Your lives are more valuable than you realize.”

  A heavy pause followed before Marcus added one st command.

  “The tribe must expand. The future is uncertain and filled with danger. I will not allow the trolls to suffer simply because of caution. Prepare yourselves—change is coming.”

  With those final words, Marcus withdrew his consciousness from the statue. The ethereal glow faded, and the swirling mist dissolved into nothingness, leaving behind only cold, unyielding stone.

  For a long moment, no one spoke.

  Finally, Dar’win rose from his seat, his expression hard and decisive.

  “Well,” he rumbled, his voice breaking the silence, “you heard the guardian. For now, assign a shaman to every hunting party and avoid human contact. The scouting team—rest and recover. We’ll sort through the loot ter.”

  The other leaders nodded in agreement and began filtering out of the chamber, their minds already turning toward the tasks ahead.

  Only Rok’ka remained, his gaze lingering on the guardian statue. He let out a long, weary sigh, the weight of responsibility settling heavy on his broad shoulders.

  “Times are changing fast for the tribe…” he murmured to himself, his voice barely above a whisper.