Vengeance Unleashed

The air in the narrow ravine was thick with the coppery tang of goblin blood and the acrid bite of sweat. We’d barely caught our breath after the ambush, the silence that followed the cacophony of battle more unnerving than the shrieks and howls that had preceded it. My own breath hitched, a ragged sound in the sudden quiet. My sword, still slick with ichor, felt heavy in my hand. Bowen, his face grim, leaned on his axe, his chest heaving. Lyra, her normally bright eyes wide with a fear I hadn’t seen before, clutched a fallen goblin’s crude knife, her knuckles white. Hope, bless her, was already tending to Roric’s wounds, her brow furrowed with concern.

That’s when I noticed Keal. He wasn’t tending to wounds. He wasn’t even looking at the mess of bodies strewn around us. He was standing a few paces away, his back to us, his shoulders subtly tensed. He was looking towards Roric, his gaze fixed with an unnerving intensity. A prickle of unease, cold and sharp, traced its way up my spine. It was a feeling I’d grown accustomed to around Keal, a persistent hum of something…off.

“Roric,” Keal’s voice, when it finally came, was a low, guttural growl that seemed to scrape against the very rocks of the ravine. It was a voice I barely recognized, stripped of its usual quiet reserve, replaced by something raw and dangerous.