Chapter 27: Whispers of Power

[Leav POV]

Leav stood at the edge of the camp, the cool night air brushing against his skin. The fires had died down, leaving only embers glowing in the distance. His warriors—no, his people—were resting, tending to wounds, or sharpening their weapons in preparation for whatever came next.

But Leav was restless.

The battle had been won, yet the war was far from over. He knew the Bonefangs would not remain idle. If what Trek said was true, then magic would soon be a weapon turned against them. And while Weal's experiments were a start, they were nowhere near enough to counter a true magic-wielding foe.

He exhaled, his breath visible in the cold air. He needed more. More power, more knowledge, more control.

Footsteps approached behind him. He didn't turn—he already knew who it was.

Trek stood beside him, his old, sunken eyes watching the stars. "You feel it, don't you?"

Leav didn't answer immediately. "Feel what?"

"The shift," Trek said. "The world is moving. You are moving with it. But you are still unshaped, uncertain. You do not yet understand your own path."

Leav clenched his jaw. "I know my path."

Trek chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "Do you? You think of war, of conquest. Of thrones built atop corpses." He glanced at Leav. "But power is more than war. Power is knowledge. Influence. Control."

Leav narrowed his eyes. "And what are you suggesting?"

Trek extended a bony finger toward the distant ruins, half-buried in the wilderness. "There is knowledge buried in those stones. Ancient power, forgotten even by those who once wielded it." His gaze turned sharp. "You have the will to take it. But do you have the wisdom to wield it?"

Leav crossed his arms. "If there is something to be learned, then I will learn it."

Trek nodded. "Then we must begin at dawn."

[Weal POV]

The potion hissed as Weal poured a thin stream of dark liquid into a cracked clay bowl. The surface shimmered unnaturally, tiny distortions forming above the mixture. He watched with fascination as the symbols he had traced into the dirt flickered with faint blue light.

Progress.

He had spent days testing various combinations, using what little knowledge he had gleaned from ancient carvings. Most of his experiments had ended in failure—or explosions—but this… this was different.

He reached for a small rodent he had caught earlier and placed it near the symbols. As he muttered the crude words he had deciphered, the liquid pulsed, and the rat's form blurred.

It moved—no, it shifted, its body flickering between moments, like a shadow in firelight. Then, just as quickly, it snapped back into place. The rat trembled, disoriented but unharmed.

Weal grinned. "Now this… this is interesting."

[Frot POV]

Frot sat in the darkness of the supply tent, sharpening his dagger. The quiet scraping of metal on stone was the only sound in the air.

He had sent Skarr to deal with the troublemakers—those who whispered against Leav's rule. By now, those whispers had been silenced.

But dissent was like a weed. Cut it down, and more would grow.

He needed something more permanent.

A presence entered the tent, silent yet unmistakable. Skarr had returned.

"It's done," Skarr muttered, keeping his voice low. "They won't be speaking against Leav again."

Frot nodded. "Good. But we can't keep doing this forever." He met Skarr's gaze. "We need control. Real control."

Skarr hesitated. "The others follow because Leav wins battles. But if we lose—"

"We won't lose," Frot interrupted. His voice was firm, unyielding. "Because we won't just fight battles." He leaned forward. "We will own them before they even begin."

Skarr frowned. "What do you mean?"

Frot smirked. "Loyalty. Fear. Information. Those are weapons just as sharp as a blade. And we will sharpen them all."

[Leav POV]

Morning came, and Leav found himself standing before the ruins Trek had spoken of. The ancient stones were worn, covered in vines and moss, their carvings barely visible beneath the age-old grime.

Trek stepped forward, placing a hand on one of the stones. "These ruins were not built by goblins," he murmured. "They are older than our kind. Older than the Bonefangs. Older than the humans and elves that rule today."

Leav studied the carvings. "Then who built them?"

Trek's expression darkened. "Those who tried to claim power beyond their reach."

The words hung in the air. Leav did not believe in curses or ghosts, but he knew power always had a price.

Trek motioned for him to step forward. "If you wish to learn, place your hand upon the stone."

Leav hesitated for only a moment before pressing his palm against the cool, ancient surface.

A shiver ran through his body. The stone vibrated beneath his touch, and for an instant, he saw something.

Flashes of fire and shadow. Figures that were not human, not goblin—twisted beings, their forms shifting, their eyes burning with knowledge too great for mortal minds.

Then, silence.

Leav staggered back, his breath heavy. His head pounded, but in the back of his mind, something had changed.

A whisper. A thought.

He didn't understand what he had seen, not yet. But he would.

He had to.

Trek watched him carefully. "You have taken your first step."

Leav exhaled, his hands clenching into fists. He had always sought strength through the sword, through battle.

But now, he would seek strength through something else.

Something greater.

And if the world thought a goblin could never rise to power…

He would prove them wrong.