Urz sat alone near the front of the House of Healing, trying not to fidget. He had done what he could—carried candles, tidied the floor, and helped set out supplies for the ritual. But in the end, Drakar had brushed him off with a grunt and sent him upstairs.

  Now he was just hoping no one walked in needing anything at all.

  The quiet was stretching thin.

  Then something pulled at him—not his arm, not his clothes, but somewhere deeper. A lurch, sudden and invisible, like the floor had shifted beneath him.

  He stood up fast, blinking. The shelves didn’t rattle. The potions on the wall didn’t even clink.

  Turning towards the stairs, he immediately knew something had gone wrong.

  Moving fast, he went down two steps at a time. The hallway was still. The ritual room door was open.

  He froze the moment he saw what was inside.

  A low, fading green glow still pulsed from the ritual circle. The air stank of scorched herbal chalk—sharp, bitter, and clinging to the back of his throat. Dust hung in the air, stirred loose from the walls and ceiling, along with tiny fragments of stone scattered across the floor. All the orcs lay where they had stood during the ritual, collapsed and unmoving. Within seconds of entering, a wave of dizziness washed over him.

  The young orc’s eyes swept across the room and found their target.

  “Master!” Urz yelled and quickly sprinted toward Khurak. “Master, wake up! What happened? Are you okay?”

  Khurak’s chest was moving but he did not respond.

  There was a rustle from the other side of the room, followed by a pained groan.

  “Urghh,” the fallen Drakar groaned

  “Drakar, what happened? I felt it from upstairs, I almost fell over. Why are you all on the floor?

  “On the…? Urghhh, Krunn’s Tusks!” Drakar began pulling himself up unsteadily.

  From his pocket, Urz pulled out a jar of the cheap healing salve he used on scrapes and splinters. It wasn’t much, but he held it out to Drakar anyway. He was starting to panic.

  “I’m fine,” Drakar muttered, waving it off and walking towards the orc woman’s downed form.

  “Hey, come on. Wake up,” he said, tapping her shoulder.

  “Veyra!” Urz yelled and kneeled next to her.

  His mind was failing to keep up with the incongruity of the entire scene. The ritual circle had gone out, the stench was still in the air, and the sick he had helped carry earlier were still on their tables, not looking any better than before.

  “What?! Where?” Veyra suddenly bolted upright, only to immediately lose balance and fall over again. She groaned, placing a trembling hand on the middle of her chest, not paying attention to anyone.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “Master Khurak!” Drakar called rushing towards him.

  “I’m…. I.. I’m level nine,” Veyra spoke with a weak voice to no one in particular.

  “Not the time to celebrate, Vey,” Drakar grunted from the other end of the room.

  Urz blinked. Celebrate? She didn’t sound happy. She sounded… lost.

  “No,” she whispered, eyes wide. “No. Not up. Down.”

  Down?

  Walking over to Borgath’s crumpled form and turning him around, they noticed some kind of pale blue smoke—or steam?—coming out of his still open eyes.

  “Bor…? No. No, no, no. Come on—Hey!”

  Urz began inspecting Veyra for any clue of what was going on but found none. He paused, looking around the room hoping there was something he missed.

  “Hey!” Drakar called again, scratching his neck and trying not to sound panicked. “Master Khurak? Wake up, this isn’t funny.”

  “L...level nine, level nine” Veyra kept repeating to herself.

  Drakar turned around again, shaking his head and muttering. “Hey, stop talking for a second.”

  “I was… I was twenty. Sorceress. I can—” she shuddered. “It’s weaker. Quieter. Nine? N-nine? I think—nine—”

  She looked at her hands like they weren’t hers. “It’s gone.”

  “That’s not possible. You were level twenty last month.”

  “It’s… gone? It’s gone. I can feel … mana, but… I don’t understand,” Veyra said , her hands now trembling as hard as her voice.

  The young orc’s eyes jumped from one orc to the next. Bor. Khurak. Drakar. Veyra. Repeat. Nothing made sense. The faster he looked, the worse it got.

  *CLAP*

  The sound cut through the panic like a blade.

  “Enough! Snap out of it. We need to move. That helper spell—whatever you called it—the one master Khurak made you practice. Can you cast it? We need steady hands, not more stunned silence.”

  “Uh… it might tear up the place even worse.”

  “Doesn’t matter. We need help for Master Khurak and Bor. Now.”

  “R-Rise Stone!”

  Two flagstones cracked loose and screeched across the floor. Dust swirled after them, clinging thick to the edges until they stopped side by side. More rubble tore free—chips from the walls, blocks from the floor, even clods of packed earth—dragging with the same harsh scrape.

  The pieces stacked into a crude figure. Dust packed itself into the gaps, holding slabs into crooked legs and a slabbed torso. A heavier block dropped into place as the head. Pebbles rattled into jagged fingers, while two small stones pressed deep as eyes.

  The golem stood, unsteady but whole. Its head turned slowly as it began to take in the room.

  “Great. How long’s it going to hold together?”

  “I’m not sure. M… maybe a day?”

  The golem was looking at Drakar’s face, its head tilted slightly to one side.

  Urz let out a laugh—too high, too thin—and clamped a hand over his mouth.

  Far from the House of Healing, a thread began to tighten.

  * * *

  Far from rituals, stone bodies, or the concept of magic itself, a young woman was having an aggressively inconvenient day.

  She’d started early, prepped her lunch, and gone to work; inventory management, scheduling, customer calls, the usual, at her father’s catering company.

  She didn’t hate the job. In fact, most days, she liked it. But today wasn’t most days.

  A late shipment of chicken? Spoiled.

  Her hardest working team leader and closest work friend? Out sick.

  Customer calls? Five clients. All at once. All demanding.

  Her manager? Somewhere on a beach for the whole week.

  Today?

  Today was… barely Wednesday.

  It was the middle of winter. By the time she’d finished everything, it was past nine, and the sun had long since disappeared.

  Luckily, her apartment was within walking distance. Getting home and collapsing into bed, that was the only thing on her mind.

  Just one more street to cross. Then: home.

  She stopped at the crosswalk. There were no cars in sight, but she was walking on autopilot, so it didn’t matter. She stared at the red figure glowing on the opposite side and waited.

  Once the green figure started glowing she tried to walk, and… failed?

  Huh?

  Her eyes were glued to the green light for just a moment. Then it pulsed and her whole world went dark save for a bright green light somewhere on the edges of her perception.

  Am I fainting? I’m tired but not that tired.

  Did I forget to take my iron supplements? What is going on?

  “Who are you?” asked a voice. No, not one voice but what sounded like at least ten different voices speaking in perfect unison.

  “Me? I’m Zara. Zara Silverhart.”

  The voice did not reply. Before she could ask anything, something pulled her down, her whole self was being forced through a pipe too narrow to fit.

  The sensation passed quickly and she felt herself coming to. Too tight, her clothes felt two sizes too small.

  Opening her eyes she found herself in a stone room lit by candlelight. The room looked trashed. Even the floor appeared damaged. There were at least two people on the ground.

  Wild party, eh?

  Wait, why am I here? How did I get here? Have I been drugged and kidnapped?

  She kept scanning. Three more people: a woman sobbing on the floor and two guys — one taller, one shorter.

  Something was wrong…Why are these people green?

  Are those? Are those tusks?

  The shorter of the two green men let out a squeak and covered his mouth.