Liora’s POV

Liora’s gaze swept over the captured humans, her dark eyes glowing a faint violet in the torchlight. The blacksmith stood silently, shoulders hunched, but his eyes darted anxiously towards his trembling wife and children. The alchemist, by contrast, seemed eager, he gazed at Paul with a mix of fear and ambition.

‘They don’t know yet,’ Liora thought, her lips curling into a faint smirk. ‘They still believe they can negotiate with us. Fools.’

The scent of blood and ash lingered in the air, a testament to the raid’s brutal efficiency. Rikkard had orchestrated it flawlessly, and his forces returned with exactly what they wanted. Paul’s forces grow stronger by the day. A strange flicker of pride welled up in Liora’s hallow chest.

With an eagerness not seen in any of Paul’s forces, the alchemist stepped forward. Liora leaned against the wall of Paul’s hut, she crossed her arms, readying a spell, just in case. She listened as the man spoke, his voice trembling at first, but gaining confidence as he laid out his offer.

“My name is Gideon Blackwood. I can craft elixirs to enhance your undead, concoctions to poison your enemies, even potions to enhance your strength, my lord,” the alchemist said, his hands gesturing wildly. Then after a brief pause, “All I ask is… your gift. Immortality.”

Liora tilted her head slightly, her glowing eyes narrowed. ‘Eager. Too eager. He’s not pledging his loyalty to Paul, he’s pledging it to his ambition.’

Paul’s response was slow and measured, his voice smooth. “Prove your worth, and we shall see.”

‘A dangling carrot. Typical of him.’ Liora thought, suppressing a smirk. ‘He’ll keep the alchemist desperate and pliable for as long as he is useful. And when he’s not…’ She let the thought drift away, already imagining the downfall of the alchemist when he stepped out of line.

As the blacksmith and his family were brought forward, Liora focused on their reaction. The older man was large and sturdy, his hands scarred from years of work at the forge. His eyes betrayed his feared. Liora wondered whose life he valued more, his own or his family. The oldest woman, who Liora presumed was his wife, clutched five children.

“Who are you?” Paul asked the man.

“I am Rupert Greystone; this is my wife Sylvia and my apprentice Marcus Vine. Marcus is married to my eldest daughter Elia…”

“Fine, fine, fine.” Paul said. “What do you need to build me a fortress and weapons for my army?”

“Your…” The Rupert looked around, “men, brought my tools. If I can get some help, it wont take more than two weeks. The hardest part will be the hearth.”

“Rikkard, do you have a hobgoblin that can oversee the construction of a forge?” Paul asked.

“Drekkar can do it. The goblins already know him from the raid. He is a good leader.” Rikkard answered.

Paul spoke calmly, almost kindly, but Liora knew better. “Your family will be safe here as long as you do your part. Forge weapons for my army and tools for my builders, and no harm will come to them, or you.”

‘A wise choice,’ Liora thought. ‘He has no delusions of rebellion. Not unlike the others.’ Her gaze flickered to the children, huddled close to their mother. A brief, unfamiliar pang stirred in her, quickly smothered. ‘Its better to serve Paul than die resisting.’

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The blacksmith and his family were ushered out. The only ones left in the hut were Rikkard, Grag, Paul, and Liora. Throughout the proceedings, Liora’s heightened senses caught every twitch and fidget from Grag. He was clearly nervous, more so than usual, and his avoidance of Paul’s gaze was telling.

Rikkard opened his mouth to speak, a smug look in his eyes. Liora shifted her gaze to Grag. She could feel the panic rolling off him, even before he blurted out, “I can use magic!”

The room fell silent.

Paul’s crimson eyes turned towards the goblin; his expression unreadable at first. Slowly, he tilted his head. “Magic?” He repeated, his voice soft but laced with curiosity. “Explain.”

Grag hesitated, his hands trembling. “I… I discovered it during the raid. Fire. I can call a bolt of fire. I didn’t know what it was at first, but,” He paused, his voice breaking under the weight of his fear. “I swear, Master, I didn’t mean to hide it! I was afraid of what you would think. But I’ll serve you however I can.”

Liora’s gaze shifted to Paul. To her surprise, his expression shifted, not to anger or suspicion, but to something far rarer among the undead: excitement.

Paul rose from his makeshift throne and stepped closer to Grag; his eyes gleamed with genuine interest. “Show me.” He said simply, but there was a faint smile playing on his lips now, something almost eager.

“I’m not sure how to control it.” Grag said hesitantly.

“Then we will go outside.” The small group walked outside.

Paul had been in control of Gravewell for almost six weeks now. In that time the population had doubled and the number of buildings had increased exponentially. The goblins warriors that were trusted enough to have weapons and undead in their command patrolled the narrowing streets.

Paul summoned a zombie. “Target him.” Paul motioned to the zombie.

Grag hesitated, then slowly extended a shaky hand. A small flicker of fire erupted on the zombie.

For a moment, Paul said nothing, simply watching the flames. Then he nodded, and the faint smile grew wider. “Remarkable,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “A goblin sorcerer. I did not expect this.”

Grag dropped to his knees and bowed low. “I swear Master I didn’t know I could do this. I serve you I swear.” The small goblin was shaking like a leaf.

Paul’s tone softened, a rare thing Liora seldom witnessed. “Get up Grag. You’ve proven your worth and loyalty.”

Grag lifted his head cautiously, his wide eyes meeting Paul’s gaze.

Paul crouched lightly, looking Grag directly in the eyes. “Magic is a gift, and now you are more valuable to me than ever. I will teach you, apprentice, but you must swear loyalty, not just to me, but to the kingdom we are building.”

Grag’s eyes lit with something akin to hope, “I swear Master.”

Liora felt a flicker of amusement. ‘He’s enjoying this. Paul hasn’t been this pleased in weeks. Perhaps it’s the thought of molding Grag into something greater, or simply having an apprentice to shape in his image.’

Paul used his own magic to extinguish the flame, which did little to destroy the zombie, then addressed those who were gathered. “Grag’s magic will strengthen us. I expect you all to recognize his value. And you,” he added, turning to Grag, “will train alongside me when time allows. You have much to learn, and I intend to see that you master your tether.”

Grag nodded furiously, his nervousness replaced by something more determined.

As the group dispersed, Liora lingered in the shadows, watching Paul speak quietly to Grag, offering advice on control and discipline. It was strange seeing him this encouraging, even kind in his own way.

‘He’s truly pleased,’ she thought. ‘Not just for the magic itself, but for the chance to shape Grag into something greater. He’s building more than an army, he’s building loyalty. Grag will fight harder than anyone else for the master who valued him.’

But Liora had a twinge of suspicion. ‘Power changes people. Even, if not especially, goblins. Paul may see potential, but I’m watching for ambition. The fire tether is as dangerous as it is volatile.’

Later, when she and Paul stood alone in his hut, Liora voiced her thoughts. “You seemed pleased with Grag today.”

Paul smirked faintly, his red eyes glinting. “Why wouldn’t I be? Magic is rare among goblins, and rarer among those already loyal to me. He’s a rough gem, but gems can be polished.”

Liora nodded, hiding her own doubts. “I hope your faith is rewarded, Master. But if it isn’t, you know I will deal with him.”

Paul chuckled softly; his tone sharp. “Oh, I have no doubt, Liora. Your always here for me.”