Kaelrith stepped lightly to the side, out of Boruk's direct path, and drew in a breath. With that inhalation came the end of the Veil's restraint. Flames kindled behind the boy's eyes and wisps of smoke curled from his nostrils.
Boruk could only watch, helpless and disbelieving, as the "human" opened his mouth and exhaled a lance of red-hot dragonfire. The flame struck Boruk square in the chest, punching through his crude breastplate as if it were wet parchment. The blast hurled the massive orc off his feet; he crashed to the ground a dozen paces back, rolling to a stop in a smoking heap.
A collective gasp rose from all who witnessed it. Orcs who had been on the brink of victory moments ago now stared in abject terror. A dragon's flame—that searing, otherworldly fire from legend—had just erupted from the body of a child. Goblins, on the other hand, blinked in astonishment before erupting into renewed cheers. Those who could, took up the cry: "Dragon lord! Dragon lord!"
Boruk writhed on the ground, armor molten and fused to his skin in places. Waves of agony threatened to drown him, yet by the stubborn orc constitution and sheer will, he clung to life. Burned, broken, but not yet dead. With a ragged groan, he pushed himself up on one knee. The pain was excruciating, blisters and charred flesh making every movement torture. Still, Boruk raised his head and looked up, searching for the boy.
Kaelrith was already in front of him. The child's delicate features were impassive as he regarded the charred orc kneeling before him.
Boruk, through vision blurred by pain, saw past the glamour now. In the slight boy's outline he could discern the faint aura of a great scaled form towering above him. His warriors, too, were beginning to realize the truth. Disbelief and terror contorted the orcs' faces.
Kaelrith's voice cut through the crackle of fires and whimpers of the injured. "You wished to know what I am," he said quietly. "Allow me to show you."
He reached up and unclasped the Veil of Nythros from around his neck. The delicate chain slithered free and the pendant fell from his chest, breaking the enchantment's hold. The air around Kaelrith shimmered and then split with a sound like a sigh.
In the blink of an eye, the frail human form expanded and burst apart into a cloud of spark. From those spark emerged the true shape of the dragon.
Kaelrith's scales blazed crimson in the dawn light. Horns swept back from his head, and his wings unfurled, casting a dark shadow over Boruk and the surrounding ground. He was not yet full-grown—his draconic body about the size of a small carriage—but to the creatures on this battlefield, he was titanic.
A ripple of shock and awe rolled through the surviving goblins and orcs. Goblins fell prostrate, foreheads pressed into the blood-soaked dirt, tears of joy mingling with grime on their faces. Orcs fared differently—many cried out in primitive fear, stumbling back or dropping to their knees. A few turned to flee outright into the forest, the fight utterly driven from them.
Boruk trembled violently. All his life he had prided himself on fearing no creature, no matter how fearsome. But here and now, faced with an ancient predator he had believed extinct, the orc warlord was as frightened as a child in the dark.
Kaelrith lowered his great, horned head until his golden eyes were level with Boruk's. When he spoke, it was in a deep rumble that resonated in every ribcage present. "Kneel," the dragon commanded. "Or burn."
Boruk did not need to be told twice. He threw aside his shattered sword and bent low until his face ground into the dirt, arms splayed in total submission. "Mercy, great dragon! We… we yield. The Ashfang tribe is yours, by blood and honor. Spare us, I beg you!"
At those words, whatever fight remained in the other orcs evaporated. Across the battlefield, the surviving Ashfang warriors tossed down their weapons and fell to their knees. Those too wounded to kneel prostrated themselves as best they could, raising empty hands in surrender. The transformation was complete—what had been an invading army moments before was now a cowering collection of supplicants.
For a long moment, only the crackle of fires and the moans of injured goblins and orcs broke the silence. Then a thundering cheer erupted from the goblin ranks. A victory cry like none before.
They had won. Against all odds, they had won.
Goblins danced amid the wreckage, heedless of their wounds, raising their voices in a joyous cacophony. Some seized fallen orc weapons and hoisted them as trophies; others clambered onto the remains of barricades and whooped at the dawn sky. The chant of Kaelrith's name began anew, echoing to the heavens.
Fires blazed high as goblins piled up broken barricades and orc standards, lighting bonfires of triumph. The first golden rays of the sun crept over the horizon, illuminating a scene of both carnage and celebration. Orc corpses and goblin dead alike were scattered about, but those still alive were swept up in the adrenaline of the moment.
Kaelrith folded his wings and climbed back atop the central altar stone, surveying the aftermath. His chest heaved from exertion, but otherwise he bore not a scratch—no orc had managed to touch him. His gleaming scales were splattered with dark blood that was not his own.
He looked out over the gathered survivors. Goblins, bloodied and battered, gazed at him with open adoration. Humbled orcs knelt in sullen silence, too shocked to do anything but obey.
Grak limped forward through the crowd, clutching a bleeding cut on his forearm. The goblin chieftain , now—approached the altar and fell to both knees before Kaelrith's towering form. He bowed until his forehead touched the ground.
"The Blackwild Expanse is yours, my lord," Grak declared in a voice that rang out despite its hoarseness. "By our blood-pact, by our loyalty, goblin and orc alike now swear fealty to the Flame of the End."
He lifted his head slightly and raised his voice even louder, addressing all present, "We live and die at your command, Kaelrith! All hail the Dragon Lord!"
A resounding chorus answered as every goblin within earshot echoed the pledge, voices united. Even some orcs grunted hesitant assent, cowed and leaderless as they were.
Boruk, still kneeling at Kaelrith's feet, forced himself to look up. Burns marred his face and one eye was swollen shut, but he managed to speak clearly enough. "The Ashfang follow you now… my lord," he rasped, bowing his head in respect. It was obvious how much it cost his pride, yet also obvious he had no intention of defying the dragon again. "By blood and honor, we are yours to command."
High above on the altar, Kaelrith gazed down at the oath-takers. Thin tendrils of smoke curled from his nostrils as he exhaled slowly, surveying them. This ragtag assembly was now the seed of his army—the first subjects of his new dominion.
"No more prey," Kaelrith growled, and his voice was like distant thunder over the quieting crowd. He wanted them all to hear this—to feel it in their bones. "No more hiding in shadows. From this day onward, we rise from the ashes. Flame will be our banner. Strength and cunning will be our sword and shield. Those who dared hunt us will soon learn to fear us instead."
A fierce, exultant light kindled in many goblin eyes at those words. They pounded their weapons against shields in agreement. A few of the orcs, stirred by the talk of strength and conquest, found themselves grunting approval despite their fear.
Kaelrith continued, his tone lowering to a dangerous purr that nonetheless carried to every ear. "Beyond this wasteland lie kingdoms of men… fat with complacency, telling their children that the dragons are no more. They think the age of flame is over." He bared his razor-sharp teeth in something akin to a grin. "Good. Let them keep believing comfortable lies—until the day my fires burn their skies and their armies turn to ash."
A cheer—half a roar—erupted at that proclamation. Goblins screamed themselves hoarse in vengeful anticipation of wrongs long endured being righted. Even the orcs thumped their fists to their chests, caught up in the rising tide of warlike fervor.
Kaelrith spread his wings, casting a mighty shadow over his assembled followers. The first light of full dawn broke behind him, haloing the young dragon in gold and crimson. In that moment, he looked every inch a conqueror from legend.
Thus, on a morning that would be remembered for ages, a dragon claimed lordship over the Blackwild Expanse. A despised goblin tribe and a vanquished orc warband stood side by side, bound now by the will of the Great Flame's followers. They gazed up at Kaelrith in worship and fear, awaiting his command.