Book One – Chapter 13

The crystalline structure of the rock was unravelling, its natural stability sacrificed to unleash a torrent of raw energy that impacted both the Material and Alladharian Dimensions. While this orich drained frosthearts, Midnight knew that others channelled their will through different natural sources, each method marked by the same ruinous mark. Ork magic, regardless of its origin, bore the same destructive potential as the arts of witches, the condemned alchemy denounced by Emery Thurm’s tutors — an unrestrained manipulation that drained and irreversibly compromised natural resources. In the case of the frosthearts, this magic warped the stones’ crystalline density, siphoned their thermal inertia, and left them brittle and hollowed, stripped of all resilience.

While Midnight had heard these explanations several times, she had never grasped them like her wizard did. She did not learn from words, but from the visceral understanding that came from experiences. Now, as she witnessed the orich’s magic consume the frosthearts, she felt its true nature. It was magic born of hunger and devastation, an irreversible depletion of resources that could never regrow. She understood, finally, that this was a predation upon nature itself — a feeding that would scar nature beyond recovery, leaving it forever unable to recover.

The orich did just that. In his attempt to halt the advance of the golem and the beast-wizard, he consumed the last of the frosthearts. Pillars of ice erupted from the ground, spears of frozen death aimed to impale. Shards rained down, splintering against the trail and cliffside, forcing the lizardkind to evade recklessly. He scrambled through narrow crevices and outcroppings, dodging death by sheer speed and desperation. Meanwhile, the golem, undeterred, smashed through all that the orich threw at it, its massive fists reducing any obstacle to rubble.