When I brought them back to the world, I noted with satisfaction that my humans weren’t trying to run this time.

  Outside, it was surprisingly dark and windy. There were no stars, no moon, only a heavy black sky overhead. A few distant flashes lit the horizon to the east, followed by a long pause before the rumble reached us.

  The forest around us was almost completely swallowed by shadow. Only the faint red glow of dying embers from the four orc campfires broke the darkness.

  The orcs were gone. The carriages were gone. Only a few broken planks and splintered pieces from the carriage I’d sent that orc flying through still lay scattered on the ground.

  After casting the revival spell, my mind felt sluggish. Even though it hadn’t been pure white magic, there had been enough of it to leave me nauseous and dizzy.

  “A storm’s coming,” an old woman muttered. She looked every bit the stereotypical crone, her face sharp and wrinkled, her back bent with age. People huddled closer together—the darkness made everyone uneasy.

  “I can feel it in my bones,” she went on. “It’s just like last year’s big storm.”

  I shrugged, forcing myself to stay upright as the nausea grew worse. A storm was just a storm. It would come and go.

  “It shouldn’t be far to the next village,” one of the men said. “We should hurry before the storm hits, if it’s as big as last year’s.”

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t in the mood to walk. I could if I really had to, but I didn’t want them thinking I was drunk.

  With a small push of mana, I lit the fire. The flames flared to life, revealing their worried faces. I sat down. That was better than trying to stand on my wobbling legs.

  “What was so memorable about last year’s storm?” I asked.

  To me, a storm would have been nothing more than a minor inconvenience. I could even shield them if it came to that. I chuckled at the thought, imagining myself in dragon form, wings spread wide, sheltering them like a hen covering her chicks.

  Several of them sat down around the fire as well. An old man shrugged at my question.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “It uprooted trees,” the old man said. “Many who were out in the fields died. Even some houses were destroyed. Only the sturdy ones held. Roofs were blown clean off, but the worst part was the harvest. A storm like that, at the wrong time… we lost more than half of it! And now it’s happening again! The gods are punishing us! We must atone!”

  I rolled my eyes at the mention of divine punishment—though, honestly, in this world, who knew? Maybe gods did meddle like that.

  Still, the part about the harvest stung. What would we do if it was lost again? We were already short on food, and the long winter was coming fast.

  “It’s coming from the orc lands,” another man said, pointing toward the dark horizon, probably east, though I couldn’t tell for sure. “At least the orcs will lose their harvest too! The gods are punishing them!”

  Yeah. Rejoice because your neighbor’s field gets wrecked too.

  Humans.

  “Is it far to the village?” I asked.

  “We could make it in about an hour,” one of the men replied. “If we hurry, we’ll get there before the storm.”

  “Do they have enough room for everyone?”

  He nodded.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t get lost?” I asked.

  Honestly, I didn’t feel like walking on my wobbly legs. I probably just needed half an hour, maybe an hour, to recover. Still, if they went ahead, that would solve the problem.

  “I’m from that village,” the man said. “I know this forest well. I used to hunt here.”

  “Can’t you do something about the storm?” Miranda asked suddenly.

  Her question drew a wave of glances from the others, as if they’d only just realized she was still there.

  What a stupid question, I thought. I’m not a god.

  Then again… maybe I didn’t need to be. Maybe Yisila could help.

  If I could save the harvest, that would mean a lot, even if only for the barony.

  I turned to Miranda. With her level twelve, she was the highest in the group.

  “Mira—” I caught myself just in time before saying her full name. “Why don’t you take the lead and guide them to the village?”

  “Sure, my queen. Mira will do it,” she said, bowing her head.

  Clever girl. She’d already taken to her new name. With that light armor and sword, she looked like a noble herself.

  I lifted a hand to signal the others. “Everyone, you’ll go with Mira to the village.”

  “We’re… really free?” a few of them hesitatingly asked.

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  That single word seemed to lift their spirits more than even the healing had.

  They gathered quickly, then began their slow march, Mira and the hunter leading the way. The others followed, helping the old, torches flickering in their hands. As they disappeared into the dark, a few of the women began to sing softly, a faint, wavering tune that lingered long after their silhouettes faded from sight.