The bone-knife left his hand before the thought even finished.

Jael watched the Captain retreat, his eyes narrowing. He thought of his ancestors, the ones who had supposedly created the very magic now being used by the invaders to turn man and beast into nightmare fuel. He wasn’t fighting for this Empire—an Empire that had slaughtered his tribe—but for the chance to break the curse they had unleashed.

"It’s a Sand-Reaper," Jael said quietly, his voice like grinding stones. "I can smell the sulfur on the wind. Your scouts are lucky to be alive."