Ort

Noun

Translation: Place / Piece of Land

Definition: 'Ort' denotes a specific location or a piece of land. It is used to refer to any designated spatial area, ranging from a small plot to a significant region.

Note: This word is not to be confused with 'Orm', which means home.

"THEY ARE COMING!"

Mediah's heart hammered in his chest, and before he knew it, Jericho was already on his feet, a stubborn look on his face that belied his usual youthful demeanour. As the human started to move away, Mediah, driven by a protective instinct, reached out and grasped his arm.

Jericho paused, his expression conflicted as he locked eyes with Mediah. In that brief moment, the clamour around them seemed to dim, focusing the scene on just the two of them. "Mediah, you need to let me go, please, just let me go," Jericho pleaded.

For a moment, Mediah was frozen, his hand still gripping Jericho's arm. The words echoed strangely in his ears. It was as if, in that plea, he could hear her.

Reluctantly, Mediah loosened his grip, his eyes never leaving Jericho's. As the human sprinted away to his designated position, Mediah felt a chill that wasn't from the air around him. A whisper, so faint he might have imagined it, brushed past his ear, carrying with it the warmth of a familiar voice—Ulencia's voice.

Jericho found his place, the focal point of a spiral formation that extended from the outskirts to the centre of the camp. Surrounding him, the other Magis positioned themselves, creating a deliberate pattern that funnelled the enemy's attention inward.

Jaer stood at the forefront alongside Zora. Behind them, the fairies dispersed swiftly through the camp.

Across the field, standing starkly apart from the unity of the camp, were Shuri and Monica. Mounted on their horses, commanding the Nightmares and Pirates.

Zora surveyed the scene before her. While her eyes pierced Monica's and then Shuri's, she lifted her arms with a confident smile—one hand clutching her blade, the other baring her wrist as she pushed back her sleeve.

In a voice that carried power and defiance, she cried out, "Mir Ort!" The war cry resonated a clarion call reverberating through the camp, uniting the hearts of all who heard it. And the shout was fired back, "Ort!"

Zora's blade sliced across her blue-dark skin, the sharp steel drawing the first drop of blood. The moment her blood touched the ground. The Magis and mages around her followed suit, each one drawing their own blood in a wave that swept through the ranks. The scent of blood filled the air, a potent, primal lure that no Nightmare creature could resist.

As the smell intensified, the Lamias reacted viscerally. Their growls became frenzied shrieks as they squirmed and thrashed, driven wild by the scent. Without a need for orders, without any command, they surged forward in a blind, desperate charge.

The camp erupted into chaos as the Lamias broke through their lines, the night air split by the sounds of battle. Spells flashed across the darkened sky, casting eerie lights over the scene. Swords clashed against steel, and magical barriers flared to life as the mages defended their ground, pushing them into a pathway circling around the camp.

As the chaos of battle swirled around them, Monica's horse shifted uneasily beneath her, sensing the turmoil and fear permeating the air. Monica turned to Shuri. "What is happening?"

From her vantage point, Shuri scanned the camp. The scene unfolding was far from the plan Zora and Shuri had rehearsed. Instead, it was a full-blown onslaught. The Lamias, driven into a frenzy by the scent of blood, surged through the camp's defences like a tidal wave of claws and teeth.

"I don't know! This wasn't the plan!"

It dawned on Shuri with chilling clarity that they had been misled into a trap, and now they were in the heart of it. The Magis were driving the Lamias as if they were kettles. But why?

Realizing the gravity of her situation, Shuri's survival instincts kicked in. She turned back to Monica, whose attention was fixated on the chaos, unaware of the imminent betrayal. With a swift motion borne of desperation, Shuri drew her blade and slashed through Monica's necklace—a seemingly delicate piece of jewellery that was, in fact, a self-control mechanism.

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

As the necklace snapped and clattered to the ground, a transformation overtook Monica. The control it exerted vanished instantly, and her body convulsed as she fell from her horse. She hit the ground hard, and the change was immediate and horrifying. Her features twisted, releasing six black eyes, her body elongating and twisting into the monstrous form of a Lamia.

No longer the sweet girl with frizzy hair, she became a creature of pure instinct, another Nightmare driven by the overpowering lure of blood.

The battle raged around the camp as the Nightmares, drawn by the scent of blood, descended into chaos. But there was a method to the madness—a deadly, spiralling pattern that funnelled the creatures towards the camp's heart, where Jericho stood.

As they closed in, Jericho stood at the epicentre of this storm, his body trembling not from the cold but from the intense surge of emotions battling within him. Sweat soaked through his clothes, plastering the fabric to his skin. The biting chill of the night air no longer bothered him; even the sharp intake of breath that usually stung his lungs seemed inconsequential now.

Fear, which had once clouded his thoughts like a dense fog, dissipated, replaced by a stark, clear sense of Mir Fado.

In this pivotal moment, Jericho felt a profound sense of destiny. This was not just another skirmish or a desperate bid for survival; this was the moment his entire life had led up to. The whispers of fate that had always lingered in the back of his mind now screamed with clarity—he was here for this, born for this purpose.

The ground beneath his feet hummed with magic, and from it, ethereal light in the shape of tree roots emerged. They crept up, binding his legs in a glowing embrace that extended upwards and swirled around his arms.

Jericho's movements became a mesmerizing ritual, each gesture flowing into the next with the grace of a seasoned dancer. His hands, illuminated by light, traced symbols in the air—first a sword, then a cup, and finally, a coin.

Each symbol shimmered briefly in the night air before transforming, the coin flickering into a flame that did not burn with fire.

As the symbols faded, Jericho spoke only two words with clear, resonant authority: "Eu Ra." The word seemed to vibrate through the air, carrying with it the weight of ancient magic and deep-rooted power. It was not merely spoken; it was invoked, a command that summoned the Sun and life itself.

As the word left his lips, the magic around him responded. The roots of light pulsated, brightening with each breath, their glow intensifying until it was almost blinding. The energy gathered around Jericho, coalescing into a radiant orb that pulsed in time with his heartbeat.

Then, with a forceful push of his arms, Jericho released the gathered energy. It surged forward in a wave of brilliant light.

Jericho became the eye of a storm, his very being resonating with unleashed magic. His form, silhouetted against the chaos of the battlefield, ignited from within, glowing with a light so intense it mimicked the sun's own fury. The light surged through him, an incandescent flare that momentarily transformed the night into day.

Those who dared to watch, those whose eyes remained unshielded, witnessed a stunning moment, the sky peeled back its cloak of darkness, revealing a brilliant blue washed with sunlight. It was a surreal vision, a fleeting glimpse of peace amidst devastation, as dust and ashes spiralled into the air, carried by the force of Jericho's sacrifice. And so the Long Night returned.

The aftermath was hauntingly quiet. As the magical tempest subsided, what remained of Jericho was nothing but a scorched silhouette on the torn earth. The ground around his remains was charred black.

Mediah and Jaer approached the site cautiously. Each step brought a swirl of water that seemed to flow spontaneously from the earth around Jericho's body. It was as if the very ground wept for the loss, mourning the sacrifice with a silence.

As they drew nearer, four hands emerged from beneath the earth—these hands gently enveloped Jericho's remains, cradling him. With a motion as tender as it was final, they pulled him downward, guiding his body back to the earth from which the magic had sprung.

Mediah and Jaer stood motionless around them; the water continued to flow, weaving through the scorched earth, leaving behind a fertile moistness that hinted at a new life. The battlefield, still echoing with the faint cries of the lingering conflict, seemed to pause in respect.

As the hands disappeared, taking Jericho with them, the ground sealed itself, leaving no trace of the human who had given his everything. All that was left was a soft, verdant patch of grass.

Patient Name: Jericho Wise

Age: unknown

Date of Report: 15th, 6th Moon, 511 Summer

Admitting Physician: Dr. Janea Smol

Hospital: City Hospital of Regulus - Burn Unit

Medical Report: Extensive Burn Injuries

History and Presenting Condition:

The patient, around 20-Summer-old male, was admitted to the emergency department following a severe UV accident, sustaining burns covering approximately 93% of his total body surface area. The burns primarily involve full-thickness (third-degree) injuries.

Initial Assessment and Management:

Upon arrival, the patient was conscious but in severe distress. Initial management focused on securing the airway, breathing, and circulation. Fluid resuscitation was initiated immediately. Escharotomies were performed to relieve pressure from constricting burn tissues.

Prognosis:

Given the extensive nature of the burns, the patient's recovery is expected to be prolonged and challenging. The risk of complications, including infections, sepsis, and multi-organ failure, is significant. Long-term rehabilitation will be crucial for recovery.

Follow-up:

The patient is scheduled for regular follow-up in the burn unit, with multidisciplinary team involvement to monitor progress and adjust treatments as necessary.

Note: The time of recovery and methods might change since Professor Edgar Duvencrune is participating in this patient's recovery. New treatments involving magic and unknown methodologies might be introduced. The board has given full approval—personnel and staff must be informed as soon as possible.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.