It wasn't just healing, though. Findir realized with horror that the elder could sap years from the living and transfer them to himself. On another occasion, a young slave girl was brought to him, barely alive from exhaustion. The old orc reached out, his skeletal hand brushing her forehead, and in seconds, her life seemed to drain away. Her body withered before Findir's eyes, her hair turning gray, her skin sagging as if she had aged decades in mere moments. The elder, on the other hand, stood a little taller, his eyes gleaming with a brief flash of vitality.
This magic was not just about controlling time—it was about stealing it, siphoning it from others to extend his own life, to sustain his vast reserves of power. The elder had lived far longer than any orc should have, and it was only through this grotesque manipulation of time that he had maintained his presence as a powerful figure within the camp.
