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Chapter Text

Yargol had been watching the battle in the woods from a safe distance on top of a hill. They were fighting in a clearing. A carriage escorted by wizards was attacked by bandits. However, even with his natural ability to see in the dark, it was hard for him to tell what exactly was happening.

The cold autumn wind blew through Yargol’s short black hair and beard. He rubbed his thumb against one of his tusks, as he always did when he could not decide on something. He had originally headed out to go hunting, but this was more interesting, and by now, all the prey in the area were gone anyway.

Strobes of colourful magic light occasionally still flashed through the trees, but they were getting scarcer and weaker. Yargol had seen magic before, back then when he was still with his tribe. The shaman would sometimes cast spells during rituals. This was different, though, much more violent. He could not see who or how many were fighting, but judging by the noise, it had to be around one or two dozen fighters.

Yargol decided to move closer to the scene. He sneaked through the trees and bushes. When he arrived, the fighting had stopped entirely, and the woods were dead silent. Squatting in the shadows at the edge of the battlefield, Yargol’s green skin and wolf fur coat concealed him perfectly. What lay before him was nothing short of a massacre. The air smelled intensely of residual magic and blood.

The carriage in the centre of the clearing was tipped over, and its roof was busted open. Scattered around it were numerous human bodies and body parts. Torn apart by magic and steel alike.

Yargol thought of turning back. This was none of his business, after all, but just as he wanted to turn away, a small whimpering sound made him halt. He looked over the clearing again but saw no movement. Still, he knew that if he left now, he would be unable to stop thinking about this for days.

Hesitantly, Yargol took out his axe and cautiously stepped out into the moonlight.

He started to inspect the bodies. The dead wizards and witches were all old. They wore elaborate robes, each with many different symbols embroidered on them. Yargol did not recognise any of them. The attackers were too well equipped for simple bandits. Their grey armour was made of a strange material Yargol had never seen before. It shimmered oddly colourful in the moonlight.

“Hello?” he called as he approached the carriage, until a different sound made him freeze.

A quiet, low humming now hung in the air. It came from the other side of the clearing. One of the wizards was lying slumped against a tree. A human male with short brown hair and a trimmed beard. The man was younger than his dead colleagues, and his red robes had barely any symbols on them. He clutched a small chest to his side with one hand while pointing at Yargol with his other. A small, flickering sphere of dark red magic floated at the tip of his finger.

“Stop…stay away, monster…” the man said with a hoarse voice. A crossbow bolt was sticking out of his left thigh, and he was bleeding from multiple minor wounds. Before Yargol could answer, the wizard’s spell fizzled out, and the sphere disappeared.

“What happened here?” Yargol asked after a moment of silence.

The wizard did not answer. Instead, he looked at his hand in disbelief.

Yargol took a step towards him.

“No! You will not take it!” the wizard yelled defiantly, trying to move away before grimacing and holding his leg. He clutched the wooden box as if the world depended on it.

“I’m not here to take anything, and I don’t want to hurt you,” Yargol said with what he hoped was a soothing tone. He knelt and laid his axe on the ground. “See?”

The wizard stared at him furiously.

“You do not deceive me, orc.” The last word was undoubtedly meant as an insult.

“Your kind has never done anything but rob and murder the people of this kingdom. Kill me and be done with it!” he spat and abandoned his attempts to get away.

Yargol ignored the verbal abuse and slowly approached the human, who clearly wanted to appear tough. There was fear in his eyes, but Yargol was used to that. Most humans looked at him like that when he came close. He had given up hope that this would change quite a while ago.

Despite the man’s weak protest, Yargol examined his leg wound. The bolt had missed any major arteries but was stuck deep inside the leg. The human flinched as Yargol moved to look at the rest of the injuries. Most of the other wounds he could see seemed superficial, but the man had lost a lot of blood.

“Been a while since I treated someone, but I’ll try to fix you up.”

He carefully lifted the wizard, grabbing him under his knees and around his back. The young man moaned in pain but still tried to keep up his defiant look. Even now, he held on to the box. Yargol could not help but wonder what it might contain, but there was no time for that right now. He started to hurry back to his cabin as fast as he could.

Chapter Text

The stranger passed out at some point during the walk back to Yargol’s cabin. He had put the man on the large wooden table in the centre of his room and stripped him down to make sure he did not overlook any wounds.

It had taken Yargol all night, but he managed to remove the crossbow bolt and treat the wound carefully. He had bandaged all the other cuts he found as well, which cost him a large portion of his herbs, but he deemed it necessary. His work was definitely not that of a skilled healer, but he was fairly confident that the wizard would at least survive the night.

Now, Yargol was sitting in a chair, exhausted, with his back turned to the crackling fireplace. The air around him was warm and full of the medicine he had used. Blood covered the table and the floor, but Yargol was too tired to clean it up now.

He was holding the wooden box the wizard cared so much about. It was a small, simple, rectangular chest without any decoration. Yargol did not dare to open it. It was likely magically sealed anyway, and messing with that could end badly. He placed it on another chair next to the table.

Yargol then stood up and carefully picked up the unconscious wizard, carrying him to his bed. He covered him with furs to keep him warm in case the fire went out during the night.

After sitting back down in his chair with a deep sigh, he contemplated if getting involved in all of this had really been a good idea. But it was too late now anyway. All he knew was that helping the human had felt good.

It was only now that Yargol took a closer look at the man. He was quite handsome for a human. Probably in his late twenties, like himself. However, human age was sometimes hard to guess. A jagged scar stretched from his left cheek across his throat and down to his collarbone. Yargol had quite a few scars himself, but none of them looked like this. He guessed it was an injury from a spell.

This was the first time Yargol had brought someone to his hut. After all these years, it was strange to be in the same room with someone else again. He kept watching the human’s rhythmic breath. Slowly, he drifted into sleep as the first rays of light brushed the tops of the trees around the cabin.

***

When Yargol woke, the sun was already beginning to sink below the trees again. He stood up to check on his patient, who was lying peacefully in his bed. The fire had gone out as he had expected, and it was slightly chilly in the room. As he stretched his sore muscles from sleeping in the chair, the human groaned quietly and slowly opened his eyes. He looked around in confusion. When he spotted Yargol, he immediately tried to sit up and yelped from the resulting pain.

“Stop that, you idiot. Lie back down, or all your wounds will open up again!” Yargol said while gently pushing the stranger back down as Orcishly as possible.

“You… where am I…?” he asked, panicked while eventually having to comply and lie back down.

“In my cabin. Don’t worry, you’re safe here.”

“The chest!” yelled the wizard suddenly, while trying to get up again.

“Is right here and also safe, now stay down,” Yargol commanded, pointing at the chair with the box on it while holding his guest down easily with the other hand.

“Safe?! With an orc? You only kept me alive because you cannot open it without my help!”

“I don’t care about the stupid box. I just wanted to help you!” Yargol argued while enduring the wizard’s meagre attempts to push him off. “I would have tried to save more people if any had survived.”

The wizard suddenly stopped his attempts to get out of bed and looked at him.

“No one else survived?” he asked.

“No, I think you were the only one who didn’t lose at least one limb in that fight.”

Suddenly, all the fire in the man’s voice was gone.

“Oh, I understand,” he said quietly while sinking back into the bed.

Yargol pulled his hand back and sat down in his chair again.

“I’m sorry,” Yargol said, hoping this was appropriate. Orcs usually pity neither the dead nor the bereaved. Falling in battle is the one thing many orcs hope for. At least, that is what Yargol was taught. It was just one of the many things he questioned about his people’s ways. Humans, however, had a different sentiment towards death, one that Yargol was not sure he fully understood.

After a few quiet moments, he asked, “So, what’s your name?”

The man did not respond and instead inspected his bandages. “Did you…do this?”

“Yeah, you took quite a beating out there,” Yargol said. He stood up again, startling the young wizard, who looked at him distrustfully. “What? Do you really think I would spend all night patching you up just to hurt you now?” he said with a mocking edge while walking over to his pantry, his every move cautiously monitored by his guest.

“I’m Yargol, by the way…” he shouted as he searched for some food in the small, unorganised side room.

“Azerius Freecaster,” the man said after a while.

Yargol came back with some smoked venison and then put a pot of water over the fire for some tea.

“A good name,” he said, offering some of the meat to Azerius, who took it and immediately started to scarf it down before freezing in the middle of chewing and glancing insecurely at the orc.

“Um…-ank -ou,” he murmured with a full mouth, averting his eyes before continuing to greedily chew on the dried meat.

Yargol could not help but laugh, startling the wizard with his loud, deep voice.

“You’re welcome. It’s nice to talk to someone again.”

Azerius swallowed and looked around the room. “I thought orcs lived in tribes…”

“Well, I don’t,” Yargol answered with a bitter undertone he could not have hidden even if he wanted to. “Where are you from?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

Azerius swallowed another bite and then seemingly contemplated whether this information could be used against him. “Midvalley,” he finally responded. “Not far south from here.”

“Ah, I’ve never been there, but sometimes merchants come through these woods when they travel there,” Yargol remarked, casually putting his feet up on the table while chewing on a bit of meat.

“I need to get there as soon as possible,” Azerius said with his eyes resting on the wooden box.

“What’s in there?” Yargol asked with open curiosity.

“It is…confidential,” Azerius said, and suddenly the weariness was back on his face again.

“Why did you save me?” he asked, clearly trying to shift the attention away from the box. “Most people would have probably grabbed as many valuables as they could and left me to die…”

“Most people are assholes. I treated you the way I wish a single human had ever treated me.”

Azerius stared at Yargol in amazement. “You are nothing like the orcs I have read about.”

“I will take that as a complim-”

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by someone banging their fist at the cabin door.

“Open up! We know you have the artefact!” a male voice shouted.

Chapter Text

Yargol hurried over to Azerius when the young wizard started to make painful-looking attempts to get out of bed.

“Friend of yours?” Yargol whispered.

Azerius just shook his head while visibly doing his best not to pass out from the exertion.

“C’mon, just give us the chest and we’ll leave you alone!” the stranger outside yelled impatiently.

“I don’t know what chest you’re looking for, but you got the wrong house!” Yargol shouted. He did not truly think this would make the guy leave, but it might buy him time.

“Shit, is that an orc?” a second man said quieter.

“Shut up,” the first one muttered back. “No point in lying! We have wizards with us who can tell you have the chest. We know orcs can’t resist stealing stuff, but it doesn’t belong to you, so give it back.”

There were at least two men, but Yargol guessed the wizards were a bluff. Probably surviving mercenaries who simply followed the tracks he left when he scrambled through the woods.

“Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be,” the man outside said smugly.

Yargol took his axe off the wall and decided he would show them exactly how difficult he could make this.

“Come in then. See what happens!” he snapped while readying himself in front of the door.

The man sighed. “Alright, I warned you…”

Yargol waited, every muscle in his body ready to cause bloodshed. The moments passed by as he stared at the door, but nothing happened. He could hear them walking around outside but they made no attempts to break in the door. Then he smelled the fire. They wanted to smoke him out.

After taking a step back, he glanced at Azerius, who was unsuccessfully attempting to prepare a spell.

“Stay inside,” he ordered, not waiting for a response.

Yargol heard steps near the door. There was only one way out of this, he decided and charged. The wooden door could do little to resist Yargol slamming into it with his shoulder, and it was ripped out of the doorframe with a loud cracking sound. The cool air of the early night washed over Yargol as he immediately spotted a young man to his left. He held a torch and wore the kind of grey armour all the dead mercenaries at the clearing had worn.

The door fell to the ground, and Yargol stepped on it to regain his balance. He used the momentum of this movement to swing his axe at the surprised man. His opponent screamed and tried to draw his sword in time to block, but Yargol’s attack was too fast. With a thud, the blade violently slammed into the side of the man’s neck, killing him instantly. Yargol had not slain a foe in a long time, and he could feel the rage inside of him boiling over. He quickly ripped the axe back out and looked for his second enemy.

He did not have to search for long as the other mercenary charged at him with his sword raised and screaming at the top of his lungs. Yargol barely had time to react but narrowly dodged the first swing. The second one, however, sliced through his shirt and caused a long and painful cut on his chest. He roared in anger and pain as he countered his enemy, who had overextended with his last strike.

Yargol knocked the sword out of his enemy’s hand with a swift hit and then brought the axe down with full strength. The man’s helmet broke under the sheer force of the attack, and the blade buried itself into the soldier’s skull. His opponent let out a grunt before sinking to the ground as Yargol pulled his axe back out.

He heard someone approach him from the side, but before he could turn to face the new enemy, his head suddenly felt like hundreds of tiny needles were jabbed into it.

Yargol fell to his knees. A low, green light illuminated his surroundings as a young woman stepped into his field of view. She had long black hair and wore an emerald-coloured tunic. Between her hands floated a sphere of green magic, and she whispered something under her breath while fixating him with her intense eyes.

Yargol’s hand moved without his consent, raising the axe up to his own throat. Panicked, he tried to resist, but immediately the pain in his head increased so drastically that he feared it would explode. The warm blood of the two men he had slain dripped onto him as the blade slowly started to apply pressure to his skin.

A short hissing sound was audible before the woman’s head suddenly jerked to the side. Her spell broke as she fell to the ground lifeless. Yargol collapsed and spent the next minute lying on his back with closed eyes, trying to catch his breath.

He opened his eyes again when he heard a hobbling sound approaching.

“Are you okay?” Azerius asked, kneeling down and leaning over the orc. Dropping the small wooden chest beside them.

“Fine,” Yargol managed to squeeze out. “Didn’t I tell you to stay inside?”

“Well, about that…” Azerius said while pointing at Yargol’s burning hut.

“Shit!” Yargol yelled and jumped up, ignoring the pain caused by the cut on his chest, and ran into the cabin.

***

It did not take long until nothing was left of the home Yargol had built himself in the woods. He only managed to grab a few things. His bag with a bit of food, money, and his leather armour as well as his coat, and Azerius’ bloodied robes.

Yargol stared at the smouldering pile of wood that was once his house. All gone. Not even the flowers and elderflower bushes near it had survived.

“That was…everything I had,” he said in a disbelieving tone.

Azerius put his hand on Yargol’s arm to get his attention.

“Sorry about your cabin, but can you help me get dressed? It’s a bit cold,” he said through clattering teeth.

Yargol was pulled out of his trance and turned towards Azerius. The human stood beside him, balancing on one leg, shivering and naked, while clutching his ruined robes to his chest. A truly pitiful sight.

After helping Azerius into his robes, Yargol also gave the wizard his own coat to warm him up. It was too big for the human, as Yargol was a head taller than him, but he could still use it. He did not have anything to treat the wound on his chest. It hurt like hell, but since it did not look like a deep wound, he just put on his old leather armour and hoped for the best.

“Thanks for helping me again. I know where the nearest village is, do not worry. I can get there on my own. I have caused you enough trouble,” Azerius said while testing out if he could put pressure on his injured leg.

He could not.

Yargol caught the wizard before he could fall and injure himself further. Without saying a word, he picked him up like he did the night before and started walking.

Chapter Text

The full moon shone through the branches of the trees as Yargol carried the wizard through the cold, dark woods. He guessed that he had carried Azerius for an hour now, and even his strength was reaching its limits.

The human had passed out again, but he was still breathing. Yargol checked regularly.

The cut on his chest still hurt like mad, and eventually, he had to stop. He found a spot between some trees and bushes which offered shelter from the cold wind. They would hide there in case more of the mercenaries were left and still searching for them. He carefully set Azerius’ limp body down.

Yargol considered for a moment. Lying too close to the human might freak him out again, but even with proper clothes, the cold was biting. He laid down behind Azerius and pulled his coat over both of them as a makeshift blanket, wrapping his arm around the wizard as he scooted closer.

Sleeping was out of the question for him. On the one hand, he had to stay alert in case they had more visitors. On the other hand, Yargol was simply too distraught about what happened to his home. There was no way he could rebuild in the few weeks before winter, and even if he somehow managed it, he would have no food or other supplies.

His only hope now was getting the wizard to his people in Midvalley and trusting that the human would keep his word. The mere thought of that made Yargol cringe. Spoken agreements meant little to most humans. He had learned that the hard way. Multiple times, actually.

Going south was a risky idea in general. Humans never liked him, but they were usually more opportunistic than ideological. They used him when they needed him and never chased him further than the border of their village if they wanted him gone.

Elves, on the other hand, absolutely hated his guts. He had only met a few of them once before he had settled in the woods when he dared to travel slightly south in search of work. He was soon chased back north and had to hide for almost a month. Apparently, the elves were still angry about the war they lost to his kind half a century ago.

Yargol was not sure why he had risked everything for this stranger. It was insane, really. After everything that humans had done to him over the years, he should have felt nothing when he saw the man suffering. Or maybe even something like malicious joy. Yet he did not, and Yargol was glad about it. He often felt bitter about the past, but at least it had not consumed him entirely, it seemed.

And as he lay on the ground, holding the frail, injured human close to warm him, he somehow knew he would do it all again.

At some point during the night, Azerius stirred. It took Yargol a moment to react as the seemingly disoriented man tried to wriggle out from under his arm.

“What are you…let go,” Azerius gasped as he struggled. His panicked voice was a stark contrast against the dark and quiet forest around them.

“Stop that. Be quiet,” Yargol growled, tightening his grip so they would not lose all the built-up warmth.

He must have sounded angrier than he had intended because even though the human obeyed and stopped moving, he could feel the man’s heart hammering.

“You passed out. Everything’s alright, just keeping you warm. Go back to sleep,” Yargol mumbled, hoping this would be somewhat reassuring.

For a while, they lay on the ground in silence, listening to the wind silently rustling through the treetops. The wizard did not fall asleep again immediately, but the exhaustion eventually seemed to overwhelm him.

Soon, Yargol wished he could rest his eyes a bit as well, but this would have to wait. It was almost morning anyway.

Shortly before sunrise, Yargol tried to pull his arm away from Azerius to get up, but the wizard now clung to it while remaining fast asleep.

“Hey, come on. Wake up,” Yargol said as he gently rocked the man.

Azerius obviously would have liked to sleep a little longer before realising where he was and who had just woken him. He immediately let go of Yargol’s arm.

“How’re you feeling?” Yargol asked while standing up to get ready to depart. He stretched his sore muscles and yawned.

“A bit better, I think. My leg still hurts a lot, though,” Azerius said, now wide awake.

“I’ll be honest. You had me a little worried when you passed out last night,” Yargol commented. He briefly inspected the wound on his chest. It did not seem infected.

Azerius stared at the ground before him. “Oh, yes. The aftershock of the spell caused that. I was not really in a good condition to use magic.”

“Well, thanks for doing it anyway,” Yargol said, knelt down before the wizard and looked the man directly in the eyes. “Okay, here’s the deal. I’ll get you to Midvalley safely, but in return, your people give me enough money to get through the winter. Can you promise that?”

Azerius was quiet for a moment. Yargol knew he was asking a lot. The guy was most likely a novice wizard or something and in no position to promise much, but he needed at least some reassurance.

“Don’t lie. I can tell,” Yargol added, which was ironic because it was a lie. Yargol had always been rather terrible at recognising when he was being lied to, especially by humans. And humans lied a lot, at least to him.

“I can guarantee that you will be compensated. However, I will make no promises regarding the amount.”

Yargol held the man’s gaze for a few more moments. The expressive blue eyes seemed to convey nothing but clear honesty. But the voice of experience shrieked clear warnings from the back of Yargol’s mind. Lies. As soon as they entered Midvalley’s gates, the wizard would ditch him. But there seemed no alternative. This was still his best shot.

He finally nodded. “Alright, then. There’s a river not far from here. I’ll have a closer look at your wounds there. We should reach the village by the early evening,” Yargol said while already lifting Azerius up.

“Careful, I was not ready yet…” Azerius protested, startled.

“We have to move,” Yargol said and began to march. He was still relatively familiar with this part of the woods, so not following the usual trails did not slow him down.

“Did you sleep well?” Azerius remarked at Yargol’s energetic mood.

“I didn’t sleep. Someone had to keep watch. Did you get some rest?” Yargol asked, looking down at the wizard whose face seemed to turn a bit red, which he found to be a strange reaction.

“The ground was uncomfortable, but at least I was not cold,” he said with a nervous smile. “Though that is not surprising, orcs have a higher average body temperature than humans,” he quickly added in a scholarly voice.

“Oh? I didn’t know that.” Yargol remarked, trying his best not to roll his eyes at getting schooled about his own body while injecting a semi-subtle dose of sarcasm into his words… which promptly went completely over the human’s head.

“There were reports of orcs in this area, so I informed myself accordingly through the books I found at the library.”

Yargol frowned. “As far as I know, there are no other orcs in these woods besides me. What else did your monster manuals tell you about me?”

“Most of them were old documents about the wars between our races, but all of them could agree on the fact that orcs are cannibals who love to torture or murder everyone and… have intercourse with everything that has a pulse.”

Yargol felt his anger flare up at that. But he swallowed it down like so many times before and instead clicked his tongue. “How insulting. Only one of those things is true.”

Azerius looked at him, shocked, clearly trying to figure out if he was serious.

But Yargol only chuckled. “I’m joking. None of this is true. Whoever wrote those books probably never even met an orc. Don’t believe everything you hear and read. People try to sell the weirdest ideas just to one-up each other.”

“You sound like my family when I left to study in the city,” Azerius said while adjusting his grip on Yargol’s shoulder.

“Are they no wizards?” Yargol asked, surprised. He had assumed that the man came from some wealthy wizard family.

“No, they are farmers just outside of Midvalley. When it became clear that I was capable of magic, they saved up money and sent me to the royal Citadel for wizards.”

“Sounds like you have a supportive family,” Yargol said with a hint of bitterness.

“Certainly…” Azerius responded in thought. “Though I think they would have preferred me to be non-magical.”

That was surprising to Yargol. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, it would have saved them a lot of money. Also, being a wizard means I don’t see them a lot, and since my younger brother moved to Midvalley a few years ago, they lack help on the farm.”

“I see,” Yargol said while carefully navigating down a hillside. He had not expected the guy to be so talkative all of a sudden, but he blamed it on nervousness. Azerius still shot him anxious looks here and there.

“They constantly try to set me up with the neighbour’s daughter, so I would have to settle near them in the countryside,” Azerius continued to complain.

Yargol looked down at the wizard sceptically. “You’re not in a relationship? I thought the girls and boys would throw themselves at you. You don’t look too bad for a human.”

That seemed to fluster the human quite a bit, and Yargol suppressed a smile.

“It is not about that. I want to be with someone I really like. I am going to spend my life with them, after all, and I just have not found that yet. They think choosing a partner is about how much money and land you gain from the union.”

Yargol suddenly felt stinging sympathy for the man. He certainly knew what kind of pressure family expectations could create. “I’m sure they’re just worried about you,” Yargol remarked, ducking a bit to avoid some low-hanging tree branches. “You’ll find someone eventually,” he added encouragingly.

After a short silence, Yargol said “I’m surprised you’re telling me so much about yourself. Two days ago, you called me a monster.”

“Uh… yeah, I hope you can forgive me for that. I am not going to lie, you still scare me, but you have done so much for me, so I might as well amuse you a bit with my personal details. What about you?” Azerius asked Yargol, who had dreaded the inevitable question.

Yargol sighed. “I haven’t had contact with my family in many years and don’t need a partner. I’m better off on my own,” he said and then, just to be sure, added, “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“I understand,” Azerius said, even though his curious look told Yargol that he would have liked to ask more questions.

“Can I ask you something about the night I found you?” Yargol asked to direct the conversation somewhere else.

“Of course,” said Azerius casually, but Yargol could feel the human tense up in his arms.

“All the other wizards that you travelled with were much older than you. Why?”

Azerius did not respond for a few moments.

“This was my first mission as a wizard outside of the city… I was only allowed to be part of it because I just graduated from the Citadel’s academy with top grades,” he said as he stared up into the treetops. “It was an important mission but at the same time supposed to be an easy one, perfect to gain a bit of experience and talk with the masters while travelling. No one thought it could all go so wrong…”

“You’ll finish this mission in the name of your fallen brothers. I’m sure they would be proud to see you carry on so bravely,” Yargol stated, trying to cheer the man up a bit. The words came out stilted, but Azerius did not seem to mind.

“Maybe,” he said and smiled. “My family will be glad to find out I did not die. The news about the attack will most likely reach them before I do. But maybe we could stop by on the way to Midvalley? Just so I can tell them that I am alright?”

Yargol preferred a direct route to Midvalley and was tempted to say no, but Azerius was giving him an anxious look that somehow twisted his words. “Sure thing. When you get to them, you can tell them all about what happened.”

“Yes, I can tell them how I tamed a wild orc and got him to carry me around,” Azerius teased and immediately looked up at Yargol, worried that he might have offended him.

Yargol laughed. “Tamed?! Maybe I’ve been going too soft on you,” he growled. “When we get to the river, I will throw you loudmouth into the fucking water,” he decided and grinned.

Azerius first seemed relieved that Yargol was not angry and then concerned again at the prospect of getting an involuntary bath in a freezing cold stream.

“I have another question. How did you kill that witch the other night?” Yargol continued. “Can you just make people drop dead whenever you want?”

“Oh, the… well, not exactly… I shot her with a sharpened bone,” Azerius explained as if that was a normal thing people sometimes do.

“You can make those?” Yargol asked, astonished. And slightly unnerved.

“I can, in fact, as a Physiomancer, create and manipulate all kinds of biological material,” Azerius explained with a bit of pride in his voice.

“Physi-what?” Yargol replied, confused. “I don’t know anything about magic.” That was not wholly true. Magical knowledge was kept fairly secretive among the tribe’s shamans. Still, he knew that light and blood played a big role. Yargol and his younger sister had managed to spy on a few lessons. Mainly because their mother told them specifically not to do that. Yargol quickly pushed the memory away again. Thinking about Vela still hurt even after so many years.

“Well, some individuals are born with distinct magic capabilities, which can be categorized into the seven known branches of magic: Epistemolism, Naturalism, Elementalism, Spectralism, Dimensionalism, Psychomanipulation and Physiomanipulation,” Azerius excitedly explained further. “There are supposed to be ten branches in total, but the last three have not been discovered yet.”

“Aha,” said Yargol, who was overwhelmed by the wave of information. This strict separation of branches never existed among his people. Magic was to Yargol’s knowledge always referred to as one power, an all-encompassing thing. Though it might have been categorised like this behind closed doors.

“A skilled Physiomancer can grow you a new arm if you were to ever lose one,” Azerius said and then admitted, “but I cannot do that as of yet. That takes decades of practice.”

“Wow,” said Yargol, fascinated. He had heard that magic could be used to heal, but not on such a level. “And what kind of magic did the woman use on me?” he asked while stepping carefully over some roots on the ground. The rushing of the river they wanted to get to was already audible, though it was not in sight yet.

“Psychomanipulation,” Azerius responded. “Wizards of this branch can manipulate people’s actions, memories, and dreams.”

Yargol was suddenly horrified. “Did she mess with my memories?”

“No, she could barely control your movements. You are fine,” Azerius reassured the orc.

He trusted the words of Azerius, but the mere thought that there were people out there who could do invasive things like that still made Yargol uneasy.

The sun had reached its zenith as they arrived at the river. A small stream that peacefully meandered through the woods. It was a warm day, probably one of the last for this year, Yargol guessed. He stepped out of the woods onto the gravel bank beside the river and gently let Azerius step down on his good leg.

“Now then, let’s have a look at your wounds, shall we?”

Yargol helped Azerius out of his robes, who then sat down on a large, flat rock by the water wearing only his underclothes. Azerius appeared a bit uncomfortable while the orc assessed his wounds, carefully removing the dressings.

“Everything okay? You seem a bit anxious,” Yargol asked while checking a cut on the man’s side.

“Forgive me, I am unaccustomed to getting fondled by an orc,” Azerius tried to joke – with about half the confidence needed to pull the sentence off.

“Trust me, getting fondled by an orc feels a lot different,” Yargol casually remarked while reapplying one of the bandages. Azerius seemed to have no response to that other than nervous laughter.

During the check-up, Yargol got a better look at the scar that stretched diagonally across Azerius’ throat. It was certainly left by a spell, and the wound that caused it must have been deep. Yargol did not dare to ask Azerius about it. Most humans were ashamed of their scars, though he did not understand why. He was proud of his. Each told a story about him.

Yargol was relieved to see that all the wounds were healing exceptionally well. Maybe a bit too well.

“I would love to claim that your injuries heal this fast because of my care, but…”

“Physiomancers regenerate a bit faster,” Azerius explained. “In return, it takes a lot of energy in a short amount of time.”

“That’s handy. Well, most of the smaller cuts have almost healed up. I guess your leg will need a bit more time, tough.”

Yargol would have changed the bandages, but he had none in his bag. He would try to find clean ones in the village if he could.

“Done,” he said, satisfied with his amateur medical work.

“Thank you,” Azerius said and proceeded to dip one of his feet into the cold river water, pulling it back immediately.

“You’re welcome as always.” Yargol stood up and began to remove his leather armour. He also took off the shirt he wore underneath, causing the wizard’s eyes to widen.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he remarked about the long cut across his chest. Luckily, it had already started to heal a bit, even though Yargol had moved a lot since he got it.

He began to undo his belt, causing Azerius to turn away. “The water is freezing. Do you really want to go in?”

“Yes, and you should too, or the tavern won’t give us a room when they can smell you an hour before we even get there,” he mocked, throwing his clothes to the side.

Yargol waded into the water. It was indeed cold but not unbearable. The river was not very deep, the water only reached up to his hips. Washing all the dirt, blood, and sweat off his body and out of his hair felt divine. After that, he also cleaned the wound on his chest as best he could, to make sure it would continue to heal well.

When he was done, Yargol caught Azerius staring at him from the shore. The wizard immediately acted as if he had been washing his face all along by overenthusiastically splashing water onto his face while Yargol was coming back to the gravel bank.

“I’m gonna dry in the sun for a short while. Tell me when you’re finished, and I’ll help you get dressed,” he said while walking past Azerius.

“Mhm,” mumbled the wizard, who kept demonstratively washing his face to prove how indifferent he was to the presence of the naked orc.

Yargol went over to the stone Azerius had sat on before and laid down on the rock’s pleasantly sun-warmed surface. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes as he felt his exhausted muscles relax, and let his skin soak up the sunlight. He had come here many times during the summers he spent in the woods, but he never got tired of it.

Sadly, he was not able to relax for long.

Yargol felt the hair on his neck stand on end. Someone was watching them. He opened his eyes and lifted his head.

Azerius had removed his underclothes and was washing himself in the shallow water before noticing Yargol.

“Stop looking! Not everyone is an exhibitionist like you!” The wizard complained and covered himself.

Yargol put a finger to his lips. He looked around. The woods surrounding them were empty. The only sound was the babbling of the stream. But instead of being reassured, the feeling intensified. Every instinct told him something was not right.

He got up and moved to get his axe while keeping his eyes on the woods. Just as he picked up the weapon, the feeling went away as quickly as it had come over him.

Azerius kept sitting on the shore, his eyes wide with worry.

“Mercenaries?” he whispered while trying to get dressed without falling over.

Yargol moved to help the man but hesitated a few more moments before he answered. “No, but I think we should still go. Now. The sooner we reach a tavern, the better.”

Chapter Text

The sun was just sinking below the horizon when they reached the small village. If it could even be called that. The settlement consisted of only a few small farms and a sizable tavern with a stable. Yargol approached the building, his arms sore from carrying Azerius all day, and he was desperate for food and drink. And a bed. He really needed some sleep.

“Wait, let me-” Azerius began, but Yargol was already kicking the door open and walked through the entrance of the house. The air inside was warm and smelled of meaty stew. Upon their entry, the room turned silent. About a dozen humans turned their heads and looked at the orc carrying a highly embarrassed human wizard dressed in bloodied robes. Some half-heartedly laid hands on their weapons but seemed unsure what to make of the situation.

“Let me down…” Azerius whispered and attempted to struggle out of Yargol’s arms.

“Okay, okay.” Yargol complied.

Azerius limped to the nearest empty table. Yargol sat down opposite him while being closely eyed by everyone in the room.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, signalling the barmaid that they wanted to order.

“That was awkward,” the wizard said in an irritated tone. “And now we attracted even more attention.”

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you...” Yargol apologised. “Didn’t think about how that would look.”

Azerius glanced around the room. “It should be fine. I am just nervous that we will get attacked again.”

The barmaid, a chubby middle-aged woman, came up to their table.

“What can I getcha, wizard?” she asked Azerius, ignoring Yargol.

“Some of your stew, beer, and a room for the night would be great,” Azerius answered and smiled.

“All right, anything for your orc?” she asked without looking at Yargol.

“I’ll take the same,” Yargol answered with a cold voice, repressing his anger about the implied insult as best he could.

She looked mildly surprised at the orc and then back at Azerius. “You have him under control, right? With a spell or something?” she said as she gestured vaguely at Yargol.

“He is not my subordinate,” Azerius explained, irritated. “And we are not here to cause any trouble.”

“If you say so, but I want the money for everything upfront, two Silver each,” she demanded, side-eying Yargol cautiously.

Yargol slammed the four coins on the table. “There. Now bring us the food, wench.”

The barmaid seemed shocked that the orc was paying but took the coins nonetheless, scowled at them, and left.

Yargol was furious. But he kept his voice low. “This is why I moved to the woods. Nothing’s changed around here.”

Azerius immediately jumped at that. “You lived among humans before?”

For a moment, Yargol felt his anxiety spike. His days among humans had not exactly been glorious. But Azerius’ eyes were full of a kind of curiosity that Yargol felt oddly eager to satisfy. It could not hurt to tell him a little bit.

“I tried. Was a mercenary for a while. Didn’t work out for long, though. Most people didn’t trust me, so I was usually only hired as a last resort.”

“And how long have you lived in the woods?”

“I don’t remember exactly, maybe six or seven years,” Yargol said as he leaned back.

Azerius nodded. “Thank you for paying, by the way. I swear you will get the money back.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, seriously, I will make sure the Citadel compensates you generously.”

The maid returned before Yargol could respond. She put two steaming bowls of stew and two foaming mugs of beer on their table. She also gave Azerius a key and put some coins down before Yargol.

“Sorry, only have one free room left. I suppose one of you will have to sleep outside,” she said nonchalantly, as if she did not care which of the two guests would stay in the house.

Yargol felt his anger swell up again. Hotter this time. He was sure half of the tavern’s rooms were empty. He was about to stand up, but Azerius reacted faster.

He looked up at the woman and smiled. “That is no problem, we will share the room. Thank you very much for everything.”

The barmaid apparently did not anticipate this answer. “Share a room… with an…” she stuttered, then simply shook her head and left.

Azerius grabbed his beer and mumbled. “Stupid cow.”

Yargol grinned. “No need to be so vulgar,” he teased as he picked up his bowl of stew. When he set it down again, it was empty, and Azerius looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Watching you eat is vulgar,” the wizard retorted as he started to eat his food with a wooden spoon.

“Hey, carrying you all day got me hungry,” Yargol defended himself. He put his feet up on the table and grabbed his beer. “And I don’t want to stay down here too long.” So far, none of the other guests had dared to approach them, but Yargol did not want to push his luck.

“Agreed,” Azerius answered, glancing around the room nervously.

After they were finished, the two men proceeded to escape the suspicious looks and angry glare of the barmaid.

Their room was on the first floor of the two-storey building. It was not a particularly big or nice room, but at least it was warm.

Yargol put his bag on the table by the window. By now, the sun had set, leaving only an orange glow on the horizon.

He looked over to the modest bed. “You can take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Azerius shook his head. “Nonsense, you carried me all day, so you get the bed.”

“I’m not discussing this. You’re injured. Take the bed,” Yargol ordered, already in the process of lying down on the wooden floor, too tired for any kind of argument.

“My leg is much better. You are sleep-deprived and exhausted,” Azerius said and moved to lie down beside the bed as well.

Yargol sighed. He thought about simply picking Azerius up and forcing him to sleep in the bed, but his sore muscles protested at the mere idea of getting up again. He closed his eyes and kept his mouth shut.

Soon, the sun had disappeared completely, and Yargol waited for Azerius to cave in, but the human was stubborn.

“So, we’re really doing this, huh?” Yargol mumbled. He had wanted to sound irritated, but apparently, he was too tired even for that.

“What do you mean?” Azerius said as he shifted for the fifth time into a new, likely equally uncomfortable position.

“Sleeping on the ground when the bed is right there?”

Azerius shifted again. “As I said, you can take it.”

“You know I could just pick you up and strap you to the bed if I wanted to,” Yargol attempted to threaten, but Azerius seemed frustratingly unimpressed.

“I do not think you will force me to do anything. You seem too nice for that.”

Momentarily stunned by the compliment, Yargol needed a bit too long to convincingly retort. “You’re way too comfortable around me already. Maybe I should’ve eaten you after all.”

He heard Azerius snort, amused. “Just go to sleep.”

“Fine, but I don’t want to hear any complaints tomorrow if your back is killing you.”

Azerius just mumbled something unintelligible, already drifting off to sleep, and Yargol decided to drop it.

Despite the exhaustion, he stayed awake for a little longer. He felt strange. Not necessarily in a bad way. But strange. It took him a bit until he understood why.

***

Yargol was walking along a familiar path through woods on some warm summer night. When he reached a clearing, Azerius’ small wooden box was lying in the middle of it. He frowned. This was not why he had come here.

He blinked, and the box was replaced with another orc. Tall, strong and naked. What was his name? Tertok? Atarak? Something like that. Not that it mattered. Their names were not the reason why they met here in the dark.

Yargol felt rough hands on his body. Warm lips against his own. A rush of excitement unlike anything else. He leaned into it. Part of him wished someone would catch them. At this point, his inclinations were an open secret anyway. But still just deniable enough so his parents could pretend it was not true.

He pulled the other man closer, soaked up the warmth and let it comfort him. Just a little bit. Just for a moment.

“Yargol…” Atarak, or whatever his name was, mumbled. He barely registered the voice.

“Yargol!” his lover now yelled, and Yargol opened his eyes.

***

It was still dark, and Yargol was still holding someone, but it was certainly no orc.

Azerius stared at him, wide-eyed and tense as a bowstring.

As soon as Yargol realised what was happening, he let go and quickly sat up, putting some distance between them.

“I… I didn’t… I’m… uh fuck, I’ll leave.” He quickly got up and snatched his coat.

Azerius stared at him. “Wait, where are you going?”

But Yargol was already through the door.

He stepped out of the tavern into the cold autumn night and stopped for a moment before he went over to the stable. Luckily, the door was unlocked since there were currently no horses inside.

Yargol lay down in a pile of hay and buried his face in his hands. A sigh deeply infused with frustration escaped his throat. He could not remember the last time he was this angry with himself. How could he let something like this happen? Now of all times.

With how well things had been going so far, Yargol had allowed himself the faint hope that he could actually earn the human’s trust. Maybe even befriend him. He was sure that this was out of the question now.

He lay in the cold darkness, trying to decide what he would do in the morning. Apologizing was not one of his strengths, and Azerius probably felt unsafe around him now. He thought about simply leaving, but that felt even more wrong. He had promised to get Azerius to Midvalley.

Yargol was kept awake by his loathing for a few more hours, the dream lingering in the back of his head, but eventually, he fell into a restless sleep.

***

Yargol woke up abruptly. It took him a moment to realise where he was. Outside the stable, he could hear the villagers going about their daily business.

He felt as horrible as he had slept despite being spared any more dreams. The memories of last night rushed back into his mind as he got up, and he cringed. But after taking a deep breath, he forced himself to leave the stable.

It was still early in the morning and the sun was just coming up. A light fog hung over the fields around the village, and Yargol inhaled the cool air, letting it clear his mind a bit.

There was a small market in front of the tavern, and Yargol decided to take a look around despite the very distrustful stares he got. When he left his tribe, he learned quickly that most traders became friendly once it was clear that he had the coin to pay for their goods.

He managed to get some dried meat, bread, and cheese, as well as a few clean bandages and a simple grey tunic for Azerius. Most of the money Yargol had left was from his time as a mercenary since he usually only bought what he absolutely needed to survive. It would be enough to see them to Midvalley, but if Azerius turned out to be a liar or the Citadel refused to help, he would need to find work quickly to get through the winter. Yargol felt the anxiety of that thought sitting deep and uncomfortably in his stomach.

After wasting a bit more time strolling around the market, he went back inside the tavern. He stopped in front of their room, nervously rubbing his thumb against one of his tusks. He still was not sure what he wanted to say.

Before he could panic and run, he heard Azerius’ muffled voice through the door. “I can hear you. Just come inside.”

Yargol reluctantly opened the door and peeked into the room. “Hey…”

“Good morning,” Azerius greeted, sitting in a chair by the window dressed only in his underwear.

Yargol searched for mistrust or anger in the man’s voice or look. But he found none. Still unsure, he entered the room and put the stuff he bought on the table before handing Azerius the tunic. “Here, no idea if it will fit you,” he mumbled and did his best to avert his eyes from Azerius’ near-naked form.

“Oh, thank you,” Azerius said, surprised, taking the tunic and inspecting it.

Yargol swallowed. “Listen, I’m sorry about yesterday. It was a dream. I didn’t mean for that to-”

“I believe you,” Azerius interrupted, looking up at him. “No hard feelings. I was just a bit… staggered.”

Yargol still was not entirely convinced. “Are you sure? I can pay someone else to take you to Midvalley if you want.”

“No, that is not necessary. I think we should keep travelling together.”

“Okay, glad to hear it.” Yargol could not hide a smile. He had not expected this to go so smoothly, but he certainly was not complaining. “How is your leg?”

“A lot better. I just had a look at the wound. By tomorrow, I should be able to walk on my own again. I think your medical work really helped.”

“Good,” Yargol said and then nodded at the bandages on the table. “Speaking of which. The dressings should be changed. Would you mind if I do it now?”

“No, not at all. Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Yargol knelt down before Azerius and got to work. The injury was healing remarkably well. He made sure to work fast, though. Just in case his touch was making Azerius uncomfortable in any way.

After that, they ate their modest breakfast. For a while, they sat in silence before Azerius suddenly spoke up. “This might be a strange question, but do you still speak Orcish?”

Yargol looked at him, astonished. “I haven’t used it much in the last few years since no one else around here knows it, but yeah, I still speak it.”

“Could you… teach me?” Azerius asked, looking at Yargol curiously.

“Teach? I mean, I could try, but why would you want to learn it? I thought you didn’t know any other orcs.”

“That is true, but practically all written records of your language at the Citadel were destroyed decades ago, so I thought maybe you could help me add some,” he explained. “That way, you could perhaps stay at the Citadel for a while, at least as long as you do not have another place to stay. I still owe you a house, after all.”

“Oh, are you sure they would let me stay there?” Yargol asked sceptically. The Citadel was, after all, a military facility. And one full of elves at that.

“Not everyone will be happy about it. But I think I can convince them,” Azerius claimed while cutting a piece off the cheese.

Yargol remained doubtful. Still, he was tempted. “All right, but Orcish isn’t exactly easy for a human to learn, and I’m no teacher.”

“I already speak four languages, so I am familiar with the learning process.”

“Wow, four? Took me forever just to learn the common tongue.” He thought back to the time when he had to communicate mainly by gesticulating and frustrated shouting.

“I have a friend at the Citadel who speaks thirty-two languages.”

Yargol frowned. “Nobody can remember that much.”

“Epistomancers can. She can learn a book’s contents in an instant only by touching it.”

Yargol shook his head. Clearly, there was much he did not know yet. Or the guy was lying, after all. However, he had heard rumours once about a shaman from a different tribe who could also remember and learn almost everything.

“Since there are no books of your language and no orcs at the Citadel, not even she speaks Orcish. I am sure she would be excited to meet you,” Azerius said as he grabbed some more bread. “Maybe you could start by teaching me the alphabet and phonetics as well as a few words and write them down so eventually, we will have a dictionary?”

Yargol looked a bit uncomfortable. “Uh, sure, but you would have to do the writing.”

Azerius seemed a bit embarrassed. “Of course…” he said before seemingly having an idea. “Or I could teach you how to write in the common tongue? In return, you teach me Orcish.”

Yargol smiled. “Sounds fair.” Sure, being able to read and write might come in handy, but more importantly it also meant that his outlook for the winter could be more secure. He also did not mind spending even more time with the human but convinced himself that this was secondary.

They finished eating while Yargol taught Azerius some basic words by describing the things on the table and in the room. Azerius’ pronunciation was abysmal, but Orcish was a difficult language, after all. Since they had no paper, the dictionary would have to wait.

When they left the tavern, it was still quite early in the morning. Azerius limped but refused to be carried again.

Just when they got ready to leave the village, Yargol spotted an elderly man in washed-out white robes struggling to load a small barrel of beer onto a wagon pulled by an ox.

“Do you need help?” he said, stopping a few metres away to appear a bit less threatening.

The old man turned around and was slightly startled by an orc suddenly standing before him.

“Oh… well, I suppose I do,” the elderly man then responded friendly. Yargol noticed that the man did not seem to be unnerved by him like most other humans. There was no disdain in his look or voice.

Yargol proceeded to easily lift the barrel onto the wagon. “Where are you headed?”

“To my farm a bit further south,” the old man answered. “Why?”

“I’m Yargol. My friend Azerius over there is injured, and we need to get to Midvalley. Can you give us a ride for a while?”

The old man looked over at Azerius who was currently limping over to them.

“I’ll pay you,” Yargol added after he did not get an immediate response.

“No need,” the old man responded. “Hop on,” he said as he climbed on the wagon and took the reins.

Yargol helped Azerius onto the wagon before following, trying to find space in between the various small containers and crates.

“Thank you so much for giving us a ride, master,” Azerius said as he tried to make himself comfortable. “Are you the Epistomancer for this region?”

Yargol raised an eyebrow. The old guy had seemed like a simple farmer to him, but now that he had a closer look at the robes, it made sense.

The man smiled. “Correct, I’m Randal Bekker. There is no need to call me by any titles, though. What’s a young student like yourself doing around here with an orc? You’re not skipping class, are you?”

Azerius seemed aghast at the mere suggestion. “Absolutely not. I am on the way back from a mission, though I would prefer it if you kept this between us.”

“Sure, no problem. I trust the Citadel has its reasons. What happened to your leg, though? Do you need any help?”

“We got into a fight with some bandits. It is already healing, but I still cannot put too much pressure on it.”

Yargol side-eyed Azerius. While that was the truth, he would have opted for a lie. They might have shaken the mercenaries off for now, but there was no guarantee that it would stay this way. They did not know this man.

“Mhm, I know what that’s like. I’ve had my fair share of injuries throughout my life,” Randal murmured before curiously looking at Yargol. “I haven’t seen much of your kind around here since the war. Are you sure going that far south is a good idea?”

“Yargol is part of my mission now and therefore has a legitimate reason to travel with me. We will be fine,” Azerius answered before Yargol could open his mouth.

While Yargol appreciated the confidence, he was not entirely convinced everyone would see it that way, and Randal seemed to share this sentiment.

“If you say so. Be careful, though. Anyway, it’s good to see our races are starting to get along again. It’s about time,” he remarked but still gave Yargol a measuring look.

“Did you study at the Citadel as well?” Yargol asked, hoping to intercept any arising personal questions regarding him.

Luckily, Randal immediately picked up on that. “Oh, yes. That’s where I met my wife. She’s a Naturalist, so I tell the farmers when to sow what, and she makes sure everything grows and thrives. That’s how we’ve done it for decades now.”

They steadily travelled through the countryside while Randal told them slightly exaggerated stories from his life. The fields around them were mostly deserted since the harvest season was almost over.

Yargol only listened to the farmer with one ear. He could not stop thinking about the dream he had last night. The feeling of it still haunted him. It brought back so much of what he had suppressed over the years. He did not want to think about any of it, but as he watched the grey clouds above, or some lone bird hopping on the side of the road, ultimately, his mind always drifted back.

They reached the old man’s small farm by late afternoon. The next tavern would be another few hours away, but the old man luckily offered them his small barn as quarters. They gratefully accepted and settled in for the night.

The inside was only dimly lit by a hint of moonlight shining through cracks and gaps in the wooden roof. It was enough for Yargol to see, but Azerius was nearly blind.

“How are you so good with people?” Azerius asked while he tried to make a provisional bed out of hay as neatly as possible.

“What do you mean?” Yargol asked as he simply let himself fall into a nearby pile which he deemed big enough to be his bed.

“You say you have lived in isolation for years, yet you have no trouble approaching people.”

“Remember, I tried to get along with humans for a while, and I sometimes traded with travellers coming through the woods, so I had to learn how to walk up and talk to people in a way that doesn’t scare them away. In the end, I just try to be nice to everyone. That’s all.”

Azerius gave up his attempts to form a bed and laid down in a bale of hay beside him. It was quite cold, and he could tell that Azerius was shivering, so he offered his coat as a blanket again. He then pretended not to look while the wizard wrapped himself into the fur until only his head was poking out. Humans could be so strangely endearing.

Yargol made sure there was enough space between them. He was still ashamed about the night before, even though Azerius had said it was fine. It did not feel fine to him. And he would not allow anything like this to happen again.

“Yargol? I know this is none of my business, but… why did you try to join human civilization in the first place?” Azerius asked as he tried to make himself comfortable in the hay.

Yargol hesitated for a moment. “I was unhappy with the life I had at my tribe, so I left. I thought maybe I could join a human settlement, but none allowed me to stay for long. So, I went to the woods. That’s it.”

He was hoping Azerius would not ask for details. Luckily for him, the human seemed somewhat content with this answer.

“I understand,” Azerius said and yawned. “That must have been hard. Have you ever thought about going back?”

“In the beginning, yes, many times. It wasn’t easy, but I don’t regret leaving. I learned to be on my own. I like my independence.” Not all of that was entirely true, but Yargol did not feel like getting into it any deeper. “How long do you think it’ll take us to reach your home from here?”

“A few days, perhaps. I am not an experienced traveller, so I can only guess,” Azerius admitted. “I cannot wait to see them again.”

Yargol smiled. “And I’m sure they will be happy to see you too. I will wait somewhere near your farm, and then we can meet up again the next day.”

“Absolutely not, you can stay the night at my parents’ house. We have a guest room.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to make your family nervous or anything.”

“You saved my life twice. They will be glad to meet you,” Azerius said and smiled.

“If you say so,” Yargol said but let out a nervous sigh as he laid down and hoped Azerius was a good talker. Otherwise, his chances of surviving this journey without getting run through with a pitchfork were slim.

Yargol calmed himself by teaching Azerius a few more simple words of Orcish before the wizard slowly dozed off. As he drifted into sleep as well, he had the uneasy premonition that he would dream again.

Chapter Text

Yargol stood in the ritual chamber of his tribe. His vision was blurry, but he could see that there were many people standing around him in a large circle.

In the middle of the room stood a female orc holding a burning torch, and behind her were seven additional torches. He felt as if he was in a trance, but he still recognised the woman.

“Mother?” he asked, confused as he stepped closer, and his vision cleared.

“Yargol,” Okna said, her voice sad and melancholic. She looked exactly the way Yargol remembered her. Strong, strict, and confident, but her expression had a certain kindness to it. The perfect leader for a tribe. She wore her armour and traditional warpaint.

In her right hand, she was holding Azerius’ wooden box.

“What is this?” Yargol stammered and looked around. He saw more members of his family. His father, as well as his two siblings and a few cousins. None of them looked directly at him or spoke.

Okna offered Yargol a burning torch. “Light the eighth torch and free me,” she demanded.

Yargol looked over to the row of torches. There were three additional ones which were not yet lit. Despite his confusion, he obliged, walked towards her, took the torch, and ignited the next one in line behind her.

“What’s in the box?” he asked as he turned back around.

“What you were always meant to be,” she said as she offered the chest to him.

He tried to take it, but she did not let go. Okna looked at him, and Yargol realised that those were not his mother’s eyes.

***

The barn was still dark when Yargol woke, breathing heavily. Outside, crickets chirped peacefully into the night.

Azerius, who seemingly had been woken up by him, sat up too and rubbed his face.

“Is something wrong? Are we getting attacked?” he asked, slightly panicked and confused.

Yargol wiped off the cold sweat from his forehead and took a deep breath. “Just had a weird dream. Go back to sleep.” He stood up and grabbed his waterskin with trembling hands. While he was gulping down the water, Azerius also got up and came over to him.

“Hey, you are shaking,” Azerius commented, concerned.

“It’s nothing,” Yargol dismissed and put the waterskin back before he returned to his pile of hay.

Undeterred, Azerius sat down beside him. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked and, after a moment’s hesitation, put his hand on Yargol’s shoulder.

At first, Yargol instinctively wanted to push it away but then decided to allow it. Strangely, the touch calmed his agitated heartbeat a bit. He took another deep breath and shook his head. “What? About a stupid dream?” He tried to laugh. “I’m fine.”

Azerius did not look like he believed him.

Yargol finally gave up the charade. “I guess the last few days were a bit much for me. You know, the fighting and losing my home and all that shit. But I have been through worse, so don’t worry about me. Focus on finishing your mission.”

“I see,” Azerius said and nodded thoughtfully before suddenly leaning in for a hug.

Yargol did not know how to react for a second but then returned the gesture. He carefully held Azerius as the human’s hand gently rubbed his back. An almost forgotten, deep-rooted feeling stirred inside him.

“I have no idea what happened to you in the past, Yargol, but I am sure you did not deserve it,” Azerius spoke softly into the collar of Yargol’s shirt.

“Oh,” Yargol breathed out surprised. “Uhm, thanks.”

His chest felt tight, and he had to swallow. This behaviour completely confused him. Humans did not act this way around him. Not even the ones that secretly wanted something. But even if this were a very strange attempt at manipulation, Yargol was tempted to ignore it just to prolong the hug.

Only now did Yargol notice that the man was shivering despite the coat. “Are you cold?”

Azerius flinched. “Maybe a little bit? But I can stop anytime if you are uncomfortable.”

Yargol smiled and pulled the man closer as he laid back down in the hay. “I didn’t think you’d be so relaxed around me after last night…”

“I told you it is no big deal. Not how I imagined my first kiss bu-”

“Wait. What?!” Yargol gasped and sat back up, looking at Azerius in horror. “That was your first kiss? Me kissing you in my sleep was your first kiss?”

Azerius had shrunken away from him. Even in the dim moonlight, Yargol could tell the human’s face was reddening. “Yes.”

“Aren’t you in your late twenties or something?”

Azerius reddened further. “Yes.”

Yargol groaned and rubbed his temples.

“Sorry,” Azerius mumbled.

Yargol was about to lose it. He threw his arms up in frustration. “Don’t apologise! I forced myself onto you and took your first kiss. You should hate me. I would hate me.”

Silence stretched between them for a few long moments. “But I don’t,” Azerius finally said with slightly recovered confidence.

Yargol deflated with a sigh and fell back into the hay. He closed his eyes. This would be another restless night. There was no way the turmoil of emotions in his stomach would allow him to sleep now.

“Do you think it is weird? That I am twenty-eight and still have not… you know,” Azerius asked, his words practically dripping with insecurity.

Yargol kept his eyes closed and thought for a moment. “You told me you wanted to wait for the right girl. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Right, except…” Azerius began but then stopped.

Yargol cracked an eye open. Azerius was nervously picking at a stalk of hay. “Except? Guys instead?”

Azerius looked at him, shocked, mouth open, a surge of panic in his eyes.

Yargol wanted to hit himself. When would he learn to just keep his mouth shut? He cleared his throat and attempted a grin. “I’m just messing with you.”

“Ah,” Azerius said and smiled, but it was clear to Yargol that he had not been very successful in preventing the ensuing awkwardness.

“Is it that obvious?” Azerius eventually asked, glancing at Yargol, who promptly had to act like he had not been staring at the wizard for half a minute.

Yargol shrugged. “I wouldn’t say obvious. Until you told me that I was your first kiss, I didn’t really suspect much. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I know what it’s like.”

“Wait, so you are…?” Azerius said and gestured vaguely in a way that caused Yargol to roll his eyes.

“Gay? Yes. It’s why I left my tribe. For the most part, at least,” Yargol admitted. He had not planned on sharing this many personal details with Azerius, but something inside of him wanted to desperately believe that this was safe.

“Really? So, I take it orcs are not very accepting in this regard either?”

“It was more of a problem for some than for others,” Yargol sighed. Unwelcome memories of his father and older brother surfaced. The thoughts were dispersed when Azerius moved closer again. He let the man lay down at his side, wrapping an arm around him.

“Yargol?” Azerius asked after a little while, just as Yargol was drifting into sleep again.

“Hm?” he grunted without opening his eyes, waiting. The guy was once again taking his sweet time to speak.

“Aside from the whole being asleep and dreaming part, did you mind kissing me?”

Yargol felt his heart starting to beat faster again and failed to suppress a small laugh. “What kind of question is that?”

Azerius let his head fall back onto Yargol’s chest. “A stupid one. Please, forget that I asked.”

This was stupid. Yargol knew it was. He should ignore these advances and get some sleep. It would not end well for either of them. Things like this never did. And yet, he could not remember the last time he wanted something so badly. “Do you want me to do it again?” he heard himself asking.

“Yes,” Azerius’ answer came, a bit too fast to appear dignified. “I mean, if you want to. I would not object.”

Azerius looked up at him again, and Yargol stared into the human’s eyes, their faces close enough to feel the other’s breath.

Yargol could not stand the tension any longer and decided to just go for it. He closed the rest of the distance between them until he felt soft human lips pressing on his own. It was meant to be a short kiss to test the waters, but Azerius returned the kiss and clung onto Yargol who ended up grabbing the man by the back of his head, leaning in more.

After a few seconds, they separated and looked at each other. Azerius smiled awkwardly before Yargol pulled him in again. He was careful when moving his head so he would not cause any harm with his tusks.

It was incredible. How Yargol had imagined that he could give any of this up was beyond him. The soothing warmth. The way Azerius ran a hand over his chest. The rush of adrenaline. He wanted this. And more. To shed the loneliness which he had reluctantly accepted years ago.

But eventually, Azerius pulled away, and Yargol let him.

“We should probably get at least a little bit of sleep,” Azerius suggested, and Yargol knew he was right. Tomorrow would be another long day of travelling. Still, he felt a small pang of disappointment. After loosening his grip, Azerius slid a bit further down, resting his head on Yargol’s broad chest again.

After only a few minutes, he could hear Azerius snoring silently. Yargol was too worked up for sleep now. When he watched Azerius sleep peacefully in his arms, he felt so happy. This was more than he had hoped for, and he wished they could just stay like this forever.

However, soon, his happiness was replaced by a sad realisation. This was not the first time he had felt this way, and he already knew how this was going to end. Azerius would ask him to keep this a secret. Maybe they would see each other for a while and have some fun, but eventually, Azerius would cave in to the demands of his parents and settle for a woman. A wife he could kiss in public, someone his family would accept and who he could start a family with. Someone who could offer him a future. And Yargol would be alone again.

Staying with him meant Azerius would have to give up almost everything he currently had in his life, and Yargol did not want that. He wanted Azerius to be happy, but the mere thought of letting the human go was already painful to him. Yargol knew the longer he waited, the more it would hurt later.

He remained awake until the morning, watching as Azerius slept and occasionally murmured something incomprehensible.

When the first sunrays started to seep into the old wooden barn, Yargol decided it was time to get up. He would bring Azerius safely back to his family and then move on.

Chapter Text

When they left Randal’s barn early in the morning, the old wizard was already out in the fields again. Yargol managed to convince their host to accept at least a few copper coins for helping them before wishing him farewell.

A thin layer of clouds was covering the sky, and occasionally, a breeze blew over them, giving Yargol an unwelcome taste of what would most likely be a cold winter.

Azerius was finally able to walk on his own again, and Yargol’s sore arms were very thankful for that. He wanted to talk about last night but did not know where to begin. Luckily for him, Azerius seemed to have thought similarly.

“So, about last night. I really liked… you know… what we did.”

“I think we both did,” Yargol responded, only glancing briefly at Azerius. He took a breath. “But maybe we should leave it at the one time.”

Azerius looked like he had just been punched in the face. “Oh, all right. May I ask why?”

“I’m just not looking for something casual. Sorry,” Yargol tried to explain.

“How do you know I do not want something serious?” Azerius asked, looking defiantly at Yargol.

Yargol turned his head and raised an eyebrow. “You would tell your parents and the people at the Citadel that I’m your lover?”

Azerius went silent and looked at the road ahead for a few moments. “Well… we could keep it a secret, at least for now. Until I tell them?”

Yargol grimaced. He had known that Azerius would suggest this eventually, but that did not take the sting out of it. “No, I’m not a dirty secret,” Yargol said bitterly, turning his eyes back on the road again. “I’m done with hiding. It’s all or nothing, so nothing is probably the better option for both of us here.”

“Understood,” Azerius’ voice sounded neutral, but he was clearly hurt.

“I wouldn’t mind having a friend, though,” Yargol tried to offer and immediately hated how desperate that had sounded.

But Azerius smiled, and Yargol felt his heart flutter. “I guess that works, too. How do you say ‘friend’ in your language?”

Yargol proceeded to do his best at teaching once again, while Azerius seemed to absorb every detail he was given like a sponge, tirelessly trying to master the difficult sounds and words.

Azerius seemed to have underestimated how far they were from his home, as they were already losing daylight while still on the road in the middle of nowhere. They stopped beside a field of wheat.

“I already recognise the area, but my home is still a few hours away, I think. Sorry, I usually do not travel a lot,” Azerius explained himself, a bit embarrassed.

“It’s fine,” Yargol dismissed. “Let’s just camp in the field and walk the rest of the way tomorrow.”

Azerius did not have any objections, and they wandered a few metres into the field. Yargol flattened a small, rough circle of wheat so they could lie down. The farmer who owned this field would probably curse them for trampling his precious harvest, but they did not really have any other options.

Yargol lay down with a groan. The lack of sleep was really starting to catch up to him, and his feet hurt from walking all day. Azerius was resting a few metres away from him, again with Yargol’s coat as a blanket. He thought about asking the wizard to come closer to him for warmth, but he feared that he would then not be able to keep the promise he had made to himself.

The clouds had dispersed over the course of the day, now revealing a clear night sky. The view comforted Yargol a little bit. At least this was still familiar.

Still, Yargol could not fall asleep. He did not want to dream of his family again. They belonged to the past, and that’s where they should stay. He noticed that Azerius seemed to have trouble sleeping as well.

“What’s wrong? Is it too cold?” he asked without opening his eyes.

“No, the coat is warm enough, thank you,” Azerius responded after a few moments, but it was clear he wanted to say more.

Yargol waited, having already gotten used to the fact that the human tended to take his time to think before he spoke. Certainly not a bad trait.

“Do you regret telling your family?” Azerius eventually asked.

“No,” Yargol immediately responded. “Even though it cost me a lot, it was probably the best decision I’ve ever made.”

“I understand,” Azerius said, seemingly conflicted. “I do not want to lose my family…”

Yargol's heart ached. He sat up and looked over at Azerius. “Just because I left my family doesn’t mean you’ll have to. Your parents sound a lot more supportive than mine. Maybe they’ll understand?”

“Maybe,” Azerius said, although he did not sound confident.

“You’ll find a way to make them understand. I’m sure,” Yargol tried to assure the man.

“Thank you,” Azerius responded as he adjusted his sleeping position again. “Sleep well.”

Yargol laid back down. After a few minutes, he could hear the wizard snoring silently. The field around him was quiet except for another nightly cricket concert. He kept watching the beautiful firmament for a while longer, and eventually, he managed to fall asleep as well.

***

When Yargol woke up, it was still the middle of the night. He did not have a dream this time, but something was still unnerving him. He silently got up without waking Azerius, who slept peacefully wrapped in Yargol’s coat.

He stretched and looked around. The stars were still shining beautifully above him, but something was different now. Though everything was calm, he could not shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong.

When he turned to go back to sleep, he realised that all the crickets in the field had stopped chirping. The silence around him now seemed almost deafening. There was not even a slight wind that could have rustled the wheat.

Yargol looked around and as far into the darkness as his eyes allowed him. The hair on his neck stood on end. Something was there. In the field. He was sure of it. He grabbed his axe from the ground.

He sneaked a few steps closer to Azerius. However, before he could wake the human, he saw a blue light appear around a few dozen metres away from him in the field. It was barely visible but still clearly there.

Yargol could not take his eyes off it. He slowly stalked towards the light source, deeper into the field.

The light came from another circle of flattened wheat. Azerius’ wooden chest was lying in the middle of it, facing Yargol. As if it had waited for him. The blue light emanated from it, silently shimmering around it like a ghostly aura.

There was now a symbol carved into the chest’s lid. Yargol was sure it had not been there before.

He could feel it calling him. Telling him to come closer. Yargol dropped his axe and obliged, even though every instinct in his body was screaming at him to go back to Azerius.

He bowed down and picked up the box. The light faded immediately as he touched it, leaving only the stars and moon as his light sources.

The symbol on the lid was neatly carved, and it looked as if it had always been there. Three squares overlapping diagonally, it looked a bit like a chain.

Yargol traced the symbol with his finger. Suddenly, he heard the lock of the chest click. He tried to resist but then slowly opened the box.

The inside of the chest was laced with black velvet, and in the centre lay a rough and shapeless shard of glass. At least it looked like glass at first glance. When Yargol gazed into it, it reminded him more of the starry sky above him. But it was not a reflection. The little dots of light had many different colours and moved slowly.

When he looked closer, he could see that the dots of each colour seemed to be connected through faint strings of light. Yargol stared at the shard, completely mesmerised by the ever-changing networks.

The raw magical power of the artefact radiated upon him. It was intimidating, in a silent, eery way.

Yargol reached into the box with his hand. His heart was pounding like he was in battle as his index finger touched the edge of the shard. The reaction was instant.

Glowing blue magic seeped through his finger into his veins. The pain was almost unbearable, but Yargol could not scream. Like a poison, the magic gradually made its way up his arm and then proceeded to burn through his whole body like liquid fire. When it reached his head, Yargol felt like he was about to pass out.

With a blinding bright blue flash, the pain suddenly subsided, and Yargol was back in control of himself. He cried out and dropped the box.

When his eyes started to recover from the flash, he realised that he was not standing in the field any longer. The hallway Yargol now found himself in was dark, and the air was musty. The ground, walls and ceiling were made of ancient-looking cobblestone. There was no window, no light source at all.

“Yargol.”

He spun around when he heard the voice from the end of the hallway. It sounded hoarse, as if it had not been used in ages. A few metres away from him, he saw an old wooden door with strange runes carved into it.

When Yargol took a step forward, he suddenly stood outside a massive temple. He was at the top of a staircase, overlooking a square in a city he did not recognise. It was littered with the bodies of countless wizards. Hundreds. The smell of fire and the sound of death surrounded him. He stumbled backwards, staggered and confused. Tripping over something.

Azerius’ lifeless body was lying beside him on the ground. Blood dripping from his mouth and nose. Eyes wide in fear.

Yargol shook his head. “I… how…?”

He started feeling dizzy and had trouble breathing. He tried to get up, but the feeling got worse by the second. Yargol sunk back to the ground, helpless against the darkness closing in around him.

***

The cool night air rushed into Yargol’s lungs as he woke up, back in the field, gasping.

“Yargol!” Azerius knelt on the ground beside him. Yargol sat up, and Azerius hugged him tightly, almost pushing him to the ground again. “What happened?”

“I think… I just… died?” Yargol stuttered. His head hurt like hell, and he felt sick. “I opened your weird box and-”

“You did what?!” Azerius asked, shocked. “Where is it?”

“Over there, I think,” Yargol said, pointing in the general direction where he had dropped it.

Azerius had to tap around on the ground before he found it. He closed the box and Yargol heard the click of the lock.

“What is that thing?” Yargol asked as he stood up with shaky legs.

“Did you touch it?” Azerius asked concerned.

“Yes, it was as if it pulled me in. It forced me.” Yargol anxiously looked at Azerius. “Did I break it?”

Azerius looked back at him softly. “No.” He approached Yargol and hugged him again. “But it should have killed you. For a moment, I thought it did. How did you even open it?”

“Opened by itself, had a weird, glowing symbol on it.”

Azerius stared at Yargol. “I did not see a symbol. What did it look like? Tell me exactly what happened.”

Yargol tried to describe what he remembered as well as he could. He left out the fact that he saw Azerius specifically, though.

When he finished, Azerius detached himself from Yargol and took a step back. “I am not sure what all of this means, but we need to get to the Citadel as fast as possible. Maybe some of the masters can make more sense of this,” he said, looking at Yargol with a serious face. “Have you ever experienced anything like this before?”

“No, definitely not,” Yargol responded. “Why?”

“I think you might be capable of magic… like me.”

Yargol could not tell if Azerius was serious. “That can’t be. I would have known.”

“Yes, normally, magical abilities make themselves noticeable before the tenth name day, but there is an exception. When the individual is the first member of a new branch of magic.”

Yargol frowned. “So, the thing in the chest made me a wizard?”

Azerius shook his head. “No, I think it merely revealed what has always been there. You must have always been a wizard.”

Yargol had to sit back down.

Azerius stood beside him. “The thing in the box is called a Soulshard. It is a new artificial material created through magic. I do not know its purpose, but the council at the Citadel stressed that they needed it to preserve the safety and stability of the kingdom.”

Yargol barely paid any attention to Azerius. “I’m a wizard,” he said. The words sounded wrong to him.

“You are,” Azerius said as he sat down beside Yargol. “No non-magical creature would have survived touching such an artefact.” The young man laid a hand on Yargol’s shoulder. “This changes… well… everything.”

Azerius suddenly sounded very excited. “I mean, this is amazing, Yargol! A sensation, even. The last new branch was discovered over three centuries ago.”

“I’m… a wizard,” Yargol said again, but it still did not sound right.

“I know this is probably a lot for you right now, but think about it. Now, you can stay at the Citadel and discover your capabilities. Who knows what sort of things you can do.”

“Do they accept orcs?” Yargol asked sceptically.

“Well, you are going to be the first one, but they would never reject a wizard of a new branch.” Azerius grabbed Yargol’s shoulder. “Yargol, you are going to change the world of magic forever and build the foundation from which future wizards of your branch are going to learn.”

Yargol disagreed. This was just another thing that would scare people away from him. If everyone thought he was dangerous now, what would they think when they learned he could do magic? He wished he could just go back to the lonely hut in the woods. At least people had left him alone there.

Azerius seemed to realise that Yargol was panicking and inched closer. He hugged Yargol again. “Everything is going to be fine.”

Yargol suddenly felt extremely exhausted, and his head still hurt like hell. “Let’s go back. I need to sleep over this.”

“Of course,” Azerius said as they got up.

When they got back to their camp, Yargol immediately lay down. Azerius put the box back into his bag and then went back to his sleeping spot.

Even though Yargol was tired, his mind was still racing. He thought back to the day he left his tribe. How lost and hurt he felt. How he had wandered through the world, neither knowing who he was nor who he even wanted to be. How he was unwelcome wherever he went. He also thought about the day he began to build his home in the woods and the way he slowly started to accept and like himself again.

Now, that was all gone. It was almost like the day he left his tribe. The only difference was Azerius.

He looked over to the human. Azerius lay on his back with his eyes closed. Yargol fought with himself for a moment but eventually spoke up. “Hey, Azerius?”

“Hm… yes? What is it?” Azerius responded, half asleep.

“Can you sleep beside me tonight?”

Azerius had clearly hoped for this, and before Yargol knew what was happening, the man was already lying in his arms.

After just a few minutes, Azerius was asleep, and Yargol slowly began to feel like he could also relax.

Perhaps Azerius was right, even if he currently did not know how, maybe everything would turn out fine. When he looked down at Azerius, he could not help but be hopeful.

Chapter Text

When Yargol woke up, it was almost noon already. He immediately remembered what had happened during the night and opened his eyes.

Azerius was already awake and sat beside Yargol, acting like he had not been watching Yargol sleeping when he realised the orc was awake. “Hey, how are you feeling?” he asked, sounding concerned.

Yargol was not sure he knew the answer to that question. “Depends. Did last night really happen, or did I dream it?” he asked as he sat up.

“It happened,” Azerius confirmed.

“So, I’m still a wizard?” Yargol got up and stretched. He could feel Azerius’ eyes on him.

“Uh… yes,” Azerius replied and got up as well.

“Alright,” Yargol said, picking up his bag. “Let’s go then. You can explain a few things to me while we walk.”

They continued their march through the fields under a clear sky. The countryside the two were journeying through gradually became more and more hilly.

Azerius looked like he was ready to flood Yargol with information. “So, what do you want to know?”

“How are you so sure I’m a wizard? I don’t feel any different now,” Yargol began, taking out a piece of dried meat from his bag and handing some to Azerius.

“Well, if you were no wizard, then touching the Soulshard would have killed you, and if you were part of an existing branch, you would have noticed that you were a wizard far sooner,” Azerius explained and started to nibble on the dried meat.

“Okay, I think I get that.” Yargol started rubbing his right tusk with his thumb while he was thinking. “So, am I dangerous right now? Like, unstable or something?”

“No, but it is possible for you to accidentally cast small spells,” Azerius said. He saw Yargol’s worried look and quickly added, “But at your level, you cannot do serious damage. Most likely.”

Yargol found this only mildly reassuring but had to accept the answer. “Hm, and what will we do once we get to the Citadel?”

“First, we will have to go to the General to deliver the Shard and talk about, well, you.” Azerius now began to beam with joy. “Then I will show you around the building and introduce you to my colleagues and friends. It is a remarkable place; I can tell you that.”

Yargol forced a smile. “Sounds good,” he said, but the prospect of meeting so many new people in a large city this far south caused his stomach to twist. “So, will I have to enter the academy you went to?”

“I suppose you would, yes. I entered the academy after completing the admission examination and I then had to find a master of my branch willing to accept me as their student. However, since your branch does not exist yet, you will not be able to learn much from the academy’s courses. You will have to find a master to guide you on your journey, which is not going to be hard since every master in the Citadel would probably give up everything to work with you.”

“Can’t you be my guide?” Yargol asked hopefully.

“No, I am no master, but if you request it, I will assist the master you choose,” Azerius suggested with a smirk.

“I would really like that.” Yargol felt a bit better knowing Azerius would be there.

They kept travelling along the winding road while Azerius explained a few more technicalities of the Citadel before he went back to torturing Yargol’s ears by practising his Orcish vocabulary.

***

It was late noon when Azerius stopped at a junction at the foot of a hill with a moderately sized farmhouse on top.

“This is it, my home,” he announced proudly.

“Looks nice,” Yargol remarked. The house was old but not shabby. Parts of the roof seemed to have been recently fixed, and smoke was coming out of the chimney.

Azerius almost ran up to the house, and Yargol did his best to keep up.

They reached the front door, and Azerius stopped. Suddenly, he turned around to look at Yargol. “Maybe I should go inside alone first. They have never seen an orc before, and, you know, I just want to mentally prepare them a bit.”

“I get it. Now go inside,” Yargol said encouragingly.

Azerius nodded and went into the house, closing the door behind him.

Yargol waited nervously, contemplating how close he should stand to the door. Trying not to overthink what he would say once he met the wizard’s parents. Surely, they must be nice people if they raised an intelligent man like that.

About a minute had passed when Yargol heard a faint step behind him. He instinctively moved to the side and turned around.

His reflexes turned out to be lifesaving when a pitchfork slammed into the front door of the house with a thud. The wielder was a middle-aged human woman. Muscular and almost as tall as Yargol. She was wearing a brown working gown out of wool, and a wimple covered her head.

She looked at Yargol with cold and fearless eyes as she ripped the fork from the door with a determined pull before moving to attack again.

Yargol jumped backwards, trying to get some distance between him and his attacker. He raised his hands non-threateningly. “Woah, wai-” he started but already had to evade another stab.

“You picked a bad day to rob us, beast,” the woman threatened, her voice as loud and strong as she looked. “I’m in a very bad mood.”

“I’m not robbing anyone!” Yargol protested as he narrowly dodged another strike. This time, however, he managed to grab the pitchfork and then attempted to disarm the woman by tugging it. To his surprise, she offered little resistance and instead used his pull to close the distance between them.

The woman’s right hook struck Yargol’s jaw, and he toppled over backwards with a grunt.

“Mother! Stop!” Azerius was standing in the doorframe of the house.

The woman froze. “Azerius…” she said, momentarily stunned out of her fury by the sight of her son.

Yargol used the opportunity to get up and out of reach. He spat out a bit of blood and felt his jaw. It hurt, but luckily, nothing seemed to be broken.

Azerius’ mother turned to face Yargol again but still spoke to Azerius. “Go inside, boy. I can handle this.”

“He is friendly,” Azerius tried to defuse the situation as he hurried over to Yargol.

The woman now seemed even more confused and irritated. “What are you talking about? I said go inside!”

“Are you hurt?” Azerius asked with concern.

“No, I’m fine,” Yargol reassured and grinned. “But your mother packs quite a punch.”

Azerius’ mother stood there dumbfounded for a few seconds, looking back and forth between her son and Yargol.

Azerius went over to her. “I can explain all of this,” he promised.

The woman did not respond. Instead, she dropped the pitchfork and pulled Azerius into a painfully tight-looking embrace.

Azerius yelled, surprised as he was lifted off his feet.

“They told us you died!” his mother cried out. “They told us our boy got shanked by dirty bandits in the middle of nowhere!”

Yargol remained completely still. He did not want to disturb the emotional reunion in any way.

Azerius was silently hugging his mother, pressing his face into her shoulder.

After a minute, the woman finally released Azerius from her embrace, holding on to her son’s shoulder with one hand and wiping her face with the other. She then looked down strictly on Azerius. “How can you put your own mother through something like this? You could’ve sent a message!”

Azerius sniffled. “Forgive me, I did not have an opportunity.”

“Well, doesn’t matter now. You’re alright, and something like this will never happen again. Understood?” The tone of her voice left no doubt that there would be serious consequences should Azerius disobey and nearly die again without her permission.

“Yes, mother,” Azerius confirmed, looking down, ashamed.

“Now, explain who that is,” the woman demanded, pointing at Yargol.

Azerius took a step to the side. “Of course, Mother, this is Yargol, and Yargol, this is my mother, Adeline.”

It took Yargol a few seconds before he realised he was probably supposed to say something. “Oh, hey,” he said and stepped closer, holding out his hand.

Adeline stared at him sceptically at first but then reluctantly came closer as well for a quick but firm handshake.

“Yargol saved my life twice and made sure I got here safely,” Azerius explained.

Azerius’ mother raised an eyebrow. “I see, so you hired him for protection. How much do we owe him?”

“I don’t want any reward,” Yargol declined quickly.

This caused Adeline to look at Azerius, now with both eyebrows raised.

“I did not hire him. It is a long story,” Azerius said, glancing at Yargol.

Adeline suddenly seemed embarrassed. “My goodness, you must be so hungry and tired. Come, you can tell me everything inside,” she said, proceeding to almost drag Azerius into the house.

Azerius managed to gesture at Yargol to follow him before his mother disappeared with him through the door.

Yargol trotted after them. The main entrance led to a hallway, which served as an entrance area. One of the doors on the right stood ajar, and Yargol stepped into a cosy living room. 

“Where is Father?” Azerius asked while walking over to the table.

“Had to help out the neighbour, but he should be home anytime now,” Adeline answered. “Sit,” she commanded while leaving through another door to the left.

The old wooden chair complained audibly when Yargol sat down, but luckily, it did not break.

Azerius went to sit down, too, but then paused. “You know what, I think I am going to change before we eat. Nothing against the tunic you bought me, but I have another robe upstairs.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Yargol said, and Azerius went back out into the hallway. He could hear Adeline rummaging around in the next room, which seemed to be the kitchen or the pantry, and Yargol thought about checking out what she was doing. However, the numb pain in his jaw told him that remaining seated was probably the better idea.

A couple of minutes passed, and Yargol was just starting to wonder what was taking Azerius this long when he heard steps in the hallway again.

“Did you get lost in your own home?” he teased with a grin while turning around. He froze when he realised that the person standing in the door was not Azerius, but a bald, middle-aged farmer dressed in an old tunic. The man, who Yargol guessed was Azerius’ father, remained completely still and stared at him wide-eyed.

Yargol had no idea what to say, and before he could come up with anything, Adeline returned from the kitchen with an assortment of foods on a tray.

“Ah, Heimart, you’re home,” she happily remarked while putting some dark bread, bowls with stew, a bit of cheese, and a bottle of beer on the table.

Heimart looked at his wife as if she had completely lost her mind. “Adeline… there… orc… at our table,” the man managed to get out.

“Yes, I know. Azerius still owes me a proper explanation for that as well.” She put her hands on her hips. “Speaking of, where has he run off to?” she asked Yargol.

“Went upstairs to change,” Yargol answered briefly, and silently prayed that Azerius would come back soon.

“Azerius?! He’s alive?!” Heimart seemed almost hysterical at this point.

Right on cue, Azerius walked through the door behind his father. He was now dressed in fine red robes. “Hello, Father,” he greeted with a smile.

Heimart looked at his son in disbelief and slowly put his hand on Azerius’ shoulder as if he was not sure his son was really there.

They hugged, and Yargol could tell that Azerius’ father had trouble holding back his tears.

Heimart patted his son’s back. “I’m getting old, boy. You can’t scare me like that anymore.”

“Sorry, I did not intend to,” Azerius apologised before letting go of his father. The two then walked over to the table and sat down as well.

“Now then,” Adeline began as she took a loaf of bread and ripped off a piece. “Tell us exactly what happened,” she demanded from Azerius.

Yargol felt his stomach rumble but only took a bit of stew as he suspected that all of this was part of the family’s winter supply.

Heimart had now put his focus back on Yargol, cautiously supervising every move he made.

Meanwhile, Azerius started to tell the story of how Yargol found him in the woods. Of course, he left out some details, especially about the nights they spent together.

Azerius’ parents looked more and more surprised the longer Azerius was talking, especially when he revealed that Yargol was a wizard as well and that he would accompany him to the Citadel.

When Azerius finished, Adeline leaned back in her chair and looked at Yargol. “Well, I guess I owe you an apology and my thanks. I hope I didn’t hurt you too badly earlier.”

“It’s alright,” Yargol waved off. “I’m fine. I’ve had worse injuries.”

Heimart seemed overwhelmed. “An orc who’s also a wizard. I’ve truly seen everything now. I can’t believe it.”

“I’m still not fully convinced myself,” Yargol admitted and looked at Azerius.

“There is no doubt,” Azerius stated firmly. “Tomorrow, we have to go straight to the Citadel and start your training.”

“Tomorrow?” Adeline seemed disappointed. “But you just got home. Can’t you stay for a few days?”

Azerius shook his head. “No, I am afraid we cannot. I must still finish my mission, and Yargol needs a guide. Also, Lucian would probably like to know that I’m alive, too.”

“Who’s Lucian?” Yargol curiously asked.

“My younger brother,” Azerius explained. “He works as a smith in Midvalley.”

“The best one in town, I might add,” Adeline boasted like only a mother could. “And he also has a wife and a child already, even though he is two years younger than Azerius,” she continued to guilt-trip as only a mother could.

Azerius rolled his eyes. “Mother, please…”

Heimart seemed irritated as well. “Yes, sweetheart, give the boy a break. He just came back from the dead, now is not the time.”

Adeline raised her hands defensively. “I’m just saying. You’re not getting any younger.”

Awkward silence ensued, and Azerius glanced at Yargol. He was clearly annoyed and frustrated, but something in his expression changed when he and Yargol locked eyes for a moment.

Azerius turned to his parents again. “No, you know what? Now is a good time for this.”

Yargol almost choked on a piece of bread. He stared at Azerius in a panic, but the man seemed undeterred.

Adeline and Heimart obviously had not expected this either and looked at each other, dumbfounded.

“Alright,” Heimart said hesitantly. “Let’s talk about it then.”

Yargol felt his blood pressure rise as he watched Azerius shift nervously in his seat before starting to speak. “I am not going to have a wife… ever.”

The sentence hung in the air for a while, and Yargol held his breath as he observed Azerius’ parents closely.

Heimart finally broke the silence. “What are you talking about?” he asked, confused and turned to his wife for help, but Adeline seemed to be just as clueless. “You mean you don’t want to marry at all?” she asked cautiously.

Yargol watched Azerius struggle with his words and wished he could help or at least hold the poor man’s shaking hands, but he remained still like a statue.

Azerius took a breath. “I… would prefer to have a husband,” he finally said and looked at his parents insecurely, who stared at their son as the realisation finally set in.

“A husband…” Adeline repeated and leaned back in her chair again, looking like she had the revelation of a lifetime. “Well, that explains a lot of things.”

Heimart looked at her, still confused. “Explains what? I don’t get it,” he looked back at Azerius. “Where is this suddenly coming from?”

Adeline answered for her son. “I don’t think there is anything sudden about this. Right, Azerius?”

“I have been meaning to tell you for years,” Azerius sheepishly admitted.

“So, all these girls we tried to introduce to you…” Heimart started.

“…never stood a chance,” Adeline finished.

“Yeah…” Azerius glanced at Yargol again, who tried his best to look encouraging despite the amount of adrenalin this situation had just sent through his body.

Another round of silence followed as Azerius’ parents apparently had no idea what to say now.

Azerius seemed close to a complete breakdown. “So… am I still your son?” he asked, his voice cracking up.

“What?” Adeline and Heimart said in unison.

Adeline looked offended. “Of course you are. What kind of a question is that?” she reached over the table and grabbed Azerius’ hand. “There’s nothing in the world that could change that. If you want a husband, then that’s fine.”

“Alright, thank you,” Azerius managed to squeeze out, wiping his face with the sleeve of his robes.

The attention now fell on Heimart, who cleared his throat. “I… uhm… well, I still don’t fully get it, but if this is what you want, then I support you.”

Yargol smiled and watched silently. Azerius would not have to go through the same things he had experienced. He would not wish that on anyone, least of all a sweet guy like him.

Adeline seemed to remember now that Yargol was still here. “Oh… Yargol, I hope our family business didn’t make you uncomfortable. There is a guest room upstairs and to the left where you can spend the night.” She then paused for a moment. “Or do orcs prefer to sleep outside?”

“I’ll take the room, thank you.” Yargol got up. “And thanks for the food as well. Good night.”

“Sure, no problem,” Adeline responded, looking at Yargol with fascination.

“Sleep well,” Azerius said with a big smile.

“You too,” Yargol responded. He briefly smiled back at Azerius, and as he left, Yargol could hear Adeline whisper to Azerius. “Is he always this… polite? He doesn’t look polite.”

Yargol did not get to hear the answer as the door closed behind him. He would have preferred to stay a bit longer, but he guessed that he had already heard more than Azerius’ parents were willing to discuss with a stranger in the room.

He walked up the wooden stairs to the first floor. There was another room to the right, which Yargol guessed belonged to Azerius. He entered the room to the left.

The guest room was small, but the bed was comfortable and almost big enough for him. Yargol lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling with a warm feeling in his chest. He could not stop smiling.

He caught himself fantasizing about Azerius and him living together in Midvalley. At the Citadel or maybe in a small house. If Azerius’ parents were willing to accept a gay son, perhaps they would be fine with a union between their son and an orc as well.

He tried to relax and sleep, but he kept wondering what Azerius was talking about downstairs with his parents. After a few hours of fruitless attempts at falling asleep, Yargol decided to get up and take a walk.

He sneaked out of his room and went downstairs. The door to the living room was closed, and everything was silent, so Yargol assumed that everyone had gone to bed already. He walked out the front door of the house into the cold night.

“Why are you still up?” Yargol was startled by Adeline’s strong voice beside him. Azerius’ mother was sitting on a bench beside the door.

“Oh, I just needed some fresh air,” Yargol explained and scratched his beard, unsure what to do now. “What about you?” he finally asked.

Adeline snorted. “How could I sleep after a day like this? My son comes back from the dead with an orc and tells me he wants a husband.”

Yargol nodded. “I guess that’s a lot for a single day.”

“It is,” Adeline sighed. “What kind of mother am I that I didn’t see this coming? I thought I knew my boy so well. All those years, we tried so hard to help him find a girl, but we just made everything worse,” she complained.

“He probably did everything he could to hide it,” Yargol pretended to speculate. “But you reacted well tonight. Don’t worry. You’re a good mother, and you’ve done a great job raising Azerius.”

Adeline looked at Yargol for a while. “You’re a strange man, Yargol, and an even stranger orc, I think,” she finally said, patting the spot beside her on the bench. “Come sit with me for a bit.”

Yargol’s instincts immediately told him sitting down beside the woman was basically life-threatening, but he walked over and sat down anyway.

“You know, when you said that you didn’t want anything in return for bringing Azerius home, I got very suspicious. I thought you’re either very stupid or you wanted to exploit us in some other way. But I think I understand now…”

Yargol got nervous but tried not to show it in any way. “What do you mean?”

“It’s the way Azerius looks at you. I never saw him looking at a girl that way.”

Yargol felt himself blush. He looked away and faked a short laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t fool me. I see the way you smile back at him,” Adeline stated confidently.

“I never… we… don’t worry, I already told him that nothing can happen between us,” Yargol stammered.

“Why not? Is he not good enough for you?” Adeline asked, offended.

“What?” Yargol felt more and more like he was getting verbally cornered. “No, the opposite. I think he could find someone better than me.”

“You saved his life twice and protected him all the way home. I think it would be hard to find someone better for him,” she argued.

“So, you wouldn’t be against Azerius and me being… together?”

“Maybe you’re stupid after all. No, I’m not against it,” Adeline confirmed. Her words were harsh, but Yargol could tell she meant well.

“Alright,” Yargol said, baffled and watched as Adeline got up as well.

She walked up close to Yargol, grabbed him firmly by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes. Her expression was now serious and cold, just like it had been when she had attempted to kill Yargol earlier that day. “But let me make one thing absolutely clear to you: If I get even the slightest hunch that you are mistreating my boy in any way, I will slit your throat, understood?”

Yargol swallowed. “Yes, I would never-“

“Good,” Adeline’s face and voice were now friendly again. “I will go to bed now. Good night.”

“Uh, sure, good night,” Yargol said as he sat there trying to process what had happened.

Slowly, Yargol realised that all of this could work out. That Azerius and he might actually have a future together.

Yargol stood up and went inside. He had to talk to Azerius immediately.

Chapter Text

Yargol knocked on Azerius’ door with hands shaking from excitement but regretted it just a second later. What was he thinking? It was still the middle of the night. Why was he waking the poor man? He immediately turned away, hoping Azerius had not heard him.

The door opened a moment later, revealing a half-naked Azerius with messy hair.

“Yargol? Is everything alright?”

Yargol felt a brief moment of panic rise in his chest.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Sorry, I woke you. Not that important. Good night,” Yargol mumbled and attempted again to make an exit.

“Hold on,” Azerius said, and Yargol stopped. “Please, tell me what happened. Why did you knock?”

“I…” Yargol began but faltered. “I talked to your mother.”

Azerius’ eyes went wide. “My mother? Oh no. Why? What did she say?”

“It wasn’t anything bad, mostly,” Yargol waved off.

Azerius scratched his head as if he were trying to picture the conversation. “Perhaps you should come in.”

Yargol followed Azerius into his room. He had to suppress the need to comment on the perfectly organised desk as well as the rows of sorted books and scrolls.

“Alright, what did she say?” Azerius demanded to know as soon as the door was closed.

“She said that she wouldn’t be against it if we wanted to be together.”

Azerius looked stunned. “Really? But how could she have known?”

“I think your horny way of staring at me gave it away,” Yargol tried to joke.

Now Azerius was awake. “She did not actually say that… right?”

“Well, not exactly that,” Yargol admitted. “But it was something very similar.”

Azerius let out a small sigh before a moment of silence settled over them.

“Is that why you woke me? Because you want to be with me?” Azerius then asked and looked at Yargol curiously.

Yargol felt the heat rise to his face and could only hope that the darkness of the room covered it up for him. He wanted to say yes. Take the leap. But there was still enough doubt to hold him back.

“The Citadel where we're heading, what do you think the people there would say? If we were together, I mean,” he countered the question.

Azerius seemed to think about it briefly. “The only opinion that really matters is General Sephiran’s. She has been the head of the Citadel for decades now and is known as a pragmatic leader. I think we would get, if not acceptance, at least tolerance.”

Yargol knew what that meant. He was useful to them because of his magic, so he could get away with shit that would otherwise not fly. Hostilities of almost all forms were probably still guaranteed. But if he was being honest, it did not matter to him. Standing here in the weak moonlight and looking at Azerius’ kind face, his patient and intelligent eyes made it clear to Yargol that seven years alone in the woods was quite enough.

“I’d love to be with you.”

Azerius stepped closer and smiled. “Then it seems we are a couple now.”

Yargol felt the words washing away years of torment in an instant. All the misery and all the loneliness he went through seemed to have a point now. It had all led him here.

“Good,” he whispered and leaned in, feeling Azerius’ lips on his.

He wanted to be close to his new boyfriend. The word sounded strange in his mind. After all this time, he had all but given up on thinking he would ever take a real lover again.

Stirred by Azerius’ lips, he moved forward, guiding them towards the bed. Wanting more, Yargol ran his hands down the man’s back, tugging at the waistband of his loose pants.

Azerius almost fell on the bed, breaking their kiss briefly.

However, when Yargol followed, ready to pin him down, he realised that his partner did not mirror his enthusiasm and instead looked more overwhelmed and frightened.

“Sorry, got a bit carried away. Is it too much?” Yargol asked, retreating a bit and immediately feeling ashamed. He should have been more careful.

“I just do not really have an idea of what I am supposed to be doing,” Azerius admitted while nervously fiddling with the sheets.

Yargol lay down on his side, so he did not loom over Azerius as much and put a hand on his partner’s chest. “Let me lead. I’ll go slow, and if you don’t like something or want to stop altogether, just tell me, okay?”

Azerius nodded and seemed to calm down, allowing Yargol to come closer again and accept his gentler attempts at kissing.

Yargol slowly slid his hand down Azerius’ torso until it rested on his hip before slipping it under the waistband.

He broke the kiss when he felt Azerius flinch slightly but kept close enough to feel the man’s excited breathing when he took him into his hand, making sure he could catch any discomfort in Azerius’ eyes during the first few gentle strokes.

“Is this alright?” Yargol asked but could already tell that the question was basically rhetorical.

“Mhm…” Azerius mumbled as he held onto him, pressing his forehead against Yargol’s shoulder.

Yargol had to smile a bit at that. The kind of happiness he felt right now was a subtle one, and still, it almost overwhelmed him. How many times had he dreamed about someone letting him get close like this? Probably more than he could count.

He pulled off Azerius’ pants to get better access and then returned with a slightly tightened grip, revelling in the sharp intake of air he caused with that. And despite him going slow, his efforts were clearly taking a toll on Azerius. Before long, a hand on his wrist stopped him.

Azerius tugged at his shirt. “Would you mind taking this off, please?”

Yargol suppressed a small laugh at the polite request and obliged. “Pants, too?”

“If you want to,” Azerius said and shrugged, but his eyes were already fixated tellingly on Yargol’s crotch.

Yargol got up to strip completely while Azerius watched him with his mouth slightly open.

“You’re drooling,” Yargol commented, and Azerius’ mouth snapped shut.

“I am not,” he mumbled but wiped over his mouth with the back of his hand regardless.

Yargol climbed into the bed again and lay down on his back, pulling Azerius onto his thighs, facing him.

He felt soft hands running over his chest and down his stomach, shuddering with excitement when they reached his loins.

“Would you say that you are… average? For an orc, I mean,” Azerius asked.

“I’ve seen bigger,” Yargol answered, trying his best not to show impatience at the guy’s maddeningly light touch. He let him explore this at his own pace, which seemed to work.

Sitting on top of him like that apparently gave Azerius some confidence. He relaxed his posture a bit, and the anxiety in his eyes was replaced with curiosity and eagerness.

Yargol let out a sigh, admiring the view and enjoying the feeling of Azerius’ hand on him.

He had thought taking this slower would mean he would have more control, but the pressure was building quickly, and soon, Yargol was fighting to hold himself back.

Azerius was struggling as well. His breath got increasingly laboured. “Uhm, should I just…?”

“Whenever you want,” Yargol pressed out.

He let himself go as soon as he felt Azerius tense up. Gripped the man’s thighs as he came alongside him.

Within seconds, his chest and stomach were a mess, and Azerius kept going until they were both completely spent.

After taking a few moments to recover, Azerius slid off and lay beside Yargol.

“That was nice.”

“Yeah,” Yargol agreed while trying to look around for something to clean himself up a bit.

“Oh, let me just…” Azerius quickly said and pointed at Yargol’s chest. A brief, red flash startled Yargol, and a second later, he was clean.

“Huh, neat. Do they teach that at your Citadel?”

“No, I learned that in my… private time,” Azerius said and grinned. “I suspect it is the first spell most male Physiomancers learn.”

Yargol drew Azerius close to him again. “Very impressive, so I have a cum-wizard-boyfriend.”

That comment earned him the most appalled look a human had ever given him, which was saying something.

“Sorry, I’ll hold myself back from now on,” he tried to apologise.

Azerius rolled his eyes but smiled. “That is not necessary, but please never call me things like that in front of someone else.”

“Ok, then I’ll give you so many embarrassing nicknames when we’re alone.”

“There are worse fates, I suppose,” Azerius sighed.

Now that Yargol had a clearer head, he felt a bit stupid about how he had initiated all of this.

“By the way, sorry for waking you like that earlier. I should’ve probably waited until the morning.”

“No worries, it was kind of cute.”

Yargol snorted.

“What?” Azerius asked, amused.

“I’ve been called many things in my life, but never cute.”

“Well, get used to it,” Azerius said and kissed him softly. But a glimpse of anxiety returned to his eyes when he continued. “Was this… you know, the things we did. Was that enough for you?”

Yargol frowned. “Why wouldn’t it be enough?”

“Because I assume you have mostly been with orcs so far, correct? What we did must have been a bit boring to you.”

“Well, it’s different. And it was a long time ago. Sleeping with another orc was usually more like…” Yargol paused and tried to think of something to compare it to. “…like, have you ever seen two bears maul each other?”

Azerius looked at him, horrified at the terrible analogy. “That sounds rather painful.”

“Sexy painful,” Yargol countered and wiggled his eyebrows.

Azerius chuckled. “I would prefer it if we just kept the sexy part and left out the bear-mauling kind of pain, if you do not mind.”

“Fine, I guess I can live with that,” Yargol feigned annoyance and then kissed Azerius on his forehead.

They cuddled for a little while, and Yargol let his hand glide along Azerius’ side up to his shoulder and then face. He felt the man’s stubbly beard and the smooth line where the scar cut through it.

He hesitated at first, but then his curiosity got the better of him. “How did you get that?”

Azerius did not respond at first, and Yargol already regretted asking. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“I got it in an accident during my time at the academy. I was overconfident during practice and miscast a spell,” Azerius explained reluctantly.

“Okay, sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, I should have told you. It is just a bit embarrassing.”

Yargol could still tell that Azerius did not like talking about this topic, so he tried to steer the conversation in a different direction. “I’m impressed you dared to come out to your parents today. You’re a brave man. I like that.”

To Yargol’s surprise, his words had the opposite effect of what he had intended. Azerius looked away, and he could feel the human grow anxious while he was lying in his arm.

“What’s wrong?” Yargol asked.

“Nothing, but the thing is, I am not really brave.”

Yargol shook his head. “What are you talking about? You fought and survived the battle in those woods, you were bold enough to travel with me, and you came out to your parents,” he enumerated.

“I did not fight,” Azerius whispered.

“What?” Yargol asked, confused.

“The night you found me, I failed to cast a single spell.” Azerius buried his face in Yargol’s shoulder. “I just sat there and watched them all die.”

Yargol was speechless at first. “It was your first battle, and you weren’t prepared. Also, you were wounded. You don’t need to be ashamed of anything,” he tried to calm the upset human.

“At the academy, I sailed through all the exams and tests, but when I actually needed my powers, nothing worked. I could have saved someone. Just one spell could have made a difference.”

“You can’t change what happened now. You did everything you could. No one could’ve asked more of you.”

Azerius skidded away from Yargol’s arm and turned around so he was facing the other way. “You are right, of course. I will stop whining now. Perhaps I just need some sleep,” he said to end the conversation hastily while trying to hide his tears.

Yargol rolled onto his side and put his arm around Azerius. “You’re not whiny. You have every right to be upset.” He kissed his boyfriend's neck and could feel Azerius holding onto his arm. “You’re gonna get through this, and I’ll be there for you if you need me, alright? You’re a good man, Azerius.”

“Thank you,” Azerius said, still sounding a bit distraught. “You are a good man too.”

Yargol felt Azerius pressing a light kiss on the back of his hand, and he pulled the man close to his body. He waited until he could tell that Azerius had fallen asleep but then failed to join him.

Azerius’ words lingered in his mind. Yargol had meant everything he said. Azerius was as good a man as he would probably ever meet. He had an education, a nice family and friends. Not only could Yargol offer none of that, but Azerius also did not know anything about the things Yargol had done in his time as a mercenary.

Even though years had passed, he was not sure if he would consider himself a good person. And perhaps, if he knew everything, Azerius would change his mind as well.

It was all self-sabotage. Yargol knew the feeling all too well, and he hated it. He wanted to enjoy this one good thing that had happened to him for once, but at the same time, he was so uncomfortably certain that he did not deserve this. That he was naïve for thinking he could keep any of it.

Azerius was clinging to him now because Yargol was his first. But how was he supposed to compete with all the wizards once they got to Midvalley? Or what if Azerius underestimated the amount of hate the elves there had for orcs? Azerius had not even bothered questioning him about his past. Did he know what being a mercenary really meant?

There were so many ways this could go south. Things had always gone south for Yargol in the past, so why should this time be any different?

Eventually, Yargol was too tired to even keep up his pointless worrying. Holding Azerius perhaps a bit tighter than he needed to, he fell asleep.

***

Yargol woke up when he felt Azerius wriggle out of his embrace. “Mmh, stay…” he murmured as he pulled the human back into his arms.

“The sun is already rising. We need to get up,” Azerius protested as he unsuccessfully tried to free himself.

Yargol sighed and reluctantly let go of Azerius as he rolled onto his back. He really would have preferred to sleep in today, but Azerius seemed very motivated to get going.

He watched his boyfriend as he got dressed. The red robes suited him, but Yargol could not imagine wearing something like that himself, should he really stay at the Citadel.

Azerius walked over to Yargol. “Come on, get up,” he demanded. “I promise you the beds at the Citadel are just as comfortable.”

“Give me another minute,” Yargol said, tugging on Azerius’ sleeve until Azerius bent down and kissed him.

“Alright,” Azerius granted. “I will wait downstairs, but do not take too long.”

“Okay,” Yargol kissed Azerius again and then let go.

Azerius left, and Yargol enjoyed the comfortable warmth of the bed for a few more minutes before he started to get dressed. He grabbed his bag and made his way downstairs.

He could hear Azerius’ father talking in the kitchen. “…have everything? Did you pack enough food? What if it rains? Do you have the right clothes?”

“Father, will you ever stop treating me like an adolescent? Midvalley is just a few hours away. We will be fine.”

Yargol entered the kitchen and startled Heimart, who took a step back and looked at him uneasily. “Morning,” Heimart greeted with a nod.

“Morning,” Yargol greeted back with a smile, which unfortunately seemed to make Heimart even more nervous.

“Ready to go?” Azerius asked.

“Sure,” Yargol said, putting his arm around Azerius’ shoulder and pressing a kiss on the man’s forehead.

Heimart pretended to study the kitchen counter intensely for a few moments before clearing his throat. “Right, Adeline told me about… you two,” he said, looking slightly worried at Yargol’s hand on Azerius’ shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I’ll continue to take good care of your son,” Yargol tried to reassure.

Heimart nodded but still only briefly looked at Yargol. “Just try to stay out of trouble from now on.”

“Definitely,” Yargol agreed and looked around. “Where is Adeline?”

“Already in the fields. We will meet her on the way,” Azerius said. He walked over to his father and briefly hugged him. “I am sorry that we cannot stay longer. We will come by again in a few weeks,” he promised.

“It’s alright, boy. I know this Citadel stuff is important,” he said, patting Azerius on the shoulder. “Be careful,” he then added, and Yargol did not miss the way Heimart nervously glanced at him again while he spoke.

Yargol held out his hand. “Thanks for letting me stay. I don’t take your trust for granted.”

Heimart seemed reluctant for a moment but then accepted the handshake. “Sure, it’s the least we could do after you brought our son back. We won’t ever forget that,” he said, trying to look Yargol in the eyes and smile.

“Great, we will be on our way then,” Azerius announced and grabbed his bag.

They left Azerius’ home and made their way down the hill on which the farm was situated. Yargol could see clouds on the horizon, but they were still far away, so he guessed they would make it to Midvalley without getting wet.

“I like your parents, but I don’t think your father is very happy that we’re together,” Yargol remarked.

“Until yesterday, he probably knew as much about orcs as I did when I met you. Trust me, if he really had a problem with this, he would let us know. I think he just needs time to get used to it.”

“Okay,” Yargol said, feeling a bit more assured. “And how are you feeling today?”

“Better…” Azerius answered but paused briefly before he continued talking. “There is one thing though.”

“Yes?” Yargol said curiously.

Azerius did not look at Yargol when he spoke. “About my scar… what I told you was not exactly the truth.”

“What do you mean?” Yargol asked.

“It was not an accident.”

“What then? A fight? You didn’t harm yourself on purpose, did you?” Yargol asked, unwelcome memories creeping into his mind.

Azerius shook his head and took a deep breath. “On the first day at the academy, I had a lesson with a master Physiomancer. He was really good at teaching magic, and I stayed even after the lesson had ended because I wanted to do some extra work for the assignment he had given us that day. When I walked up to his table to hand in the scrolls I had worked on, I accidentally knocked over an ink pot, which ruined some old manuscripts. He got very angry, started screaming and…” Azerius gestured at his throat.

Yargol stopped walking. “He tore open your throat because you spilt some ink?!”

“I should have been more careful. Those were extremely valuable and rare manuscripts,” Azerius explained to a baffled Yargol.

“Who gives a shit about some paper? He must’ve almost killed you, right?” Yargol was getting increasingly irritated that Azerius was not acting more upset about this.

“Yes, but he healed me immediately,” Azerius attempted to explain. “He did not mean to do it. It is not a big deal.”

“If it’s no big deal, then why didn’t you tell me what happened right away?” Yargol challenged.

Azerius scratched his beard. “I had to promise him that I would tell no one what really happened. Officially, he saved my life after I accidentally hurt myself with a spell.”

“You even lied for that guy? Why?”

“He told me that he would have me expelled from the Citadel if I told anyone, and I could not let that happen. My parents had paid so much money for me to go to the academy.”

Yargol could not believe what he was hearing. “If I see this guy at the Citadel, I will rip his throat out,” he announced, fuming.

“He no longer teaches at the Citadel. He got promoted and now advises the king in the capital.”

Yargol felt like he was about to explode. “Then I will tell your king to send him back so I can kill him. Or something.”

Azerius’ eyes widened. “No. Under no circumstances can you tell anyone about this. It happened years ago. There is no point in bringing it up now.”

Yargol shook his head. “You can’t be serious…”

“Please, Yargol, promise me you will not tell anyone,” Azerius pleaded.

Yargol looked at Azerius for a while before shaking his head. “Whatever, but I still think you should tell someone else. This is clearly bothering you.”

Azerius seemed relieved. “Thank you. I am fine, honestly.”

Yargol had a hard time believing that, but he saw no point in pushing the issue further.

Azerius pointed at a field to the right side of the road. “The field over there belongs to us. Seems like my mother is still working.”

Adeline was hard to miss on the almost empty field. The strong woman was loading the last remaining pumpkins on a waggon when she spotted Azerius and Yargol approaching her. “Good morning, sleepyheads. I was about to head back.”

“I was up early, but somebody wanted to sleep in,” Azerius said, nodding at Yargol.

“What? I got up five minutes after you,” Yargol protested.

“Well, you better hurry. Judging by the clouds, a storm is coming,” she warned.

“We’ll be fine. If Azerius is too slow, I can carry him again,” Yargol offered.

“That will not be necessary,” Azerius dismissed. “Though getting carried around all the time was convenient, I will admit.”

“So, when is the wedding going to happen? Have you thought about children yet?” she asked casually.

Yargol felt a slight pull in his stomach when he listened to Adeline talking, and he glanced at Azerius, whose face reddened. “Please, Mother, we just met each other.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll shut up and ask again in a few weeks,” Adeline said, smiling, amused. “Stay safe, boy,” she continued and hugged Azerius. “And come by anytime.” She released Azerius and reached into her pocket, pulling out a small pouch filled with coins and putting it into Azerius’ hand.

“Mother, no-” Azerius tried to decline.

“I won’t hear it, don’t argue,” Adeline insisted, and Azerius obeyed. She now turned to Yargol. “You’re always welcome too, Yargol. Meeting you was very interesting.”

“I feel the same way,” Yargol answered, shaking Adeline’s hand.

“Just keep in mind that I will bash your face in if you hurt Azerius,” Adeline added without changing the tone of her voice.

“Mother!” Azerius exclaimed, looking at Adeline in anger. “Not every conversation with you needs to end with threats of violence or death.”

Adeline raised her hands defensively. “I’m just making sure I got my point across.”

Yargol chuckled. “It’s alright,” he diffused. “I’ll be careful.”

“You better be,” Adeline said with a smile. “Safe travels, then.”

Azerius and Yargol kept travelling along the road through the hills. The number of farms and taverns increased, but the city was not in sight yet. From time to time, a few farmers could be seen in the distance, working in the fields. Most of them just curiously watched the two travellers walk by and then went back to work, but others hastily grabbed their things and fled when they saw Yargol.

Meanwhile, Yargol distracted himself by continuing his attempts to teach Azerius Orcish.

“The leave is grein,” Azerius said, struggling to pronounce the heavy Orcish words.

“The leaf is green,” Yargol corrected.

“The leaf… is green,” Azerius repeated slowly.

“Just like that, you’re getting better at this,” Yargol complimented.

“Thanks,” Azerius said excitedly. “Orcish is very different from the other languages I have learned so far.”

“I hope I will learn to write just as fast as you are learning Orcish.”

“With Lyra and me as teachers, you will write whole books in no time,” Azerius promised.

“Lyra?” Yargol asked, raising an eyebrow.

“She is the Epistomancer I told you about.”

“Ah, alright. Can’t wait to meet her,” Yargol said, scratching his beard. “Anybody else I can look forward to? You never told me about the master who is teaching you.”

“My training is supposed to start after I get back. Therefore, I do not have a master yet.”

“So, we start training together? Maybe I will just choose your master as my guide,” Yargol proposed. “That would be the easiest way.”

“That is certainly an option, but I recommend that you still talk to other masters to find someone you are truly comfortable with. Discovering your magic is something very personal.”

Yargol nodded. “Okay, then I’ll take my time with it,” he promised.

The two were reaching the top of a hill, which granted a perfect viewpoint over the valley in front of them. The dark storm clouds had come closer and were already looming over the other half of the valley, making Midvalley an even more spectacular sight. The city was situated, as the name suggests, in the middle of the vale by a river which peacefully meandered through it.

Yargol had seen smaller human cities before, settlements with a few thousand residents but nothing like Midvalley, which looked more like it could house tens of thousands. The stone walls and towers of the city were imposing even from afar, but the obvious eye-catcher was, of course, the Citadel.

The star-shaped military complex looked almost like a second smaller city attached to the main one. Its buildings and fortifications seemed to have been expanded multiple times over many years, resulting in a weird mix of different architectural styles which distinguished it even more from the rest of the city.

“Wow,” Yargol simply stated.

“It is beautiful, right?” Azerius said enthusiastically.

“It’s… big,” Yargol evaded, feeling a bit uneasy at the thought of entering a city like that. To Yargol, the Citadel looked more like the churches and temples he had sometimes seen in human settlements further north. He never really understood why humans used up so much space, time, and resources on these excessive buildings with all their impractical décor.

“Come on, I would prefer to get there without getting wet or catching a cold,” Azerius said as the rumble of thunder could be heard from the clouds, which started to block the sun.

Yargol followed Azerius down the winding path into the valley. The road was empty as most of the people seemed to have already looked for shelter from the impending storm.

Unfortunately, just a few hundred meters before the city gates, the menacing clouds above them decided to release their pent-up rain in a sudden, freezing downpour.

The two started to run but were soon soaked to the bone. The rain was so heavy that Yargol could barely see the path before him, or Azerius, whom he could hear running somewhere close behind him.

Yargol reached the walls of Midvalley first. The massive wooden gates to the city were closed. He wanted to hammer his fist against the wood, but before he could do so, a movement to his right caused him to turn.

Lightning struck somewhere close by, illuminating a figure standing only a few meters away from him in the pouring rain.

A drenched white cape clung to the elven guard’s shimmering ornate silver armour. He had an arrow nocked and aimed at Yargol with unnervingly steady hands despite the raging storm. Even though Yargol had seen elves before, the slender stature and the strange armour seemed almost otherworldly to him now.

“NO!” Azerius’ scream was almost drowned out by the thunder of the storm above them as the guard let the arrow fly.

Yargol knew that there was no way the arrow would miss over such a short distance and that he had no chance to dodge it.

He could only watch helplessly as a silent silver flash whizzed towards him.

Chapter Text

Yargol closed his eyes as the arrow reached his chest, but the anticipated pain did not come. He looked down.

The arrowhead floated a palm’s width from his sternum. It had been caught by his hand before it could bury itself into his chest. Which would have been astounding enough on its own, let alone the fact that Yargol could tell that said arm did not belong to him.

The third arm branched off from his shoulder, but compared to his two actual arms, it appeared slightly translucent and was glowing with a low blue light. As if his soul was reaching out to protect him.

After a few seconds, the ghostly hand disappeared as suddenly as it had manifested, letting the arrow fall into the mud.

The guard looked at it, completely stunned.

Azerius had caught up with Yargol and almost slipped on the muddy road as he ran to Yargol’s side. “What happened?” he panted. “Are you hurt?”

Yargol kept staring at the arrow lying on the ground before him. “I don’t know… don’t think so.”

They then both looked at the guard, who already had another arrow nocked and was ready to shoot.

Azerius raised his hand. “Wait! My name is Azerius Freecaster. I am a wizard of the Citadel,” he hastily yelled through the rain, still out of breath. “He… he is with me,” he added, pointing at Yargol.

The guard hesitated but kept aiming at Yargol. “What are you talking about? Why are you alone outside the city with an orc?”

Azerius hectically rummaged around in Yargol’s bag and finally took out the wooden box, showing it to the guard. “I was on a mission led by Master Polaris to bring this to the Citadel. We were attacked, and I was the only survivor. Now let us in before we freeze to death,” Azerius demanded.

The elf seemed to recognise the box but only slightly relaxed his stance. “The monster is not entering the city,” the guard refused stubbornly.

“Yargol is a wizard too, the Eighth, to be exact. If you do not let him in, I will report you to General Sephiran,” Azerius threatened.

Yargol could tell that Azerius’ words affected the guard, and the soldier reluctantly relaxed his stance a bit. “The Eighth…” he said with a fascination in his voice. “So that’s how it stopped the arrow.”

“Yes,” Azerius responded impatiently. “Now open the gates.”

The guard finally put away his bow and walked back to a door beside the gate. He disappeared, and not long after, the gates opened.

Five more elven guards awaited them. They all wore helmets, so Yargol could not see their faces, but he could still feel the disdain radiating from them as they watched him enter their city.

Yargol ignored them. He was too busy looking around.

They were now on the side of a small cobblestone square with three streets branching off. The houses around Yargol were mostly two to three stories high with pointed roofs. Most of them were made of wood, sometimes stone. While the buildings looked similar to what Yargol had seen before in other cities, he could see what he guessed were elven influences, such as elaborate wooden carvings or small statues at the top of some houses.

One of the five elves stepped forward and spoke to Azerius in a firm voice. “Let me be clear: if it were up to me, that thing would have been executed on the spot. I don’t care if it’s a wizard. But I will have to let the General decide, so we will escort you to the Citadel after the rain has stopped.”

“Understood,” Azerius said, crossing his arms trying to hide how cold he was.

The guard then looked directly at Yargol. “One false move, and we’ll cut you down.”

Yargol clenched his teeth and barely managed to stop himself from cursing at the elf, who walked back to his colleagues. Instead, he stepped closer to Azerius, who had started to shiver. He wrapped his arms around the freezing human.

Azerius did not seem enthusiastic about the embrace at first, side-eying the guards nervously. But he huddled closer once he started to feel the pleasant warmth of the orc’s chest.

Meanwhile, Yargol watched with contentment as the elves now seemed very confused about what was happening. None of them dared to comment or intervene, though.

Azerius looked up at Yargol with chattering teeth. “Did you really catch the arrow with a spell?”

“I think so, something… reached out of me and caught it,” Yargol said, unnerved by the memory.

Azerius did not seem concerned at all. “That is great. I cannot wait to see what else you are capable of.”

“Yeah, me too… I think,” Yargol said, unsure if he was feeling anxiety or excitement.

The group waited under the city gate until the rain started to subside, while Yargol pretended not to feel the hostile stares of the elves.

As soon as the rain had cleared, the guards seemed eager to get moving.

They led them down the empty street to the right along the city wall. While they were marching towards the Citadel, a few people emerged from houses again now that the sun started to break through the clouds. Some immediately went back inside when they saw Yargol. Others stared with open curiosity as they walked by.

The entrance to the Citadel was massive and looked more like it led to the inside of a temple than a military installation or academy. A broad stone stairway led to a wide set of heavy wooden doors with a row of large white marble pillars on each side. Yargol immediately recognised it from the strange vision he had in the field. It made everything he saw now feel less impressive and more like a silent threat.

The doors were guarded by two humans, who were armed with spears and wore light metal armour under dark purple tunics. Both leaned casually against the wall behind them as if half asleep. One had even taken off his helmet. But when they spotted the travellers approaching with the elves, they hastily stood to attention.

The guard who had taken off his helmet stepped forward. He was a short-haired blonde man who looked slightly younger than Azerius and had a cheeky face with freckles and green eyes. “Azerius? Holy shit, you’re alive!”

“I am,” Azerius confirmed and hugged the man briefly. “Good to see you, Inian.”

“They are your responsibility now,” one of the elven guards said. “Especially the orc.”

The group of soldiers turned around and left without waiting for a response from the human guards.

Inian rolled his eyes and watched the elves go, annoyed for a moment before he turned to his colleague. “Go tell the Commander that Freecaster survived.”

The other soldier nodded and went inside the building while Inian looked at Azerius again. “What happened?”

“It is a long story. I will tell you everything later, alright? Right now, I would like to get inside and warm up if you do not mind,” Azerius said while rubbing his cold hands together.

“Sure…” Inian said but hesitated and glanced at Yargol. “You and your… new boyfriend?”

Yargol looked at Azerius, surprised. “How does he know? Are we that obvious?”

Azerius looked at Yargol a bit uncomfortably. “He was joking.”

“Oh,” Yargol said.

Inian’s mouth fell open, and he looked at Azerius. “No…”

Azerius seemed unsure what to say and just smiled awkwardly.

“By the… you’re fucking the orc? For real? Like, for real, real? How? When? I want to know all the details!” He paused and briefly glanced at Yargol again. “Okay, maybe not all, but like most of them.”

“Inian, please, can we do this later? Let us meet in the tavern this evening. I will explain everything.”

Inian sighed, frustrated, and moved to open the door for Azerius and Yargol. “Fine but you better show up because I absolutely need to know how this happened.”

“I promise,” Azerius said, quickly slipping past his friend through the entrance into the Citadel while Yargol followed him.

The first thing Yargol noticed when he entered the building was the strong smell of old parchment mixed with ink and magic. Yargol felt his clothes dry rapidly after a few steps. They now felt as if they had hung in the warm summer sun for a few hours. He looked at Azerius, astonished.

“Convenient, right?” the wizard smiled.

Yargol looked around and was stunned. A massive hall lay before them. Bigger than any room he had ever seen. It had no windows but was dimly lit by small white orbs floating in the air like little candles. An imperial staircase with an oversized oil painting could be seen at the end of the room, and the floor was made of thousands of small, rectangular stone pieces.

When Yargol looked closer, he realised that the mosaic on the ground depicted a giant tree. At the end of each of the tree’s ten main branches was a massive white marble pedestal, seven of which carried large statues.

Every wall in the hall was utilised as a bookshelf, stuffed with a seemingly infinite number of books and scrolls. When Yargol looked up, he could see that the shelves seamlessly extended to the arched roof, holding their contents at physically impossible angles.

Several wizards dressed in colourful robes similar to Azerius’ were walking around the hall, carrying books and the sorts while one of the small white orbs followed each of them. No one seemed to have noticed the two arrivals yet.

“So? What do you think?” Azerius asked Yargol, who was still looking around, fascinated.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Yargol said. “It’s not ugly,” he finally admitted.

“Come,” Azerius gestured at Yargol and started striding through the hall.

Yargol had to think about how insecure Azerius had seemed sometimes while they were on the road. Now, among thousands of pages, he almost beamed with confidence. So much so it almost offset Yargol’s own unease.

He trotted after him and looked at the first marble statue to the left as he walked past it. A tall figure dressed in long robes with its face obscured by a hood. “What’s with all the statues?”

“They depict the founder of each magical branch,” Azerius explained and stopped before the one Yargol was looking at. “This was the founder of the first branch, Epistomancy. We basically know nothing about them. He or she is more of a myth at this point, but we know that they wrote a book in which they predicted what all the schools of magic would look like. Unfortunately, neither the original nor any copies of it survived to the present day.”

“Huh,” Yargol commented as he looked at the other statues in the hall. They were all very detailed humans and elves of all ages and backgrounds. One on the right was a young elven woman who wore a long and extravagant gown, while the one beside her was an old human man holding a simple staff.

However, it was the last one that caught Yargol’s attention. He walked through the hall past a small group of human wizards in dark green robes who looked after him suspiciously while whispering to each other.

Yargol stopped in front of the seventh statue, which looked unlike any of the other figures. It depicted a tall and muscular male human, or at least Yargol thought it resembled one. The man was clothed only in torn trousers. He had large eyes, almost like that of an owl, in his bald head. The statue's mouth was open as if it was in the middle of yelling a command, and Yargol could make out several rows of sharp marble teeth. Additionally, the wizard possessed five arms, three on the right and two on the left, each holding a unique-looking knife.

Yargol stared at the creature, which seemed to become more and more uncanny the longer he looked at it. He felt the already faint noises of the hall around him fade away as the gaze of the statue’s large bird eyes pierced his skull. As if the eldritch monster had set its sight on his soul which it wanted to devour.

“Ezhar Orovius.” Azerius’ voice suddenly pulled Yargol back to reality. “The founder of my branch. He was… quite the madman,” he casually explained.

“You don’t say?” Yargol said a bit sarcastically as he tore his eyes from the statue and looked at Azerius. “You’re not going to look like that one day, right?”

Azerius laughed. “No, I do not plan on it. Very few members of my branch follow Ezhar’s way of self-modification and even then, only within limits.”

“Is he still alive? That Ezhar guy, I mean?”

“No, he died about three hundred years ago. Apparently, he tried to modify his own brain with Physiomancy and… well… the story about his death is graphic.”

“Hm,” Yargol murmured and glanced up at the statue again.

“Yours will stand over there,” Azerius said and pointed at the empty pedestal on the other side of the hall.

“What do you mean, ‘mine’?” Yargol asked, confused.

“You are the founder of the eighth branch. So, there will be a statue of you over there.”

Yargol did his best to imagine a marble statue of him standing on the pedestal he was looking at. He shook his head. “But I didn’t do anything to deserve that. What if I don’t want one?”

Azerius looked surprised. “Well, I guess you could insist on leaving your spot empty, but it would be very unusual. Let us focus on that later, alright?”

“Fine,” Yargol accepted before moving on. They had now reached the end of the hall and started to climb the broad staircase.

Yargol looked up at the gigantic oil painting hanging above the stairs. It depicted a young, strong-looking man in decorated plate armour with a dark purple cape and a golden crown resting on his head. He was sitting on a white horse, on a battlefield littered with bodies. The sword he held up in triumph was still dripping with blood.

Yargol assumed that this was the current king, but before he could ask Azerius, he was interrupted by a scream.

It came from a young elven woman with long silver hair in white robes who ran down the stairs towards them at worrying speeds. She was carrying a stack of books that looked like it would fall down the stairs together with her at any moment.

“Freecaster!” the witch yelled excitedly and somehow managed to barely slow down before slamming into Azerius. “Hold that,” she demanded and put the stack of books into Azerius’ arms before proceeding to punch him in the arm.

“Ow!” Azerius complained while struggling to balance the books. “What was that for?”

“For making me think you died,” she explained, annoyed, and added, “Asshole.”

Azerius sighed and shoved the books back into his colleague’s arms. “I missed you too, Lyra.”

The elf adjusted her grip on the books and now had her curious eyes already set on Yargol. “I will forgive you if the next thing you tell me is that that guy is here to teach me Orcish.”

“Kind of. This is Yargol. I promised we would teach him how to write in return,” Azerius explained.

“We can absolutely do that,” Lyra said and walked down a couple more steps, trying her best to stick her hand out without dropping the books. “Lyra Naelar, pleased to meet you,” she said politely and smiled.

“Hi,” Yargol responded and smiled back. “You’re the one who knows so many languages, right?”

Lyra looked at Azerius, surprised. “I see my reputation precedes me. You’re correct. I specialise in languages.”

Yargol looked up at the thousands of books resting on the shelves around them. “All those books and not a single one is about my language?”

Lyra snorted, frustrated. “Don’t get me started. You can thank that idiot over there for that,” and she nodded at the large oil painting hanging on the wall behind them.

“Lyra!” Azerius protested but then lowered his voice. “Careful, you never know who is listening.”

Lyra seemed unworried. “Relax, the guy is busy killing rebels in the south. He and his goons won’t be in the area for a while,” she dismissed. “Anyway, Yargol, we can start with a lesson right away. Just follow me.”

“Actually, we need to get a few things done first. I told Inian we would meet up in the evening. Let us talk more there, alright?”

Lyra seemed a bit disappointed but nodded. “Fine, I’ll see you two later then.”

“She seems nice,” Yargol commented. It was good to know that elves were even capable of feeling any emotion towards him besides hostility.

“Certainly, as long as you stay on her good side,” Azerius said as he led Yargol up the rest of the stairs. They went down several decorated hallways, finally stopping in front of a door. He turned to look at Yargol nervously. “While we are in there… let me do the talking, please.”

Yargol raised an eyebrow but nodded briefly, and Azerius knocked on the door.

For several seconds, there was silence before a muffled voice answered. “Yes?”

Azerius opened the door, and the two stepped into the General’s office.

Yargol had expected a muscle-packed man, so he was thoroughly surprised when an ancient-looking human woman was sitting at the large wooden table in the middle of the room. He looked around, but she was the only one in the room besides them.

General Sephiran had short grey hair, and though her face was withered, when she glanced up briefly from the parchment she was currently writing on, Yargol could see that her ice-blue eyes were assessing the situation with absolute clarity. She was wearing white robes like Lyra but with barely visible fine lines of gold embroidered into the fabric.

“Mr. Freecaster, good to see you’re alive. You can put the box on the table,” her commanding voice did not sound welcoming or happy and lacked any warmth whatsoever. “I expect a full mission report by the evening.”

The General did not stop writing as Azerius pulled out the wooden box from Yargol’s bag and stepped forward to do as he was told. “Yes, of course, General Sephiran, I sincerely apolog-”

“Now, I’m sure you will have an explanation for dragging a wild animal into my office,” she casually remarked.

Yargol had to force down a growl that was building up quickly in his chest.

“This is Yargol. He saved my li-” Azerius tried to explain but was immediately interrupted again.

 “So, this is about compensation for escorting you? There was no need to bring him all the way to me for this.”

“He is the Eighth…” Azerius blurted out, the last word hanging in the room for a moment.

General Sephiran finally stopped writing before looking up, visibly confused. “Excuse me?”

“He is… the founder of the eighth branch,” Azerius confirmed.

“Your attempt at humour is not welcome, Mr Freecaster,” Sephiran said, irritated, but Yargol could hear a little bit of uneasiness in her voice. “Only humans and elves can found branches.”

“I am not joking,” Azerius assured.

Sephiran stared at Azerius and slowly began to shake her head. She then looked at Yargol in horror. “No… no, you must be mistaken.”

She got up from her chair and walked over to Yargol as fast as a woman her age could manage.

“Give me your hand,” she demanded and reached out, but Yargol had his arms crossed and looked at her defiantly.

Only when Azerius gave him a small reassuring nod did Yargol hold open his hand.

The General grabbed his palm and laid an index finger on the inside of his wrist. She pressed down, and Yargol could see faint blue light travel along his veins around the area she was pressing on. Pulsing with the beat of his heart.

General Sephiran pulled her hands back as if she had just touched a red-hot piece of coal. She stared, shocked, at Yargol’s hand. “Seems like you told the truth. How did its powers get revealed?”

“He touched the Soulshard and had a vision about… the future? A sort of warning that all magic users would die soon,” Azerius explained.

“I see,” the General said, unsurprised, as if she heard prophecies like this every week.

“Is this what the artefact is for? To save everyone?” Azerius asked and looked at her, hopeful.

General Sephiran walked back to her table. “Yes, we are already aware of the situation. The arrival of the Eighth might even help us, but for now, we have the situation under control through other means.”

“What situation? What is going on?” Azerius wanted to know.

The General let herself fall back into her chair. “You do not need to concern yourself with that, and I assume you are aware that nothing about this leaves this room for now?” she asked but did not give Azerius time to respond before she continued. “Does it speak common?” she said and nodded at Yargol.

Yargol finally had enough of this. “He does,” he hissed at the woman. “I think I’ve heard enough. I’ll search for a tavern. We’ll see each other later,” he said to Azerius, who looked at him with surprise.

Azerius opened his mouth to say something but was once again interrupted by General Sephiran. “Wait!” she yelled.

The slight panic in the woman’s otherwise very controlled voice had a certain satisfaction to Yargol as he stopped and turned around.

The General stood up again, and now her tone was very polite when she spoke. “Mr. Yargol, you don’t need to sleep at some tavern. The Citadel will, of course, accommodate you free of charge.”

“Yes, maybe a pen with the other animals, so I’m in good company?” Yargol spat back.

A faint trace of red could be seen on the General's face. “Please, if you can forgive me for my ignorant comment earlier. A guest of your status would get a room usually reserved for masters, of course. It would be an honour if you stayed and allowed us to train you in the ways of magic. I assure you, you would find no better place for this than here at the Citadel.”

“Hm.” Yargol pretended to think, withstanding the intense stare of the woman. “Fine, I’ll stay for now.”

The General seemed relieved. “Excellent. I will need to inform the council, as well as the king, of this… exciting development. Mr. Freecaster will be with you at all times and help you familiarise yourself with all the rules and customs we have in Midvalley and the Citadel,” she said, sending a meaningful look towards Azerius. “Master Polaris's room has already been cleared, so he can stay there.”

“Yes, General,” Azerius confirmed.

“Good, leave now. I have a lot of work to do,” she said, pulling out new sheets of parchment.

The two left the room and Azerius led Yargol down the hallway into a different part of the building.

Azerius grinned. “I have never seen the General embarrassed before. Seems like we really caught her off guard.”

“I wasn’t expecting an old woman, to be honest,” Yargol admitted. He could not imagine the old person leading an army in the field. Guide and advise other generals? Sure. But at a certain age, you had to step down. At least, that is how it had worked in his tribe.

“She may be old, but I assure you she knows what she is doing.”

Yargol remained sceptical but shrugged. “If you say so…”

The Citadel seemed like a maze to Yargol, yet Azerius managed to navigate it without really thinking about it. They crossed an inner courtyard with some trees and patches where the Citadel apparently grew fruits and vegetables in the summer, before going back inside and upstairs again.

The hallway they were now in looked a lot older and simpler than the pompous marble and mosaic rooms they had walked through earlier. Azerius finally stopped in front of a wooden door.

The room they stepped into was quite large. It had its own fireplace, a dining table, and the biggest, softest-looking bed Yargol had ever seen. Big carpets covered most of the dark wooden floor and old stone walls.

“This would be just for me?” Yargol asked hesitantly.

“Yes.” Azerius walked across the room and opened a glazed door. “Look, it even has a balcony.”

Yargol followed Azerius to peek outside. The view was stunning. One could overlook most of the city from this height. Golden sunlight broke through the dissolving clouds and caused the wet roofs of the countless houses to glisten. The people down on the street were too busy with their chores to notice the two wizards on the balcony high above them.

Azerius was leaning against the railing and seemed to enjoy himself. “I have never been in a master’s room before. Mine is much smaller.”

“Why don’t you take it? I don’t need all of this,” Yargol gestured at the room.

Azerius tilted his head. “Come on. Why are you so modest? It is one of the most secluded rooms in the Citadel. I thought you would like that.”

“I mean… I guess.” Yargol went back inside and looked around again.

“Just try it for now,” Azerius suggested. “If you really do not like it, you can still ask for a different room tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Yargol conceded and walked over to the big bed. He dropped his bag beside it and let himself fall into the comfy sheets. They were as soft as they looked, and Yargol hummed, satisfied as he relaxed.

Azerius sat down at the edge of the bed and stroked Yargol’s arm. “I am going to visit my brother now before meeting up with Lyra and Inian. You can stay here and take a break if you want.”

Yargol immediately sat back up. He did not like the thought of staying alone at the Citadel. “No, I’m coming with you, if that’s okay?”

“Sure. Absolutely,” Azerius said but hesitated. “Just stay with me.”

“If you think it’s too dangerous, then I’ll stay here,” Yargol offered.

Azerius shook his head. “No, it is going to be fine. Come.” They got up, and Azerius led Yargol back outside.

Yargol felt uneasy as he looked down the busy street Azerius was walking towards. He had never seen so many people in one place before. He stopped and swallowed as he watched merchants selling their wares to impatient customers on the side of the street and groups of travellers chatting while they walked by him. Most of the people paid him little attention, apart from the usual shameless, curious looks he was used to. However, Yargol felt like every single one of them could reveal a hidden knife at any moment to attack him when he was not looking.

Azerius turned around after a few strides when he realised Yargol was not by his side anymore. He walked back to the orc. “Why did you stop? Is something wrong?” Azerius asked with concern and tried to meet Yargol’s eyes, which darted around nervously, looking for potential threats.

When Yargol did not answer, Azerius started to look really worried. “You know what, this was a bad idea. Let us go back. This is too much for you.”

Something about the last sentence caused Yargol to unfreeze. He grabbed Azerius by the arm. “No!” he said, a bit angrier than he had intended.

Azerius looked at him, startled, and Yargol immediately felt bad about how he reacted. He tried to relax a bit. “No, it’s fine. I’m… fine. I can walk down a damn street, ok?” he said, frustrated, and let go of Azerius.

“Alright, alright,” Azerius said but still sounded worried as he looked at Yargol.

“Lead the way,” Yargol gestured down the street.

Azerius now walked even closer to Yargol, occasionally looking up to check on him.

Yargol tried to act calm, but he could feel his heart thumping as they walked down the street. When Azerius signalled Yargol to turn into a nearly empty alleyway, he breathed a small sigh of relief.

Azerius stopped in front of a small, old-looking house. The sound of steel hitting on steel could already be heard from inside.

Intense heat hit Yargol with full force as he followed Azerius into the smithy. He felt his skin prickle as the room rapidly warmed him up. The slightly chaotic workshop around him was packed full of tools, weapons, and armour parts. It was illuminated by a forging furnace at the end of the room. Beside it stood a beefy-looking, black-haired smith who was a bit smaller in size than Azerius. He wore an apron and was covered in sweat. The strong man hammered methodically on a sword lying on an anvil before him and had not noticed his visitors yet.

Azerius walked over to his brother. “Lucian!” he yelled but was drowned out by the hammering. “LUCIAN!” he yelled again and tapped on the smith’s shoulder.

The blacksmith stopped working and turned around, startled, letting out a small scream, which was followed by a second louder scream when he recognised his brother. He dropped his hammer and slammed into Azerius, hugging him while starting to sob.

For a while, they were just standing in the sweltering heat of the room, the only sounds coming from the fire in the large furnace behind them and Lucian’s crying.

When the two separated, Lucian wiped the tears off his round face with his sleeve and sniffled. The man had a bushy, untamed beard and friendly blue eyes, which looked Azerius up and down. “Are you okay? When did you get back?”

“Just now, we only stopped at the Citadel before coming here,” Azerius said.

“We?” Lucian only now seemed to notice Yargol standing behind his brother. His reddened eyes widened. “Who’s that?”

“This is Yargol… my, uhm… boyfriend,” Azerius stated anxiously.

Lucian stared at Yargol, seemingly struggling to find the right words.

Yargol walked a few steps closer and offered a handshake. “Hey,” he greeted the surprised smith.

Lucian just let out another sob and walked past Yargol’s extended hand, hugging the orc like he just did his brother.

Yargol looked down, surprised at the human who pressed his wet face onto his chest. He then looked unsure at Azerius, who seemed slightly surprised as well but just smiled in an amused way and shrugged. Yargol proceeded to lightly pat Lucian on the back since he did not really know what else would be considered appropriate. He did not really feel like crying at the moment.

Lucian finally let go of Yargol after a minute or two. “Wonderful,” he said, stepping away and wiping his face again. “Nice to meet you, Yargol.” Azerius’ brother took off the apron and put it on a table beside him. He took a deep breath and smiled at his guests. “Tell me everything, brother. Oh, can I get you two something to drink?”

“I was thinking we could go to the tavern and meet up with Lyra and Inian to talk a bit,” Azerius suggested.

“Sure. Great idea. I will just change into something else real quick, and then we can go.”

Lucian went into a back room, and Yargol could see Azerius breathing out in relief. He walked over to Azerius and put his arm around the man’s shoulders. “Seems like he’s fine with it.”

“Yeah,” Azerius smiled. “Lucian has always been pretty open-minded, so I was not really worried, but you never know.”

Yargol looked around the workshop again. He walked along the wall and inspected the various mounted weapons and shields. Heimart had not lied when he said his son was a good smith. Yargol’s own axe looked like rusty garbage compared to the wares on display, even though he usually took good care of his gear. He grabbed one of the axes off the wall and weighed it in his hands.

When Yargol put it back, something else at the end of the room caught his eye. It was a metal-reinforced leather armour put up for display on a stand beside the entrance. The craftsmanship was impressive. Far better than the cheap excuse for leather armour he currently wore. Yargol pictured himself in a version of the armour which was tailored to him but did not even dare to think about what that would cost.

Azerius came to Yargol's side. “Lucian is good, right?”

Yargol nodded. “Seems to know what he’s doing.”

“Thanks, I worked really hard on that one,” Lucian was back and now wore a dark grey tunic. “I can give you a discount if you want one too.”

Yargol shook his head. “I don’t have the money right now. Maybe someday.”

“No need to worry. The Citadel will commission custom robes for you, Yargol,” Azerius assured.

Looking at the armour set made Yargol realise even more how vulnerable he felt in this city. He could not imagine himself wearing robes like Azerius, but he did not want to be rude.

“Let’s go. I want to hear stories!” Lucian tugged on Azerius impatiently until his brother followed him out the door. Yargol gave the armour a last longing look before following the two.

***

The tavern they entered was not far from the Citadel. It was fairly crowded, mostly with soldiers who were done with their shift, along with a few half-drunk wizards and witches.

The room became significantly quieter when the three entered, and Yargol felt his stomach tie into knots. Almost two dozen people, many of them elven. None dared to approach them, but Yargol could feel the distrust hanging in the air. Especially coming from the elven soldiers. The wizards and witches, on the other hand, gawked with blatant curiosity and whispered to each other as Yargol walked by.

The room only had one exit, and to make matters even worse, he spotted Lyra and Inian already sitting at a table in the back corner of the room. If things got nasty, he would be in a horrible position to escape. But Azerius steered towards his friends, seemingly unconcerned.

“There he is,” Inian said when he saw Azerius approaching.

Lyra stood up and hugged Lucian. “Lucian, so good to see you. How are Larilla and Jason?”

“They’re well, thanks for asking.” Lucian smiled and joined her at the table.

Everyone was so relaxed about this that Yargol sat down despite his concerns without complaining. All the other tables were full, and he did not want to make a weird first impression.

Lyra, Inian, and Lucian listened attentively to Azerius’ retelling of their story while the rest of the tavern had gone back to its usual business. Yargol listened as well, but only with one ear, staying aware of the mood in the room at all times.

When Azerius was finished, the three were silent for a moment before a slightly pale-looking Lucian stood up. “Wow, I think I need another drink after that. I’ll be right back,” he said and walked over to the bar.

Inian leaned back and smirked. “Innocent little Azerius goes on his first mission and comes back with an orc boyfriend. I love it. Honestly, couldn’t have come up with something better myself.”

“This is so unfair. The only things I got from my first mission were a nasty cold and a sore ass from riding in the rain for three weeks,” Lyra complained.

Inian grinned. “Well, I’m sure Azerius’ ass is at least a little sore as well,” he said, clearly very proud of his bad joke before getting smacked on the back of his head by Lyra.

“You are an oaf, Inian,” she said, annoyed. She shook her head but could not hide a faint smile.

“My butt is not sore,” Azerius mumbled in a weak attempt at protest.

“Not yet,” Yargol commented and grinned back at Inian, who burst out laughing.

Azerius groaned and buried his face in his hands.

Yargol put his arm around the man to comfort him. “Sorry…” he tried to half-heartedly whisper an apology.

To Azerius’ relief, Lucian returned with drinks for everyone. The smith raised his mug and announced, “To Yargol, who saved my big brother’s life and brought him back safely. I’m forever in your debt.” Lucian was clearly close to tears again and sniffled.

Yargol smiled, embarrassed, but a scoff close behind him distracted the group.

An elf in light grey silk robes had silently approached their table. Yargol cursed himself silently. He had been distracted for just a second.

“What do you think you are doing, sister?” the guy asked Lyra, who seemed completely unfazed by this sudden act of hostility.

“I’m having a drink with my friends, obviously. Care to join us?” Lyra responded, cold and slightly sarcastic.

The elf seemed to be barely able to control his anger. “Oh, so you’re already friends, yes? Friends with that… thing?” He gestured vaguely at Yargol. “After all they did?”

Yargol stood up. He was almost two heads taller than the pale, slender man before him, but the elf did not appear intimidated in the slightest.

“You should have never entered the city. You should have been killed at the gates,” the elf spat at Yargol.

Yargol knew he should back down. Leave like he always did. But this was not like the other times when he had usually been alone, drunk and anxious. Now, he was only anxious, so that felt manageable. “You should watch your mouth,” Yargol growled back.

Azerius tugged on his arm, trying to pull him back down to his chair.

“Yargol, leave it. Let me handle this,” Azerius nervously tried to calm the orc.

“Is he your friend too, wizard?” the agitated elf shouted at Azerius, who stood up as well now.

The tavern was silent now as the elf took another step towards them. Yargol could hear several people getting up from their chairs. He felt his body tense up, ready to defend Azerius and himself.

“Yargol stands under the direct protection of the Citadel. If you have a problem with this, then leave and talk to the General,” Azerius said stoically.

“Protection?” the elf gasped. He took a step backwards again and shook his head. “This violates the treaty. We are the ones who should be protected from him! You won’t get away with that!” he swore and stormed out of the tavern. Every elf, as well as a handful of humans, followed his example, leaving the room half-empty.

The tension left Yargol as soon as they were gone. He looked unhappy at Lyra. “Sorry, maybe I should’ve just left.”

“No, fuck them. They’re the ones who have a problem, so they are the ones who should leave,” she exhaled. “Forget them and tell us a bit about yourself,” Lyra said and tried to smile.

Yargol sat back down and told the group a little about his life in the forest. He promised Lyra he would come to her as soon as possible so they could start with lessons, and Inian wanted him to show him how to ‘fight like an orc’. Whatever he meant by that.

As the evening progressed, Yargol noticed that Azerius was getting more and more touchy towards him as he was drinking quite a lot of beer for human standards. His lover leaned against his shoulder with his hand resting on Yargol’s thigh as they listened to Inian, who told them how mad his commander had been after he had let Azerius and Yargol inside the Citadel without waiting for his approval.

Lucian seemed to have noticed Azerius’ odd behaviour as well and commented. “Since when do you drink more than one beer in an evening, Azerius? Did you pick up a habit for it on your adventure with Yargol?”

Inian stopped impersonating his angry commander and chuckled. “Oh, I think he’s trying to impress his new boyfriend.”

“I am not,” Azerius denied, almost knocking over his mug as he put it down too hard. “I just wanted to celebrate. I don’t even feel the alcohol,” he claimed and smiled in the stupid way only drunk guys can.

Lyra looked at Inian. “He used a contraction. Our boy is completely shitfaced.”

“Whatever, you’r- I mean, you are paying for the next round,” Azerius huffed and stood up. He narrowly got caught by an attentive Yargol before he would have slammed into the ground.

Yargol stood up as well. “Alright, I think you’ve had enough. We’ll head back.” He picked Azerius up like he did when he had carried him through the forest. “Was really nice meeting y’all. Good night.”

The others waved them goodbye while Azerius protested incomprehensibly about being carried asYargol walked out of the tavern with him. He made his way back to the Citadel, and by the time he climbed the stairs to the entrance, Azerius had fallen asleep in his arms.

Chapter Text

Yargol was woken earlier than he had hoped. A group of people had apparently decided to have a rather noisy conversation directly in front of the room he slept in. He could not distinguish any details of the conversation, but it was loud enough to keep him from falling asleep again.

Yargol reluctantly opened his eyes. It was still very early in the morning. The sun was not even up yet. The only light came from the ember in the fireplace, which had kept the room pleasantly warm during the night.

Azerius was lying by Yargol’s side, snoring silently. He managed to get up without waking the man and walked over to the door. He really would have preferred to sleep in for once.

Yargol opened the door wearing only his underwear and was greeted by twenty wizards turning their heads, staring at him in surprise.

“Can you guys fuck off? You’re loud, and I want to sleep…” Yargol grumbled at the group.

For a few moments, the wizards seemed speechless until one of them decided to step forward. The elegant-looking, middle-aged human man wore round glasses and an orange-coloured robe.

He smiled friendly as he spoke. “Mr Yargol, please forgive us for disturbing your rest. My colleagues and I were simply wondering if you have already found a master who will assist you in your education at the Citadel?“

“No, I haven’t,” Yargol said and moved to close the door, but the wizard stepped forward hastily.

“In that case, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mast-”

“Now hold on,” an elven woman in purple robes interrupted. “I was here half an hour before you. Get back in line,” she demanded.

“What is going on?” a hungover Azerius appeared from behind Yargol. He had half-heartedly thrown on his robes and froze with widened eyes when he spotted the group of masters standing in the hallway.

“Mr Freecaster,” the elf said, baffled. “What are you doing in the room of the Eighth at this hour?”

“I… well…” Azerius started.

“None of your business,” Yargol answered for him. “Now leave.” With that, he slammed the door shut.

Yargol turned around and walked back to the wonderfully warm bed. “Sleep well?”

“Kind of,” Azerius mumbled and poured himself a glass of water from a carafe on the table. He drank it in one go. “I think I will stay away from alcohol for a while.”

Yargol chuckled. “You drank like three beers.”

“That is a lot, for me at least,” Azerius defended himself while he walked back to rejoin Yargol.

Yargol pulled Azerius to his side. “You know, in my culture, we have a very effective hangover cure.”

“Really? What kind? Nothing with raw eggs, please. Inian once-” Azerius said but was silenced by Yargol’s kiss.

Azerius managed to free himself from the orc’s onslaught after a few seconds. “Ah… that kind…” he said and smiled, embarrassed.

“Mhm,” Yargol hummed, confirming while moving to roll onto the human when someone knocked at the door again.

Yargol groaned, frustrated, before getting up again. He opened the door, annoyed, expecting the masters again. “What?” he said before looking down, surprised at the young girl in front of him. He guessed her to be in her teenage years, and she looked like she was about to faint while clutching a bag to her chest.

“Oh, sorry. Can I help you?” Yargol tried to apologise.

The girl swallowed. “I’m here to take the measurements,” she whispered, barely audible.

“What measurements?” Yargol asked, confused, trying his best not to sound aggressive.

“For your robes. I’m the tailor’s assistant,” she managed to get out while trying not to make eye contact with Yargol.

“Ah, I didn’t know. Whatever, come in.”

Azerius still lay in bed half-naked and was clearly just as uncomfortable with the situation as the girl.

Yargol stood by the table as the girl walked around him, measuring the circumference of his chest and arms. Her hands were shaking so much that Yargol could not imagine that the numbers would be very accurate. When she was finished, she hastily packed her things and left.

Yargol sighed and moved to close the door again, but a soldier was walking down the hallway towards him.

“Please get dressed. The council is ready for you now,” the soldier informed, obviously annoyed that Yargol was not ready to go right away.

“For fuck’s sake,” Yargol cursed, causing the soldier to step back and lay a hand on the hilt of his sword.

Yargol rolled his eyes. “Give me a minute,” he said and closed the door again.

Azerius was now up and in the process of getting dressed. “Sorry, we will continue what we started when we get back, alright?”

“Do I have a choice?” Yargol murmured.

“Not really,” Azerius said in a pitying tone. He walked over and gave Yargol a short kiss. “Welcome to the Citadel?”

***

The soldier led Azerius and Yargol through the many hallways of the Citadel to a big chamber with a large round marble table standing in the middle. Sitting around it were General Sephiran, a strict-looking elf Yargol had not seen before, and six wizards who each wore a differently coloured robe.

They all stood up when the two entered, and Yargol started to miss the bed in his room a lot now that all these eyes monitored his every move. They sat down on two empty chairs near the General.

“Thank you for coming. Let’s get started,” the General said and sat down as well, causing the rest of the council to do the same. “I think you have all heard about Mr Yargol by now. I’m happy to officially announce that he has chosen to stay with us to develop his abilities under our guidance. I think we all agree that this is a great honour for us and the Citadel as a whole.”

An elven wizard in yellow robes immediately stood up again. “General Sephiran, with all due respect, I must protest on behalf of my people. The agreement between elves and humans clearly states that contact with the Orcish race must be kept at a minimum. Letting an orc stay as an honorary guest is a security risk and causes a great deal of distress to the elven community in Midvalley.”

The elf sitting beside the General spoke up with a slick voice before Sephiran could respond. “Master Roric, I don’t appreciate that you claim to speak for all elves in this city. I, for one, support the General’s decision, and I give you my word as Commander of all non-magical forces in Midvalley that one orc poses no threat. Even if he’s a wizard.”

“I didn’t mean to question your abilities, Commander Venlen. It’s not only about that. Softening up the agreement is dangerous. If the elves of this city feel like they can’t trust you to accurately uphold it… I mean, what if more orcs show up? Will you let those in too?”

An ancient-looking man in green robes beside the complaining elf decided to comment. “Now it’s one orc. In a month, it will be a hundred,” he said and nodded, confident that he had just blessed the whole room with his wisdom.

General Sephiran waved them off, annoyed. “Master Roric, please. Obviously, this is an exception. Your concerns have been noted, but there is nothing to worry about. And regarding your objections, Master Exius, as far as I know, Mr Yargol has no plans to bring more of his kind into the city, correct?” she said, and everybody looked at Yargol.

Yargol sat up straight. “Uh, no. I haven’t met any other orcs in years. You have nothing to worry about, I promise.”

The elven wizard glanced at Yargol condescendingly. “The word of the orc means nothing to me, but I trust that you, General Sephiran, are taking responsibility for him and all his actions,” he said sharply before sitting back down.

The General nodded and turned to Azerius. “Mr. Freecaster, since I’ve heard that you and Mr Yargol are already good friends, I suggest you help him find a master. Start with interviews right after we’re done here.”

“Yes, of course,” Azerius agreed.

“You will also assist said master with their lessons, and I expect this to take priority over your own education if necessary,” she added.

“I understand,” Azerius confirmed, but Yargol could tell that he was not very happy about this.

He wanted to protest, but the General had already moved on and looked at him. “Also, Mr. Yargol, as an honorary member of the Citadel, you’ll receive thirty gold coins per month as an allowance.”

Yargol was taken aback by this. “Thirty gold? Per month?” The most Yargol had ever made was during his time as a mercenary, and even then, he had never earned more than ten gold pieces in a month. And this had still been more than what most farmers made.

The General seemed unsure what to make of his reaction. “Alright, forty then, but that should really be enough.”

“Forty…” Yargol said in disbelief, but the General was already standing up.

“If there is nothing else to discuss, then I suggest we all get back to work,” she said, already on her way out.

***

Yargol was sitting in one of the big chairs at the table in his room with Azerius. They had actually given him a bag with forty gold coins. He could not even think of enough things one would buy with so much money.

They were in the middle of another interview. He had only listened to a handful of masters, but Yargol was already bored out of his mind. They all just boasted about their degrees. He had no idea what most of the words they threw at him even meant, and at this point, he frankly did not care.

Azerius was sitting beside him and had paid a lot more attention. He was even taking notes. Yargol was sure he would not have done that even if he could write.

When the current applicant left, the next master immediately entered the room. Yargol sighed and prepared for another list of meaningless magic words and titles. The human who entered looked like he was only about ten or fifteen years older than Yargol and Azerius, which was a lot younger than the masters they had listened to so far. He wore a dark red robe like Azerius and had short red hair with freckles surrounding his green eyes.

Azerius was just filling up his quill with ink but then looked up at the master with a confused expression. “You are Master Griffin, right?“

“Correct, yes. Riley Griffin. Just call me Riley,” he said while trying to fix his hair, which did not need any fixing.

“According to my list, there should still be twelve other masters coming before you…”

Riley shrugged. “They all left. Bowel issues or something.”

Yargol glanced at Azerius, who was just as baffled.

“Bowel issues… all twelve of them?” Azerius asked.

“I know. I thought it was weird, too. But they’re all like seventy on average, so…”

Azerius and the new guy stared at each other for a few moments until Yargol cleared his throat.

“So, Riley. When did you become a master?”

Riley immediately jumped at the opportunity to change the subject. “About two months ago. Barely passed the evaluation,” he said and laughed.

“Mhm,” Azerius mumbled and raised an eyebrow as he scribbled something down on the paper before him. “And what do you-” he started but was drowned out by the loud rumbling of Yargol’s stomach. The two looked at him.

Azerius frowned. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah, it’s just that we’ve been doing this for a while, and we didn’t eat breakfast,” Yargol said.

Riley’s face suddenly lit up. “I haven’t had time to eat either. I know a great place to get lunch. We could talk on the way there, you know, get to know each other a bit in a less… formal environment?” he said and side-eyed Azerius’ notes.

“No,” Azerius dismissed. “Someone will bring us food later. We still have thirty-two masters left to interview.”

That was all Yargol needed to hear. He got up. “Sounds great, Riley. Let’s go.”

“What? But-” Azerius tried to protest, but Yargol was already at the door looking back at him impatiently.

“Alright…” Azerius sighed, defeated, and put away his quill.

***

Midvalley was a prosperous city. If this had not already been clear to Yargol before, it would have been now. When they crossed one of the large wooden bridges, he could see the boulevard of mansions and palaces along the riverside, each with a unique and detailed façade. The sky was cloudy and the wind cold, yet somehow, this city and its people seemed unbothered by it.

Yargol learned that Riley had come to the Citadel many years ago from the far south. That he had ten siblings but was the only one in his family capable of magic. And that his parents at first thought he was possessed. The man was clearly not uncomfortable talking about himself.

When Yargol told him about the experiences he had had with magic so far, Riley seemed ecstatic.

“I wish my first time using magic was that exciting. I accidentally summoned a gallon of blood and drenched my little brother while we were playing,” Riley smiled and shook his head. “My parents nearly had a heart attack.”

He looked at Azerius. “What about you? What did your first time using magic look like?“

Azerius seemed a bit reluctant at first. “I revived one of the cats at our farm.”

“Oh, really? That’s very impressive,” Riley commended.

Azerius shrugged. “I just restarted its heart. That is all.”

The group was reaching the end of the bridge, overtook a slow-moving chariot and walked past an old elven painter who, despite the wind, seemed to be able to paint the cityscape perfectly. After reaching the other side of the bridge, they crossed a square with a large statue in the middle, which depicted a human and an elf locking arms. There was a big market built around it that sold goods of all kinds.

Yargol tried to curiously look over to the stalls but Riley and Azerius were already turning into another street. He felt a bit more comfortable in this part of the city. The streets Master Griffin led them down were not as busy and a lot broader than the alleyways in the area around the Citadel.

Despite this, he still caught himself looking over his shoulder from time to time to check if somebody was following them. He was also calmed by Azerius, who occasionally let his hand brush against Yargol’s while walking beside him.

Riley stopped in front of a small shop, barely big enough for one person. The smell of smoked fish and baked meat pies made Yargol's stomach grumble again.

An old man was standing at the tiny counter looking out on the street. He yelled at the top of his lungs. “FISH PIES, MEAT PIES! TWO COPPER EACH!”

Azerius seemed sceptical. “You brought us all the way here for… fish pasties?”

“The best in town, I promise you,” Riley claimed, seemingly undeterred by Azerius’ reluctance. “We can eat them while we walk back,” he suggested.

Yargol was already standing before the old man. He pointed at the pasties on the table behind the seller. “I’ll take five of these,” he said, and he put a gold coin on the table.

The old man smiled at the sight of the money. “FIVE COMING UP FOR THE BIG GREEN MAN!” he cheerfully shouted without lowering his voice one bit.

Azerius and Riley ordered as well, and when the food was ready, they made their way back.

The five fish pasties stood no chance against a grown orc, and Yargol thought about going back for another round but was distracted when they walked past the market again.

He strolled over to the stalls. Most of the vendors were selling food. Vegetables, bread, cheese, eggs and herbs, but some also sold tools or other utensils. While he looked around, an idea came to Yargol’s mind. He stopped at a big stall that seemed to sell a wide variety of things.

The young woman running the booth had noticed Yargol as a potential customer and did not hesitate. “Can I help you find anything?” she asked in a friendly tone.

“Just looking,” Yargol said, just as he spotted a small chest containing several colourful powders.

They were paints, he realised. The colours weren’t exactly the same as the ones his tribe used, but they were close. He remembered the day his big brother had used them on him during the ceremony. That day, he became a full member of the tribe. A grown man, so to speak. Still, after all this time, he considered it one of the best days of his life. Even his father had looked proud of him.

He also remembered how he had promised his little sister that he would do her the same honour when it was her turn. This was all a long time ago. Yargol wondered who had performed his role at her ceremony.

“Paints from the south,” the woman explained when she noticed Yargol’s interest in the chest. “Very hard to come by in these parts. They aren’t cheap, but I’ll give you a good deal if you want some of them.”

“How much for the whole box?” Yargol asked without looking up.

The woman looked dumbfounded. “For everything? Five gold pieces.”

Yargol knew that the price was too high, but he did not care about haggling right now. He just wanted the box.

The trader looked at the money in disbelief. “Thank you very much. Anything else I can help you with?”

“No,” Yargol said, carefully putting away the box and turning around, almost running over a stressed-out-looking Azerius who had manifested behind him.

“You could have said something,” the wizard complained. “Suddenly, you were gone.”

“Sorry, got distracted.”

“By what? What did you buy?” Azerius asked.

“Nothing, let’s go,” he evaded and closed his bag to Azerius’ curious looks.

They linked up with Riley and continued walking back, this time taking a different route to the Citadel.

Just when they wanted to turn into another alleyway, they were stopped by two armed elves. They wore no uniform and were only equipped with cheap-looking short swords which hung sheathed at their belts.

“This street is closed,” one of them said.

“Seems pretty open to me,” Riley remarked at two humans passing by them.

“It’s open for elves and non-traitor humans. The shrine in this street will not be soiled by the presence of an orc,” the other elf explained.

“Oh? We had no intention of visiting any shrines,” Riley said, his voice still sounding happy, but it had an underlying sharpness now. “And, if I may ask, on whose authority are you acting?”

Azerius nervously looked around. “Forget it, Riley. We can just take the next street.”

“No, I want to hear this,” Riley dismissed and crossed his arms, nodding at the elves. “Go on.”

“The area around the shrine is holy,” the first elf said. “By cooperating with the orc, you dishonour our ancestors.”

“Yes,” the other elf added. “In fact this whole district is holy, so you better avoid it in general.”

“Since when? This is still a public street like any other. As long as you do not have a written decree from a valid body of authority, you have no right to deny us passage,” Riley said and moved to walk past the two militias.

The elf on the right laid his hand on the hilt of his swords as a warning, and Riley stopped.

Yargol could tell that the master did not intend to back down. He felt like he was watching a completely different person compared to the cheery man from just a few seconds ago. He slowly nudged Azerius to get behind him as he continued to watch the stand-off.

Riley looked at the elf’s hand and took another step closer to him.

Even if the elf was not trained in sword fighting, Yargol knew that at this distance, anyone could fatally wound Riley in a second.

To Yargol’s frustration, the wizard seemed unconcerned as he spoke. “Draw your sword. See what happens,” he said, moving past the elf and motioning at Azerius and Yargol to follow him.

The two carefully walked past the amateur guards. Yargol could see the pure hatred spewing out of the man’s eyes, who was still ready to draw his sword.

But he kept it sheathed.

The street was not long, but to Yargol, it felt endless now. About halfway up the street was a tall wooden building wedged into the other ordinary houses. The temple’s front was a work of art. Countless carved figurines and statues of all elves supported the entrance. The view inside was blocked by a red velvet curtain.

He was relieved when they reached the end of the alleyway, and he could tell Azerius had shared his feelings.

“That was unnecessary,” Azerius hissed at Riley. “You almost got us killed. Why did you provoke them like this?”

“They provoked us,” Riley objected. “You can’t let those people push you around like that. If you don’t show them limits, it will only get worse.”

Azerius shook his head. “I think we got to know each other well enough today,” he said and grabbed Yargol by the arm.

Yargol allowed himself to be pulled after Azerius and gave Riley a short wave goodbye. “Was nice meeting you.”

“I feel the same. Let me know when you’ve made a decision.”

They walked back to the Citadel. When they had reached Yargol’s room, Azerius seemed comfortable enough to blow off steam. “What an absolute moron,” he cursed. “I do not think he was even aware how dangerous that was.”

Yargol put his bag on the table and took off his coat. He sat down in the comfy chair with a sigh before answering. “I think he was. He just didn’t care. I liked him better than any of the other masters we talked to today.”

“You are not seriously considering him?” Azerius asked as he walked over to Yargol.

He pulled Azerius on his lap. “Why not? He doesn’t seem to treat me like a trophy for his collection of achievements or hate me for being an orc, and you two are part of the same branch of magic. Sounds perfect to me,” he said and kissed Azerius’ neck.

Azerius tolerated Yargol’s caressing while he kept complaining about Riley. “But he seemed so unorganised and inexperienced. And also-”

The door flung open, startling both of them. A determined-looking Lyra strode into the room as if she were living here with Yargol. She carried several writing utensils. “Hi, you two lovebirds. Are you ready to learn how to write, Yargol?”

“Uhm…” Yargol looked at her, astonished.

Azerius’ head had turned bright red. “Why is it so hard for you to knock before entering a room?” he complained.

“What? I told you I would come by later,” she said as she put down her things on the table and closed the door.

“No, you did not,” Azerius disagreed.

“I didn’t? Oh well, now I’m already here, so we might as well get some work done, right? Or were you two planning on doing something productive just now?“

Azerius sighed and ignored her teasing. He looked back at Yargol. “I will let you decide.”

Yargol thought about sending Lyra away, but he was curious what learning to write would be like. “Let’s try until I get too tired.”

***

It took Yargol barely an hour before he had enough. The quills Lyra had brought were too small for his hands, and he made a mess with the ink. But the elf had unwavering patience with him. She encouraged him, again and again, to keep going. While Yargol practised the first three letters of the alphabet, Azerius and Lyra started working on a dictionary.

Lyra came over and looked over Yargol’s shoulder. “See, you’re getting the hang of it. Those Bs look great.”

Yargol put the quill down. “Those are supposed to be Cs,” he grumbled.

“Oh,” Lyra said, a bit embarrassed. “Well, just keep at it. If I managed to teach Azerius Elvish, then I can definitely teach you how to write.”

Azerius looked up, slightly offended. “What is that supposed to mean?”

 “It took you ages,” Lyra complained as she sat back down. “Granted, you speak and write it really well now, but still.”

“Not my fault it has twenty-three grammatical cases,” Azerius mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?” Lyra asked.

“Nothing.”

Yargol relaxed his hand, which had started to cramp, and looked at Lyra while she wrote down another Orcish word in a beautiful cursive font.

“Are you already done with practising, Yargol?” she asked without looking up from the book.

Yargol felt like a child who had been caught skipping his chores. “Uhm, no. It’s just… can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what’s on your mind?”

“Why are there no Orcish dictionaries at the Citadel? I’ve met human traders near the border who spoke it at least a little bit. Is it still because of the war?”

Lyra paused for a moment and then carefully put her quill down.

Azerius stopped writing as well, and Yargol immediately worried that he should not have asked that. He opened his mouth, but Lyra raised her hand to stop him.

“It’s okay. Valid question, actually. What do you know about our peoples’ shared history?” she asked.

Yargol thought for a moment. “I know all orc tribes united behind Warchief Matuk and won a war against the elves. That he shattered and conquered the empire before dying in a skirmish. But apart from the many stories about specific battles, none ever told me much more.”

Lyra nodded and leaned back in her chair a bit. “I see. Well, I’m not sure the word war is even an appropriate term for the conflict. The records describe it more as a massacre. The emperor, most of the nobility and about three-quarters of the elven forces died in the first battle at Nalanas. After that, it was merely a token resistance.”

“I see,” Yargol said. “What then?”

“The humans offered help but only under conditions which the elven leadership rejected. Even after Nalanas, the remaining elven commanders were arrogant enough to think they could still win the war without help. They came up with ridiculous strategies while the orc armies cut through the empire unopposed, razed city after city and killed thousands. I’m convinced that if the new empress hadn’t struck a last-minute deal with the humans, then elves would be extinct now.”

Yargol swallowed. Lyra was talking about this almost as if it was nothing. “I’m… sorry.”

Lyra waved off. “Don’t be. You had nothing to do with it.”

“So, this deal. Is this the treaty your brother mentioned at the tavern?”

Lyra nodded. “It declares the elven empire as dissolved. All land reconquered is annexed into the human kingdom. In return, elves become citizens of the realm. However, we are barred from most political roles and royal titles. Basically, Commander Venlen holds about the most powerful position you can achieve as an elf. General Sephiran recommended him as her successor multiple times, but the king always refused. Contact with orcs should ideally be zero, but as you probably know, many in the border regions ignore this rule when it’s convenient.”

“And this treaty worked?” Yargol could not imagine all humans were happy about this agreement.

“For the most part. I was born in Midvalley, and no one ever really treated me differently. There are some, like my brother Draennor, who feel an unearned sense of nostalgia for a time they never lived in. But I don’t see the point in dwelling on the past. Even back then, we were never very militaristic people. The treaty is flawed, but I think we are still better off with this symbiosis. So far, every king has honoured the pact. Let’s just hope it stays that way.”

“Hm,” Yargol mumbled in agreement while thinking about what Lyra said. They sat in silence for a while.

“I know the way many of my people treat you feels unfair, but you have to consider the fact that the war happened just sixty years ago. Every elf grows up hearing stories about it. Many still alive have lost relatives to it.”

Yargol had never really thought about it that much. He did not want to be seen as a monster, but it was clear why many elves had a hard time seeing him as anything else.

“Have you found a master yet?” Lyra suddenly changed the subject.

“Oh, yeah. Riley Griffin.”

Azerius immediately looked up with a worried expression. “So, you have already decided? Are you sure?”

Yargol shrugged. “I liked him far better than any of the others.”

“What’s wrong with Griffin?” Lyra asked. “Heard he’s a bit of a rascal, but that can be charming too.”

“I am… fairly sure he gave a dozen people mild diarrhoea in order to skip the line for the interview today.”

That caused Lyra to at least raise an eyebrow, but apparently not because she found this concerning. “Hmm, it sounds like he has great problem-solving skills and is goal-oriented. Maybe I’ll join you for a lesson sometime.”

“Only if you learn how to knock,” Azerius warned.

Lyra rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she stood up. “Well, I should probably get going now. I’ll leave my stuff here so you can keep practising, Yargol.”

“Alright, I’ll try,” Yargol promised, even though he really had enough of it for today.

Lyra left, and Yargol locked the door behind her. “No more visitors today. We’re not answering even if the General knocks,” he decided while walking back to the table.

“Yes, Sir,” Azerius agreed while putting Lyra’s things into one of the cabinets.

Yargol took off his shirt and undid his belt while Azerius was still busy neatly organising the quills.

He kicked his clothes to the side, sat back down in the big chair near the fireplace, and watched as his boyfriend finished up and closed the cabinet doors.

Azerius turned around and froze when he saw the naked orc lounging casually in the chair across the room. “Ah…” he managed to get out as a response.

“What? Did you think I’d forget about what you said in the morning?”

“No, you were just… faster than I anticipated,” Azerius explained while allowing himself to eye Yargol’s body.

“Come,” Yargol beckoned.

Azerius followed, allowing himself to get drawn in.

Yargol undid the man’s robes, letting his hands run over Azerius’ sides and flanks. As Azerius climbed onto his lap, he made sure to keep the touch light and undemanding. A deep kiss followed, making Yargol’s skin prickle with excitement.

But after just a few of these wonderful moments, Azerius pulled away again. He slid off of Yargol’s lap, who almost wanted to voice his disappointment until he realised that Azerius was not intending to get dressed again. Instead, he knelt between Yargol’s thighs with a glint in his eyes.

Yargol raised an eyebrow. “Oh, are you sure?”

“I mean, yes… if you let me.”

“Absolutely,” Yargol answered with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm. But luckily, Azerius just smiled, coming closer until Yargol could feel the man’s warm breath.

Soft lips teased him for a little as Azerius worked up the courage, but eventually, he went for it. Taking the tip of Yargol into his mouth and instantly scraping him with his teeth.

Yargol flinched. “Careful.”

Azerius quickly pulled back and muttered an abashed apology to him, looking up with worry.

“It’s ok, happens. Just try it again,” Yargol said, putting his hand on Azerius’ shoulder.

Azerius hesitated at first but then returned. Moving with more caution this time.

Once Yargol could tell that no teeth would be involved this time, he leaned back and relaxed but felt Azerius’ insecure look on him.

“Keep going,” he mumbled.

The words seemed to restore a considerable amount of confidence because Azerius immediately tried to take him deeper.

Yargol enjoyed the feeling, and combined with seeing his boyfriend trying to please him so eagerly, it was almost maddening. Never had he felt like this with other lovers in the past.

He took Azerius’ hand and guided it to his base. Understanding the assignment, Azerius began to stroke him while still keeping up his pace. Quickly finding a rhythm that challenged Yargol’s stamina.

“Uh, I probably won’t last long if you keep going like that,” Yargol warned, but Azerius seemed not to hear him. Keeping his mouth on Yargol and swallowing him even deeper.

Yargol squirmed. “Azerius, I’m serious… if you don’t want…” he breathed, but his words fell on deaf ears again. He wanted to give another warning, but it was too late. His breath hitched as he came down Azerius’ throat.

And still, Azerius refused to yield, only pulling away when the last shudder had run through him.

“How was that?” he asked almost immediately, beaming with self-satisfaction.

“Good. Very good, actually,” Yargol said, still feeling a bit light-headed.

“If you had to rate it on a scale of one to ten, where would I rank?”

Yargol smiled and shook his head. “I’m not grading your blowjob-skills.”

Azerius looked deeply disappointed. “Why not? I love being graded. I feel like it was at least a seven, right? Perhaps even an eight?”

“Azerius…” Yargol said and leaned forward to kiss the man.

Azerius accepted the lack of evaluation together with the kiss and climbed onto Yargol’s lap, putting his arms around his boyfriend’s neck.

After doing something this intense, Yargol was pretty confident that finishing Azerius off would not take long. And sure enough, he barely needed half a dozen strokes and another gentle kiss until he felt a satisfying warmth hit his chest and stomach.

Yargol let Azerius rest against him as the man was catching his breath. When their eyes met, Azerius just smiled at him and put his head on Yargol’s shoulder.

For a while, neither of them said anything. The worries about what the future might bring were far away now, drowned out by the crackling of the fireplace.

Yargol had a hard time resisting the urge to squeeze Azerius even closer against him.

He needed this. All of this. Someone he could hold like this. And friends to banter with and goals to strive for. He could not live with anything less now. So, he would make this last. No one would take this from him, no dark prophecies and no hate-blinded elves. He would fight them all to tooth and nail. And this time, he would not even have to do it alone.

Chapter Text

Empress Amadee of house Daenarin was standing on the balcony of her palace. From up here, she could overlook the whole elven capital. Arvaneas, or as it was often called, ‘The Oak Labyrinth’, was an architectural marvel unique to this world. Carved from the wood of thousands of trees over countless generations. Each building trying to surpass the others with its history and elegance.

Amadee had put on a dark, orange-coloured ceremonial gown and her silver hair was braided in the traditional style of her people for this special day.

The sky was clear and the air warm, heated by the summer sun. Normally, the wind would carry the noises of the busy city up to the balcony, but apart from the distant song of a few birds, everything was silent today.

Arvaneas’ people had left days ago. Only a few selected members of her court had been allowed to stay with her.

The orc army had surrounded the city by now, and Amadee could see the tent of war chief Matuk on top of a nearby hill.

Just then, her enemies had managed to smash through the east gate. She could see the wave of brutish warriors pouring into the streets and alleyways. The orcs broke into the houses with ease as they searched for valuables to plunder and elves to kill. They would find little of both.

Empress Amadee stretched out her hand and took a deep breath. She felt the familiar heat of magic surge through her veins and into her fingertips. A burst of fiery sparks shot out of her hand and into the sky. Like hundreds of fireflies, the embers slowly rained down onto the city until barely any of them were visible to her anymore. The looters were too occupied with breaking in doors and smashing empty chests to notice the small glimmering lights flying past them.

Amadee enjoyed the last few quiet moments before the first trap in a bakery near the east gate was triggered.

The thunder of the explosion tore through the air like an executioner’s axe through the neck of its victim. The detonation was so strong that several other surrounding houses were ripped to pieces as well. A menacing fireball rose from the ruins while burning debris rained down upon buildings and confused orcs alike.

A dozen more traps were triggered in quick succession all around the city during the next couple of seconds. Amadee lost count after that.

She watched, dazed, as within minutes, the home she had sworn to protect was turned into an inferno. The orcs now tried to flee back to the gate through which they had stormed the city, but Amadee’s personal guard had made sure that it was sealed again. There would be no escape.

The fire spread rapidly, consuming one house after another. Soon, the smell of burning wood and orc flesh threatened to turn Amadee’s stomach upside down, but she stayed on the balcony.

Empress Amadee was well aware that this final act of defiance would do little to change the overall outcome of the war. Her people’s future now rested in the hands of King Angus. She could only hope that the human king would be true to his word and honour the treaty they had signed. Otherwise, she might have sold her people off into slavery, but Amadee did not want to think about that possibility.

For the last few days, she had wondered again and again what she would feel once this moment had finally arrived.

She searched for satisfaction in the screams of panic and agony she could hear as her enemies burned below her. But she found none. Just like she felt no sadness when she saw the dome of the great cathedral, under which she had been crowned just a month earlier, collapse in on itself.

This was truly the one thing she did not anticipate. She had expected to feel at least something. Not this uncomfortable nothingness. Even when she stepped onto the railing of the balcony, no fear managed to grip her heart.

Empress Amadee gazed over her burning city one last time before letting herself fall into a fiery grave.

***

Yargol stood in his room and turned slowly, looking down on himself. His new robes had already arrived, and he was trying them on in front of Lyra, Inian, and Azerius.

“So?” he asked. “How do I look?”

Each of the three clearly hoped one of the others would say something first.

Lyra finally opened her mouth. “Well, I like the fabric. Looks like it’s of a very high quality.”

Azerius stopped biting his nails and nodded. “Yes, I was about to say that, and the shade of blue is really nice.”

“I look stupid, got it,” Yargol said, slightly annoyed.

“You kinda do,” Inian agreed, earning himself disapproving looks from Lyra and Azerius. “What? At least I’m honest.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Lyra said and walked over to Yargol. She tugged on his robes a bit to adjust the fit, but they were simply too wide in some places and too tight in others.

“I’m not wearing this,” Yargol decided and started to disrobe again.

“But it is tradition… you could just let the tailor alter it,” Azerius suggested.

Lyra raised an eyebrow at Azerius. “Since when do you care about traditions?”

“Well…” Azerius began but stopped when he saw Yargol looking at him. He sighed. “You want the armour you saw in Lucian’s workshop, right?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. The thought of getting a set of armour made specially for him excited Yargol.

“Perhaps that is not such a bad idea,” Azerius said while looking at Yargol’s old leather armour lying on the floor beside him. “After all, you have the money for it now, and we still have time before we meet up with Riley.”

“First lesson, huh?” Lyra asked and looked at Yargol. “Nervous?”

“A little bit. I’m not sure what to expect.”

“Me neither,” Azerius added with a hint of sarcasm. “And I am not convinced Master Riley is going into this with much of a plan either.”

Yargol could not help but roll his eyes at that. “Promise me you’ll give him a chance, okay?”

“I will… try,” Azerius assured reluctantly.

“Great, then let’s go,” Yargol said impatiently, picking up his bag.

***

Fortunately, the streets outside the Citadel were nearly empty, and the sky above them cloudy. Yargol guessed it would not be long before the first snow would fall.

“What’s up with all the ravens sitting everywhere?” Inian asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

Yargol frowned. He had not spotted any large black birds since they had arrived in the city. Glancing at Azerius and Lyra, he found more confusion.

“What are you talking about?” Azerius asked, looking around.

“Ravens aren’t native to Midvalley. They never have been,” Lyra added.

“You can’t honestly tell me you haven’t noticed.” Inian pointed at a house further down the road. “On the roof over there. Has to be at least a dozen.”

Everyone proceeded to stare at the clearly empty roof, and Yargol wondered if this was some kind of strange joke.

“You’re messing with us, right?” he asked, almost hopeful.

But Inian shook his head. “No, I’m serious.”

Lyra now stopped and put a hand on the soldier’s forehead.

“What are you doing?” Inian complained and swatted the hand away.

“I’m checking for a fever, idiot, because that roof has no birds on it,” Lyra said, but her face was serious. “Are you feeling unwell in any other way?”

“I’m fine. Wait, you really aren’t seeing them? None of you?” Inian asked, his voice finally showing a somewhat appropriate amount of concern.

Lyra ignored him. “When did this start?”

“I don’t know. Yesterday? Oh shit, am I dying or something?”

“Hm, take him back to the Citadel. See a master Physiomancer and a Psychomancer if you can,” Azerius suggested.

“Agreed,” Lyra decided, grabbing the soldier by the arm. “Checking your head for brain damage is something we should’ve done years ago anyway.”

“Nooo, I don’t wanna have creepy old men poking around in me… I’m fine. Maybe it’ll go away on its own,” Inian tried to protest but was already being dragged away.

Lyra was not having any of it. “The only thing creepy here are your death-omen hallucinations, so you will act like the adult you were supposed to become ten years ago and see a doctor now.”

“Come to Master Riley’s room once you’re done,” Azerius yelled after the two.

There was more grumbling from Inian in response, but the two were soon too far away for Yargol to understand anything.

“Should I have mentioned the vision I had in the field?” he asked as he watched the bickering duo ascend the large stairs to the Citadel’s entrance.

“No, General Sephiran’s orders were to keep it a secret, and Inian’s condition could stem from any number of causes. We should wait and see if Lyra can find someone who is able to identify the issue,” Azerius argued.

Yargol nodded. He was not sure this was the best approach, but Azerius knew a hundred times more about magic than him. Perhaps waiting for the opinions of some other masters was for the best.

“Come, we have to be back for the lesson soon.”

As they made the trip to Lucian’s workshop again, Yargol could not help but glance up at some of the roofs from time to time, just in case. Inian really had not helped his paranoia.

Eventually, he knocked on Lucian’s door, and they waited. When it opened, it wasn’t Lucian, instead the two were greeted by a young boy. He had short black hair, and Yargol guessed that he might be around five or six years old. The child looked up in shock at the orc towering over him.

“Hello, Jason. Are you helping out your father today?” Azerius greeted in a friendly manner but the boy did not react, keeping his wide blue eyes on Yargol.

“…hey?” Yargol tried to greet. His deep voice startled the boy, who immediately turned around and ran inside screaming.

Yargol opened the door a bit further and peeked inside. Lucian was working at a table near the end of the room.

The little boy was now hiding behind his surprised father. His voice was shaky when he spoke. “I was good! I don’t wanna be eaten!”

“What are you talking about, Jason?” Lucian asked, confused. “You know Uncle Azerius, and the other man is Uncle Yargol. He’s a friend. He won’t eat you or anyone else.”

“But… you said if I wasn’t good, the orcs would come and eat me,” Jason whined.

Lucian was visibly caught off guard by this and glanced at Yargol. “I… uhm… I never said that,” he stammered.

“Yes, you did! You’re a liar!” Jason called out his father. “You also said-”

“Alright, hush. We’ll talk about this later, little man,” Lucian hastily interrupted. “Why don’t you go outside and play? Papa has to do work,” he said and shoved his son towards the door to the backroom.

Jason obliged, but not without risking another worried look at Yargol.

Lucian turned to Yargol and laughed nervously. “Sorry about that. I don’t… I mean, I have no idea where he got this from.”

Yargol waved him off. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Thank you,” Lucian seemed very relieved that Yargol did not appear to be angry with him. “Come in. How can I help you?”

The two finally walked into the shop. “I want an armour set like that one,” Yargol immediately said, pointing at the leather armour mounted beside the door. “I can pay for it now.”

“Oh, sure, no problem. Absolutely. Follow me,” Lucian said, suddenly sounding very excited.

They followed Lucian into the backroom of the workshop, which was somehow even more chaotic than the main room. Another door led to what Yargol assumed was the courtyard where Jason was now presumably playing.

Lucian had to rummage around a bit, but after a while, he triumphantly held up a measuring tape he had pulled from a pile of loose armour parts on a table.

Yargol stood still while Lucian walked around him, skilfully measuring his body and occasionally writing down numbers on a piece of parchment at a nearby table. But not for long.

A loud shattering sound could be heard from outside, as if several things had fallen over. Lucian sighed and looked over to Azerius while trying to measure Yargol’s leg. “Can you make sure Jason doesn’t dismantle the neighbourhood with his games?”

“Certainly,” Azerius said, amused, got up and went outside.

“Aren’t you worried that he’s hurt or something?” Yargol asked, a bit confused.

Lucian shook his head. “At this point, I’m convinced the kid is indestructible. Don’t worry, he’s fine.”

He kept measuring, and Yargol remained silent since he did not want to disturb the smith during his work.

“So…” Lucian started after a while to break the slightly awkward silence. “How do you like Midvalley so far? Did the elves give you any more trouble?”

“It’s nice. And yes, though luckily, nothing major so far,” Yargol answered while raising his arms a bit so Lucian could measure his chest.

“Aright, and everything good between you and Azerius?” Lucian asked with open curiosity.

“Yes, absolutely,” Yargol smiled. “He’s great.” He watched Lucian for a moment. “I was surprised that you were all so… okay with it.”

Lucian wrote down another number before answering. “To be honest, I was just relieved.”

Yargol raised an eyebrow. “Relieved? That your brother brought back a male orc as a partner?“

“That he smiles again,” Lucian put down the measuring tape and leaned against one of the tables. “I mean, Azerius has always been rather serious, even when we were kids. But during the last few years, I got the feeling that he was really unhappy and frustrated. I tried to get him to talk to me, but he always had excuses. Said that he was stressed about exams and so on. The more I pushed for information, the more I felt like he moved away, so at some point, I just stopped asking. I thought if he was ready to talk, then he would come to me. I just wish he had told me sooner. I don’t care who he’s with, as long as he’s happy.”

Yargol nodded. “I think this whole thing has been good for both of us. But Azerius is probably also glad that your parents won’t bug him about finding a wife anymore.”

Lucian chuckled. “Yeah, that might be true. But don’t worry, they will soon ask about kids,” he warned.

“Your mother already has…” Yargol sighed.

“Of course,” Lucian rolled his eyes. “I’d love to tell you that actually having a kid will shut her up, but she’s been asking Larilla and me for a second one already,” Lucian complained.

Yargol snorted. “The woman knows no boundaries.”

“She doesn’t. Never has and likely never will. Between us, having one kid is really enough for me. Don’t tell her that I said that, though, or I will never hear the end of it.”

“Alright,” Yargol promised with a smile.

“Okay, I think that’s all I need,” he looked at Yargol. “I don’t think I’ve ever written down measurements like that before. You really are a big guy. Any modifications you want me to make to the armour?”

Yargol hesitated for a moment before picking up the quill on the table and drawing something on Lucian’s parchment. “Can you put this on the chest piece?” he asked the smith.

“Sure”, Lucian said after looking at the symbol. “What is it?” he asked curiously.

“Just a symbol I like, nothing special,” Yargol said and shrugged. It was a poor excuse, but luckily, Lucian did not pry further.

“Ah. Well, no problem. I can’t say when I will be done with the armour, though. The Commander just commissioned another round of new uniforms, but maybe I can squeeze you in somewhere. I’ll let you know, alright?”

Yargol nodded. “Sure, take your time.”

A stressed-looking Azerius walked back in with an enthusiastic Jason by his side.

“Daddy, I climbed almost to the top of the roof this time!” Jason bragged and ran towards his father, who was not very ecstatic about the news.

“He fell down but somehow only seems to have a few scratches.” Azerius shrugged.

Lucian ruffled his son’s hair and looked at Yargol. “Told you. Indestructible.”

***

After Yargol paid Lucian in advance for the armour, they made their way back. It was already getting dark, and Yargol was looking forward to getting off the street and back to the Citadel.

When they reached it, a large group of people had gathered at the bottom of the big stairs before the entrance. At the top stood two wizards dressed in yellow robes.

“What’s that about?” Yargol asked and stopped. In the past, large crowds had usually meant trouble for him.

“Seems like the Spectralists will do a performance,” Azerius explained.

“A what?”

“It is hard to describe. Just watch them. I think they are starting.”

The two men were now standing side-by-side, motionless, with their arms spread open. The crowd before them was dead silent. After a few moments, their hands started to glow with yellow light. The magic fell from their hands towards the ground in hundreds of streams. Some of the strands reached the ground while others hovered above it, pulsing in intensity.

Yargol watched, fascinated, as the strings of light spread over the top level of the stairs, and then they began flowing down the steps like liquid gold. The shimmering magic silently washed through the crowd, and suddenly, he was standing in a river of light.

When it reached the edges of the small plaza, the light subsided. Yargol almost thought the show was over, but then small green strands of light began sprouting from the ground like grass. He looked around and saw glowing tree saplings shoot up all over the small plaza. They rapidly grew, and within minutes, the space around the Citadel’s entrance transformed into a radiant imitation of a clearing.

It was not a fully convincing replication. It looked more like a crude drawing of a forest, but it was enough for an illusion. Yargol could even see small birds made from light sitting up on the branches of the trees. For a moment, he could have sworn that even the air smelled of that characteristic earthy scent he was so accustomed to.

“Amazing, right?” Azerius whispered to him.

Yargol was far too enamoured by his surroundings to formulate an answer. Somehow, this caricature of a forest looked more familiar and real to him than the houses that were usually visible in their place.

He felt Azerius grab his hand, and Yargol finally managed to pull his eyes away from the vibrantly glowing bushes and treetops. He put his arm around Azerius, and together, they watched as the Spectralists continued to cultivate their garden.

When it was over, Yargol felt a bit dizzy. The crowd slowly started to disperse, and the two began to walk up the stairs towards the Citadel.

“Do they just do that sometimes?” Yargol asked while still thinking about what he just experienced.

“Yes, once a month usually. In the past, they apparently did it once a week. The branch was even responsible for illuminating the city’s streets at night, but there are not enough Spectralists at the Citadel for that anymore,” Azerius said as they walked through the big entrance hall.

“Why not?” Yargol asked, trying to ignore the stare of Ezhar Orovius’ statue as they walked by.

“For some reason, barely any were born in the last few generations. There are about twenty of them left now. For comparison, we have around five hundred Epistomancers. Nobody knows what exactly influences the birth rates.” Azerius leaned closer to Yargol and lowered his voice. “Some say that there is a secret society of Spectralists that are invisible at all times by bending light around their bodies.”

Yargol raised an eyebrow and lowered his voice as well. “Do you think that’s true?“

Azerius peeked over his shoulder before he answered. “Unlikely, since I just made it up…”

Yargol looked at Azerius, shocked. “How dare you!” he exclaimed at the wizard, who, judging by his grin, seemed proud of his successful bluff.

Azerius led him through a part of the Citadel that once again seemed completely different from the rest. Everything looked new and planned in a more practical way. Still, the paintings and red marble columns made it blend in with the other more pompous sections.

Master Riley’s room was about the size of Yargol’s and tidier than expected. Then again, the backroom of Lucian’s workshop had redefined the meaning of the word ‘chaotic’ for Yargol.

Riley looked a bit tired, but he smiled when they walked in. A stack of books lay on the table in front of him. “Hi, I hope this room is alright for the first session. I thought we could use something where we have privacy.”

“Seems good,” Yargol acknowledged. “So how does this work now? Where do we start?”

“A very good question,” Riley said and pointed at the books. “I spent the whole night searching for potentially relevant literature. I think you should look through it over the next few days.”

“Uhm, I can’t read,” Yargol admitted, a bit embarrassed.

“Oh, damn. I should’ve probably asked about that,” Riley said and scratched his head.

“I will gladly read the books,” Azerius offered, walking over to Riley’s book selection.

“That’d be great. Thank you, Azerius,” Riley said and stood up. He turned towards Yargol. “Now, just to make sure you know. There are risks to using magic, though it’s not really something you need to worry about at the start. I assume Mr Freecaster has told you about it?”

Yargol did not like the sound of that. He glanced at Azerius. “No, he hasn’t. What risks?”

“Oh, in that case. You should know that magic light moves through your veins like blood. Small spells can’t do any damage, but prolonged or overly intensive use will damage or even tear blood vessels. It also exhausts your strength but in a delayed way.”

“Delayed?”

Azerius stopped rummaging through Riley’s books. “Imagine if you sprint but only feel the exhaustion after several minutes. You have to be mindful when using larger amounts of magic. Dying of exhaustion is one of the main causes of death for younger wizards. Especially the ones without an education.”

Yargol swallowed. “I see.”

“You don’t need to worry. We’ll help you find a way to safely tap into your magic potential without too much risk for injury or death,” Riley said.

“You meant no risk… right?” Azerius asked. “… Riley?”

“Anyway, I think we will try to work with what we know so far, which is that a near-death situation caused your magical abilities to trigger.” He picked up a wooden club that was leaning against the table beside him.

Azerius inhaled audibly through his nose before speaking with a very controlled tone. “What… exactly are you planning to do?”

“Don’t worry. I won’t actually hurt him. I will just perform a few tests,” Riley said, waving the club around a bit as if he were trying to disperse Azerius’ concerns with it.

“It’s fine,” Yargol tried to calm Azerius before looking back at the young master. The sooner he had control over this, the better. “Hit me.”

Azerius watched closely as Riley positioned himself before Yargol.

“Okay, tell me as soon as you feel anything strange,” Riley said, swinging at Yargol’s upper arm. He stopped the club shortly before it could connect, but nothing happened.

“Alright, a simple threat of violence is not enough. That was to be expected,” he said and returned to his original position before swinging again.

Yargol felt the club hit his shoulder. The pain was barely noticeable. Riley stared at him expectantly, but Yargol shook his head.

Yargol looked at Azerius. “I guess if that were enough, then your mother hitting me in the face should’ve also triggered something,” Yargol remarked.

“Probably,” Azerius reluctantly agreed while glancing at Riley, who seemed a bit confused.

“Huh, I feel like I’m missing a bit of context here. Do you regularly get beaten up by Azerius’ mother?”

Yargol laughed. “No, not really. I would say we get along, but our first meeting was a bit rough.”

Riley grinned. “I see.”

“Can we get back to the lesson, please?” Azerius asked, embarrassed.

“Sure,” Riley said and put the wooden club back down. “Let’s try something else.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a long, ornate-looking dagger.

“Absolutely not!” Azerius immediately exclaimed. “You are not getting near him with that… thing.”

Riley unsheathed the knife. “Relax. If we are supposed to train together, then we need to trust each other. I know what I’m doing. It’ll only be a small cut.”

Azerius looked at Yargol, concerned, but he was not at all worried.

“You don’t have to stay if you’re uncomfortable,” Yargol offered.

Azerius shook his head. “No, now I’m definitely staying,” he said, his eyes resting on Riley’s dagger.

Yargol shrugged and turned back to Riley. The master put the tip of the blade on his fingertip. Yargol felt the blade push onto his skin until a small drop of blood formed.

“Hm,” Riley commented disappointed. He moved the blade to Yargol’s chest, and for a moment, it hovered over Yargol’s heart.

Azerius’ displeasure about the situation was palpable, but the man remained silent while watching Riley’s every move.

Yargol looked at Riley while he felt the tip of the blade pierce through his shirt, breaking the top layer of his skin.

The response of Yargol’s body was immediate and swift. Before he could say anything, a prickling feeling rushed through his body. A faint blue duplicate of his arm branched off his shoulder and forcefully flicked the blade out of Riley’s hand. The dagger narrowly zipped past the man’s head and buried itself into the door behind him with a thud. The magical arm disappeared immediately as soon as the knife was no longer threatening Yargol.

Azerius and Yargol were speechless.

Riley was not. “Interesting,” he said, seemingly unfazed by this near-death experience. “Seems like you can magically duplicate parts of your body.” He walked back to the wall to retrieve the knife. “So, only harm to a vital body region triggers a reaction.”

Azerius’ head had turned bright red. “With all due respect, Master Riley, you are insane. That could have easily killed any one of us. Either you change your methods, or this lesson is over.”

Riley tugged on the knife but could not get it out of the wood. “What are you talking about? Everyone is fine, and we have our first results.”

Yargol walked over to help him. “Maybe Azerius is right. That was a bit too close even for my taste.”

Riley sighed, disappointed, and stopped trying to pull the knife out. “Alright, fine. We will try something else.”

Yargol pulled the dagger out of the door with one jerk. The hilt of the knife was made of dark wood and covered with engraved runes. Despite its obvious age, the blade was razor-sharp.

“An heirloom of my grandfather’s,” Riley explained. “I’m usually not a knife guy,” he added.

“What do the symbols on the hilt mean?” Yargol asked curiously as he handed the knife back.

Riley shrugged. “No idea. I don’t even know what language it is. My grandfather and I weren’t exactly close. It’s a wonder he left me anything at all.”

“Maybe Lyra could have a look at it,” Yargol suggested and looked at Azerius.

“Sure,” the young wizard answered. His voice made it clear that he was still angry.

“Alright, let’s continue,” Riley said. “What was using your magic like, Yargol? Can you focus on it? Maybe reproduce the feeling?”

Yargol tried, he really did, but he could not relax and concentrate. After an hour of futile attempts to trigger some sort of reaction, they gave up.

“Perhaps we should try again once we read through the books you selected?” Azerius suggested.

“Maybe,” Riley said. “I guess I shouldn’t be so impatient. I just got a little excited at the beginning. But you’re right. Let’s end the session here, and we will continue tomorrow.”

***

On their way back, Yargol listened to Azerius blowing off steam about the first lesson. He could not help but find it amusing how the human seethed over Riley’s unorthodox procedures.

Azerius noticed Yargol staring at him while he ranted. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Yargol grinned. “Sorry, but you’re cute when you’re angry.”

Before Azerius could respond to this, they heard somebody yell after them.

“Mr Freecaster!” a strict male voice shouted.

Yargol looked back. A balding middle-aged wizard in white robes was on his way over to them. His eyes were fixed on Azerius, and they looked angry.

Azerius stopped at once and looked at Yargol in panic. “Oh no…I forgot,” he whispered.

“Forgot what?” Yargol asked a bit concerned as the man came closer. He had not seen Azerius this afraid since the night he met him.

“‘The history of warfare’, ‘Orcs and other foul creatures’, and ‘Travelling for beginners’,” the man listed. “You borrowed these three books from the library and were supposed to bring them back last week. Where are they?” he questioned sternly.

“Please, forgive me, Master Etos. My mission got delayed and-”

Master Etos raised a finger. “I know that you arrived two days ago. There was plenty of time to return the books”, he insisted.

“I almost died,” Azerius tried to defend himself.

“Do you have any idea how often I have heard this excuse? One of your friends could have brought them back. You will pay three copper coins per book and are banned from borrowing books for a month.”

“What’s the big deal?” Yargol asked, confused. “They’re just books. Can’t he bring them by later?”

Azerius closed his eyes and looked as if Yargol had just sentenced them both to death.

For a moment, Yargol thought Master Etos would attack him. “Just books, huh?” he hissed. “Why am I not surprised that this is coming from an orc. If I ever see you touch a single book around here, I will chop your hand off,” he hissed. Then he looked back at Azerius. “Now, where are the three editions?”

“I will get them right away,” Azerius promised. He looked at Yargol. “Just wait here. I will be right back.”

Yargol shook his head. “I remember the way back. Just come to my room.”

“Oh, alright. I will see you later then,” Azerius nodded before quietly leaving with Master Etos.

***

When he arrived in his room, Yargol lit the fireplace and sat down at the nearby table. Then he waited. He had thought being alone with his thoughts would be good for him, but instead the silence around him started to unnerve him. For years, quietness and solitude had been his only companions, yet by now, he was used to Azerius being near him almost all the time.

Yargol suddenly remembered the paints he bought at the market. He got up and took the box out of his bag. For a moment, he hesitated and was about to put it back. After all, Azerius would probably be returning soon. But ultimately, he gave in and locked the door.

On the dresser beside the bed was a washing bowl, and Yargol placed the box beside it before taking off his shirt.

He carefully began to mix some of the colours with a bit of water and combined them until they had a smooth texture and the kind of blood-red tone he wanted. Yargol then began to apply the paint, starting with his face.

He hadn’t done this in a long time, but Yargol still knew the pattern by heart. Every member of his tribe received a unique one when they reached adulthood. Grotach had spent weeks coming up with it before he bestowed it upon him at the ceremony. That day was likely the last time his brother had looked at him with any care.

Yargol once did the same preparation for his sister, even though he never got to use it in the end. He quickly discarded the thought before it could take root.

When he was finished, he looked at his reflection in the bowl of water. It was like looking into the past. For a moment, Yargol could not help but feel happy, as if he had found something he thought he had lost a long time ago.

But the moment faded, and Yargol sighed. He could not say why he was doing this to himself when he knew it would only end up making him sad. But still, he could not resist.

This was no unfamiliar feeling to him. When he lived in the woods, it usually happened once or twice a year. Something would remind him of his tribe, a particular sound, a smell or sometimes a dream, and suddenly, he was overwhelmed by a depressing wave of melancholy. Usually, these episodes lasted a few hours, but sometimes it took him days to get over them.

Being with Azerius was wonderful, so Yargol had thought something like this would not happen from now on, but he could tell that even after all this time, he still missed his people. And deeply so.

This city, like nothing before, had reminded him how out of place he sometimes felt in this shared realm of humans and elves. He was longing for some sort of familiarity to hold onto, a way to ground him again. So that he could be sure that he was still the person he thought he was.

Someone knocked at the door, and Yargol flinched. He heard the doorknob rattle.

“Yargol, are you there?” The sound of Azerius’ voice was both relieving and terrifying to Yargol.

“Yeah, give me a second,” he yelled back as he grabbed a rag lying beside the bowl to wipe his face before putting his shirt on to cover the rest of the paint.

He opened the door, and Azerius walked inside. “Apologies, this took longer than I thought. I ran into Lyra on the way back and…” he said and looked at Yargol, who just stood there holding the door open. “Why did you lock the door?” Azerius asked and frowned. “Are you alright? You look a bit stressed.”

“I’m fine,” Yargol quickly answered and closed the door, but his attention was elsewhere. He had just realised that he had left the box on the dresser. “You said you met Lyra? Did she find out what’s wrong with Inian?”

“No… every master claimed that Inian was in excellent health,” Azerius said, obviously still confused by Yargol’s behaviour. He followed his gaze and spotted the chest. “What is that?” he asked and walked over to it.

“Nothing,” Yargol tried to intercept, but Azerius already had the box in his hands.

“Is that… paint?” he asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” Yargol responded, a bit annoyed. He took the box from Azerius’ hands and walked to the table, stuffing it back into his bag.

Azerius stared at Yargol. “I did not know you like to paint. Why did you not tell me?”

“It’s not like that. Just forget it. It’s not important,” Yargol said, trying to change the subject, but of course, this caused the human to become even more curious.

Azerius reached for the collar of Yargol’s shirt. He lightly tugged on it, revealing a small part of his painted chest. “You painted your body? Is this an orc tradition?”

Yargol gently pushed Azerius’ hand away. “Kind of.”

“Why did you hide it?” Azerius asked, suddenly looking very concerned. “Oh no, have I behaved disrespectfully?”

“No, you have not, don’t worry. I hid it because I once swore to myself that I would never put it on again,” Yargol said, ashamed. “I kept that promise until today.”

“Oh,” Azerius said. “What does the paint mean?”

“It shows what tribe I’m part of. I left mine, so wearing it is pointless and wrong,” Yargol explained without looking at Azerius.

“Is there a reason why you felt so compelled to use it today?”

Yargol shrugged. “I don’t know, I just had to.”

They were both silent for a while before Azerius spoke up again.

“Is there anything I can do to help you? I can leave if you want to be alone for a while,” Azerius offered.

Yargol responded by stepping closer and hugging Azerius, who seemed surprised at first but then quickly accepted the strong but gentle embrace.

For a while, they just stood beside the fireplace. Azerius had closed his eyes as he rested his head against Yargol’s chest.

Yargol enjoyed the moment a little longer before he could bring himself to let go again.

He removed his shirt, revealing his painted chest.

Azerius looked at him with fascination.

“It symbolises the bond I have with my tribe. And the place I have in it… or had.”

“I like it,” Azerius commented. “So… what was your position? If you do not mind me asking?”

“My mother was the chieftain. I was her second child and a warrior of the tribe,” Yargol pointed to the region over his heart. “That’s what this means,” he said, then pointing at his left shoulder. “These are the symbols of my two siblings.”

Azerius listened attentively and looked at Yargol’s right shoulder. “I see. Is the leadership of a tribe hereditary?“

“No. Chieftains are elected by the whole tribe, but I think you can imagine who is usually favoured.”

“Ah yes, nepotism is a universal phenomenon…” Azerius said as his eyes fell on the symbol on Yargol’s right shoulder. “And this one?”

“That’s my father’s sign,” Yargol said. Just imagining the man’s face put him in a bad mood. It brought back many memories Yargol really did not like to think, let alone talk, about.

He averted his eyes from Azerius. “I’m a bit tired. I think I’ll go to bed now if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Azerius said but paused for a moment. “Have I offended you?”

“No,” Yargol answered and proceeded to wash the paint off his body before slipping under the covers of the soft bed.

Azerius joined him, snuggling close to Yargol’s side, resting his head peacefully on Yargol’s big chest.

It was nice. A feeling Yargol had still not quite gotten used to. He tried his best to fall asleep but was restless.

After a while, Azerius raised his head and kissed him. “You need to calm down.”

“I am calm,” Yargol lied.

Azerius just raised an eyebrow in response.

Yargol stared at the ceiling. “I just can’t stop thinking.”

“About what? Perhaps you will feel better after you tell me what is on your mind,” Azerius suggested while looking up at Yargol.

“Maybe,” Yargol said. He had meant to talk to Azerius multiple times over the last few weeks. But every time he tried, the words just did not come out. Too great was the fear of ruining this small bit of peace he had found here.

Their eyes met, and Yargol felt his heart melt. The human’s look was so pure. There was nothing but trust and genuine curiosity in it. Despite this, it still cost Yargol a lot of willpower to actually start speaking.

“Promise me you won’t leave me.” Yargol started and regretted speaking the second he had finished the sentence. He watched as Azerius’ expression turned from curious to worried.

“I cannot blindly give you a guarantee like that, Yargol. You must know that.”

“Right, sure. I get it.” Yargol swallowed. “I’m scared you’ll find someone better than me now that we’re here.”

“What? You are being ridiculous. What makes you think such things?”

“You’re a good person. And educated. I don’t think I’m either. There are so many others here who could give you more than I can. But I was also worried that if I told you this, you’d only stay with me out of pity or something.”

Azerius sat up. “This is not a competition, Yargol. I am not weighing people’s level of education and personality traits against each other to find a partner. No matter how tempted my brain is to create a system for that and write it down on about sixty-five pages of parchment. It would never work. I like you for who you are and the things you know and care about.”

“Okay,” Yargol mumbled. All of this felt a bit like he was being lectured. In a good way, sort of.

Azerius’ look softened. “Your life was not easy before we met, was it?”

Yargol had to compose himself for a second before he could speak. “No.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

Yargol wanted to shake his head. Going back to sleep, like always, would be easier. But instead, he nodded, and Azerius lay back down beside him, waiting patiently.

“After I left my tribe… The first two years were really difficult,” he finally started. “I didn’t speak the common tongue yet and also had no idea how to deal with humans or the way they treated me.” He paused for a moment to think before he continued.

“I was optimistic. I wanted to build a new life and learn to live with humans. For a while, being a mercenary worked out well enough, but I wasn’t truly happy. Most people didn’t want to be seen with me unless they paid me to protect their caravan. I never really connected with anyone. So, I spent most of my money on getting drunk.”

He felt Azerius’ hand caress his chest, and Yargol could already tell that talking about this made him feel better. So, he went on.

“Not many villages like drunk orcs, so most of the time, I got kicked out after a few weeks. At some point, being sober became an exception for me, and being drunk was the norm, so people stopped hiring me. I started to steal, and eventually, I robbed people.”

Yargol waited for Azerius’ reaction, but the man just looked at him, waiting for him to continue. And so, he did.

“I got more and more frustrated. More… violent. I felt like the only time I got any respect from the people around me was when they were scared of me,” Yargol swallowed. “One day, while travelling between towns, I met a young man on the street. I was drunk again, and when the guy walked past me, he looked at me with this… disgusted look,” Yargol could still picture it before him clearly. “People had looked at me that way for years, but that day, I just couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Did you… kill him?” Azerius’ voice was calm and showed no sign of judgment, but Yargol could tell that he was nervous about the answer.

“I don’t know,” Yargol admitted. “I wanted to. He had just looked at me weirdly, but I hated him so much.” Yargol took a deep breath to steady himself again. “I attacked him. Beat him. And then left for the woods. I was so disgusted by myself. So, I walked until I was too exhausted to continue. And there I thought I would end it.”

Azerius’ expression had not changed during the time Yargol had talked, but he raised his head now. “You wanted to…”

“I had no future among humans and no future among orcs. So, I didn’t see the point of going on anymore. I knew I was a horrible person, so getting rid of myself seemed like it would benefit everyone.”

Azerius gently squeezed Yargol’s hand. “But you are still here. What happened?”

“I passed out in the woods before I could try anything, and when I woke up again, I… smelled elderflower.”

“Elderflower?” Azerius asked, confused.

“In my tribe, we often used that plant to treat sick people,” Yargol explained. “At that moment, it kind of felt like my people were reaching out to me. As if they wanted to tell me to get well.” Yargol glanced at Azerius. “I know, it’s stupid.”

“It is not stupid,” Azerius protested. “Especially not if it is the reason you are still here. I assume this was when you decided to live in the woods?”

Yargol nodded. “I built my hut beside the elderflower bush. Over the years, I slowly got better. After a while, I even started to like myself again. But I was never happy.”

“Did you ever think about going back? To your tribe or human civilization?”

“Many times. Sometimes, I had even packed my things and was about to leave before I changed my mind. It was lonely, but if I’m being honest, living among humans was just as lonely, only in a different way. And I doubt my tribe would have taken me back.”

Azerius was silent for a while.

“Do you wish you could go back now?” Azerius asked.

“No,” Yargol answered firmly. “I just need time to get used to all of this. Don’t worry,” he reassured.

“Alright,” Azerius said, seeming relieved. He raised his head again and locked eyes with Yargol. His expression was serious when he spoke. “Can you promise me one thing though?”

“Sure.”

“You do not have to tell me anything you are not comfortable sharing… but if you ever have thoughts about hurting yourself again, then you need to tell me…” Azerius said while cupping Yargol’s jaw with his hand.

“That was a long time ago. I’m fine now,” Yargol mumbled and gently squeezed the human closer to him.

Azerius, however, kept looking at him. “Promise me,” he insisted.

“Okay, I promise.”

“Good,” Azerius said and put his head back on Yargol’s chest. “You are a wonderful person, Yargol. I do not want you to ever think of yourself as anything less than that.”

“Thank you,” Yargol said, kissing the human on his forehead.

He rubbed Azerius’ back and waited until he could hear the man’s silent snoring. He felt almost lightheaded after sharing all of that. It had been a while since someone had really listened to or cared about him, and Yargol hoped that he would never forget to appreciate this.

Chapter Text

Warchief Matuk trotted through the muddy camp his men had built in haste. The cold wind relentlessly tore at the tents around him, blowing the drizzling rain into his stern, scar-covered face.

Not much was left of the raiding party he had formed three weeks ago.

With his army, he had achieved the two things that countless of his ancestors had fruitlessly attempted before him. All orc tribes were united, and the elven empire was crushed. But his forces, which had marched almost unopposed through elven territory, were now stuck. All because the pesky humans had decided to get involved after all.

This spearhead he was leading consisted of his best men. Ruthless and hardened veterans with whom he had meant to finally break this stalemate and force a favourable peace before the winter would set in. Initially, things had been going well. They had broken through the enemy positions at a weak point and quickly moved into the heartland of the human kingdom. Matuk should have known that it had been too easy, but he was blinded by his former success and desire to finally end this war.

His army had failed to exploit his breakthrough. By now, the humans had successfully closed the lines behind them, and scouts were shadowing every step he and his men took.

This would have all still been manageable, but then the real problem reared its head. Something Matuk could not have possibly anticipated.

A demon. He had no other word for it. Matuk had seen wizards and their magic before. There were ways to deal with them. But what the humans had unleashed was something else entirely. This creature was neither human nor orc nor elven. Matuk was certain. The way it looked. The way it moved. And especially the way it killed. Merely thinking about it made him uneasy, and there were not many things capable of doing that.

He had only narrowly survived the previous attack. More than half of his men had fallen, and the rest were wounded and exhausted.

The soldiers he passed on his way did not look at him. Matuk knew he had lost the respect of many of his remaining men when he ordered them to retreat. But he had not acted out of concern for his own life.

When he reached his son’s tent, the shaman was just stepping out of it.

Matuk stopped, and their eyes met. No words were spoken as none were needed to tell the warchief what he needed to know.

The shaman bowed and walked away, leaving Matuk to face what awaited him inside. Another consequence of his decisions. He took a deep breath before he finally entered.

The air inside was warm and smelled of herbs. The small fire in the centre cast flickering shadows onto the tent walls. Onog was lying on a bedroll beside it.

Matuk’s son had been wounded in the battle against the monster. The shaman had warned him from the beginning that the chances of his survival were slim, but the warchief had not wanted to hear any of it. Onog was his firstborn. Death was simply not an option.

Matuk had begun this war with three sons and two daughters. Atub was killed by a stray arrow in the first battle against the elves. Khagra succumbed to the poisoned blade of an assassin a few weeks later. Glashna and Inkathu died in Arvaneas when the mad elven witch set the city ablaze to spoil his victory.

Now, he was looking down at his last remaining child.

Onog’s wounds had begun to fester. His eyes were feverish, but Matuk could tell that he still recognised his father, even if he was too weak to speak or react in any meaningful way.

As he looked at the young man, Matuk could not help but think back to the day he had taught him how to hunt. Onog had been a natural from the beginning. He never hesitated before a kill and learned how to get what he wanted from others quickly. How to lead and inspire. A formidable orc in every regard. No conquest could ever match the pride Matuk felt for his son. Even now.

He knelt down beside the wounded man. Onog attempted to speak but only managed to produce an unintelligible hoarse sound. His eyes wandered down to the hunting knife hanging on his father’s belt.

Matuk understood what his son wanted, and he also knew that he would have to grant him his wish whether he wanted to or not.

He drew the knife in a swift movement and set the tip of the blade onto his son’s chest. The light of the fire danced on the polished steel, taunting the hesitant leader of the orcs.

Onog’s breathing was flat and slow.

Matuk kept staring at the blade as he let it hover over his son’s heart when suddenly Onog grabbed his other hand. The skin was burning hot, and the grip weak.

Matuk gently squeezed the hand and looked into his son’s eyes, finding no fear in the face of death. Just the way he was taught. He clenched his teeth before abruptly shoving the blade into Onog’s heart.

The young orc let out a weak gasp and then sighed, relieved. The grip on Matuk’s hand loosened as he watched the life drain out of his child.

***

Yargol and Azerius were sitting in Yargol’s room and waited for Riley to arrive so they could start another lesson.

It had now been two weeks since the first lesson. Two mostly frustrating weeks.

Azerius insisted on finding more conventional and safe methods to teach Yargol magic, but so far, the results had been non-existent. Riley tried to work according to Azerius’ wishes but seemed to grow more impatient with every passing day.

Azerius was busy reading another one of the many books Riley had picked out while Yargol continued his attempts to become literate. He still struggled a lot, but Lyra was convinced that he was making good progress.

“Interesting,” Azerius suddenly said, and Yargol looked up, hoping Azerius had found something helpful.

“Eriko, who was the first wizard of the third branch, discovered his abilities while relieving himself at a field latrine.”

Yargol frowned. “Huh, I guess I should be glad about the way I found out about my magic.”

“You also should be glad that you did not accidentally kill ten people in the process, as he did.”

“Oh…”

Azerius sighed. “See, this is why you read up before you start poking people with knives to see what their magic can do.”

Before Yargol could respond they were interrupted by someone slamming into the door to his room with a thud. Yargol looked back, confused at Azerius. “Did you lock the door?”

“Perhaps,” Azerius answered with a faint smile on his lips and went back to reading his book as if nothing happened.

After a few moments of silence, knocking could be heard from the door.

“Who is it?” Azerius asked with feigned innocence in his voice.

“You know exactly who, asshole! Now unlock the door!” Lyra’s furious voice sounded muffled through the wood.

Azerius sighed, closed his book and got up. He opened the door, and Lyra walked in, looking rather irritated.

“That was unnecessary,” she stated as she put down several things on the table before Yargol.

“I disagree,” Azerius said contently, crossing his arms. “Otherwise, you will never learn to knock.”

“Alright, whatever,” Lyra said and rolled her eyes. She then looked at Yargol and smiled. “Hi, I finally managed to find bigger quills for you,” she announced and handed him a package.

“Oh, thanks,” Yargol said surprised. “What do I owe you?”

“Some readable letters would be all the compensation I need,” Lyra joked and sat down beside him.

Yargol chuckled. “I’ll do my best,” he promised and started to unpack his new quills. If, a few weeks ago, somebody had told Yargol that he would be excited about getting a set of quills, he would have just laughed.

“Any news about Inian’s condition?” Azerius asked.

This was a sore subject for all of them by now. And Lyra’s sighed. “He’s still seeing them and claims they’re getting more numerous. I’m running out of specialists to take him to. No one has ever heard of anything like this. Most of them just say he’s hallucinating, but there has to be some cause, even if it is just that.”

Azerius sat down on the opposite side of the table. “Alright, please tell me you found out something about Riley’s weird knife then?”

“Ah, right. Thanks for reminding me.” She pulled the dagger out of her bag. “Old Taryllian is a bit tricky, so I had to ask a few colleagues, but the interpretation we ultimately agreed on was ‘Sealbreaker’,” Lyra explained. “Though we found no translation for this small symbol,” she added and pointed at the end of the wooden grip.

Yargol recognized it. Three diagonally interlocked squares.

He handed the knife to Azerius. The two exchanged looks.

“We need to find out what it means. Could you maybe look through the library again?” Azerius asked with a frown.

Lyra groaned. “Really? Do you know how much work that is? Why do you need to know about it so bad?”

“That symbol was on the chest Azerius had to bring back to the Citadel,” Yargol remarked, concerned. “We should tell her,” he said, looking at Azerius.

Azerius shook his head. “If we find out what the symbol means, then we can tell the General since it could be helpful, but I see no reason to get Lyra involved,” he said, picking up his book again. “General Sephiran assured us she has it under control.”

Lyra looked at Azerius and narrowed her eyes. “What is under control?” she asked, her voice sounding almost threatening. “If you tell me what this is about, then I will know what to look for in the library.”

Azerius seemed to consider this for a moment. “Alright, then. A while back, Yargol had a vision where… something showed him that many wizards and witches at the Citadel will die.”

Lyra stared at him blankly. “Huh,” she exhaled. “You don’t seem to be very concerned about that prospect?”

“As I said, the General told us she has everything under control,” Azerius stated, confident that the matter was settled.

Lyra, however, seemed unconvinced. “Mhm, and what exactly is coming to kill us?”

“We do not know yet,” Azerius admitted.

“And what is the General’s plan?” she probed further with growing irritation.

“We… do not know,” Azerius admitted again, a bit more sheepishly this time.

Lyra’s face was starting to turn slightly red. “Oh, that’s great. No, really. Fantastic. Why don’t we just get it over with and jump off the balcony since we’ll all die anyway?”

Azerius grimaced and looked at the elf. “Why are you acting so dramatic? The General has a plan, and I trust her. Why do you immediately assume her to be incompetent?”

“Because she’s an old hag who only managed to cling onto her position because our king has mommy issues,” Lyra spat furiously.

Azerius’ mouth stood open for a moment before he crossed his arms. “Now you are just being rude. She may be old, but she still knows very well what she is doing. That is called ‘experience’. General Sephiran will fill us in eventually,” Azerius continued to defend himself. “But if you find anything about that symbol, it might be helpful to her plan.”

Lyra shook her head and huffed in frustration. “Fine, I will see what I can find out about the symbol as soon as I can, but I won’t rely on the ninety-nine-year-old hag to fix this, whatever it is,” she promised. “So, where is Master Griffin? I thought you wanted me to be here for today’s session.”

“He is late,” Azerius sighed, annoyed. “Again…”

A few minutes later, an unhurried and rather cheerful-looking Riley showed up. He ignored Azerius’ glares and instead approached Lyra. “Hey, you must be Lyra, right? I’m Riley.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Lyra greeted warmly as she shook the master's hand.

“Only good things, I hope,” Riley said, side-eying Azerius.

Yargol despised the constant tension Azerius and Riley seemed to have, so he interrupted before his boyfriend could say anything. “Lyra, uhm, do you have any ideas how you could help me with my magic?”

“Well…” Lyra said uncertainly. “What exactly have you tried so far?”

“We’ve tried boring the magic out of him,” Riley answered without looking at Azerius.

“Anything other than hitting and stabbing him is considered boring by you,” Azerius retorted.

Lyra raised an eyebrow and leaned over to Yargol. “Were they like this for the last two weeks?” she whispered.

Yargol hesitated before answering. “Kinda…”

“My condolences,” Lyra mumbled, patting him on the shoulder before turning back to the two men. “Alright, I would like to remind both of you that you are, in fact, adults. So please, sort out whatever teenage drama you have going on.”

Azerius opened his mouth to say something, but Lyra already continued. “Not right now, though. Now, we focus on Yargol. Have you tried a physio-manipulative approach?”

“That is too invasive,” Azerius immediately dismissed.

Riley rolled his eyes. “Do you see the problem here?”

Lyra ignored Riley and thought for a moment before speaking to Azerius again. “I know you want to be careful, but Physiomanipulation is a common practice in every lazaret.”

“But it is used mostly for monitoring vitals,” Azerius contended, worried. “And done by professionals.”

Riley looked offended. A rare sight. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry, but what are we talking about?” Yargol quickly interrupted.

“Physiomanipulation is the practice of monitoring and manipulating bodily functions through Physiomancy,” Azerius explained. “But we could mess up a lot of things in your body or even kill you. We would have to be extremely careful.”

“You can’t really do much damage if you stay superficial. Also, who would be more careful than you?” Lyra argued.

“I can act as a safety net and intervene if necessary,” Riley offered.

Yargol could tell that Azerius was trying to think of a way to talk his way out of this. He got up, put his hand on Azerius’ shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Let’s try it. I’ll be fine.”

Azerius looked him in the eyes and finally sighed, defeated. “Alright, but no weird experiments,” he warned Riley and got up.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Riley said with a provoking smirk.

After this response, Azerius grimaced and seemed to reconsider for a moment but finally took one of Yargol’s hands. He closed his eyes while Riley stood up and positioned himself behind Azerius, putting one hand on the man’s shoulder.

The master now looked uncharacteristically serious and concentrated. This should have reassured Yargol, but it mainly signalled to him that things could actually go wrong here.

“I will start now,” Azerius announced after a short pause. “It will likely feel strange at first, but try to stay calm.”

“Okay,” Yargol said and swallowed. He remembered his first contact with magic when he touched the Soulshard. How it felt like he was burning from the inside. He braced himself when Azerius’ hand started to glow faintly with red light.

Instead of the sharp pain he had expected, Yargol felt a strange warmth. The feeling slowly crept its way up his arm and began to spread. It was neither a particularly pleasant nor unpleasant sensation to him.

Yargol was unsure what to do, so he just remained still and tried not to get too nervous when Azerius’ magic reached his heart. He could not help but flinch as the unusual feeling suddenly started to pulsate through his whole body. For a brief moment, he felt a faint prickling in his chest. Yargol could tell that Azerius and Riley had sensed it too.

“Was that…?” Azerius asked and opened his eyes.

Yargol nodded. “I think so,” he said while trying his best to get used to the feeling of magic coursing through his veins. Azerius’ body now felt like an extension of his own, and it was strange to sense the man’s heartbeat as if it were his own.

Azerius closed his eyes again, and another wave of magic poured into Yargol’s body. The prickling feeling flared up again, and Azerius’ grip tightened.

Yargol’s breath hitched as his magic surged with unexpected intensity. As if a valve had been opened, the strange force rippled through him, causing Azerius to gasp in surprise as Yargol’s magic pushed back against his.

Yargol could sense the power concentrate in his shoulder. In the blink of an eye, like liquid crystal, a blue shimmering arm manifested itself. Yargol opened his mouth but before he could voice a warning, the arm already struck out.

Riley immediately reacted.

The master’s magic felt distinctly different from Azerius’. It entered Yargol’s body by effortlessly weaving through the younger wizard at a rapid pace.

The magical arm shot forward and went for Azerius’ throat, but before it could reach the human, it was abruptly stopped.

A sharp pain shot through Yargol’s body. He grunted, shocked, and was forced to fall down on one knee. Riley’s magic went deeper into Yargol, seizing control over his muscles. Like countless chains, the master’s magic held him in place.

Instinctual panic spread through Yargol’s mind as he desperately tried to free himself. His magical arm trembled as it fought to overcome Riley’s magic.

Yargol let out a strained growl as the pain steadily increased with every passing second.

“Stop it, Riley, you are hurting him!” Azerius yelled but seemed to be unable to move himself.

Riley ignored the panicking wizard. “Yargol, listen to me. I have you. But you need to relax,” the master implored. His voice was calm, but the urgency was evident as pearls of sweat formed on the man’s forehead.

Yargol wished it was that easy. He panted as Riley had to tighten his grip again to prevent his magic from lashing out. He could hear Lyra approaching from the side.

“Breathe, Yargol. We’re here,” the elf tried to calm him. “Trust Riley. Let go.”

He looked at Azerius, who was tightly gripping his arm. The man was clearly terrified but gave him a reassuring nod. Gradually, Yargol managed to force his breath to slow. It was not easy to let Riley take over, but he reluctantly gave up a small part of his resistance, which in turn allowed Riley to relax his forceful grip slightly. The pain started to subside the more Yargol accepted the assertive presence of Riley’s magic.

“Alright, very good,” Riley said when he felt like the situation had somewhat calmed down.

Yargol offered no resistance when he was pulled onto both feet again. He felt Riley attempting to move his new arm, but it refused to move now.

“I think I can only hold your magic in place. Can you try to control the arm?”

Yargol focused on the strange feeling inside of him. Slowly, the prickling spread from his chest through his whole body, even into his magical arm.

“There, I think you got it,” Riley said audibly, relieved.

Yargol agreed. He took another deep breath and felt a strong rush of his magic shoot through his veins. The sensation was electrifying. Powerful even. He began to feel like he was in control again, even while Riley still had a strong grip on him.

The spectral arm started to feel natural to him, as if he had always had three arms. Yargol managed to stretch the fingers of his new hand despite Riley’s attempt to stop him.

“You can let go of me now,” Yargol said to the master who was evidently struggling by now.

“Are you sure?” Azerius asked nervously, but Riley was already following Yargol’s wishes.

The link between them abruptly broke off, and all foreign magic inside Yargol disintegrated.

Riley immediately dashed backwards yanking Azerius to a safe distance with him.

Free of all constraints, Yargol now felt his magic infuse every last corner of him. The arm remained in place and seemed to have lost its homicidal tendencies.

“It worked,” Lyra breathed.

“Are you alright?” Azerius asked. He clearly wanted to walk up to Yargol but hesitated when the spectral arm moved.

“Yeah, I think I’m fine,” Yargol said and inspected his new arm. He could now control it as if it had always been there. The strange feeling of his magic was still strong inside of him, and he started to like it.

Azerius decided to come closer, and Yargol reached out to him. Touching the human’s skin with his new hand did not feel any different. Azerius curiously examined the magical limb while Lyra and Riley dared to approach as well.

Yargol felt the magic swirl inside of him like a storm contained in a bottle. Before he knew it, a second artificial arm had spawned out of his other shoulder.

“Oh!” Riley exclaimed. “Do another one!”

“I don’t think I can,” Yargol laughed, still staring with fascination at the shimmering limbs while flexing the false muscles a bit. The new arms definitely felt stronger than his normal arms. He looked at Azerius and tilted his head.

The man raised an eyebrow and took a small step back when Yargol suddenly approached him. “What are you doing?”

Yargol used his magical arms to pick up Azerius, who let out a startled yelp. His boyfriend weight barely anything to him now. “I could’ve used those when I had to carry you through the countryside,” he commented and raised the human above his head.

“I am not a practice weight,” Azerius informed him, as if Yargol was simply misinformed.

“Yes, you are,” Yargol disagreed and pulled the man to his chest. “The cutest practice weight there is,” he said and pressed a kiss on Azerius’ lips.

Azerius smiled, mortified, and mumbled something about not wanting to be embarrassed in front of Lyra and Riley.

“Adorable,” Lyra said and smirked. “Be careful, though. Using this much magic will probably exhaust you very fast,” she warned.

“I don’t know. It feels like I could do this all day,” Yargol dismissed and shrugged.

“Do not. Touch. The knife,” Azerius suddenly warned Riley, who had just reached for his dagger on the table.

“But aren’t you curious what would happen if we cut one of the new arms?” Riley tried to invoke some curiosity.

“I think we pushed our luck far enough today,” Yargol said to Azerius’ visible relief.

Riley nodded in disappointment and left the dagger alone but occasionally glanced at it longingly.

Yargol suddenly felt the strength of his magic waiver. He realised too late that Lyra had been right.

Without warning, the spectral arm holding Azerius disappeared, causing the wizard to hit the ground with a thud.

“Ah!” Azerius exclaimed, surprised.

“Shit! I’m so sorry,” Yargol said and quickly knelt down to help the human. “Are you hurt?”

Azerius rubbed the back of his head. “No, I am alright, I think.”

Yargol frowned. “Sure? Maybe we should have you checked out,” he suggested, but Azerius shook his head.

“Really. I am fine,” Azerius tried to calm him.

“Okay,” Yargol reluctantly accepted and stood back up, almost falling over in the process.

“Whoa, there, big guy,” Riley said and quickly walked over to him. “Maybe you should sit down.”

Azerius and Lyra flanked Yargol as he let himself fall into one of the chairs beside the table. He leaned back and huffed, exhausted.

“Great, try to process this a bit. I think we’ll leave it at that for today. We will be working on your stamina tomorrow,” Riley concluded, sounding very pleased.

“Okay,” Yargol accepted, feeling rather drained.

“I will get to work on that… research we talked about earlier,” Lyra said and gave Azerius a meaningful look.

“Until tomorrow then,” Riley finally said and the two left.

Yargol watched as Azerius cleared the table, carefully putting away Yargol’s new quills.

Azerius glanced at him. “Are you sure you are feeling alright?”

“Yeah,” Yargol reassured the man before smiling a bit stupidly. “I really am a wizard,” he said contently. The words felt a bit more natural to him now.

“You are,” Azerius confirmed, amused. He stopped cleaning up, came over, and briefly kissed Yargol. “I am proud of you. You did very well today.”

“Thanks,” Yargol responded and pulled Azerius onto his lap so the man’s back was against his chest. “I think Riley did a great job too, right?”

Azerius made a grimace. “Sure, he successfully almost killed someone again,” he said sarcastically.

“Why do you hate him so much?” Yargol asked, slightly frustrated.

“I do not hate him. I simply disagree with his methods, and you know why…” Azerius pouted. “He is unorganized and reckless.”

“Is that all?” Yargol inquired while resting his head on the man’s shoulder.

“Yes? What else would be the problem?” Azerius asked.

“I don’t know,” Yargol shrugged. “Are you jealous?”

Azerius turned his head and looked back at him, baffled. “You cannot be serious.”

Yargol was absolutely serious. “Well, are you?”

“No,” Azerius protested. He exhaled, seemingly unsure how to express himself accurately. “If Riley wants to do dangerous things and put his life at risk, then he is free to do so. But he is not just putting himself in danger but also you. He is the kind of guy who will take higher and higher risks as long as everything somehow works out.”

“I think Riley is more aware of that than you think,” Yargol tried to argue and gently rubbed his hand across Azerius’ chest.

Azerius paused briefly. He did not look at Yargol when he continued speaking. “I am afraid that you will end up paying the price when he loses one of his gambles, and I cannot stand the thought of that. I just found you…”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Yargol murmured soothingly into his boyfriend’s ear.

“I know,” Azerius sighed but still seemed upset. “Perhaps… I am a bit jealous after all.”

Yargol raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“As much as I despise his carelessness, I sometimes wish I was a bit like him,” Azerius admitted as he toyed around with Yargol’s beard. “When those two guards blocked our way to the Citadel a few weeks ago, I immediately folded, and he stood up for you.”

“You were careful and didn’t want anyone to get hurt. I like that about you,” Yargol said and kissed Azerius on the back of his neck. “I’m capable of taking care of myself. I’ve been on my own for almost a decade. I appreciate that you want to protect me, but you need to stop worrying so much, okay? That’s my job.”

“I will try,” Azerius said and rested his head on Yargol’s shoulder. “It is hard to stop thinking about it sometimes.”

“No more thinking for today then,” Yargol decided, and Azerius smiled.

Azerius stood up. “We should go get something to eat. To celebrate a bit. What do you say?”

“Sure, fish pasties?” Yargol suggested with a hopeful tone.

Azerius snorted. “Sure, whatever you want.”

They were just leaving Yargol’s room when they ran into Inian.

The young man was in uniform and seemed to be in a good mood. “Hey, are you guys busy right now?”

“We wanted to get something to eat. Why?”

“I have to pick up stuff from Lucian and could use some extra arms. Also, Yargol, I heard your armour is finished, so I thought you might want to go together?”

Yargol’s face lit up. “My armour is done?”

Azerius laughed. “I think that means yes. And you might get more arms with Yargol than you think.”

“Huh?” Inian asked, confused, but Yargol was already leaving.

“Yeah, I can make arms with magic, whatever. Now let’s go get my armour,” Yargol urged the group.

Azerius and Inian had trouble keeping up with Yargol, who almost ran down the streets to Lucian’s smithy.

Azerius’ brother was in the process of sealing a wooden crate when the group entered. Several other closed crates were already stacked on the ground near him.

Lucian smiled when he saw that he had guests. “Hey, great timing. I was just done getting everything ready.” He looked at Yargol. “I’ll go get your order. Give me a second.”

Yargol nodded and had already begun to take off his old leather armour. When the smith returned with the armour parts, Yargol eagerly started to strap them on while Azerius and Riley assisted.

Lucian seemed a bit nervous. “I really hope it fits you. I’ve never had to work with orc proportions before.”

“Looks good so far,” Inian commented and fastened the straps on one of the shoulder pads.

“Feels good so far,” Yargol added. He was holding the chest piece and slowly letting his finger glide over the wolf’s head that was painted on it.

While they were putting on his armour, a loud noise came from the backroom.

Lucian sighed. “Azerius…”

“Right, I’ll watch him in a second,” Azerius said and leaned closer to Yargol. “While I am gone, Inian will undoubtedly ask you questions about our love life. The guy is a massive chatterbox. Do not tell him anything, alright?”

Yargol chuckled. “Fine, I promise.”

“Good,” Azerius said and hurried to the back, where Yargol guessed Jason was causing a yet-to-be-determined amount of chaos.

“Thank you,” Lucian yelled after Azerius while keeping his attention on Yargol. “I can’t wait for that kid to get older so I can leave him out of sight for more than two seconds.”

Inian smiled at that. “Yes, I’m sure once he’s a teenager, you can take your eyes off him for three seconds.”

“Very helpful. Thank you, Inian,” Lucian said, grabbing a shin guard from the table.

“You’re welcome. So, anyway, Yargol, you can duplicate your arms with magic, huh?” Inian suddenly asked.

“I can,” Yargol confirmed while putting his foot on a stool to let Lucian strap on the part.

Inian fumbled at Yargol’s shoulder pad and made sure that he spoke low enough that Lucian could not hear him. “I imagine Azerius is very excited about that. Surely you can multiply other body parts as well… right?”

Yargol rolled his eyes but smiled. “I won’t comment on that,” he evaded. “Azerius already warned me about you.”

Inian looked offended. “Warned you? About me? I’m completely harmless.”

“He said you tend to talk.”

Inian sighed. “He’s still mad about that one time I caught him jerking off to that book…”

Yargol turned to Inian with a look that begged the biggest of his pardon.

“You didn’t know about that…” Inian correctly guessed. “Forget anything I just said.”

Yargol did not understand how a book or its contents could spark desire. After all, it was just ink on parchment but on the other hand, Azerius did really like books. “What book?” Yargol could not resist asking, his curiosity now in full force.

Lucian joined them again with a form Inian apparently needed to sign. “For the armour the Commander ordered. What are you guys talking about?”

“Uh,” Inian stammered. “About how you somehow found a way to make an orc look even more massive.”

“Thank you, do you like it?” Lucian asked a now fully armoured Yargol.

Yargol inspected the armour as he strolled around the workshop. The dark, hardened leather was well padded underneath, and metal components in his shoulder pads and chest piece offered additional protection. It was heavier than his previous armour but still left him more than enough mobility.

Yargol smiled. “It’s amazing, thanks,” he commended Lucian, who seemed relieved.

“I’m glad-” Lucian began, but he stopped when the door to the workshop opened again. The gust of cold wind that blew through the room sent a shudder down Yargol’s spine as several guards entered. He recognised only one of them.

Lyra’s brother was wearing the same simple dark purple uniform as Inian and immediately stopped when he spotted Yargol.

“What are you doing here?” Inian asked, unhappy about the unexpected company.

Draennor tilted his head. “We’re supposed to help you carry the boxes of armour to the Citadel?”

“I already have help,” Inian answered as he watched his colleagues pick up the crates.

“And now you have more help, isn’t that great?” Draennor argued with a cool voice. He spoke to Inian, but his eyes had been fixed on Yargol from the moment he had entered.

“Wonderful,” Inian answered with an equally cool tone.

Draennor finally walked over to Yargol. “You,” he hissed. “Stay away from my sister.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” Yargol dismissed, feeling the anger already brewing inside him. “And I’m sure neither does Lyra.”

Inian frowned. “Hey man, Lyra can spend time with whomever she wants.”

The elf scowled at his colleague. “She always thinks only about herself. Do you have any idea how her running around with an orc reflects on the rest of her family?”

“With you as a brother, I’m sure she knows the feeling.”

Draennor ignored the insult and turned back to Yargol. “This is your last warning.”

Yargol was unimpressed by the frail man’s threat. “Or what?”

The elf looked at him for a moment. “You probably think you’re safe now. With the General at your back, your weird magic, and a new set of fancy armour. But the same can’t be said for your boyfriend.”

Draennor had barely finished speaking when Yargol seized him by the throat.

The three other guards immediately dropped what they were carrying and drew their swords.

Draennor was gasping for air in Yargol’s strong grip, trying to claw at the orc’s arm to free himself.

“If you so much as touch Azerius…” Yargol warned as he tightened his grip.

One of the guards took a step forward. “Let him go, orc. Now,” he demanded.

Lucian had picked up a hammer and was positioning himself beside Yargol. “How dare you threaten my brother’s life like this?” he said, his voice shaky with anger.

When Yargol did not respond, the three guards started to come closer.

Inian stepped in between them with raised hands. “Now, now, this doesn’t need to escalate,” he said. “Right? Yargol?”

Yargol stared into Draennor’s hateful eyes before ultimately letting the elf go.

The young guard collapsed to his knees before him, clutching his throat, coughing and gasping for air.

“Come on,” one of the guards said as he pulled Lyra’s brother to his feet and away from Yargol.

“Out!” Lucian yelled, waving his hammer threateningly. “I don’t want to see any of you in my workshop ever again!”

“Don’t worry, we were just leaving,” Draennor managed to hiss. “Don’t expect any more orders from the Citadel in the future.”

His colleagues quickly picked up the crates they had dropped and hurried out before Lucian slammed the door shut behind them.

Inian groaned, annoyed. “What a gigantic asshole.”

“Sorry…” Yargol said, trying to calm down. “I shouldn’t have grabbed him like that. I probably hurt him.”

“If you hadn’t acted, I would have probably done worse things to him,” Lucian said and put the hammer down on the table beside him with a bit too much force.

“We should talk to Lyra. Maybe she can reign her brother in. Otherwise, this will end in blood eventually.”

***

“He said what?!” Lyra yelled and jumped up from her chair, causing several other people in the big library to look up annoyed.

“He went too far this time,“ Inian snarled. “He can’t get away with this.”

“You should probably talk to him. This is unacceptable,” Azerius said anxiously.

Lyra let out a laugh completely devoid of joy. “We’re well past talking,” she said as she tied her hair back. “Please excuse me now. I have to rip my brother’s balls off,” she announced and stormed off.

Yargol stood close to Azerius. The mere thought of someone hurting the man was haunting his mind. He looked down at his boyfriend. “Stay with me for the rest of the day, okay?”

“Sure, but I do not think Draennor would really dare to attack me,” Azerius tried to argue, but he did not sound entirely convinced himself.

“We’re not risking it,” Yargol looked at the books that lay sprawled out on the table. “How many books does Lyra have to go through?”

Azerius let go of Yargol. “Hundreds. It will most likely take her a while.”

Yargol nodded and patted Azerius on the shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll find something eventually.”

“I hope so,” Azerius said while curiously inspecting Yargol’s armour. “Lucian outdid himself,” he complimented. “What does the symbol on your chest mean?”

“It’s my tribe’s coat of arms,” Yargol answered briefly without looking at his partner.

“Well, it looks good,” Inian interrupted. “But we should probably test how well it actually protects you.”

Yargol snorted. “How exactly do you want me to show you that?”

“Remember you promised me to demonstrate how orcs fight? We could just do practice fights,” Inian suggested and smirked. “Unless you’re scared that I’ll embarrass you.”

Yargol looked the young human up and down sceptically. “I’m not worried about that.”

To Yargol’s surprise, Azerius chimed in as well.

“I would not mind seeing you fight either. Especially if it means that Inian gets put in his place for once.”

Inian grinned. “I’m pretty good. Like top ten percent of the Citadel for sure,” he claimed baselessly.

Azerius looked at Yargol, peeved. “Do you see what I mean?”

“Mhm,” Yargol hummed and crossed his arms. “Fine, lead the way.”

***

Inian directed Yargol and Azerius to a small and secluded courtyard that seemed to also serve as a training ground.

“What do you usually fight with?” Inian asked as he walked over to an armoury rack which hosted several dulled versions of real weapons.

“I like axes, but I can handle a sword too,” Yargol said as he looked through the selection of arms. He found no suitable axe but was content with settling for a broadsword. It was a bit too light for him, but he deemed it would do.

“Don’t worry, I will go easy on you,” Inian promised as he picked up a one-hander with a shield and sent Yargol an infuriating wink.

Yargol smiled. “That’s so nice of you, thanks,” he said while imagining how much better Inian’s clothes would look with a bit of dirt on them.

Azerius was standing on the side of the training ground, watching them curiously.

After walking to the centre of the square, they both fell into fighting stances before beginning to slowly circle each other.

As Yargol had already suspected, Inian was not the patient type.

His opponent dashed forward and attempted to stab at his midsection. The human was fast, but Yargol was not slow either. He dodged to the side and unceremoniously disarmed Inian with a quick but heavy downward strike.

Inian tripped but managed to catch the fall with his hands. He looked up at Yargol and narrowed his eyes. “Again.”

By the fifth time Yargol had won, he was starting to feel a bit bad for the man. Just a little bit, though. Inian was not a bad warrior by any means, but it was evident that he had never been in a real fight before. His movement and attacks were fast and precise but too rehearsed and predictable.

Over the next five rounds, however, Inian started to adapt to Yargol’s fighting style and also implemented a new tactic.

“So…” Inian suddenly said as he dodged a strike from Yargol. “Have you been with a human before Azerius?”

“No?” Yargol answered, slightly confused, while trying to close the distance and pressure the soldier to engage him.

Inian mirrored him, staying just out of reach. “But you have been with orcs, right?” he continued to verbally probe.

Yargol did not like where this conversation was going but answered regardless. “Yes,” he finally said and stabbed at Inian, who struggled to dodge.

“What’s it like, fucking a human compared to an orc?” Inian asked and stopped retreating. His opponent’s questions were bringing Yargol out of balance almost as much as the man’s sudden counterattack. He managed to block and had to go on the defensive. Yargol briefly risked a glance at Azerius, but their conversation did not seem to reach his partner. But before he could think of a comeback, Inian was already attacking him again.

“I bet Azerius is into some weird stuff,” Inian said with a stupid grin as he needled the orc with both steel and words. “The quiet guys always are.”

“Shut up,” Yargol said through gritted teeth as he attempted to break Inian’s chain of quick attacks.

“Come on. You can tell me. Spanking? Choking?” Inian continued to tease while sidestepping to risk a heavier attack. Their swords clashed as Yargol barely managed to react. “Piss? Gore? Oh damn, is it gore?”

Yargol snarled, frustrated. He could not simultaneously focus on deflecting both Inian’s shameless, kink-shaming questions and sword attacks. He wanted to retreat to another step but suddenly felt a wall against his back.

Inian immediately used the opportunity to close the distance between them, stopping his sword just before the Yargol’s chest.

Yargol cursed silently.

“Well fought, but you really need to get laid,” he decided and pushed the dull blade to the side with the back of his hand.

Inian took a step back and looked rather proud. “Thanks. Maybe the story about how I bested an orc in combat will get me lucky tonight at the bar,” he said and smirked.

“When I first met you guys, I thought you had a thing with Lyra,” Yargol remarked while they walked back to the centre of the courtyard.

All the confidence in Inian seemed to evaporate when Yargol mentioned the elf. “What? Me and Lyra?” he laughed, the way only a man insecure about his feelings could laugh. “No, we’re just friends.” He anxiously glanced at Yargol. “Do you think I’d have a chance, though? Theoretically.”

“Maybe,” Yargol said. Inian’s stammering was healing his battle-wounded pride a bit. “If you talked about sex half as much as you do now.”

“But that’s the best thing about me!” Inian immediately protested. “What else am I supposed to talk about? The weather?”

Yargol rolled his eyes and got back into position.

“Before we continue…” Inian began just as he wanted to attack again.

Yargol froze mid-swing. “Yeah?”

“It still felt like you were holding back during the last fight. I want to see what you’re truly capable of. So just go for it this time.”

Yargol frowned. “What do you mean? Of course, I’m holding back. I don’t want to actually hurt you.”

“I don’t mind a few bruises,” Inian insisted.

“Fine,” said Yargol and tossed his sword to the side.

“Oh, come on, don’t give up.”

“Who says I’m giving up?”

Inian looked at him sceptically. “You won’t stand a chance without a sword.”

“Try me,” Yargol said and raised his chin defiantly.

Inian hesitated but then readied himself.

Yargol stared into the human’s eyes without giving away a hint as to what he was thinking.

The minutes passed, and Inian started to get nervous.

“What are you guys doing?” Azerius called from the side.

Instead of answering, Inian darted forward, seemingly thinking Yargol would give ground. He would have been right in the match before, but now Yargol instead turned sideways and quickly retracted his right foot.

Inian’s stab missed Yargol narrowly. He gathered all his strength and kicked Inian into his chest. The man’s movement was abruptly stopped as the orc’s boot knocked the air out of his lungs and sent him flying backwards. The soldier hit the ground in front of Yargol and dropped his sword. Before he could even attempt to recompose himself, Yargol was already on top of him, pinning the human to the ground.

“Happy now?” Yargol asked smugly at first but then immediately looked worried. “I didn’t break anything, right?”

Inian shook his head. “Fucking hell,” he squeezed out with the first air he managed to get back into his chest. “How is Azerius… even alive at this point?”

Yargol grinned. “I can be gentle,” he said and leaned down closer to Inian’s face. “If I want to.”

“Let go of him right now!” a commanding voice shouted across the square.

Yargol looked up and spotted Commander Venlen sprinting towards him with his sword drawn. The high-ranking elf’s gold and silver armour was decorated and shimmered almost blindingly in the cold winter sun.

Yargol immediately let go of Inian. “We’re just training.”

The Commander stopped a few metres away from them, still ready to attack if necessary. “Doesn’t look like training to me!”

Yargol helped his friend, who still looked fairly rattled, get up.

Azerius had hurried over as well. “Commander Venlen, this is a misunderstanding, I assure you.”

“What is going on today? First, I get a report that Mr Yargol attacked Mr Naelar just outside the Citadel and when I come looking for him, I see this. Explain yourself,” he demanded.

“It’s alright, Sir,” Inian tried to calm the agitated elf. “We truly were just training. I asked him to go all out on me,” he said, strained, as he rubbed his chest.

“I see,” Commander Venlen said, still sounding sceptical. He looked at Azerius. “Can you assure me that this is true?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Azerius said. “And about Draennor, Yargol attacked him because he was threatening to hurt me.”

Venlen nodded, seemingly trusting Azerius’ words at least partially. “This wouldn’t be the first time Draennor provoked a fight he couldn’t win,” he sighed and sheathed his weapon. “Look, I don’t have a problem with you, Mr Yargol, so I will try to de-escalate this and talk to Draennor. However, if something like this happens again, I will be forced to act. Otherwise, I will eventually have an elven uprising on my hands.”

Yargol nodded with a serious face. “Understood.”

“Good,” Commander Venlen said and relaxed his stance. “I hope Mr Gardner has at least attempted to give you a challenge so far during this practice?”

Yargol snorted. “He’s trying, I think.”

“I beat him earlier,” Inian bragged to his Commander.

“Well then, try not to accidentally kill each other, please,” Venlen said. “I have more than enough paperwork as it is.”

***

When Yargol got back to his room with Azerius, he was feeling exhausted, but in a good way. It had been a while since he had been able to let go like that. He took off his gloves and had just begun to loosen the straps of his armour when he felt Azerius’ hand on his shoulder.

“Wait…” his partner said and walked in front of him, seemingly wanting to say something. Instead, he hugged him.

“Okay?” Yargol said, amused, and patted Azerius on his back.

“I liked watching you fight today. Your new armour suits you. It makes you look even stronger,” Azerius complimented.

“Thanks, I like it too,” Yargol responded, a bit confused about the man’s behaviour.

Azerius leaned up and kissed him briefly. “You know it really, really suits you,” he said again while looking intently into Yargol’s eyes.

“Oh,” Yargol said as he felt Azerius’ hand slide down to his lower back. “I see. So, you want me to keep it on a little longer?”

Azerius was clearly embarrassed but nodded. The wizard had become more comfortable talking about sex with him, but he was still struggling to express himself. “Unless this is too uncomfortable for you?”

“No, it’s not, but I should probably still take it off for now and wash up first. I’m pretty sweaty,” Yargol argued, but Azerius was already loosening the armour around his hips.

“Not a problem. We can have someone bring us a tub later,” Azerius dismissed and knelt before Yargol.

“Damn, that armour is doing things to you, huh?” Yargol laughed as he watched Azerius struggle to undo his belt. He decided to help the man. “You could’ve told me you’re into that.”

Azerius still looked embarrassed. “I… did not know until I saw you in it.”

“Seems like this was a good investment then,” Yargol said and combed his fingers through the man’s short brown hair, grabbing him by the back of his head.

He loved the way Azerius was so careful. Gently enveloping him, sucking on him while slowly beginning to make his way towards the base. By now, the human knew how to handle himself, and Yargol let out a sigh as he enjoyed the feeling of Azerius’ warm throat.

He watched as Azerius began to ease up on him. For a while, Yargol let the man set his own pace before gripping the back of the human’s head.

Forced to stop, Azerius looked up at him confused and let out a small moan still having Yargol halfway down his throat.

Yargol moved a step forward and steadied his hold on Azerius’ before slowly starting to push into the man’s mouth. Azerius did his best to adjust to the rhythm, and Yargol made sure he did not go too deep or fast.

Azerius was breathing heavily as Yargol rocked his hips, but the man was still trying to push his head towards Yargol’s crotch. Yargol pulled out for a moment and looked down at the gasping human. “Am I going too soft on you?”

“A little bit, perhaps,” Azerius admitted with a glisten in his eyes and wiped a bit of spit from his chin.

“Let me fix that then,” Yargol growled and pushed back in. This time until he felt the man’s face getting pressed into his crotch. Azerius groaned, muffled as Yargol held him in this position for a few moments before pulling back again a bit.

Azerius desperately held onto Yargol’s thigh armour as the orc allowed himself to let go a bit.

Yargol felt heated as he watched the human struggle to keep up with his pace. He knew he could not be this rough for long, so he relished every second. The fighting earlier had made his blood hot, and now he wanted more. He pulled out completely again, and Azerius gasped for air. The human looked a bit exasperated, but Yargol was not willing to give him much of a break. He picked the man up and carried him over to the bed.

The kiss Yargol pressed onto Azerius’ lips was rather brash, but the human did not seem to mind at all. Encouraged by this, Yargol impatiently began to undress the man until he was lying in front of him completely naked. He also undid most of his own armour and clothes as much as his lust-driven haste was allowing him, but before he could go any further, Azerius stopped him.

“Hold on. Can we try something?”

“Uhm, sure. Like what?” Yargol said. He was trying his best to sound nonchalant, but Inian’s teasing words from earlier resurfaced fast.

Azerius reached over to his robes and rummaged around a bit until he pulled out a small flask. He handed it to Yargol but did not say anything.

“Oh, oil?” Yargol asked and opened the bottle. Whatever the liquid inside was, it did not smell like oil. It barely smelled like anything.

“Sort of. It is lube made from an exotic plant. I have been told it works better.”

“Really?” Yargol asked and eyed the first drop of viscous liquid he poured out with suspicion. “Is it safe?”

Azerius nodded. “Absolutely, I did plenty of research.”

Yargol did not doubt that for a second. He poured a bit more onto his hand.

“Where did you get it? We could’ve gone shopping together,” he asked as he moved closer again, kneeling in between his boyfriend’s legs.

Azerius’ face reddened a bit. “Lyra got it for me…”

Yargol snorted at that. “So, we have a lube dealer?”

“No, it was just this one time… probably,” Azerius mumbled.

“I see,” Yargol leaned closer, locking eyes with his partner. He slid his hand towards the guy’s rear. “Let’s see what this stuff can do then, shall we?”

Azerius nodded, holding onto Yargol’s arms as he watched with excitement. Only briefly startled and sucking in a breath when Yargol’s finger pressured him.

Yargol went on slowly and with as much care as possible. Azerius’ struggle with words during sex meant he had to, for the most part, rely on visual signs of pleasure and discomfort. So far, he was seeing neither.

“Want me to stop?” Yargol asked. “If you’re not into this, we can do something else.”

Azerius considered for a moment. “I… have not decided on that yet. Keep going for now.”

That was good enough for Yargol. He pushed deeper, using quite a bit of the flask, only stopping a few times when Azerius tensed up. Eventually though, he could feel the man relax the grip on his arms.

He watched with satisfaction while Azerius gave himself up more and more. Seeing the seriousness on his boyfriend’s face get washed away by his efforts was something he would never get tired of.

Yargol leaned in, and they shared a long kiss. He continued with a slow rhythm. Staying near, feeling Azerius’ agitated breath on his face as he added a second finger.

Azerius struggled a lot more now, even with added lube, and Yargol was just considering to revert back to one when Azerius whispered into his ear.

“More. Please.”

The word was burning with a desperation that made Yargol almost lose control. He straightened up and stared down at Azerius, who seemed to have lost the last bit of his usual inhibition.

“More, huh? More of what?” he breathed and grabbed the flask with his free hand.

Azerius groaned softly, his voice sounding slightly frustrated. “You know what…”

“Say it,” Yargol demanded while using the remaining lube to quickly slick himself up. His partner’s breathing was anxious as he pushed his fingers in a bit more aggressively to emphasise his impatience.

“Please do not make me say it,” Azerius finally pleaded.

“Say. It,” Yargol commanded with a low voice.

Azerius took a deep breath. “Put your penis inside me, please.”

Yargol could not help but start laughing at the formal request. He immediately stopped when he saw how embarrassed Azerius looked. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh.”

“You told me to say it,” Azerius whined, looking up at him with puppy eyes.

“I know. I know. I’m sorry,” Yargol apologized and kissed Azerius. “Just wanted to make sure we’re both on the same page before we take this step.”

“Alright…” Azerius said, nervously fumbling around on Yargol’s armour. “So, you will still do it, right?”

Yargol grabbed Azerius by the waist and pulled him closer. “Absolutely,” he said and smiled. He had fantasized about doing this to Azerius a lot but had decided to wait and let the man come to him when or even if he wanted to go this far.

He made Azerius turn onto his belly and moved his hips up to the man’s rear. Yargol leaned forward so he was on all fours, breathing down the side of the anxious human’s neck. He felt his cock getting pressed in between Azerius’ cheeks as he started to put some weight onto the man.

Azerius had to give in and lay down flat as he was pinned between the mattress and the orc.

“We’re not going to force this,” Yargol spoke lowly to Azerius. “If this doesn’t work, then we stop. It’s not a big deal, okay?”

“Yes,” Azerius answered tensely as Yargol started to slowly grind himself against him.

Yargol could hear the man breathing excitedly beneath him as he continued to tease. Moving closer and closer until he finally reached down with his hand to guide himself. He pressed gently against the warm human body, and he could feel how his tip was starting to penetrate Azerius. Slowly and gradually, he entered, resisting the strong urge to rut forward.

Yargol paused when Azerius gasped silently.

“Does it hurt?”

“Slightly,” Azerius admitted.

“Then we stop,” Yargol said and pulled back.

“No, wait,” Azerius said and held him back by his hand. “Keep going… just slowly.”

Yargol reluctantly let himself get pulled back on top of Azerius. “If you say so.”

He got back into position and put his weight back onto Azerius before carefully continuing what he had started.

Yargol softly kissed the man’s neck and back while he waited for the human to adjust to him. After a few moments, Azerius seemed to be able to relax, and Yargol glided in further and further with minimal pressure until he was about halfway inside.

Azerius made a strained noise, and Yargol looked at him with concern. “Does it still hurt?” he asked, but Azerius shook his head.

Yargol had just begun to ease himself further in when someone knocked at the door.

The two men looked up, surprised.

“Yargol? Azerius? Are you two there?” Lyra’s voice sounded through the door. “Sorry about storming off earlier. Can I come in for a second?”

“Can we talk later?” Azerius asked with a bit of panic in his voice.

“Are you mad because of Draennor? Don’t worry, I dealt with him. Can’t I just come inside to talk for a moment?”

“No, because…” Azerius started and looked back at his boyfriend above him for help.

Yargol rolled his eyes before raising his voice. “Lyra, we’re fucking, come back in half an hour!”

Azerius immediately buried his face into the mattress.

“Ah,” Lyra said, surprised. “Why didn’t you just say so, Azerius?” she teased. “No problem, I’ll come by later then. Have fun, you two.”

Yargol waited until the sound of Lyra’s steps grew distant before he turned his attention back to Azerius, who still pressed his face into the sheets of the bed.

“Yargol… why…?” Azerius moaned, embarrassed.

“What? Don’t worry. I’ll send her away again if we need more than half an hour.”

Azerius lifted his head. “That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

Yargol chuckled. “You need to stop being so prude,” he said and renewed his quest to penetrate Azerius. As he began to push into his lover once more, the human inhaled in surprise.

Yargol let out a rumble as he felt the tight warmth envelope him. He kissed Azerius’ neck and pushed on. Giving his partner short breaks from time to time. Eventually, Yargol had fully buried himself inside Azerius. He put his full weight back on the man and had to let out a small sigh.

“You’ve no idea how wonderful you feel,” Yargol murmured into Azerius’ ear. The man had closed his eyes and seemed to focus on his breathing. He remained in this position for a little while longer before whispering to Azerius again. “Can I move?”

Azerius said nothing but responded by nodding.

Yargol moved his hips slightly, sliding out only a little bit before slowly pushing back in, but it was enough to make Azerius press his face back into the mattress and exhale. Yargol propped himself up, pulling Azerius with him in a kneeling position. He then pulled out further before pushing in faster this time. The heat and tightness Yargol experienced were almost too much for him, but he managed to keep going without releasing. He wanted to enjoy this for as long as possible.

Azerius moaned silently as Yargol began to fuck him with short slow pushes. He had done this before, but it had never felt like this. And it was not just because Azerius was a human. This meant something. The fact that Azerius would be willing to let himself be so vulnerable around him required more trust than Yargol thought he could ever appreciate.

Eventually, he dared to pull back until he was almost out before gliding all the way back in. Azerius let out a groan and gripped the bedsheets beneath him. Yargol thrust again. Harder this time. The room was silent except for Azerius’ progressively desperate whimpers.

Yargol kept going, spurred on by the gratifying sounds below him. His movements were starting to get erratic, and he could feel the pressure inside of him rise as his body craved release.

He grabbed Azerius by his side and threw all worries to the wind. Taking his boyfriend with firm, hard pushes. Not holding anything back.

Yargol could feel his self-control waiver and knew he would not be able to hold out much longer. “Should I pull out?” he panted.

“No,” Azerius managed to answer. “No… stay.”

By this point, Yargol was not sure he would have been able to do anything but stay.

With a groan, he rutted forward one last time and collapsed on top of his partner. The orgasm rushed through him as he felt his load shoot into the human.

Azerius wheezed as he was pressed down onto the bed.

Yargol spent a few moments motionless, letting himself enjoy every split-second of his climax. The exhaustion came crashing down hard on him now. He had spent his last reserves but still hummed contently.

“Yargol…” Azerius squealed from underneath. “…too heavy.”

“Sorry,” Yargol mumbled and gave Azerius a bit more room without letting him get up yet. The human looked more spent than he was, but a short reach around the man’s waist confirmed to Yargol that there was still work to do.

Azerius’ breath hitched when Yargol grabbed him, pulling them both into an upright kneeling position. Holding the overwhelmed human close to him with an arm around his torso while the other hand reached for the man’s crotch.

It took barely three strokes until Azerius finished, sealing the fate of the already ruined bedsheets before them.

Carefully, Yargol sunk down to the side until they were spooning on the bed. He sighed and kissed his boyfriend’s neck. “Everything good?”

The human had his eyes closed and merely made an affirming grunt with a thumbs-up.

“Great,” Yargol said, relieved. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take a nap now.”

***

Yargol was not sure how long he had been sleeping when Azerius woke him again. But he still felt completely spent, so it could not have been all that long.

Azerius was wearing a light robe and curiously smelled like flowers. “Come on. Bath time,” he announced and tugged on the orc’s leg.

Yargol grumbled and reluctantly rose from the bed.

A wooden tub full of steaming water had been placed in front of the fireplace. White foam was floating on the water in small piles, and Yargol sceptically raised an eyebrow. “Why does it look like that?”

“I added bath salts,” Azerius explained and tilted his head. “Lavender.”

Yargol accepted this information with a grunt. He never really saw the point of perfume. It usually just overpowered every other smell and he preferred Azerius’ natural scent. He did not dislike it enough to refuse the bath, though.

Azerius helped him strip out of the rest of his armour. Yargol felt like he was a ton lighter afterwards, and he was now looking forward to washing himself in the tub.

Sitting down in the water felt divine. His arms and legs were partially hanging over the brim of the tub since it was too small, but it did not bother him too much. Yargol sighed as he leaned back.

Azerius sat down at the table beside him with a bowl of grapes, offering Yargol some.

Yargol grabbed a bunch and then inspected the strange, lavender-smelling foam. He was curiously watching a cloud of bubbles on his palm when he heard Azerius chuckle beside him.

He briefly glanced to the side and dropped his hand back into the water. “What?” he asked, suddenly feeling a bit silly.

“You are cute,” Azerius simply stated and smiled at him.

Yargol did not know how to respond to the flattery, so he just smiled back.

Azerius suddenly reached out and held open his hand.

Yargol was confused at first but then grabbed the human’s hand.

“What we did earlier, I liked it. A lot, actually,” Azerius said, keeping his eyes on their hands. “I had never felt… so much… before.”

“I wasn’t too rough, right?” Yargol asked, a bit concerned.

Azerius shook his head. “It was really nice.”

“Okay,” Yargol said, and as he looked into the human’s beautiful eyes, he suddenly felt the strong urge to tell the man how deeply he truly felt for him. But the fear of mistiming this or getting a negative answer held him back. He swallowed while considering, but the moment passed, and Azerius picked up a book from the table.

Azerius saw Yargol’s look and frowned. “Sorry, did you mean to say something?”

“I…” Yargol began, but the words he felt refused to manifest. “No, nothing.”

“Alright.” Azerius shrugged and opened his book.

Yargol sunk a bit lower into the tub. He had felt so confident earlier during sex. It was not his first time, after all. But he realised that he had never actually confessed his love to anyone. He had no idea when a step like this would be appropriate or how humans handled this issue. Yargol spent the rest of his time in the bath thinking.

The water started to cool off and Yargol had just decided to get out when someone hammered at the door.

“Lyra?” he asked sceptically, doubting that the elf would knock so aggressively.

“Mr Yargol, please open up,” General Sephiran demanded. “We have a situation.”

Azerius opened the door while Yargol got out of the water and wrapped a towel around his waist. “What’s the matter?” he asked, confused as he joined Azerius.

General Sephiran was flanked by two guards and looked concerned. “There are orcs at the gates,” she said with a serious voice. “They’re looking for you.”

Chapter Text

Prince Emmanuel nervously tapped on the armrest of his chair as he waited with the rest of the war council. He had stopped listening to the discussions the Lords and Ladies were having well over an hour ago. After all, an eleven-year-old could probably contribute little anyway. His eyes were fixed on the small, crowned figurine on the map table before him.

His father had left the camp two weeks ago to confront warchief Matuk’s weakened forces. He had insisted on attacking the orc leader personally. No one could convince him to stay back. Not even Emmanuel.

But if everything had gone to plan, he should have been back by now. Or at least have sent a messenger. Instead, nothing. Emmanuel knew everybody else in the tent was thinking it as well. Something was wrong. Very wrong. In fact, he was absolutely certain his father was dead by now. With his mother bedridden, it would mean he would have to rule. But he barely knew anything about politics or even this war. He would make a terrible king. ‘Emmanuel the terrible’, they would call him. His thoughts started to spiral more and more as he imagined the consequences of his father’s death.

A warm hand on his shoulder finally pulled him back to reality.

“He’ll return any day now,” Sephiran’s voice tried to calm him.

Emmanuel looked up at the young witch, who smiled reassuringly.

“What if he doesn’t…?” he complained as the woman sat down beside him and adjusted her pure white and green robes.

The other Lords sneered at her. She was not supposed to be here. Even Emmanuel knew that. But master Erhart had gotten sick, so here she was, and Emmanuel could not be more grateful.

“They probably just got held up by the weather. I heard there was a downpour further south just a few days ago,” Sephiran said with the usual confidence in her voice.

“Maybe,” Emmanuel said, still worried, but Sephiran seemed to be right about most things. Another thing that seemed to make the other nobles hate her.

She pulled out a deck of cards. “Wanna play?”

“No”, Emmanuel dismissed, annoyed, but took the edge out of his voice before he continued. “You always win anyways.” He knew she only meant well, but sometimes it seemed to him like Sephiran was trying a bit too hard to be a stand-in for his parents while this war was going on.

“True, but you get closer to beating me every time,” she said and took the deck out of the worn box. She began to shuffle the cards. Skilfully flicking them back and forth between her hands, teasing the young prince’s ears with the familiar sound.

Emmanuel could not help but glance over at the witch.

“One round,” Sephiran pleaded, pretending to sound desperate. “I’m so bored.”

Emmanuel hated the fact that this worked on him. He sighed and turned to face Sephiran. “Fine, deal the cards, old woman.”

Sephiran stopped shuffling the deck and looked aghast. “Old? How can you insult me like this, my dearest prince?”

Emmanuel rolled his eyes at the overdone reaction but could not suppress a smile. “Just do it.”

Master Sephiran humbly obliged, but before Emmanuel could pick up his hand, he heard shouting from outside the tent.

He immediately jumped up. The fears and worries that had just left his mind seconds ago all rushed back in with full force.

“Emmanuel, wait,” Master Sephiran said but was ignored.

Emmanuel ran outside, almost slipping on the muddy ground.

A battered-looking caravan consisting of mostly wizards dragged itself into the camp. A single armoured chariot and two or three dozen people at most.

Emmanuel’s heart sank. His father did not appear to be among them.

“Where is my father?” he asked a young wizard who stood closest to him.

The man was startled and looked at him, scared. “My prince, I-”

“Where is he?!” Emmanuel screamed, trying his best not to sound too scared.

Suddenly, people further back started cheering, and he turned to see the king approach on horseback. He was triumphantly holding up the severed head of an orc. Emmanuel almost cried out of relief. Not only was his father alive, but the war would be over soon.

His father spotted him and gracefully dismounted, tossing the warchief’s head to his men, who were already starting to celebrate. His armour was full of dirt and dried blood, but he seemed uninjured and high-spirited. “Emmanuel, boy, come here,” he yelled.

Emmanuel was already running at him. He slammed into his father’s embrace, ignoring the stains this would leave on his clothes. “What took you so long?”

An armoured hand ruffled his hair. “Forgive me. I got held up.”

“The weather, perhaps?” Master Sephiran said as she joined them, bowing deeply before the king.

“You are, as always, correct, wise Mrs Sephiran,” Emmanuel’s father said. “A heavy storm delayed us.”

“See, I told you,” Sephiran teased, but Emmanuel was too busy feeling relieved to roll his eyes at the cocky witch.

“Where are the rest of the men?” he heard her ask with a lowered voice, and he immediately felt his father’s mood shift.

“We had trouble with… containment. We should get the chariot looked at, just to be safe.”

“I will see to it. I suggest we turn back to Midvalley. Reinforcing it with the help of the Citadel would be easier. Now that the war will hopefully be over soon, we could even permanently seal it up there.”

Emmanuel did not know what the two were talking about, but he did not care. He wanted to keep holding on to his father but was gently pushed away.

“Why don’t you go to your tent? I have to take care of a few more things.”

Prince Emmanuel reluctantly let go, poorly hiding his disappointment.

“I’ll tell you everything about the battle later,” his father promised.

Emmanuel knew he would have to be content with that and nodded. He had waited for weeks, so a few more hours would be nothing. As he walked past the group of celebrating soldiers, Emmanuel heard a strange noise. It sounded a bit like a hurt animal crying in the distance. He stopped and listened but could not pinpoint its origin. Only that it was building up in volume. The air suddenly felt as tense as an overdrawn bow. The men around him immediately noticed it too. The crying disappeared again after a few more seconds, and an unnatural veil of silence settled on the camp. Emmanuel turned to look back.

He briefly saw Sephiran and his father, before the side of the wagon behind them violently burst open. A brilliant spectre of magic light washed over the camp, blinding Emmanuel, who stumbled backwards.

The otherworldly sound of raw surging magic briefly filled the air before the ground beneath Emmanuel was levelled. He did not even have time to scream as he was thrown down. Gasping and coughing as he inhaled dust and dirt. He tried to get back up and watched in horror as reality appeared to tear apart in front of his eyes. The earth around him split open and moved as if it had a mind of its own. Jets of flames dashed through the camp like large snakes, burning the tents and their inhabitants. Some of the soldiers outside seemed to have gone mad, attacking each other or themselves with any weapon they could find.

All this was happening so fast and abruptly that Emmanuel simply knelt on the ground, paralyzed by fear. The air was crackling with magic, and the dust was making it hard to breathe.

“Emmanuel! Run!” Sephiran’s voice suddenly cut through the chaos while he watched two soldiers getting torn apart by magic as red as their blood.

Sephiran was beside him a moment later, covered in blood.

“Get up!” she yelled, yanking Emmanuel to his wobbly feet. Disoriented and scared, he let the witch drag him with her.

“Father?!” he yelled desperately.

“We need to hide! I will-” Sephiran urged again but was drowned out.

The foreign multi-layered voice cried with a rage unequal to anything Emmanuel had ever heard before.

“SEPHIRAN!” it bellowed. “YOU LIAR!”

***

Yargol and Azerius were hurrying after General Sephiran and her guards through the Citadel. The woman was surprisingly fast for her age.

“I hope you realise, Mr Yargol, that this makes me look like a fool?” she said, severely displeased. “You assured me that you had had no contact with your people in years.”

“That’s the truth,” Yargol defended himself. “I don’t know what my family would want from me now.”

“Are you sure that it is your family?” Azerius asked.

“I can’t imagine who else would come all this way to ask for me.”

They turned a corner and, to everyone’s dismay, ran into Master Roric.

“I told you!” the old wizard clamoured as he tried to keep up with them. “First, it will be one, then a dozen and soon thousands of orcs! We will be overrun!”

“As always, your infinite wisdom is greatly appreciated,” Sephiran said, barely hiding her sarcasm while she sped up to lose the old man. “But I assure you I have everything under control.”

They walked through the main entrance and down the big stairs. The small square before the gates soon came into view, where a large group of people had already gathered.

Yargol nervously realised that they were mostly elves, many of them armed.

Luckily, Sephiran guided them along the side of the square and up a spiral staircase near the gate.

An uncomfortably cold wind blew on top of the walls, and Yargol risked a look back down onto the small square. Commander Venlen and several guards tried to calm the group of visibly upset citizens. They were speaking elvish, but despite the strange soft and rounded sound of their words, Yargol could sense the anger and fear in their voices.

He turned to look over the barren fields before the city. About a dozen orcs had made a temporary camp on the cold, hard ground beside the road just a few hundred metres away. From this distance, it was hard to identify individuals, but Yargol recognised one of them.

His mother stood slightly closer to the city with crossed arms, apparently waiting for him.

A twisting feeling formed in Yargol’s stomach as he stared at his relatives in the distance. After so many years, he had made peace with the fact that he would never see them again. But here they were. Just like that. He was not prepared for this.

“Under no circumstances can they enter the city,” the General strictly warned.

“They won’t. Don’t worry. I’ll go handle this myself,” Yargol decided and already turned to leave.

“That seems unwise,” Sephiran said and frowned. “Are you certain that they intend no harm?”

“No”, Yargol answered truthfully. “But I have to talk to them. I’ll be fine.”

“Why?” Azerius chimed in. “You did not ask them to come here. So, you are in no way obligated to meet them.”

“I know,” Yargol said. “But I won’t hide from them.”

“At least take a few guards with you,” Sephiran implored, but Yargol shook his head.

“That’ll make me look scared and weak. I have to go alone.”

“But…” Azerius tried to protest. “I could come with you, right?”

As much as Yargol hated the thought of facing his family alone, he was not willing to put Azerius at risk. “Thanks, but this is my family. They’re my responsibility,” he said and gently cupped Azerius’ jaw, making the man look up into his eyes. “It’ll just be a quick chat, okay?” he promised.

“You do not owe them anything,” Azerius said with a desperate look in his eyes. “Stay, please.”

“I’m doing this for me, not them. This might be my only chance to set things right with them.”

Azerius sighed and reluctantly dropped his opposition. “Be careful.”

“Of course,” Yargol said, kissing the human on his forehead.

He could see General Sephiran avert her eyes from the display of affection, but she quickly recomposed herself and looked at him. “I will let you go, but if they attack, then I will have to intervene. With force if necessary,” she warned.

Yargol could tell by the General’s voice that there was no room for debate on this last point. “Thank you,” he said before making his way down to the gate.

The group of elves had grown considerably by now, and all of them fell silent when they spotted him. He felt the poisonous stares as he walked past them.

“Don’t come back!” someone suddenly yelled from the back of the crowd.

“Yes! This is our city!” someone else added, and many of the others cheered.

“You won’t burn down this one!”

Yargol acted like he was not able to hear the chants. He knew any action from his side that could be interpreted as hostility would cause the barrel to overflow.

When he stood in front of the large, heavy wooden doors, the twisting feeling in his stomach had become almost unbearable. And the angry crowd in his back was not helping. For a moment, he thought about listening to Azerius and turning back. But this was his chance to make peace with the past and everything that had happened with his family. Or, if he could not get that, then he would at least tell them a piece of his mind. A few more moments passed before Yargol pulled himself together and signalled the guard to open the gate.

It took him barely five minutes to reach the small camp, but it felt like hours to Yargol.

His mother looked almost exactly like he remembered. Though her age was beginning to show. Some of her short black hair had started to turn grey, and she had a few more wrinkles. Yargol guessed that it would be her last winter as chief of the tribe before she would have to cede leadership to someone else. Still, all of this took little away from her imposing stature, which practically demanded obedience.

Yargol’s mother wore her long dark fur coat open, revealing the traditional warchief armour underneath. Yargol noticed that apart from a hunting knife, she was unarmed. His mother was not dressed to fight but to negotiate.

As he approached, Yargol began to recognise some of the other orcs behind his mother. The group seemed to consist mainly of his close family, but there were also some faces he did not know. He spotted a few aunts and uncles, his brother, and his little sister.

Yargol’s heart jolted when he saw her, but before their eyes could meet, a large orc stepped in between them. He now instead stared into a pair of cold, old eyes.

After all these years, his father still had lost nothing of the sheer brutality radiating off every centimetre of his body. Even for orc standards, the man was huge. Yargol swallowed and quickly turned his attention back to his mother.

He stopped at a safe distance.

“Yargol, my son,” she greeted and smiled faintly. Her voice had a warmth which immediately threatened to melt Yargol’s resolve. Hearing these words again, in his own language, spoken by his mother was a strangely wonderful thing to him.

She spread her arms, inviting him to come in for a hug.

Yargol clenched his teeth. He wanted nothing more than to press his face into her shoulder and admit how much he had missed her. How sorry he was that he had just left without a word. But he forced himself to remain where he was.

“Why are you here, Okna?” he instead asked.

His mother slowly dropped her arms and looked at him, hurt. “We are here for you, of course.”

“For me? How did you even find me?”

“Are you serious?” she laughed. “Everyone is talking about you far and wide. ‘Yargol the Eighth’ they call you. The first orc wizard at the grand Citadel of Midvalley,” his mother said. “You weren’t hard to find.”

“And why now, after all this time?” Yargol asked, almost feeling afraid to hear the answer.

“I-” his mother started but suddenly stopped and frowned. Okna’s eyes were locked onto something behind Yargol.

He looked over his shoulder and felt his heart sink.

Azerius strode along the road, trying a bit too hard to appear confident.

Yargol cursed silently and walked back to intercept the man before he could get too close. He grabbed Azerius by the shoulder. “I told you to stay inside the city,” he murmured.

“I know, but-”

“No,” Yargol cut him off. “Go back. It’s not safe.”

“You said you do not want to hide from them, so why hide me?”

“Yargol?” Okna yelled over to them impatiently. Yargol straightened his back and briefly glanced at her before looking down at Azerius again. The human seemed determined.

“Fine,” Yargol said and grabbed Azerius by the arm.

His mother looked Azerius up and down as they approached. “Who is this?”

“This is Azerius… Freecaster,” Yargol said and swallowed before he continued. “My boyfriend.”

While Yargol’s mother showed little immediate reaction to this news, her unhappiness about it was still apparent. His other relatives had less restraint. Appalled looks and outraged insults were thrown toward Yargol, who was glad he had not taught Azerius any of the used curse words yet. None of them stepped forward, however. None except Yargol’s father.

“You disgrace!” he yelled, his booming voice silencing all the others. He pointed at Yargol as he took big steps towards him. “Humiliating me with your disgusting illness wasn’t enough, huh? You had to stick your cock into a human as well?”

Yargol was petrified. He knew he should speak up. Defend Azerius. Defend himself. But he simply could not move.

“Rhaka, know your place!” Okna tried to call the enraged orc back, but to no avail.

His father had almost reached him when Azerius stepped in front of him. He had raised a hand and pointed at Rhaka.

“Stop, I will kill,” he yelled in broken Orcish. His hand trembled slightly while a faint glow of red magic emanated from it.

Rhaka seemed to be at least momentarily stunned by this and stopped.

Yargol finally snapped out of it and pulled Azerius back behind him.

“Rhaka, remember why we’re here,” Okna intervened while trying to keep her voice low.

Rhaka huffed and shook his head, walking over to his wife.

“This is a waste of time. Look at him. He’s nothing more than a human’s pet. His armour, the way he smells…”

Yargol narrowed his eyes. “It’s lavender,” he growled.

Rhaka grimaced and opened his mouth, but Yargol’s mother raised her hand to silence him.

“I heard you. Now stand back,” she commanded.

For a moment, the two orcs stared each other down, but eventually, Rhaka snarled and turned away. He took a few steps back again but was still visibly shaking with rage.

Yargol allowed himself to breathe out carefully.

Azerius meanwhile dared to step out again from behind him and confidently planted himself before the big orc woman.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, this time in almost perfect Orcish and stretched his trembling hand out.

“He speaks our tongue?” she asked Yargol as if Azerius was not even there.

“I taught him. A little bit, at least.”

His mother nodded but refused to shake Azerius’ hand. Instead, she looked at Yargol again. “Can we talk alone?”

He shook his head. “Everything you say to me, you can also say to him.”

For a moment, his mother looked like she might protest but then seemed to accept the situation. “You need to come back to us,” she finally said.

The words struck Yargol unprepared. He stared at her, unsure how to respond at first.

“What?” he finally managed to get out.

“It’s not safe here”, she explained. “You need to come with us.”

“I don’t need to do anything,” Yargol said, feeling the anger about his mother’s demand already boiling over. He tried to control the volume of his voice as he spoke. “After seven fucking years, you show up and pretend to care whether I’m safe or not?” It took him all of his strength to keep his hands from shaking.

Okna was unfazed by his anger.

“I always cared. You have to believe me when I say this. You’re my son, and I try to protect all my children. No matter how far they stray off their path.”

Yargol could only laugh bitterly at that. “And where was that care when father beat me?” he challenged.

He could tell he had struck a nerve when his mother broke eye contact with him.

“I admit that… I made mistakes,” she said. “I thought it would make you stronger. Fix you.”

Yargol was stunned. Never had he seen his mother look so defeated. Never could he have imagined that she would admit to being wrong about anything. But he would not fall for this. His anger still burned hot. “Well, it didn’t. It only made things worse.”

“I know, but it won’t be like that anymore. We can make it work this time.”

Yargol realised that his mother seemed genuine about this. It was surreal to hear her practically beg him to come back. He had fantasised about this many times over the years, but it did not feel right, mainly because Rhaka had already demonstrated that her words did not mean much if they could not be enforced.

He crossed his arms. “What’s going on? Why are you really here?”

A young orc with a wooden staff stepped forward. “This city will face chaos soon. The omens are clear. Your mother is here to save you.”

Yargol stared at the stranger. “Who the fuck are you? What omens?”

“Ravens,” the man said without acknowledging Yargol’s first question. “One for every lost soul. They sit on the city walls and wait.”

Yargol glanced at Azerius, but it was clear that the human had not understood.

“What will happen and why?” he tried to probe.

“Omens aren’t exactly known to be clear,” his mother explained, resting her stern eyes on Azerius as she spoke. “But I’m guessing that some humans are touching things they shouldn’t.”

“Then I will stay and try to prevent whatever these omens foresee.”

His mother frowned and shook her head. “Don’t pay for their mistakes. Please, come home with us.”

Yargol stepped closer to Azerius. “You had your chance. This is my home now.”

“You may think that, but it’s not, and it’ll never be. They are using you, Yargol. You’re a tool to them, nothing more.”

“That’s not true. You don’t know anything about humans. I belong here and nowhere else.”

His mother looked at him with sadness. “Then why do you wear our symbol on your armour?”

Yargol felt caught off guard by this. “I… I just…”

“Be honest, Yargol. Would they let us into the city too? Would they welcome us?”

Yargol hesitated. “…no.”

“Exactly. They tolerate you because you’re useful to them. They may even warm your bed. But humans can never be trusted. Never. They don’t understand you. They’re not your kin.”

“You’re the one who never understood me, and you never really wanted to,” Yargol spat back. “Azerius gave me more love in a month than you showed me my whole life.”

His mother stared at him for a moment. “Yargol, please listen-”

“Unless you can tell me more about what danger will come for this city, I think we’re done here.”

“Is there no way I can convince you to leave?”

Yargol shook his head.

His mother glared at him, and Yargol readied himself in case she would not accept his decision.

“Very well,” she finally said, defeated. She reached for the necklace hanging around her neck, took it off and offered it to Yargol. “We will travel back north tomorrow. If you don’t change your mind by then, at least take this to remember us.”

Yargol stared at the familiar wooden trinket dangling in front of him. Eventually, he reached for it. He felt the smooth edges of the little wolf’s head in his palm.

“Goodbye, Mother,” he said and looked into her eyes.

Yargol’s mother let go of the necklace and turned to leave without a word. Yargol felt a sting in his chest as he watched his people begin to pack up their little camp. He tried to meet their eyes, but none spared him a look. Not even his sister.

Azerius gently tugged on his hand. “I think we should go,” he heard his boyfriend whisper.

Yargol knew he was right. But it was hard for him to turn away. Knowing it would be the last time he ever saw his family. Perhaps even the last time he would ever see another orc.

Eventually, he gave in and followed Azerius back to the city. He did his best not to look back but could not help himself.

Azerius kept close to him, and Yargol waited until they were out of earshot before he spoke.

“They could’ve killed you,” he said. “Never do anything like that again.”

“I know… I am sorry. Really.”

Yargol was still irritated that Azerius had put himself in danger like that, but he also felt a bit of pride. “It’s fine,” he sighed.

“Are you all right?” Azerius asked.

“Sure, could’ve gone a lot worse,” Yargol dismissed. In truth, he felt awful, but he pushed the feeling away. He saw Azerius’ concerned look and forced a smile.

“It was brave of you to follow me… and also stupid”. He glanced over. “You know, just like-”

“Do not. Say his name,” Azerius intervened.

“You said you wanted to be more like him.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what I said,” Azerius mumbled.

“Maybe we should go shopping for a knife?”

“Please stop talking.”

Yargol grinned, but as they got closer to the city, his eyes wandered up to the battlements of the strong walls, and his smile faded. They looked empty to him, but they did not feel empty. Not after what the shaman had said to him.

“Listen, could it be that Inian has magical powers? Foresight or something? Is that a thing?” he suddenly said to Azerius.

“Foresight?” Azerius asked, confused. “No. We checked Inian for magic activity immediately after he claimed to see ravens. So, I am fairly certain he is non-magical.”

“Well, maybe we could check again?”

“Alright. Any particular reason why?”

“The shaman said something about omens of death in the form of ravens.”

Azerius stopped and frowned. “Omens of death? Did he say anything else I missed?”

“No, not really.”

“Hm, we could ask Lyra to double-check on Inian again. To be sure?”

“Sounds good. The General should know as well.”

They reached the city gates, and Azerius signalled the guards to open up.

General Sephiran and Commander Venlen already awaited them.

“So?” the General asked. “Is the matter closed?”

Yargol nodded. “It is. They’re leaving tomorrow.”

Sephiran was visibly relieved. “Excellent. Commander, please tell the people to return to their business. We’re done here.”

Venlen nodded and left while already giving out orders to disperse the crowd.

The elves reluctantly made way for them, and Yargol tried to remain calm as he walked past silent glares and judgmental whispers.

“General,” Azerius began. “I know we are supposed to stay out of whatever business the artefact we delivered is needed for-”

“Good, let’s keep it that way,” Sephiran immediately cut him off.

“But we-”

“The situation is already dealt with. I don’t want to hear another word,” she insisted as they climbed the stairs to the Citadel. “Now, please excuse me.”

Yargol watched, baffled, as General Sephiran hurried off.

“She did not even listen…” Azerius said, disappointed. He looked at Yargol, irritated. “Let us find Lyra. We will find out what is going on, even if we have to turn the library upside down to do it.”

They reached the entrance of the library and ran into Inian, who was carrying a stack of books.

“Hey, have you seen Lyra?” Azerius greeted.

Inian halted. “Uhm, no. But I was just returning some books for her.”

Azerius looked at the books his friend was holding and frowned. “I thought she borrowed those last week. Did she need them again?”

“Yes, I mean no…” Inian began but then stopped and sighed. “Okay, I borrowed them for myself so I could read them too.”

“Oh, and you are already done?” Azerius asked sceptically.

“Well, I tried reading them, but I think books aren’t my thing. Or maybe just these books.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t… forget it. None of your business anyway,” Inian said and left without another word.

“What was that?” Azerius wondered.

“Hm, why don’t you look for Lyra, and I talk to him again? We’ll meet up in my room afterwards?”

Azerius looked like he wanted to object but then simply shrugged. “Sure.”

Yargol caught Inian on his way to the librarian.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“I’m just returning books. Is that not allowed?”

“It is, but being rude to Azerius isn’t.”

Inian glanced at him. “Sorry, I’ll apologize to him later.”

“Good,” Yargol said and crossed his arms. “Now, what is it with the books?”

Inian hesitated. “I don’t understand them,” he said. “I’m too stupid.”

“I doubt that. Have you asked Lyra for help?”

Inian shook his head. “So she sees how dumb I am? Absolutely not.”

“I don’t think she would make fun of someone who’s willing to learn. If she can teach me how to read and write, then anything is possible.”

“I don’t know…” Inian mumbled insecurely and looked down at the books in his hands.

Yargol grabbed Inian by his shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “Listen, when a gay orc who’s been living in the woods for the last seven years gives you advice on how to approach elven women, you take it. All right?”

Inian’s characteristic stupid smile slowly crept its way back onto his face. “Okay, if you put it that way. Maybe I’ll head over to her later.”

“Good man,” Yargol said and leaned closer. “Now tell me which book you caught Azerius jerking off to.”

***

Yargol arrived at his room before Azerius. It had taken some more convincing, but Inian had agreed to borrow the book for him since the librarian had watched him like a hawk. Yargol was not sure if he was advanced enough at reading for this yet, but he would try, nonetheless. “The Biography of Robert Atesios.” Yargol was determined to find out what a ‘biography’ was and why it was worth jacking off to. The cover looked innocent enough.

As he sat down, he felt something in his pocket. He pulled out the little wooden wolf head Okna had given him earlier. Yargol put it on the table and stared at it for a few moments. How his mother looked at him when she gave it to him had left a gaping wound in his chest. He had managed to ignore it so far, but sitting here alone suddenly caused him to feel so lonely it almost overwhelmed him.

He grabbed the book in a desperate attempt to distract himself. Yargol did his best to concentrate on the words, but when Azerius arrived about half an hour later, he had barely managed to read half a page. He was unfamiliar with many of the terms used and only understood about a third of every sentence.

Azerius’ eyes widened when he arrived and saw the book Yargol was holding.

“I see Inian decided to betray me a second time,” he said with gravity in his voice, suggesting that his friend might be in serious trouble.

“I guess he did,” Yargol said and grinned but stopped when he saw Azerius’ concerned look. “If you really don’t want me to read it, then I won’t. I was just curious.”

Azerius walked over to him and let himself fall into a chair beside Yargol. “Read it. It should be a good exercise for you.”

“I’m not sure what it’s about, though,” Yargol said as he turned the book in his hands.

“It tells the life story of Atesios. A general that lived about three hundred years ago.”

Yargol frowned. “And that guy turns you on?”

Azerius snorted. “He had an affair with a… let us say subordinate, and the book contains several letters they exchanged. They are rather explicit, but you’ll see for yourself when you read it.”

“Hm, kinda looking forward to it,” Yargol said and put the book on the table. “Did you find Lyra?”

“Yes,” Azerius said. “She agreed to try again, but I doubt we will get more answers. I also do not think he is magical.”

“But if he can’t do magic and also tells the truth…”

“I suspect something may be empowering him to see the ravens. But I have no idea why,” Azerius sighed. “If we could find out what the symbol we keep seeing means, then we could research, but like this, all we have is loose ends.”

“We’ll find something. Maybe we should try to pressure the General about it?”

“You may be right,” Azerius agreed to Yargol’s surprise. “I want to trust General Sephiran’s judgement, but after today… I will wait until tomorrow, though. I think we caused her enough trouble for one day.”

Yargol’s face dropped when he remembered his family.

“Oh, sorry. I did not mean to…”

“It’s fine.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not much to say, I think. You saw what they’re like,” Yargol said. “I thought talking to them would make me feel better, maybe bring me a bit of closure, but I just feel like shit right now.”

Azerius spotted the necklace on the table. “Can I have a look at it?”

“Sure, I made it for my mother when I was little. Didn’t know she kept it,” he said as he watched Azerius inspect it.

“Thank you for choosing to stay. I do not take that for granted,” Azerius said while looking at the necklace. “I just hope you never regret it.”

Yargol leaned over and kissed Azerius.

“It was an easy decision. Don’t worry about stuff like that.”

Azerius nodded but still looked worried.

“Come,” Yargol said and stood up, grabbing Azerius by the hand. “Let’s go to bed.”

***

When Yargol woke up, it was still the middle of the night. He tried to go back to sleep, but his throat was dry. Carefully, he slid away from Azerius and got up without waking the man.

He stumbled over to the table in front of the fireplace. Not bothering with a cup, he drank directly from the carafe. When he put it down again, his eyes fell onto the trinket on the table. By now, he regretted accepting it from his mother. He felt like it was staring at him. Judging him for his decision.

Annoyed, he grabbed it to put it back into his bag but stopped before dropping it in. He looked around the room. He could immediately tell that something was off but could not pinpoint what exactly. Yargol opened his hand and stared at the necklace.

Faint purple light was pouring out of the little wolf head, pooling in his palm. It trickled through his fingers and onto the ground before him. Yargol dropped the trinket as his head began to spin. He stumbled backwards against the table. “Aze-” he gasped but was unable to say more. He fell to his knees, holding onto the table to support himself. The purple magic had begun to spread rapidly on the floor around him. He desperately tried to crawl towards the bed to wake Azerius but could only watch while the light began to gradually disintegrate the world. He felt the wood beneath him transform into loose twigs and cold leaves while the air began to smell like earth and moss.

“Yargol?” Azerius’ sleepy voice barely reached him as Yargol’s vision blurred. Before he could pass out, however, the feeling vanished. As if someone had poured a bucket of icy water into his face to wake him from a nightmare.

Yargol struggled to get to his feet and hectically looked around. He was in the woods. Shadows detached themselves from the trees, and a moment later, he stood face-to-face with his mother.

“I’m sorry, Yargol, but this is for your own good.”

Chapter Text

“What?” Yargol stammered. “What is this?”

“Please don’t make this any harder than it needs to be,” Okna said and gave a signal with her hand.

Two orcs grabbed Yargol from behind and attempted to twist his arms behind his back.

In a rush of panic, Yargol tried to resist. When he failed, a familiar feeling ignited in his chest.

His right spectral arm manifested and moved almost too fast for the eye to see. He landed a clean hit on someone’s face behind him. His attacker howled and immediately let go of him while his second arm lashed out to the left. However, the other person had already let go and narrowly dodged the strike.

Yargol wasted no time and ran, dashing past two more orcs and through the tree line of the small clearing.

“Yargol!” Okna yelled after him. “Come back!”

Yargol had no idea where he was going, but it did not matter. He just needed to get away. The trees flew past him, and he pushed his body as hard as possible, but he knew his pursuers were not far behind him.

Adrenalin and magic infused his muscles until it felt like he was about to burst from the overload of energy.

Gradually, he was beginning to lose his pursuers. As the forest started to thin out, he spotted the faint light of a city. Yargol’s heart was pounding as he sped up again, desperate to reach what he presumed was Midvalley. 

He readied himself to slide down a slope but failed to hear the swirling noise behind him in time. Yargol’s legs suddenly got tangled, and he fell. A sharp pain shot through his foot and side as he hit a boulder halfway down the slope at full speed. The untamed magic stream that had aided his escape until now shattered like glass inside his veins. For an eternal moment, all he could do was lie on the ground and try to regain his overloaded senses.

Trying to ignore the pain as much as he could, he hectically untangled his feet and got up. When he tried to run again, a dull ache in his foot caused him to stumble. Yargol cursed and turned around when he heard someone approaching fast.

Rhaka charged at him, and Yargol bared his teeth. He could not run and did not have the time to dodge, so he prepared himself for the impact. His only hope was his magic, but when Rhaka tackled him, no arcane spark enabled his defence.

He grunted as he hit the ground and felt the air getting knocked out of his lungs. His father triumphantly pinned him to the ground far harder than he needed to.

“What? No magic tricks for me?” he mocked before bringing his fist down onto Yargol’s face.

***

When Yargol woke up again, he was sitting against a tree. The taste of blood lingered in his mouth as he raised his aching head. He groaned while slowly gathering his thoughts. He was still only wearing his underwear, but someone had covered him with furs to keep him somewhat warm during the late autumn night. In the distance, Yargol could make out a fire, and he heard the faint voices of his relatives. He tried to move, but his hands were tied behind the tree he was leaning against.

“Yargol?” someone said from the side, though the voice barely reached him. He turned his head and immediately regretted it when a sharp pain shot through his neck.

Okna was crouching beside him, looking concerned.

“My son, I didn’t mean for you to get hurt,” she said sombrely and reached for Yargol’s face to inspect it.

Yargol turned away as much as his restraints and lack of strength allowed him. “Don’t touch me.”

“If only you had listened… I told Rhaka not to hurt you, but-”

“I don’t care, I don’t fucking care. Let me leave.”

“No. No, I can’t. I should have never let you go in the first place. I failed you as a mother many times, but I’ll set it right.”

“You lied to me,” Yargol said and realised how much this revelation hurt him. He had known his mother to be many things, but never had she been deceitful. Until now, that is.

“I did what I had to do,” she simply said, though her shame was evident.

“They’ll come looking for me. Azerius and the Citadel,” Yargol tried to threaten, but Okna seemed unconcerned.

“They can look all they want, but our shaman hid us in ways not even the Citadel will understand. They don’t know everything about magic.”

Panic and anger finally swelled in Yargol’s chest as he stared at his mother. “I hate you! All of you!”

Okna’s face hardened.

“But I love you,” she insisted and stood back up.

“If you really did, you’d let me go,” Yargol argued but was ignored.

“I’ll send someone to see to your wounds,” Okna said and turned to leave. “Grotach will watch over you in the meantime.”

Yargol had not even noticed his older brother quietly sitting on a nearby tree stump until now. He paid him no attention and instead watched his mother walk away in disbelief before he felt desperation swell up in his chest.

“Mother! Let me go back, or I’ll never forgive you!” Yargol cursed and tried to get up again, but he collapsed back down.

“Just leave it,” an annoyed Grotach advised from the side.

His brother was pressing a bloodied rag against his face and stared at him furiously.

“You broke my fucking nose, you bastard.”

Yargol was still somewhat dazed, but hearing his brother whine about his injury caused his blood to run even hotter. “Come closer, and I’ll break a few more things.”

“Big talk and nothing behind it,” Grotach said and shook his head. “You haven’t changed much.”

Yargol stared at his brother. “Why? Why did you come all this way just to ruin my life a second time?”

“Don’t ask me. If it were up to me, we would have left you in that city to die. But mother insisted. And now I have to watch you in the cold with a bleeding nose while everyone else sits by the fire.”

“I can’t imagine what a horrible day this must have been for you,” Yargol spat.

His brother sneered. “You only have yourself to blame for what happened. As always. You could’ve had a great life, but you chose to throw it all away. For what? To fuck humans?”

The words hurt, even though Yargol had never been close to Grotach. As the first child, Rhaka had trained him to be ruthless and calculating. And his brother had lived every part of his life that way.

“I wanted to be happy. That’s it. You guys made that impossible.”

“Not everything in life is about you. Sometimes, you have to make sacrifices for your family. You’re just selfish,” Grotach argued.

Yargol felt the rope cut into his wrists as he prepared himself to say something that would likely earn him more than a broken nose. But he did not care anymore.

“You call me selfish? What you did to Atna was selfish.”

Grotach jumped to his feet and drew his knife. “Keep my wife’s name out of your cock sucking mouth!”

“What happened was your fault. Everybody knew it, but no one dared to say it.”

“Shut up,” Grotach hissed and came closer.

“She didn’t want you, but you made her stay anyway.”

“I said shut up!” Grotach yelled and put the knife to Yargol’s throat.

The sharp edge of the cold metal began to press into his skin, but when he felt a faint spark of magic in his chest, Yargol continued. “She didn’t want your children either, and you still made her three.” Warm blood began to drip down his throat.

Grotach flexed the muscles in his arm, preparing to rip the blade through his brother’s throat.

Yargol could feel his magic fire finally beginning to reignite when the sound of another familiar voice immediately extinguished it again.

“What are you doing?” Vela asked, sounding more annoyed than shocked by what she was witnessing. Yargol’s younger sister stood just a few metres away and judging by his brother’s surprised face, he had not heard her approach either. But he quickly recomposed himself.

“I’m doing what one of us should’ve done years ago. Now get lost, brat,” he barked at her.

“Mother tasked you with watching over Yargol. But sure, go on. I would love to see what she’ll do to you if she finds out that you ended up killing him,” she said and crossed her arms. “Don’t worry though, I’ll raise your children in your stead. Probably better for them anyway.”

Grotach stared at her for what seemed like hours. He then turned back to his brother.

A sharp pain shot through Yargol’s nose when his brother’s fist slammed into his face.

Yargol let out a strained grunt. Blood immediately started to shoot out of his nose, running over his mouth and down the back of his throat. He coughed and did his best not to choke.

“Bastards, both of you,” Grotach cursed and spat on Yargol before he turned to leave. “I’ve had enough of this.”

Yargol sniffled and flinched at the pain. He looked up at his sister, who stared at him with a stern face.

“And what do you want?”

He had meant to sound angry, but his fear was uncomfortably obvious.

“You’re welcome, asshole,” she said without looking at him, and Yargol immediately felt guilty.

“Just go away,” he said desperately. Being hurt by his older brother was one thing, but his sister was a different matter. If she hated him, then he did not want to know. He wanted to keep the image of the rebellious teenager that used to look up to him.

“Not before I get some answers,” she insisted and finally met his eyes.

Yargol only let out a painful cough and waited for her to continue.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What?”

“That you were going to leave.”

“It wasn’t… I didn’t plan it.”

“From one day to another, you were just gone. No explanation, no goodbye. Just gone.”

“I’m sorry, Vela. But I had to. I couldn’t go on like that, with father and everything.”

“I could’ve helped you.”

“You were thirteen. I didn’t want to drag you into this even more. Leaving the tribe was the hardest decision I ever made. Believe me. Living among humans and elves wasn’t easy. It still isn’t.”

Vela made a grimace. “You seemed to be getting along with them just fine today.”

“Some of them are nicer than others, just like orcs.”

Vela crossed her arms and averted her eyes again when she spoke.

“It was hard, you know? Without you.”

Yargol swallowed. “I should’ve reached out to you in some way.”

“I was so excited when Mother said we would travel here and bring you back. And then you just refused. Did you even miss me?”

“Of course, I missed you. I thought about coming back so many times.”

“Then do it. Stay. Please, for me.”

Yargol shook his head. “Those times are gone, Vela. You saw Grotach, and you know father. It wouldn’t work. I’ve found someone who makes me happy. Whom I don’t have to change myself for.”

Vela still looked mad, but when she glanced at him, there was a shimmer of curiosity in her eyes. “That human you’re with… what’s his name again?”

“Azerius.” Just saying the man’s name made Yargol’s chest hurt.

“And what’s so great about him?”

Yargol thought for a moment. “Azerius is… kind. And considerate. And patient. He knows a lot of things but still always wants to know more.” Talking about Azerius was difficult for him. He imagined how panicked his boyfriend probably felt right now. He worried Azerius might actually think he had left by choice.

Vela came closer and sat down on the rock near Yargol. “Do you love him?”

“I do,” he said bluntly and could not help but smile a little bit. At least until he remembered that he might never get the chance to actually tell Azerius.

Vela was silent for a while. She played with a loose strand of her hair while she remained in deep thought.

“You have long hair now,” Yargol remarked, hoping to ease the tension a bit further.

A cautious smile flashed over Vela’s face. “Do you like it?”

Yargol nodded. “Really suits you. I remember how Mother always made you keep it short,” Yargol reminisced. “You once bit Uncle Tarak’s finger off while he shaved you.”

Vela shrugged. “I regret nothing. He has nine more.”

“You were a menace,” Yargol chuckled.

“I still am,” Vela claimed and looked at him defiantly.

Yargol smiled. Even though his face hurt when he did it.

“How did you convince her to let it grow so long?”

“I didn’t,” Vela said, and her smile disappeared again. “Mother changed after you left.”

“Changed?”

“I think she expected you to come back. And after a few weeks, when you didn’t… it scared her, I believe. Even though she’d never admit that. She became a bit more lenient with everyone.”

Yargol thought for a while before he looked at his sister again.

“How did everyone else take it?”

Vela shrugged and looked at the ground. “Most were shocked, like me. Father didn’t mind, but you know that. No one really talked about it openly.” Vela stood up and walked over to Yargol, kneeling down next to him. “I even tried looking for you a few times.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I even got close to a human village once, but someone always caught me in time. Father, usually.”

Guilt crawled up Yargol’s chest when he thought about his father dragging Vela back to the village.

Before he could say anything, however, Vela came closer. She hugged Yargol.

“I really missed you,” she whispered into his shoulder.

Yargol closed his eyes and leaned his head against hers.

“I missed you too.”

“I’m sorry about all of this,” she apologized.

“Vela… cut me loose, please. I don’t belong here.”

Vela immediately let go of him and moved back a bit. She shook her head while wiping her face with her forearm.

“No, I can’t. You have to come with us Yargol, please. You’ll die otherwise.”

“No, I won’t. I’ll die if I stay here.”

“No, they’ll come south and-” Vela said before she could cut herself off.

Yargol stared at her. “Who will come south?”

“I shouldn’t say…”

“Vela, what’s happening?”

“There are discussions among the chieftains. About launching raids into the south.”

Yargol let that information sink in. When he realised what was happening, he could not help but let out a short but desperate laugh.

“Of course. That is what all of this is about, isn’t it? I should’ve known you didn’t actually come here for me. You’re just scared I’ll get in the way.”

“No… no, that’s not true. I swear we just want you back.”

Yargol shook his head. Everything was hurting even more now. “Maybe you want me back, Vela, but the rest, they don’t give a shit. They’ll either keep me imprisoned like this or kill me.”

Vela stood up and walked a few steps backwards. “I… I’ll get you some clothes and food,” she said and quickly left.

Yargol sighed and rested his head against the tree behind him. He tried to search for his magic. Called for it with all the desperation he had. But the only thing he found was an aching body that had barely any strength left.

When he heard a noise in the bushes behind him, Yargol at first thought that a small animal was sneaking through the undergrowth. However, as the sound crept closer, he realised that it would have to be a pretty clumsy animal. His mind immediately imagined Azerius trying to sneak up to him and free him.

Yargol flinched when he felt cold hands tug on the tightly bound rope around his wrists.

“Azerius?” he asked hopefully while attempting to look over his shoulder.

“Be quiet, idiot,” someone whispered in an irritated voice.

Yargol frowned. The voice was familiar, but he could not pinpoint who it belonged to at first. His eyes widened when he realised.

“Draennor?” he asked sceptically. “How-”

“Shhh,” the elf hissed.

Cold metal lightly graced Yargol’s hands as Lyra’s brother struggled to cut the thick rope.

Unfortunately, Vela had apparently been quicker than he had hoped. Unhurried steps approached through the night, but Draennor seemed oblivious.

“Someone’s coming,” Yargol warned.

The soldier quickly put his knife away and hid in a bush close to Yargol.

Yargol turned his head, expecting his sister to return. Instead, Rhaka strolled onto the small clearing.

Yargol’s father was clearly drunk but still emptied a mug of beer down his throat. When he was done, he locked his gaze onto Yargol as if he were just noticing his son. He had a fresh black eye.

“There’s my boy”, he slurred and took a few steps towards Yargol. “Your mother didn’t like that you got hurt when I caught you.” He pointed at his face. “This is what I get for saving your life. Ungrateful fucker,” he said and tossed his mug at Yargol, missing by a wide margin.

He stopped and looked around.

Yargol held his breath and begged that Draennor would do the same.

Rhaka narrowed his eyes.

“Where’s your brother?”

Yargol did his best to cover the relief he felt. “What do I know?”

Rhaka took another step towards him.

“Stay the fuck away from me,” Yargol hissed, but his father only grinned and came closer anyway.

“Show your father some respect for once,” he demanded and squatted down before Yargol, who turned his head away from the alcoholic stench.

Rhaka grabbed his jaw and forced Yargol to face him. “Look at me, boy. You hid for seven years. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

“Let go of me, you sick-” Yargol tried to growl but was cut off when Rhaka gagged him with a piece of cloth.

“I don’t care what your mother’ll do to me. You ruined my life, and for that, you’ll pay,” he raised his fist to strike, and Yargol prepared himself for the pain.

Just when Rhaka was about to bring his fist down, he stopped.

His father’s nostrils flared, barely noticeable, but Yargol knew what was happening. The orc grinned devilishly.

“Do we have a visitor?”

Yargol screamed a warning into his gag, but even if Draennor heard him, it was too late.

No amount of alcohol could impede Rhaka’s instincts enough to let his prey escape.

Draennor dashed out of the bush he was hiding in, but Rhaka easily intercepted him. He grabbed the elf by his neck and tossed him onto the clearing in front of Yargol like a wooden doll.

The young elf yelped as he hit the ground hard but immediately tried to get up again. He drew a rapier, but before he had a chance to use it, Rhaka’s fist slammed into his stomach. Draennor dropped his sword and tumbled to the ground with a whimper.

Rhaka pinned the elf down and quickly stopped his last-ditch attempt to stab him with a knife.

Yargol attempted to break free from his ties until he felt warm blood run down his hands, but even though the rope was damaged, it refused to tear. All he could do was watch helplessly.

“Another one of your lovers?” Rhaka mocked. He twisted Draennor’s wrist until a vile sound told Yargol that it broke.

Draennor dropped his knife and began to scream, but Rhaka silenced him with a quick, direct hit to the face.

Lyra’s brother was dazed but still conscious. He stared at Yargol with pleading eyes, blood running out of his nose and mouth.

Finally, Yargol felt a hint of his magic creep back into his veins. If it had come sooner, perhaps he could have stopped his father.

“I never thought I would get the honour of killing an elf,” Rhaka slurred and raised his fist. “Let me send you to your ancestors.”

Rhaka‘s fist thundered down, and Draennor went limp.

Yargol stared at the lifeless body of Lyra’s brother before a burst of magic caused him to seize up. His skin prickled as he willed his magic to his aid with all the force he had left.

The prickling soon turned into searing pain, and he would have screamed out of agony if his anger had not been greater. He had his eyes locked on Rhaka, who let go of Draennor while looking at him, unworried, with a smug smile on his face.

The arcane forces inside Yargol began to breach his bloodstream. Unrestrained and violent, they ripped through every part of him. Every cell in his body wailed as it was filled and overloaded with unnatural energy. Blue light cast eery shadows into the woods.

Yargol’s vision blurred and then split as he felt something tear itself out of him.

The pain then abruptly subsided, and Yargol was suddenly free of his restraints. At least part of him. He was still bound to the tree, but the ghostly blue version of him that had split from him was not. His head spun from having to comprehend two perceptions at the same time.

But Yargol wasted no time trying to figure out what had just happened to him and attacked his father, screaming with rage. The other orc now looked surprised but stood his ground, though he had to step back and steady himself when Yargol’s blue ethereal form slammed into him.

The two were briefly locked into a stalemate. Despite his magical power, Yargol could feel that Rhaka’s strength was still immense. He stared into the cold, heartless abyss that was his father’s eyes and wanted nothing more than to watch the life go out of them.

Rhaka broke the deadlock by ramming his knee into his son’s stomach.

Yargol did not flinch and felt neither pain nor fear. He stabilised and countered with a punch to his father’s side. The ribs cracked under the force of his spectral fist smashing into them.

Rhaka gasped and ineffectively tried to get Yargol to fall.

Yargol punched the same spot again. This time, he felt the ribs break.

Rhaka finally managed to disengage and stumbled backwards while holding his side. “What the fuck are-” he began to curse, but Yargol had already closed the distance again. With a roar, he landed a right hook that sent the larger orc reeling before falling to the ground.

Yargol knelt down and grabbed his father by the throat with both his hands. He ignored the distressed punches as he tightened his grip around the man’s throat.

Rhaka looked up at him with bloodied and broken teeth, eyes bulging as Yargol threatened to crush his windpipe.

“Yargol!” he suddenly heard Vela scream, and Yargol felt his magic waiver. His spectral duplicate immediately disappeared.

Vela stood at the edge of the clearing. She dropped the food and clothes she was carrying and ran to Rhaka’s side.

Yargol finally managed to spit out his gag and coughed. The pain in his head was so bad he feared it would cause him to pass out. He looked over at Draennor. The elf was still lying on the floor. Yargol desperately searched for a sign of life, but his vision refused to focus.

The noise had alarmed Yargol’s other relatives, and soon Okna was hurrying onto the clearing. She ignored her injured husband and stopped when she spotted Draennor.

“No one was supposed to find us,” she hissed at the young shaman who had followed her closely.

The man seemed stunned as he stared at the elf’s body. “He shouldn’t be here. It’s impossible. My spells…” he squeaked.

“Are useless, apparently,” Okna cursed, fuming as she turned to inspect Draennor’s body. “Let’s move. We’ll have more company soon.”

“Actually, you already have,” a voice boomed out of the woods.

Yargol’s family reacted immediately, drawing their weapons while several guards emerged from the treeline around the clearing with drawn bows. They outnumbered Yargol’s family at least two to one.

General Sephiran appeared from the treeline together with Commander Venlen. They were flanked by several wizards. Yargol immediately spotted Azerius, who was standing further back, together with Riley.

Yargol should have felt relieved, but seeing his boyfriend on this clearing that could soon be covered in blood was striking fear into his heart.

Azerius looked around anxiously for a few more moments until their eyes met.

“Yargol!” he yelled out, horrified, and began to push through the first row of wizards.

Immediately, three orcs pointed their bows at him. Azerius froze.

Yargol attempted again to free himself, but it was futile. “No, stay back!” he shouted desperately.

“Back in line, Freecaster!” The General’s voice thundered, uncharacteristic for a woman of her age and size.

Riley finally caught up to Azerius and quickly pulled the man back again.

Azerius kept staring at Yargol but complied with the older wizard.

The General looked at Okna, who seemed more annoyed than worried about the Citadel forces showing up.

“You have abducted and attacked two members of the Citadel. You will be arrested and put to trial according to our laws.”

“This family business. I don’t give shit about laws,” Okna replied in broken human tongue.

Commander Venlen seemed barely able to control himself when he spoke. “And since when is an elven soldier part of your family?”

“No idea who guy is,” Okna said and nodded at Draennor. “Take him back.”

Two soldiers hurried forward and carried Drannor’s body to safety.

“You will release Mr Yargol as well,” the General inquired.

“No, I will not surrender him so that he can die in your stinking city as your pet.”

“Then I will have to use force,” Sephiran said, and Commander Venlen raised his hand, ready to signal the archers.

“No!” Grotach suddenly yelled and threw down his axe.

General Sephiran stopped Venlen just in time before the command to attack could be given.

“I will not die for this idiot,” Grotach cursed and approached Okna. Yargol held his breath. An open challenge to his mother’s authority was more than suicidal, but so was fighting the Citadel forces. “Why are you sacrificing all of us for him?”

“Pick up. Your. Weapon,” Okna said, her voice low and venomous.

“Mother,” Yargol finally got out, just loud enough for his mother to hear.

Okna turned to look at him, and for a moment, Yargol saw guilt flickering in her eyes.

“Let me go, please,” Yargol pleaded weakly.

Grotach saw that Okna seemed to be faltering. “You gave him every chance to save himself. He threw it away. Dying for him now won’t do anything.”

Yargol’s mother remained silent. She stared at Yargol as if she was naively hoping he would change his mind and come with them.

The tension in the air was unbearable. Seconds passed. Only the quiet rustling of the wind stirring up some leaves could be heard.

Okna finally moved towards Yargol, causing many of the warriors on the clearing to shift nervously. She ignored the countless arrows pointed at her and knelt down before her son.

Without a word, she pulled out a knife and reached around Yargol, freeing him.

“All I wanted was for you to be safe,” she said and met his eyes. “I failed you again.”

“Leave,” was all Yargol managed to say.

“I just wanted to-”

“Spare me your excuses,” Yargol cut her off. “Go.”

Okna looked like she was about to say something but then stood up abruptly and turned to leave.

“There. In return, we leave.”

“Acceptable,” General Sephiran responded, a sentiment that Commander Venlen did not seem to share at all.

“You can’t be serious?” the Commander asked.

“I absolutely am. We return and forget this ever happened.”

Venlen at first seemed utterly baffled and then grew furious. “They killed an elf, and you just let them go?” The unrest among the soldiers was clear as well, though less audible.

“Would you prefer that more elves die tonight? I’m not discussing this. We leave now,” she insisted and then turned to Yargol. “Someone, take care of Mr Yargol and get him some clothes.”

Venlen barely seemed to be able to hold himself back but eventually gave the signal to his men to leave.

Okna meanwhile impatiently prodded Rhaka with a foot.

“Come on, you useless drunk.”

Vela sat beside her father. “He needs help.”

“No, he needs to get up.”

Rhaka grunted and attempted to comply but failed miserably.

Okna sighed and turned to leave. “Vela, come.”

“But…” Vela said uncertainly but obliged when Okna glared at her.

“Wait,” Rhaka sputtered, panicked once Vela left his side. He tried to get up again. He only managed to get on his knees, clutching his broken ribs. “How am I supposed to get back like this?”

“If you’re strong enough, you’ll make it,” Okna said with a stern face. “And if not… well, I guess I’m overdue for a new husband.”

Rhaka looked after his wife and family, leaving him in shock, while Yargol used the tree behind him to get up slowly. He groaned when every part of his body protested against the movement. The furs he had been covered with slid off, exposing him to the biting cold.

He heard someone running towards him, but before he could look up, Azerius slammed into him. Yargol silently thanked the tree behind him for preventing him from falling down again. He held Azerius with shaking hands while he did his best not to pass out. He should have felt relieved, and perhaps part of him did, but it was drowned out by shame and guilt.

“You are hurt,” Azerius said through tears and detached himself from Yargol.

“I’m fine,” Yargol mumbled through his teeth and took a step away from the tree, almost falling when he felt a gut-wrenching pain shoot up his foot. He ignored it. All Yargol wanted was to get away from this. Away from his family’s unnecessary cruelty and the condescending looks of the elven soldiers. But most of all, away from his father, who still knelt on the ground and now stared at him and Azerius with a hatred that bordered insanity.

“No, you’re definitely not fine,” Riley joined them with an uncharacteristically concerned look. “Don’t be an idiot, and let me have a look.”

Riley reached for him, but Yargol shoved the man to the side.

“I’m fine,” he breathed again. He was about to make his way back towards the city when a sudden movement in the corner of his eye caused him to stop.

Yargol had made the mistake of briefly taking his eyes off his father. Rhaka’s charge was desperate, but even badly injured and intoxicated, the orc was incredibly fast. For a moment, he saw the jagged blade of his father’s hunting knife flash in the red light of Azerius’ discharging spell.

The magic bolt of light hit the side of Rhaka’s head. A cloud of dark blood filled the air as half of the orc’s head was disintegrated. He immediately dropped and slammed into the ground before Yargol.

Yargol stumbled a few steps backwards. He stared wide-eyed at his father while the thick orc blood began to soak the earth at his feet.

“Nice shot,” Riley commented but then quickly shut his mouth when he saw Yargol’s reaction.

Yargol turned to look at Azerius, who still had his hand raised, pointing at the place where Rhaka had been seconds ago. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Yargol felt like he was reaching a breaking point, and he turned to leave again.

He stumbled through the woods as fast as his feet allowed him, ignoring the looks he got from the soldiers he passed.

Azerius and Riley were following him closely.

“Yargol, please stop,” Azerius pleaded. “I did not mean for that to happen.”

“It’s fine,” he repeated, frustrated and increasingly delirious. “I’m fine.”

He dragged himself to the edge of the woods. Tiny snowflakes had begun to fall, peacefully settling onto Midvalley and its surrounding fields in the soft moonlight. On another day, Yargol might have appreciated the sight.

“Yargol, please, you will freeze,” Azerius said and tried to reach for his hand.

But Yargol finally could not take it anymore. He whirled around furiously.

“I said I’m fine!” he bellowed with a broken voice.

Azerius stepped back, startled, and for just a moment, Yargol saw fear in the man’s eyes. Genuine fear. The kind he had seen more than enough of during his life.

Yargol continued his desperate journey back to the city. He had no idea how he found enough energy for it. Or how he managed to climb the stairs up to the Citadel and his room. But somehow, he did.

He slammed the door shut behind himself. Breathing heavily, he stumbled over to the bed and collapsed onto it.

But he found no rest even between the usually comforting sheets. Despite his body feeling completely drained, his mind was restless. When he closed his eyes, he saw his mother’s sad and disappointed eyes. He saw Draennor’s silent plea for help and how his father’s murderous face got ripped apart by Azerius’ magic.

Yargol growled, frustrated, and willed himself to get up again. He hobbled towards the door but stopped halfway. He would not get much further in his current state. Not that he would have known where to go anyway. There was no place for him. Neither here nor anywhere else.

Yargol moved towards the table in front of the fireplace when he spotted something on the floor.

The necklace with the wooden wolf head his mother had given him was lying before his feet innocently, as if it was an ordinary accessory that had caused no harm.

He had no control over the sheer amount of anger that this small trinket made him feel. He quickly grabbed it and tossed it into the fireplace.

The gleaming coals did quick work, beginning to consume the small piece of wood that had once meant something to him.

He kept staring into the fire, leaning onto one of the chairs beside him for support. His anger disappeared as quickly as it had surfaced. Yargol’s chest felt tight, and it became increasingly hard to breathe. But there was no magic involved this time.

A tear began to roll down Yargol’s cheek, but he quickly wiped it away. Crying would not get him anywhere. It would not solve or change anything. After all, he had been through worse, so he would get through all of this too. He just had to be strong enough.

Another tear followed the first one, ignoring Yargol’s wishes. He sat down in the chair and looked into the fireplace again. But the necklace was gone.

He felt the last bit of self-control he had left slip away with the third tear, and at last, he gave up.

Yargol buried his face in his hands and cried.

He wept into the heavy silence of the room, unable to hold himself together anymore.

Yargol had no idea how long he had sat in the chair when he heard a shy knocking coming from the door. He immediately held his breath and tried to keep quiet, hoping whoever waited outside would go away soon.

“Yargol?” Azerius spoke through the door.

Hearing Azerius’ voice forced a weep out of Yargol. He wanted to apologize for dragging the poor man into all of this. Tell him that he deserved better. Not someone who was raised by these monsters. Someone he could be with without risking his life.

Yargol knew that Azerius was still waiting in front of the door, but he could not bring himself to call for the man. The thought of Azerius seeing him like this filled him with even more shame.

“Yargol, please say something,” Azerius pleaded.

But Yargol still said nothing.

“I am sorry,” Azerius sighed.

The sound of Azerius leaving suddenly filled Yargol with a new kind of fear.

“Wait!” he yelled. The word almost got stuck inside his throat, but he heard Azerius stop outside the room.

“Don’t leave,” he added and hated how scared he sounded.

“Can I come inside?” Azerius asked.

“Yeah,” Yargol forced himself to answer and tried to look at least somewhat composed by wiping his face with his forearm.

Azerius carefully opened the door and snuck inside.

“Oh, Yargol,” he said when he spotted the miserable orc sitting beside the fire, doing his best to appear alright.

Azerius quickly walked over to him. He put a small bag on the table and knelt down before Yargol, taking the orc’s hands into his.

Looking into Azerius’ kind eyes immediately made Yargol cry again.

“I’m sorry,” he began to sob. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. I didn’t-” he rambled, barely comprehensible, until he felt Azerius’ hand on his cheek.

“Shhh,” Azerius tried to calm him, even though it was clear that he was quite upset himself.

“I am the one who needs to apologise. I only wanted to stop him. It just happened so fast.”

Yargol shook his head. “It’s all my fault. Draennor and Rhaka died because of me.”

“You are the one person who did nothing wrong here.”

“One day, it’ll be you, and I-” he said, feeling more tears stream down his face. “I can’t protect you. I’m too weak.”

“You are not weak, Yargol. You are the strongest man I have ever known,” Azerius protested, his voice shaking as he began to cry as well. “I love you.”

For a moment, Yargol forgot why he was even sad. He looked at Azerius, who seemed as shocked about the words as he was.

“You do?” Yargol sniffled, slightly sceptical though hopeful.

“Yes, but you do not have to say anything back,” Azerius quickly said while his face reddened. “I mistimed this terribly.”

“I love you too,” Yargol managed to get out somehow, and the smile on Azerius’ face almost made him bawl again, if for a different reason.

He pulled Azerius closer and kissed the man before hugging him harder than he probably should have, but he simply could not help himself. After a while, he felt Azerius trying to free himself carefully, but he refused to loosen his hug.

“Let me treat your injuries. Please, I will be quick,” Azerius whispered.

Yargol knew his boyfriend was right, but it was still hard for him to let him go again.

Azerius grabbed the bandages and got to work. Watching the man gently inspect his body and treat his wounds while the fireplace kept warming him up was slowly but surely calming him down. Finally, the full weight of his exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him, and he had a hard time keeping his eyes open.

When Azerius was done, he had to shake Yargol’s shoulder to bring the orc back from his half-slumber.

“Yargol, I did what I could, but we need someone more experienced for the rest. You used a lot of magic,” Azerius said and stood up. “I will get Riley.”

“No, stay,” Yargol mumbled and grabbed Azerius by his robes.

“I will be back in no time”, Azerius promised, but Yargol shook his head. He feared that if he allowed Azerius to leave through that door, he might never return.

“Stay,” he insisted, and Azerius gave in.

“Alright,” Azerius said, and Yargol relaxed his grip again.

Azerius helped Yargol get up and guided the groggy orc over to the bed, which was no easy task.

Yargol managed to trap Azerius under his heavy arm.

“Yargol…” Azerius attempted to say, but Yargol only reacted by pulling the man closer.

He felt Azerius abandon his struggle to escape the heavy affection, and within seconds, he fell asleep. The last thought on his mind was that the man he held in his arms loved him.

Chapter Text

Yargol’s deep slumber was plagued by chaotic shreds of memories from the night before. When he awoke, the full weight of it slowly came back to him. He tried to pull Azerius closer, but the only thing beside him in bed was the faint, lingering warmth and smell of the human.

Yargol opened his eyes and quickly sat up. He was alone in his room. Bright daylight was falling through the windows, and the usual noises of the busy city could be heard from a distance. Everything was calm. Everything except Yargol.

Instantly, every possible scenario shot through his head. Perhaps the elves had taken Azerius as revenge for what happened to Draennor. Maybe they were torturing and killing him at this very moment.

He scrambled out of bed and realised too late that his foot refused to support his weight. Yargol’s knee smashed onto the floor, and tears shot into his eyes as he tried his best not to howl from the pain.

But there was no time. Steps were approaching the door to his room.

Yargol forced himself to get up.

The steps quickly got closer.

He hobbled towards the door and pulled it open, ready to fight.

Riley looked at him, surprised.

“Look who’s already up. Your injuries can’t be that bad then,” the man teased, but Yargol was not having it today.

He grabbed the wizard by the collar of his red robes and yanked him closer, almost lifting the guy off his feet in the process.

“Where is he? Where is Azerius?!” Yargol yelled, barely able to hide the utter panic in his voice.

A hand suddenly touched Yargol’s upper arm and startled him.

“I am here,” Azerius said from the side. “Let him down, please.”

He dropped Riley and took Azerius into his arms.

“You can’t just…” Yargol stammered while he tried to calm his thumping heart. “Don’t leave.”

“Forgive me, but you are still injured, so I had to go and find Riley. I was hoping you would just keep sleeping,” Azerius apologised a bit sheepishly.

“Should I come back later?” Riley offered while he adjusted his robes.

“No,” Azerius quickly said and looked up at Yargol. “Please let him have a look at you.”

“Alright,” Yargol mumbled and let go of Azerius. His head was spinning slightly, and when he turned around, only Riley and Azerius supporting him from either side prevented him from falling again.

“Easy there, big guy,” Riley said as he helped Yargol sit down in one of the chairs.

“Thanks, and sorry I grabbed you like that,” Yargol apologised and tried to relax while Riley knelt down and started to inspect his foot.

“No worries, I don’t mind a little manhandling,” Riley said and winked.

Azerius made a small noise, which told Yargol that his boyfriend was already beginning to question whether getting the older wizard involved was a good idea.

Yargol wanted to say something to ease Azerius’ nerves, but then Riley grabbed and gently twisted his swollen ankle. He flinched and inhaled sharply.

“Well, that’s broken,” Riley diagnosed and let go of the foot again.

“You think?” Azerius remarked sarcastically and visibly regretted his comment when Riley and Yargol looked at him, annoyed. He mumbled a quick apology.

“Can you fix it?” Yargol asked before Riley had the chance to escalate the situation into one of their usual bickering sessions.

“I think so, but I’ll have to take a closer look,” he responded and put his hand back on Yargol’s foot.

Yargol felt Riley’s magic entering his body, a still strange but no longer unfamiliar feeling. He leaned back and let it spread further through him with every beat of his heart. He decided to leave the man free reign, and after getting over the initial strangeness, he actually found it to be somewhat relaxing.

Only then did Yargol notice the many bruises on his arms and the exposed leg Riley was inspecting.

“Oh my…” Riley murmured.

“What is it?” Azerius asked while gnawing nervously at his fingernails.

When Riley stayed silent for a few more seconds, Yargol also got nervous.

“Riley? What’s wrong?” he asked wearily, cracking an eye open.

“You should’ve called me earlier. I didn’t realise you used so much magic yesterday. The damage to some of your veins is extreme. One of these tears in the wrong place could’ve easily ended you. What happened?” Riley asked and began to probe deeper with his magic.

“I had to force my magic to come out. I think I managed to make a kind of copy of myself when I tried to…” Yargol explained but stopped when he remembered Draennor.

Riley looked up with peaked interest. “Full duplication? Think you can do that again?”

The thought of experiencing the feeling of his body seemingly tearing itself apart once more was beyond uncomfortable to Yargol. But Riley’s ambitious eyes were pinning him down relentlessly.

“You literally just said he almost died. He needs rest,” Azerius intercepted. “This is all happening way too fast. It should take years to develop magical abilities this advanced.”

“I agree, but maybe the eighth branch is different? Or maybe orcs interact differently with magic?” Riley suggested.

“Perhaps,” Azerius said, unconvinced and clearly worried.

“Or it’s because of my exceptional guidance,” the master further speculated.

“Less likely,” Azerius commented.

Riley shrugged. “Anyway, no need to be worried now. There is no lasting damage, as far as I can tell. Just think what he’ll be capable of in a year if he’s already come this far now.”

As usual, Azerius did not fully share Riley’s opinion, but he dropped the issue. “Just take care of his wounds, please.”

“Right, I’ll get to it,” Riley quickly said and focused both his attention and magic onto Yargol’s battered body.

“Did you meet Lyra?” Yargol anxiously asked Azerius.

Azerius shook his head. “I went directly to Riley and back. I will visit her as soon as I know that you are alright.”

Yargol swallowed. He thought about asking Azerius to deliver a message, but it felt wrong. He would have to face her eventually.

“That really is one fucked up foot you have there,” Riley interrupted his thoughts. “Also, two of your ribs are cracked, and I’ll spare you the details about your face. The rest is bruises and muscle tears. This will take a while, and ideally, most of it should heal without help. My magic speeds up the process, but it’ll still cost your body energy.”

Yargol simply nodded, and Riley got to work, gradually mending his bones and muscles. After a while, he noticed how the wizard seemed to be getting distracted again. Part of the man’s magic sunk deeper into him, curiously but carefully probing around.

Initially, Yargol did not object to this until Riley brushed up against something in his hip that sent a little shockwave through him. He flinched and looked startled at the master.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to… that was accidental,” the wizard said and quickly focused his magic back on the injuries. While neither Riley’s voice nor composure revealed much, Yargol could feel the man’s blazing embarrassment through their temporary magic connection.

“What was that?” Azerius asked and stood up.

“I was just ensuring that there is no damage to any internal organs.”

“Well, is there?” Azerius asked and narrowed his eyes.

“No, everything seems to work”, Riley replied in his usual cheerful tone.

“Great, are you done?”

“The major injuries are dealt with. I could spend more time on the smaller stuff, but I think letting it heal by itself will be better for now,” Riley said and stood back up. “Don’t put too much pressure on your foot.”

“Perfect, thank you so much,” Azerius said and nudged Riley towards the door.

“Uh, all right then. See you later?”

“Bye,” Azerius said and closed the door. He turned around and exhaled.

“Survived another encounter with your idol,” Yargol teased, and Azerius rolled his eyes.

“I already regret telling you about that,” he joked and moved to sit down.

Yargol pulled Azerius onto his lap. As he watched the man snuggle up to him, a question was building up inside his chest.

“Anything else you regret telling me?”

Azerius looked at him with those clear and honest eyes that could ask anything of him.

“I still love you if that is what you mean,” Azerius said, and Yargol could not help but feel relieved.

“Just… my timing was so poor.”

“I didn’t expect it, but it was perfect. Exactly what I needed at that moment,” Yargol tried to calm the upset man.

“No, you do not understand. I had this all planned out,” Azerius said, frustrated, while he rested his head against Yargol’s shoulder. “It might sound stupid, but this was the first time I ever told anyone that I loved them. I wanted to tell you on top of one of the smaller towers on the west side. It is my favourite place in the Citadel, and I saved it for this. I even made sure to pick the best day of the year for a wonderful sunset. It would have been beyond romantic, and if I had messed it up somehow, I could have conveniently flung myself off said tower out of embarrassment,” Azerius rambled.

“Don’t say that,” Yargol mumbled. He knew Azerius was in no way serious about it, but the last thing he currently needed was the thought of Azerius falling to his death.

“Sorry, I just wanted it to be a happy memory. Now, whenever you think back to it, you will also think of all the other things that happened that night.”

“I’ll remember that you were there for me. That’s all that matters,” Yargol attempted to cheer the man up. “Will you still show me that spot?” he now tried to distract.

“Absolutely,” Azerius said and smiled. “Not today, though. Today, we do not open the door to this room for anyone anymore.”

“Sounds good,” Yargol said. He was looking forward to a quiet day.

“There’s one more thing I think we need to talk about,” Yargol said and could immediately tell Azerius knew what was coming. “About Rhaka, I don’t want you to feel guilty about it.”

Azerius evaded Yargol’s eyes. “How can I not feel guilty about murdering your father?”

“You know you only did it to protect me. You had no choice. Look at me, Azerius,” he demanded softly.

Azerius looked up. “I should have aimed better. Injured him instead of…”

“He charged. He knew what the result would be. My father has ruined so many things in my life. Every moment of pity you have for him is a waste of time. Understood?”

Azerius nodded, though Yargol could see that his attempt to drive the guilt out of his partner had only been partially successful.

The two had a whole ten more minutes of cuddling to themselves before someone knocked at the door again.

“Just do not answer”, Azerius whispered and kissed Yargol on his cheek.

“Azerius? Yargol? Sorry to bother you. Inian and I just wanted to check if you’re okay.”

Lyra’s voice nearly caused Yargol’s heart to stop.

“I’ll go talk to them,” Azerius quickly said and got up.

Yargol nervously gripped his chair’s armrests while watching Azerius approach the door.

“Wait,” he said before Azerius could open it and got up as well. “I’ll do it.”

Azerius stepped aside but looked uncertain. “I am sure they would understand.”

Yargol shook his head. “I owe it to her.”

He opened the door.

Inian was in uniform and appeared uncharacteristically serious, whereas Lyra looked like she had barely slept. Still, she smiled when their eyes met.

Guilt immediately blocked Yargol’s throat, and he proceeded to stare at her without getting a word out.

Before he could even start another attempt to speak, Lyra hugged him.

“I heard about your father. I’m so sorry for your loss,” she whispered.

Yargol swallowed as burning self-hatred joined up with the shame he felt. The fact that she offered her condolences for her brother’s murderer was tearing into him like a rusty blade.

“I tried to stop him. I really tried,” he finally said. “I wanted to save your brother.”

“Perhaps you did,” Lyra said and looked up. “Draennor survived.”

“What?” Azerius and Yargol said simultaneously.

“But I thought… how?” Yargol stuttered.

“When they brought him back, he appeared dead. No pulse, no brain activity, nothing. But a few minutes later, he woke up,” Lyra beamed.

Yargol’s head was spinning. This day was already getting exhausting again.

Inian snorted. “Can’t remember the last time you were so happy about your brother being alive.”

“He’s an asshole, but that doesn’t mean he deserves to die. He’s still family.”

“How is he doing now?” Azerius asked, concerned.

“Recovering. Actually…” Lyra began but hesitated. She looked at Yargol. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Me?” Yargol said and felt his anxiety return. Draennor might not have died because of him, but he was certain that the ordeal must have reinforced his feelings towards orcs.

“No,” Azerius immediately said. “He will just spew hate and threats again.”

“He promised me that he just wants to talk and said that it’s important. But he didn’t say what exactly it’s about.”

“How convenient. I don’t trust a word out of that guy’s mouth,” Inian sneered.

“He risked his life for me,” Yargol said in thought. “Did he say why? Or how he even found me?”

Lyra shook her head. “I’m guessing that’s what he wants to talk about?”

Yargol hated the thought of having to speak to Draennor. But something told him there was more to this than the elf finding him by chance and spontaneously discovering his selfless side for no reason.

“I’ll talk to him,” he stated firmly.

“One well-intentioned action does not make him trustworthy,” Azerius warned.

“I’m not trusting him, and I haven’t forgotten anything he said,” Yargol promised. “Especially not the things he said about you.”

***

Yargol peeked into Draennor’s darkened room. A wave of herbal smells washed over him as he entered. The wounded elf was lying in a bed on the other end. Half of his face was hidden beneath bandages, as was most of his uncovered upper body.

“Hey,” Yargol said, carefully closing the door behind him. Azerius, Lyra and Inian were waiting outside.

“Hi,” Draennor answered weakly. Without the explosive anger and disdain, Yargol barely recognised the elf’s battered voice. There was also none of the toxic fire in the one healthy eye that watched Yargol come closer. Draennor simply looked broken and scared.

“How are you?” Yargol began, his hands sweating as he waited for the elf to answer. For the anger and hate to reignite. But there was nothing.

The moments passed by eventless while Draennor kept staring at him, frightened.

“I hope you aren’t in too much pain,” Yargol added, unsure what else he could say to ease the man’s nerves.

“What happened after I was gone?” Draennor suddenly asked with a hoarse voice.

“I tried to save you, but I was too late. At least, I thought I was,” Yargol said and sat down on a chair beside the bed. “Then the Citadel came and got you.”

“I see,” Draennor said and seemed to relax slightly. “I just don’t understand. Why did you reach out to me for help? Out of everyone. Was I the only one close enough?”

Yargol frowned. “Reach out? I didn’t reach out, at least not on purpose. I have no idea how you even found me. The camp was supposed to be hidden by magic.”

Draennor looked confused. “But if it wasn’t you…”

“What exactly happened?” Yargol asked.

“I was standing guard outside the gates as always. Everything was normal until I saw a symbol on the ground before me.”

Yargol tensed up. “Let me guess, three interlocking squares?”

Draennor’s eye widened. “So, it was you?”

“No, but the symbol follows me around. I don’t know why,” Yargol said.

“Oh”, Draennor said, disappointed. When he continued, fear started to creep back into his face.

“I felt like I had to go into the woods. I wasn’t sure why, but I knew my life depended on it. Or someone’s life, at least. I wasn’t alone… I think.”

“What do you mean? Who was there with you?”

Draennor thought for a moment. “I was still me, just my instincts weren’t. I think. As if they were someone else’s.”

Yargol frowned. “You mean someone was controlling you? Through magic?”

“Not sure. I know what magical Psychomanipulation feels like. We get training for that. This was something else. I was still in control, mostly at least. I immediately wanted to turn and leave when I saw you bound to that tree.”

Yargol was in no way surprised by that, but hearing it still hurt a bit. Part of him had hoped that Draennor had genuinely wanted to save him. “So, why didn’t you? After all the things you said to me, I thought you would’ve been glad to have me gone.”

“True. But whoever was with me really wanted me to free you. It took me a few moments to fight off the feeling and…” Draennor hesitated and looked away. “There was another orc with you. Your sister, right?”

“Vela?” Yargol asked.

“Yes, well, I didn’t mean to, but I happened to overhear your conversation,” Draennor admitted.

Now, Yargol was completely confused. “I didn’t know you speak Orcish?”

“I don’t, but that night I did, or whatever was in my head with me did. I don’t think it’s there anymore.”

This in no way reassured Yargol, but he did not want to worry Draennor unnecessarily.

“And what does my sister have to do with this?” Yargol asked distrustfully. Thinking about Vela hurt, and he did not see how this was relevant right now.

“It’s just. I never thought orcs…” Draennor struggled and sighed. “It reminded me of Lyra and me.”

Yargol raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but we used to get along. Was a long time ago, though. We were children,” Draennor said, sounding defeated.

Yargol found it difficult, despite his best efforts, to hold onto his feelings of resentment towards the elf. “What happened? You two seem to hate each other now.”

“She was capable of magic, and I wasn’t. That’s what happened,” Draennor said now with a hint of the usual rage in his tone. “After she moved to the Citadel, she suddenly knew all these things. As if she had become a different person. My parents were really proud, and I was too. I was happy for her. Even though it meant I had to stay in Midvalley.”

“You wanted to leave?”

“Believe it or not, guarding city gates in the middle of winter was not what I had in mind for my future as a kid,” Draennor grumbled. “I wanted to become a knight in the capital. But that’s expensive, and we barely had enough money to send Lyra to the Citadel.”

“I see,” Yargol said, still a bit confused and unsure how to interpret this rant. “I’m sorry,” he offered.

“Don’t be,” Draennor said and rubbed his face. “Listen, what I’m trying to say is that I won’t bother you anymore. Or Azerius or anyone else. I’m sorry for what I said.”

“Good,” Yargol said, though he was not feeling entirely comfortable with the man’s sudden change of character. He did not want to rule out the possibility of this being a trick. “Can you tell me more about this… this thing that was with you? Was it human?”

“Not sure. It felt old. Desperate. As if it was clinging to me. And I think it’s the reason I came back.”

“It revived you?” Yargol asked, but agitated noises in front of the room caught his attention. He got up.

“And you let him in?!” a furious voice could be heard before the door swung open.

A male elf forced his way past Lyra. He was followed by an elven woman who shrieked when she saw Yargol.

“You! Out!” the man commanded and pointed towards the door with a trembling hand.

“Father, I asked him to be here,” Draennor whimpered from behind Yargol, but the other elf looked undeterred.

“Then you have obviously lost your mind. Out, I said!”

Yargol hastily left the room.

“Sorry, Yargol,” Lyra said, looking embarrassed. “I tried to stop them.”

“It’s alright,” Yargol dismissed. He was more concerned with what Draennor had told him.

When he explained what he had learned to his three friends, they seemed to share his worries.

“Perhaps Commander Venlen will listen,” Lyra speculated. “Talking directly to the General is a waste of time.”

“I overheard that the king will pay us a visit soon. Could that have anything to do with it?” Inian added.

“Possibly. And there is another thing to worry about,” Yargol said. “Yesterday, my sister told me that my people plan to attack the kingdom.”

“What?!” Inian yelled. “What do you mean? Like, full-on war?”

“Raids. But who knows what is really going on. Can you warn the Commander and General?”

“Sure, definitely I-” Inian started, but the sound of hurried steps further down the hallway interrupted him.

“Mister Freecaster!” a guard yelled down the hall.

“What now?” Azerius whined.

The young man in uniform arrived completely out of breath.

“What is it?” Yargol asked, already thinking about all the horrible things that could have happened.

The guard finally managed to speak. “It’s your mother. She’s here!”

Yargol breathed out in relief, but Azerius groaned as if his worst nightmare had just come true.

Lyra laughed. “You two need to tell your families to stop with the surprise visits.”

***

Azerius had offered Yargol to deal with Adeline, but he refused to let the man run around alone, even inside the Citadel. Or maybe, especially inside the Citadel.

They heard Adeline long before they could see her. She was standing outside the opened gate of the large entrance hall.

Four young soldiers tried to calm the woman but seemed unsure how to deal with her. None of them were confident enough to take charge.

Adeline was almost a head taller than each of them and broader as well. The thick winter clothing she wore made her look even more imposing. What she lacked in armour and weaponry, she made up for in attitude.

“If your mothers had raised you right, you would know better than to block my way. My son Azerius lives here. He’s very important, and I will visit him anytime I want to. Now, last warning, before I beat you back into the whorehouses you crept out of!”

“Mother!” Azerius hastily yelled as they rushed to prevent her from further insulting the guards.

“Perfect. There he is. Azerius, please show these boys their place before I do it.”

“I will take care of this,” Azerius mumbled to one of the guards, who seemed all too glad about being able to hand over responsibility for the situation. The men hurried back to their posts.

Yargol had to admit that watching Adeline was already beginning to cheer him up.

“Mother, you know you cannot just walk in here without permission. You will get arrested again.”

Adeline puffed dismissively. “I’d like to see these worms try to arrest anyone.”

Two more soldiers were coming towards them, escorting Azerius’ brother.

Lucian was still wearing his apron, so Yargol guessed he had come here directly from his smithy.

“Hello, Mother, so nice to see you,” he greeted and hugged the tall woman.

Yargol also received Lucian’s sweaty signature hug before Azerius went on to escalate the situation unintentionally.

“Mother, what are you doing here? Why did you not say you were coming?” he asked like a fool, realising his mistake too late.

“Excuse me? You ask what I’m doing here?!” Adeline asked, clearly affronted beyond mortal comprehension.

“Wait, no, I did not mean-”

Adeline swelled up like a thundercloud cloud, ready to unleash the heaviest storm of the century, while Azerius shrunk in anticipation of the inevitable verbal lightning strikes.

“Two sons. Zero letters. Nothing. I have to come here personally to make sure my children are still alive and well. But apparently, I’m not welcome. Apparently, I’m just annoying you. What kind of ungrateful behaviour is this?!” Adeline’s voice bellowed through the entrance area, beginning to attract a few curious looks.

“Mother, please calm down. You are right. I am sorry, we should have sent word,” Azerius tried to appease the woman with an increasingly crimson face.

Yargol had the feeling he ought to say something. Perhaps defend Azerius and Lucian, but he also enjoyed watching Adeline verbally barrelling through all these people. At least until she turned her attention to him. The look in her eyes immediately wiped the grin off his face.

“And what happened to you? You look like shit,” she said and stepped closer.

“Mother! Be nice. Yargol has had a rough week,” Azerius immediately said and shot Yargol a worried look.

Adeline leaned in before she continued to speak. “Is Azerius not treating you right?”

Before Yargol even had a chance to talk, she already turned back to her son. “I thought I raised you better than that.”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Yargol quickly interrupted her. “My family visited, that’s all.”

“Must have been quite a visit if it left you looking like that. No matter, you can tell me all about it while we eat,” Adeline decided, and with that, she marched into the Citadel.

Azerius watched, baffled for a moment, before he managed to regain his composure. “Wait, Mother. Where are you going? Mother, come back!”

***

On her way through the Citadel, Adeline managed to locate its large kitchen by attempting to intimidate or threaten several innocent wizards and servants along the way. Much to the frustration of Azerius, who tried and failed to stop her.

Azerius apologised profusely to every berated victim left in his mother’s wake but was barely able to keep up.

Yargol and Lucian followed silently. Yargol was content with watching someone else draw all the attention to themselves for once.

“Now, this is what I’m talking about,” Adeline announced as she strolled into Citadel’s kitchen. It appeared to be one of the countless rooms used to cook for the many soldiers. While this one was currently empty, Yargol could hear the clanking of pots and pans in the distance.

Adeline immediately began inspecting the pantry and pulled out several ingredients she planned to use.

Lucian signalled Yargol to a table on the side of the room while Azerius started one last attempt to stop Adeline.

“Mother, we are not allowed to be here. Please, we can eat elsewhere.”

“My dear Azerius, I love you very much, but if you don’t sit down at once, I’ll start throwing things at you,” Adeline warned and simultaneously began to cut vegetables.

When Azerius opened his mouth again, she picked up a potato and raised it menacingly.

“Alright, alright,” Azerius finally conceded.

He sat down beside Yargol with a heavy sigh, “A little help would have been nice,” he suggested to his brother, who was busy peeling an orange.

“You know I don’t bother anymore. She’ll do whatever she wants no matter what you say,” Lucian chuckled and offered Yargol a slice of fruit. “You look a little shaken, buddy. All good?”

Yargol declined the offer but nodded reassuringly. “I’m actually enjoying myself right now.”

“I am glad someone is,” Azerius said while he eyed Adeline, who was just setting up two more pots with water. “We are four people. How much is she planning to cook?”

“An orc probably counts as three in her mind,” Lucian mumbled with a mouth full of orange.

“She’s not far off,” Yargol said and rubbed Azerius’ back. “Relax, don’t worry about your mother. It’ll be fine.”

Azerius looked at him and leaned his head against Yargol’s shoulder. “I was so looking forward to an uneventful day.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take her off your hands later. She’ll want to see Larilla and Jason,” Lucian promised. “Still a fan of the armour, Yargol? Sometimes, issues with the fit only reveal themselves after wearing it for a bit.”

Yargol instinctively put a hand on the chest plate of his armour. He looked down at the symbol on it. Even though no one but Azerius and him knew what it stood for, he could not help but feel ashamed. Here he was, displaying his family’s emblem and all it stood for.

“It’s great, really. But could you do me a favour?”

“Sure, what do you need?” Lucian asked leisurely while chewing the last slice of orange.

“Can you replace the symbol on my armour with something else? I changed my mind about it.”

“Absolutely. What new symbol do you want on it?”

Yargol briefly glanced at Azerius, who was currently distracted by his mother contently pulling out a whole turkey from an icebox she found.

“I’ll give you a note later on,” Yargol promised.

When Adeline served the food, even Yargol was convinced that the woman had overdone it, at least a little. There was turkey, pork pie, fried fish, an assortment of cooked vegetables, and a stew. Azerius seemed to more than share his sentiment.

“This is all very nice, Mother, but you are still technically stealing from the Citadel.”

“Do you know how much money we paid to send you here? I’m pretty sure I own this place by now,” Adeline argued, unconcerned, while handing out plates.

Instead of debating further, Azerius contritely grabbed the plate Adeline offered him.

“Now then, tell us what happened,” Adeline demanded and looked at Yargol as she distributed the food in concerningly large portions.

Yargol began to reluctantly recount the events of last night. He stuttered at first until Azerius’ hand reached for his under the table and calmed his pulse. From there on, he felt secure until Azerius shifted nervously beside him when he described his rescue, so he decided to leave out his father’s death. When he finished, Adeline was furious, maybe even more than usual. It was hard to tell.

“Disgraceful! You poor boy. No parent should treat their child like that,” she said and patted the orc’s hand. “Especially not someone like you. We’ve only met twice now, but I know I would be proud if you were one of mine.”

“Thank you, Adeline. That means a lot,” Yargol said, touched by the kind words.

Suddenly, she looked up with a big smile on her face. “I could adopt you.”

“What? No!” Azerius yelled out, almost dropping his fork.

“Why not?”

Azerius’ face was reddening. “I am not dating my brother.”

“Step-brother,” Lucian helpfully corrected while already piling more food onto his plate.

“I am not dating my step-brother either,” Azerius hissed.

Yargol moved in to de-escalate. “Very nice of you, Adeline, but that’s not necessary. You were already far more welcoming and understanding than I could’ve hoped for.”

“Fine, no adoption then,” Adeline conceded, but she already had another good idea ready before Azerius and Yargol could really recover from the shock. “Is your family still near the city? I’ll gladly talk some sense into them. At least your mother. Your father sounds like a man who needs more than just a sharp tongue.”

Azerius seemed to suddenly sit even more upright than before. “They are gone. Far away by now. Right, Yargol?”

“So far. Unreachable,” Yargol quickly added and nodded vigorously.

“Too bad,” Adeline said and shook her head in disappointment. “I would’ve loved to meet them. Especially your father,” she said while cutting the piece of turkey in front of her with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm.

“Well, nothing to be done about it now,” Azerius carefully said while keeping an eye on the knife in his mother’s hand.

An awkward silence ensued until Azerius thankfully changed the topic.

“How is Father?”

“Complains about his back a lot. You know, the usual,” Adeline answered concisely without looking up from her food. Suddenly, she stopped eating and looked up at Yargol again. “Are you sure they’re too far away by now? Maybe I can still reach them if I leave now.”

“Mother, you are being ridiculous. We told you they are gone,” Azerius protested.

“What direction did they leave? I just want to meet your father,” she said while gesticulating with the knife she still held in her hand.

“I know you mean well, but I’d rather forget about the whole thing, to be honest,” Yargol said, hoping he could calm the woman down.

“You can’t let him get away with something like that. Abusing his own son like that. I will be very quick and take care of it,” Adeline said, undeterred.

“The matter is closed, Mother. Leave Yargol alone and sit down,” Azerius said, clearly beginning to lose the last bit of patience he had for his mother.

“Nonsense, nothing is closed until I say so. They went north, right?” she guessed and smiled dangerously.

“You will not find him, Mother, I promise you.”

“Of course I will. Not the first man I’ve had to chase down.”

“No, you will not because I killed him yesterday,” Azerius blurted out.

“What?” Adeline gasped, and Lucian almost choked on his drink.

“Yes, I did not mean to, but he attacked, and I just… I killed him,” Azerius stammered.

“Azerius,” Adeline breathed. Her eyes became teary, and she grabbed her son by the shoulder. “Perhaps I did raise you right after all.”

***

Lucian kept his promise and took Yargol’s breastplate with him along with Adeline after they had finished their meal in the kitchen. They spent a well-deserved hour of peace in Yargol’s room until Azerius’ brother returned.

“Thanks, that was fast.”

“Any time. It gave me an excuse to get away from my mother for a moment. Larilla will probably kill me later for leaving her alone with her.”

“I’ll get her something as an apology,” Yargol offered, embarrassed, and smiled.

“Don’t worry about it. She’ll be mad for a few hours, and then it’s gonna be fine again. Anyway, I should probably still go now. When I left, my mother was trying to convince Larilla that our next child should be called Adeline Junior."

Yargol chuckled. “You better run.”

When he closed the door and turned around, Azerius stood directly in front of him. Yargol flinched and almost dropped the breastplate. “Uh, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“So, what symbol did you tell Lucian to paint on it?” Azerius asked and tried to glance at the armour part.

The wolf head and arrows had been replaced by a dark blue octagon with a blood-red, seven-pointed star in the centre.

Azerius seemed surprised. “Oh, that is… us, correct? Our magic?”

Yargol nodded insecurely. “My family failed and betrayed me. They don’t deserve my devotion, but you do. I want to found my own tribe. With you. If you want that, I mean.”

“Of course, I want that. That is so sweet, Yargol. I would love nothing more,” Azerius said and hugged Yargol. “I really love you.”

Warmth filled Yargol’s chest as he felt Azerius by his side. “There is something else I’ve been thinking about,” Yargol said and put the breastplate on the table beside him. He looked at the red star. “Being part of a tribe means you need a warpaint pattern. I have one in mind for you. Can I show you?”

“Absolutely,” Azerius said. “Uhm, what do I do?”

“Just take off your clothes, please,” Yargol said while he went to fetch the washing bowl as well as the box of paints from the drawer.

He turned around and found that Azerius was now butt naked.

“I’ll just paint your chest and face, but I guess that works too.”

“You did not specify,” Azerius defended himself and crossed his arms.

“I know, it’s alright. I don’t mind the view,” Yargol said while he sat down on the floor beside Azerius and crossed his legs. He grabbed the man’s hand and made him sit on his lap so they could face each other. His left hand supported Azerius’ lower back while his right pulled the bowl of water and box of paints closer.

Azerius steadied himself by wrapping his legs around Yargol’s waist. He looked nervously at Yargol.

“Relax,” Yargol murmured as he began to prepare the paint. “The only thing you have to do is hold still.”

Azerius nodded, and Yargol got to work. Carefully painting his vision onto the soft skin. Realising once again how undeniably beautiful every part of the human body was. And also, how fragile it could be, as his finger traced the scar across Azerius’ throat.

They sat in silence while Yargol concentrated on his task. He wanted to get this right, even if it took him a bit longer.

Azerius eventually appeared to feel more comfortable, only moving when Yargol tickled him while applying paint to the sides of his belly.

Once he was finished, Yargol leaned back a bit to look at his work in all its glory.

“Is it done?” Azerius asked, carefully looking down at himself.

“Yes, just like I imagined,” Yargol said. “It’s supposed to be our story. How we met. In a bit of an abstract form, of course,” he explained.

“I see it. It looks amazing,” Azerius said while inspecting his arms, but Yargol could hear concern hidden in his boyfriend’s voice.

“What’s wrong?”

“You also need something like this, right? I do not think I can do it on this level.”

“You don’t have to. Don’t worry about it,” Yargol said and kissed Azerius before the man could protest.

He slowly let his right hand slide up Azerius’ thigh and waited for a reaction. He did not need to wait long.

Azerius broke the kiss when Yargol’s hand reached his ass. “Is this still part of the… admission ceremony?”

“It is now,” Yargol said, smirking and provocatively squeezing the man’s butt.

“Remember, you should take it easy for a while. You still have injuries.”

“A few bruises. I’ve had worse,” Yargol dismissed and began kissing Azerius’ neck.

“And how many people do you plan to initiate into our tribe?” Azerius asked while he reluctantly allowed Yargol’s advances to continue.

“Depends,” Yargol crooned while shamelessly groping Azerius further.

“Depends on what?” Azerius probed and leaned against Yargol’s chest, now encouraging his partner.

“Your stance on group sex.”

Azerius immediately sat back up. “What?”

“I’m joking. It’ll just be the two of us,” Yargol quickly said.

“Oh, alright,” Azerius said with relief and put his head back on Yargol’s shoulder.

“And Riley, of course.”

“You are beginning to ruin the mood,” Azerius warned, but Yargol could not stop himself.

“Fine, I’ll stop rileying you up.”

“Yargol…” Azerius now whined, semi-annoyed.

“Okay, now I’m done.”

“Perfect,” Azerius said and reached into his robes, producing a familiar flask.

“Ah, I see you’ve bought more of the good stuff.”

“Indeed. Since it worked well and you used the whole bottle last time, I may have perhaps stocked up a dozen more,” Azerius said and handed over the bottle.

“Good, I have a feeling we’re gonna burn through that stash pretty quickly,” Yargol said and let a few drops of the strange, odourless, viscous liquid fall onto his finger before steadying his grip on Azerius.

He reached around and pulled the man closer. Sliding his hand down to his partner’s ass while pressing a soft kiss onto his lips. Carefully, he began to ease his lubed-up finger into Azerius, who was clinging to him.

Yargol soon pushed deeper and could not help but smile at the hitched breathing he caused. Still, he felt himself growing rather impatient by having Azerius pressed against him like that. The second finger followed soon, and Azerius let out a strained noise while Yargol opened him up. He curled his fingers slightly and felt Azerius shiver. He viewed the feeling of warm, sticky precum against his stomach as a reward for his efforts and sped up slightly.

Azerius tried to rub himself against Yargol’s body but was stopped when the orc tightened his grip again and pulled his fingers out.

“You want to finish already?” Yargol teased the flustered human.

“I do not think you can blame me after pushing me like that,” Azerius countered.

“You think that was me trying to push you?” Yargol said and smirked.

He briefly interrupted their embrace to fully undress himself and then moved Azerius closer again so the man was kneeling on his thighs before using plenty of the lube on himself as preparation. A small nod by Azerius was the signal for him to line himself up.

Azerius was holding onto Yargol’s neck as he lowered himself down, and Yargol let go, content with letting his boyfriend set the pace. Though the teasingly slow rate was quickly making him wish he could simply roll over and plough the human without mercy.

But he watched Azerius’ expression patiently, listened to his steady but strained breathing and marvelled at his painted body.

When Azerius had finally buried all of the orc inside of him, Yargol sighed. He leaned forward and embraced Azerius, who let out a small yell at the sudden movement.

“Sorry,” Yargol mumbled as he squeezed the human tight to his body, bathing in the warmth.

“No worries,” Azerius whispered back, but it was evident that he was at his limits.

Yargol held still, forcing himself to hold relatively still. The desire to be as close to Azerius as possible was almost overwhelming. The way he faintly felt the human’s heartbeat reminded him of the first time he had come into contact with Azerius’ magic. He considered the tempting idea forming in his head for a brief moment before he spoke.

“Can we try something?”

Azerius looked up. “Uh, I suppose?” he said, but there was a certain weariness to his voice.

“I want you to use your magic on me.”

“Really? For what reason?” Azerius wondered.

Yargol shrugged innocently. “I think it would feel nice.”

“I can try, but we have to be very careful.”

“Aren’t we always?” Yargol said and smiled.

“Alright then,” Azerius agreed, and just a few seconds later, a faint red glow of magic light began to silently stream around him.

Yargol let the foreign force run into his body unhindered and now noticed the difference to Riley’s approach earlier today. Azerius’ magic did not push him in any way. It went only where Yargol allowed its presence, and even then, it only lingered at the surface. Still, to have this strange bond with Azerius, to feel his pulse and share his arousal, was an intoxicating experience.

“More,” Yargol muttered, and Azerius obliged. He hummed as the magic sunk deeper into him like drops of ink into water.

Yargol could tell he had barely any control anymore but being exposed like this was no problem for him, not to Azerius. In no universe would this man hurt him.

Azerius seemed to enjoy himself as well now and soon explored Yargol with increasing confidence. When his boyfriend dared to push even deeper, the same brief but intense shockwave Yargol had experienced earlier today shot through him, and he jolted. The feeling sent him about as close to an orgasm as he could get. His head was spinning slightly, but to his surprise, Azerius chuckled.

“So that was the so-called ‘internal organ’ Riley was checking on today.”

“What?” Yargol asked befuddled while trying to regain his senses.

“Your prostate,” Azerius said, pushing his magic into Yargol’s loins again.

“Fuck,” Yargol exclaimed and closed his eyes while doing everything in his by now very limited power to control himself. Every slight movement Azerius made threatened to push him over the edge.

Azerius rubbed Yargol’s neck and began to slowly move his hips while keeping up the pressure inside of him.

“Wait, I can’t…” Yargol warned, but just as he was about to burst, something held him back.

“I have you,” Azerius whispered and gently pushed Yargol to lie down on his back. “Is it too much?”

Despite feeling completely overwhelmed, he shook his head.

Azerius smiled, and Yargol could only rest his hands on the man’s thighs and watch as the human started to ride him slowly. While he sensed a remnant of insecurity and embarrassment inside of his boyfriend during the first shy movements, these feelings quickly disappeared completely. After only a few seconds, a hoarse sound escaped Yargol’s throat, and he felt himself get close once again.

Azerius’ breathing indicated that he was already struggling as well. At this point, Yargol did not even try to hold back, but once again, he was denied. Compared to the previous times when they had sex, he could now tell exactly what Azerius was feeling. How much he enjoyed seeing Yargol like this, fighting for release against this positive kind of torture.

“Let me finish,” Yargol growled. He had intended to appear demanding but ended up sounding rather desperate, which admittedly he was.

“You are quite impatient today,” Azerius panted, leaning onto Yargol’s chest before slightly speeding up.

Yargol tried to buck his hips, but Azerius easily held him down.

“Azerius, please,” Yargol now begged.

“Soon,” Azerius breathed and leaned back, changing the angle and rhythm of his movements.

Yargol groaned as the pressure got even more intense.

Suddenly, Azerius breathed out heavily, digging his nails into Yargol’s thighs as the orgasm rolled through him. At least it seemed like an orgasm to Yargol. Only a small amount of clear liquid trickled from the human.

Meanwhile, the magic grip on Yargol tightened one last time, and finally, he felt the blockade disappear.

He held Azerius’ thighs tight as he was sent over the edge. His chest heaved while burst after burst filled Azerius, who was shaking slightly.

“Shit,” Yargol cursed, trying to catch his breath. This had felt unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He would be willing to do that all day until he passed out if he could.

Azerius slid off Yargol and lay down beside him.

“You came, right?” Yargol asked to make sure.

“If that was not an orgasm, then I do not know what is,” Azerius said and looked at him with a mixture of divine contentment and utter exhaustion.

Yargol’s eyes wandered over Azerius’ sweaty body. The pattern he had drawn was now unrecognisable.

Azerius followed his eyes. “Oh, sorry. I guess that is ruined.”

“What are you talking about? I caused that,” Yargol waved off and leaned over to kiss Azerius. “And I promise I’ll ruin you many more times in the future.”

“How… romantic,” Azerius said and leaned into the kiss for a moment before pulling away. “We cannot use magic every time, though. This was twice as tiring.”

“That’s fine. Let’s get you to bed then before you pass out.”

After cleaning up, Yargol dozed in bed with an exhausted Azerius snoring in his arms. He watched the heavy snowflakes peacefully falling outside the window. Just when he was about to fall asleep, a small noise coming from the balcony caught his attention.

Yargol grabbed the dagger from the nightstand and silently stepped out of bed without waking Azerius, sneaking along the wall towards the balcony. The faint crunching of fresh snow outside confirmed Yargol’s suspicion. Someone was out there.

He threw the door open, ready to kick the intruder back down onto the streets.

The heavy snowfall had already coated the roofs of the city in a thick, fluffy white coat. However, the view was not what caught Yargol’s attention.

A voice rumbled up from beneath his feet. Old as the stones he was standing on.

“Below.”

Chapter Text

Yargol was standing in the middle of his room, drenched in sweat. His chest heaved from exertion.

“Again,” Riley demanded. “Focus completely on your magic. Think about nothing else. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Yargol could feel Azerius’ eyes on him, but he had insisted on letting Riley train him without holding back. The image of the raven sitting on the balcony was stuck firmly inside his head since yesterday. When he had called Azerius to his side, the bird was gone. It had not even left any tracks in the snow. As if he had hallucinated it. But Yargol was sure he had not. The uncomfortable feeling of being watched refused to go away.

Lyra and Inian had agreed to come by soon so they could decide how to proceed. Inian was way too excited by the fact that he was no longer the only one hallucinating things. Yargol could not share the sentiment. Until they figured out a plan, he intended to use his time well.

The whole morning, he had tried to replicate what he had managed to do the night his family kidnapped him. Creating a duplicate of himself out of magic. But so far, he had failed. He was not even close.

Once again, he searched for his power, letting it rush through his veins unhindered. Only Riley’s magic reigned it in where necessary. A ghostly arm slowly began to branch off from his shoulder. When he moved on to the second one, he felt his strength waver already.

“Come on, keep going. You can do it,” Riley encouraged while the other magical limb started to manifest hesitantly.

Yargol was shaking, but he pushed himself further. A blue shimmer began to coat the rest of his skin, and burning pain sizzled over him. Yargol yelled out, the magical glow flickering briefly before starting to die down again.

Defiantly, Yargol gritted his teeth as he fought to keep his magic flowing. Sweat ran down his temples, and he screamed when the pain returned with twice the intensity.

“Yargol, stop! This is insane!” Azerius finally broke his silence and took a step towards him and Riley.

“Leave him. He’s almost got it,” Riley said as Yargol was about to pass out.

Azerius was just stepping closer to Yargol when icy fingers wrapped themselves around Yargol’s spine without warning. He gasped, shocked and confused at the intrusion, but just a moment later, something abruptly pulled on his back with great strength. There was more pain, this time as sharp and precise as a razor, and then silence.

***

When Yargol regained consciousness, he was lying in a vast darkness. He scrambled to his feet, looking around, confused and frightened by the abstract scenery around him. He was surrounded by what seemed like hundreds of vibrant star-like dots of light, mostly clustered together by colour. Some of them were connected through thin lines of light, floating like strings of cobwebs in a gentle breeze.

The ground beneath him was solid, but it still seemed like he was floating in this strange darkness. His body shimmered in a familiar blue.

Yargol was startled when he realised that two red dots were right behind him, a mere few metres away. Another white sphere was approaching as well. Before he could even begin an attempt to make sense of all of this, a voice reached out to him. It was too distant to understand words. Only the urgency it was trying to convey was clear.

It appeared to originate far below Yargol’s feet. From a small, isolated seven-coloured dot. He felt it reaching out to him with its light. Desperate, as if it was drowning in the dark void.

Yargol wanted to speak, but just as he opened his mouth, the lights around him disappeared.

***

Loud shouting greeted all four of Yargol’s ears when he woke up inside his bed while his magical duplicate appeared in the middle of the room, where he had last attempted to manifest it.

“Hey, I think he’s coming back,” Yargol heard Inian say, and the angry shouting stopped. He slowly opened his eyes.

Azerius, Riley, Lyra and Inian were looking down on him with varying stages of concern on their faces.

“Yargol? Can you hear me?” Azerius asked and gently shook his shoulder.

Yargol groaned and tried to sit up.

“See, I told you he’s fine. He just took a nap,” he heard Riley say confidently.

“A nap?! He was unconscious for well over ten minutes! I will strangle you, you reckless, irresponsible…” Azerius shouted and attempted to leap at the older wizard, but Inian managed to hold him back.

“Hey, hey, hey, calm down now.”

“Let me at him!” Azerius demanded but could do little against the soldier’s grip.

Azerius only calmed when he noticed Yargol’s duplicate.

“It worked,” Azerius flatly stated.

“Of course it did. I’m an amazing master. Will you ever stop doubting me?” Riley asked, frustrated, but Azerius ignored him.

“Are you hurt?” he asked Yargol’s real body while side-eying the spectral orc approaching from the side.

“No, just a little dizzy. I think.
It was dark, but there were lights and a voice, but I didn’t understand anything and…” Yargol tried to explain a bit incoherently, but Lyra stopped him by putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Calm down. Take a breath. Then tell us what you saw.”

Lyra sat down in the chair beside him as he tried to paint a slightly clearer picture of his experience. However, by the looks on everyone’s faces, he was not doing a very good job. Except for Inian, who looked more excited than ever, possibly due to the fact that he had spent the time inspecting Yargol’s duplicate instead of paying attention.

“I just realised, Yargol is the first guy who can be told to actually go fuck himself,” he said, beaming with joy at the realisation.

A collective annoyed groan went through the room.

“What? Please, we’re all thinking it,” Inian claimed and crossed his arms.

“Yeah, obviously, but we didn’t say it out loud,” Lyra pointed out.

“I am thinking about the fact that there is something in this city that wants to kill us all. Something that is apparently capable of knocking out Yargol and forcefully astral projecting him into another plane of existence,” Azerius argued.

“Killjoy as always,” Riley said, casually throwing the sentence towards Azerius like a child tossing a burning match at a pile of dry hay.

“So, what do we do?” Yargol quickly asked and grabbed Azerius’ hand. For a second, it looked like Azerius was about to explode anyway, but then he sighed and looked at Lyra, who thought for a moment and then said, “Alright, how about this? All the information we have points downward. And the Citadel has a large dungeon, so I say we check it out tonight. Inian knows where the guards patrol, so hopefully, we won’t run into anyone. It would still be nice to know what we are even looking for, so I’ll keep looking through the rest of the books we got from the library until it’s dark.”

“Should we help you?” Inian offered.

“No, I can do it. You’re all way too slow anyway, but you and Yargol can do your homework and read.”

Azerius raised an eyebrow. “Inian has homework?”

“Yes, I didn’t even know he could read at all until recently, but he came to me with a stack of books and asked for my help. I was shocked, I’m telling you. Positively flabbergasted.”

“Hey! Of course, I can read,” Inian pouted.

“Well, then, I’m sure you can help Yargol if he has any questions.”

“I will prepare a few things for our little excursion tonight,” Riley said with a little smile and left before Azerius could ask further questions.

Yargol got out of bed, letting his second ‘self’ disappear.

“Are you not exhausted from using so much magic? Maybe you should stay in bed,” Azerius suggested, worried, but Yargol shook his head. There was no way the thought of going down into a dungeon to look for whatever caused all of these strange visions would let him stay still. No matter how tired his muscles felt.

He picked up the biography he was still using to practice. It was a rather dull story describing the so far fairly unspectacular life of General Atesios. But he had now finally reached the point of the book where the supposedly spicy exchange of letters started. It turned out this so-called ‘subordinate’ Azerius had been talking about was actually the General’s slave, which seemed concerning.

“I thought humans didn’t own slaves,” he suddenly asked, earning him a few confused looks. He held up the book. “This General – the guy he exchanged letters with was his slave? That’s not a thing anymore, right?”

“No, slavery was abolished not long after Robert Atesios’ death. He actually had a big part in ending it,” Lyra explained.

Yargol frowned. “Even though he owned one?”

“If you read the letters, you’ll see that he loved him,” Azerius added.

Yargol grunted sceptically and began reading the first letter. It seemed to be a letter from the slave addressed to the General. He was immediately surprised by how explicit it was and was about to comment on it when he got to the end of it and spotted something else.

The letter was signed with the letter E, but the symbol beside it was what actually caught Yargol’s attention.

“Is something wrong?” Azerius asked when he noticed Yargol shifting.

“There,” Yargol simply said and handed the book to his boyfriend.

“The symbol!” Azerius gasped and immediately stood up.

Lyra already took the book out of Azerius’ hands again.

“Let me have a look,” she said and put her hand on the book. Faint white light immediately began to seep out of her hand and into the leather cover.

Only a few seconds passed before Lyra lifted her hand again. She looked at Azerius with a pale face.

“Azerius…” she said and swallowed.

“What? What is it? What did you find?”

“I… I can’t believe you jerked off to shit like that.”

Azerius stared at her. “You cannot be serious.”

“I absolutely am. We need to take a trip to the library. I’ll show you where the good stuff is.”

“Hey, I also want to know,” Inian whined.

“Fine, you can come too. Yargol too.”

“Lyra, we are all going to die soon!”

Lyra put the book back onto the table, unfazed by her friend’s outburst.

“Well, the symbol is at the end of every letter the slave wrote. I don’t know who ‘E’ exactly was, though. The names of slaves weren’t really considered important enough to keep track of, and most of the other records mentioning him were destroyed or lost at some point during the last three hundred years.”

Inian groaned. “So, you’re saying we have nothing.”

“Not exactly. Atesios died in Midvalley, and slaves are always buried with their master,” Lyra pointed out.

Azerius sat up straight. “Do you know where the grave is in the dungeon?”

“No, but we can look it up,” Lyra said excitedly and looked at Inian. “Get me the records from the library.”

“Yes, madam,” Inian saluted and quickly left.

As soon as he was gone, Lyra glanced at them while pulling out the maps of the dungeons again.

“Do any of you have an idea what might be going on with our soldier boy? I feel like he wants to spend every second of free time he has with me all of a sudden.”

Azerius hummed. “Mh, I have noticed it too.”

Yargol picked up his book again and pretended to be very engrossed in it.

“He doesn’t hit back anymore if I insult him. At first, I thought he was sick or something. Then he started reading books. Constantly wants to be around me when I do stuff. He’s either planning to assassinate me, or… he has a crush on me.”

“What? You two have known each other for ages. Why now?”

“No idea. I don’t think I’ve done anything that would make him want to kill me.”

***

After Inian returned with the records, Lyra located the tomb in no time. As they waited for the sun to go down and Riley to return, Yargol started to read again. Despite Lyra’s earlier reaction, he was beginning to see why Azerius had enjoyed the letters. He had no idea there were so many ways to describe male genitalia.

While the mood had been rather light-hearted until now, Yargol could feel the reality of the situation gradually settle onto the group. They would go down there and find out what was going on. And it would most likely be more than five random people could handle.

When the door finally swung open, Riley entered. No one said anything for a few moments. Everyone just stared at the middle-aged wizard who, now armed to the teeth, was struggling to hold a heavy crossbow as well as three swords, two shields, and an undisclosed number of knives.

“That is… a lot,” Azerius commented.

“Indeed,” Riley said and contently dropped his loot onto the table. “First come, first serve, but I’m taking the crossbow.”

“You could’ve said something. We would’ve helped to carry things,” Inian commented while already looking through the assortment of weapons.

“Well, originally, I only planned to buy the swords, but then I saw the crossbow and… you know.”

Azerius picked up one of the many knives. “When we first met you, you claimed that you were not a knife guy.”

Riley only shrugged. “Let’s call it character development.”

Lyra meanwhile picked one of the swords. “So, are we ready to mess up whatever is hiding in that musty dungeon?”

***

The large hallways of the Citadel had something eery during the night. The occasional dim spheres of magic light cast strange shadows as Yargol and his companions passed them. It turned out that getting to the entrance of the dungeon was a breeze, mainly due to Inian taking the lead, stopping the group every time they had to avoid a patrol.

As they reached the final corridor, Inian stopped them again. The soldier glanced around the corner and then turned back to the group, speaking the first words since they had left Yargol’s room.

“I think I just saw some people enter the dungeon,” he whispered.

“What? Did you see who it was?” Azerius whispered back.

Inian shook his head.

“Only one way to find out, I guess,” Riley said.

“Wait…” Azerius tried to stop the eager wizard, but the master was already around the corner. “This guy will get us all arrested or killed,” he sighed and followed.

Riley was kneeling before the door, poking his finger into the keyhole.

“What are you doing?” Inian asked.

“Opening the door”, Riley mumbled and kept concentrating.

“By sticking your finger in the keyhole?” Yargol inquired sceptically.

A click coming from the door’s lock answered his question.

Riley carefully pulled his finger out. A small, bony, branched structure protruded from its tip.

“I am not even going to ask why you can do that,” Azerius said, sounding disappointed.

“Good call,” Riley agreed, grinned, and pushed the door open, wanting to go through first.

Lyra quickly overtook him. “I should take the lead now since I memorised the layout.”

The dungeon looked a lot different from the rest of the Citadel. The walls were crude and ancient. Decades of neglect had taken a toll on them. Water was running down in some places, making the cobblestone ground partially slippery and the cold air damp and musty.

Yargol’s heart was beating hard, but Lyra’s unwavering confidence calmed him as she guided them through the dungeon.

When they reached yet another crossing, however, Riley suddenly turned left where Lyra turned right. Everyone stopped.

“We have to go that way,” Riley whispered over to them.

Lyra looked at him bewildered. “Did you forget that I’m the Epistomancer here? We don’t have time for this. Get your ass back over here, bone-key-finger-man.”

“I’m sure we have to go that way,” Riley insisted, and Yargol could tell that Azerius was once again getting ready to explode. However, he had to admit that even he was confused by the master’s behaviour this time.

“Then take your stupid crossbow and go that way if you think you remember the map better than Lyra,” Azerius hissed and nudged Lyra to continue.

Lyra, Inian and Azerius began to move again while Yargol hesitated.

“Why are you so sure we have to go that way?” he inquired.

“I’m not sure… I just… thought I remembered it from the map. Whatever, Lyra is probably right,” Riley conceded, though he did not sound convinced.

When they had caught up with the others, Yargol leaned closer to Azerius.

“We need to keep an eye on Riley,” he mumbled.

Yargol was pretty sure he would never forget the look Azerius gave him before he answered, “Yargol, if I had a third eye, I would still have it pointed at that lunatic in addition to my two actual eyes.”

Lyra shushed him and stopped them again.

“Guards,” she whispered after peaking around the next corner.

“Guards? Down here? How many?” Azerius asked.

Lyra peaked again. “Two. They’re guarding a door. But the tomb is supposed to be further down.”

“I thought you remembered the map so well,” Riley jibbed and began to unstrap the crossbow from his back. “I still think we should have gone the other way.”

“I’m starting to see why you dislike this guy, Azerius,” Lyra said with narrowed eyes.

“Yes, thank you,” Azerius mumbled, seemingly relieved to finally have a proper ally against Riley for once.

“What else could they be guarding down here?” Yargol wondered in an attempt to steer the conversation back towards a more productive topic.

Riley hoisted his large crossbow up. “Why don’t we just ask them nicely?”

“Put that thing down,” Azerius said as loud as he dared to. “We will not shoot at random guards.”

“Right, that would be too loud, and you could only hit one of them,” Lyra agreed as if that was the only concern Azerius had about Riley’s plan. She nodded at Inian. “You and Riley are the only two who could possibly have any business down here. Another guard and a master.”

Inian tilted his head, worried. “So, we walk up to them, and then what?”

“See if you can talk your way in or get them to leave. And if not, take them out, as quiet as possible, obviously,” Lyra explained.

“Alright, hold that,” Riley said and pushed the crossbow into Azerius’ hands, who immediately passed it to Yargol as if it were a rabid dog.

Before the two could walk around the corner, Azerius grabbed Riley by the sleeve of his robe.

“Do not kill them.”

Riley smiled. “I’ll try not to blow their heads off.”

Azerius did not get a chance to counter before Riley slipped around the corner after Inian, and he resorted to annoyed huffing.

Then, they listened intently.

Yargol could make out some of the words spoken but no full sentences. It did not seem to matter, though. The exchange was brief, and a subdued yelp told him all he needed to know.

He dared to peak and saw Riley and Inian carefully putting down the two soldiers’ limp bodies.

“They’re just unconscious,” Riley promised when Azerius, Lyra and Yargol approached.

Inian looked at the door. “That looks like a job for you as well.”

Riley knelt down before the keyhole again, but after several minutes, the only thing the man had achieved was to expand Yargol’s repertoire of human curse words.

“Something’s up with this door. Maybe magic is involved, but I can’t tell for sure. Perhaps we should just move on.”

“No, why? This could be relevant,” Yargol asked, even though he could already see the answer in Riley’s excited eyes.

“Now we use a different kind of key. Orcish brute force.”

“That will be extremely loud. And we have no idea what is in there or who is down here with us,” Azerius warned.

“Which is why we will move fast once we’re inside,” Riley said and took back his heavy crossbow from Yargol.

“I don’t know,” Inian said, sounding uncharacteristically nervous.

“Does anyone have a better idea?” Riley challenged.

After a few seconds of silence, Yargol sighed and positioned himself in front of the door. He took a deep breath and then charged.

The door opened almost simultaneously.

Yargol had to brake so hard that he stumbled and fell down. He scrambled to his knees. When he looked up, he stared into the piercing blue eyes of General Sephiran.

“Mr Yargol, what a… surprise,” she said with a voice as cold as ice and stepped aside.

A man walked out of the room behind her. Yargol did not know him, but he knew that he had seen him somewhere before. At least a much younger version of him.

The king had admittedly aged gracefully, looking like he was nearing the end of his sixties. He was tall and dressed in light, functional armour with a dark purple cape, had white hair cut short like a soldier and a face scarred by war.

He was followed by four guards in golden plate armour.

“Oh shit,” Inian whispered behind him. “I thought he was supposed to come next week.”

“You are in the presence of King Emmanuel the First,” Sephiran announced tensely.

If the situation had been bad so far, Yargol knew it was about to get a lot worse.

The king stared down at him with a cold glare. “A greenskin kneeling to me. Now I truly have seen everything,” he said, his voice lacking any humour.

So far, Yargol had been gawking at the king with his mouth slightly agape, but he quickly stood up and took a cautious stance.

“What are you all doing down here?” the General now demanded to know.

Lyra stepped forward, but the king cut her off before she could even start to speak.

“It is rather obvious, is it not? They are saboteurs. Lead by the orc, how else could it be,” he stepped closer to Yargol. “You were probably sent here just for this, right? To deny me my destiny and bring me down. Rile up the elves against me. Fracture my kingdom so your kind can come to plunder, rape and murder again like all those years ago.”

Yargol shook his head. “That’s not true. I-”

“Liar! Traitors, the whole bunch of you! I will put you all to the sword for this!”

“My king!” General Sephiran yelled nervously.

“What?!” King Emmanuel hissed at her.

“We need Mr Yargol. He will have to be filled in eventually.”

Yargol had had enough of this. “Filled in about what? What kind of fucked up stuff are you doing down here?”

The king stared at the General furiously for a few seconds before making a frustrated sound. “Bring them to my chambers,” he huffed and went to leave.

Yargol hesitantly followed when the king’s personal guard escorted them back to the surface. Though not before they disarmed everyone. Riley briefly looked like he was willing to fight for his new crossbow but ended up handing it over after getting a look from Azerius.

They were led to the king’s spacious quarters situated in one of the larger north towers.

The General closed the door and turned to look at the king for instructions.

King Emmanuel looked out the window near the balcony door with his back turned towards everyone else and only gave a small gesture to signal the General to go on.

General Sephiran took a breath before she spoke. “What I am about to tell you cannot, under any circumstances, leave this room. Speaking about it to anyone else will result in your death.”

The General waited until the room’s silence was drawn out long enough to imply the group’s consent to those terms.

“The king is cursed.”

“What?” Azerius and Lyra said in unison.

Lyra shook her head. “What do you mean cursed? By what? Curses aren’t a thing.”

“They absolutely are. But the nature and source of it is none of your concern. What matters is that we are close to lifting it.”

“With the Soulshard?” Azerius added, and the General nodded.

“And with one member of every magic branch. Hence why we need Mr Yargol. The room you attempted to break into will be used for the procedure.”

All eyes were now on Yargol, and he shook his head. “No, whatever you’re doing, it’ll go wrong. And we’ll all die because of it. You can’t go through with it.”

The king had been silent so far, but he turned around after Yargol spoke.

“And what makes you say that, orc? Can you see the future?”

“No, but there are omens of death. Ravens. We tried to warn you.”

The king shook his head. “Omens. Of course, an orc would rely on omens.”

“So, you’ll just ignore all those signs?”

“No, I did listen to your warnings, and I have been taking precautions. I also extended the time we are taking to prepare for the ritual,” Sephiran assured, calming no one’s nerves.

Yargol glanced at Azerius, who seemed equally unconvinced.

The General sighed. “Listen, once we’re done preparing, I’ll give you the details about the procedure. You will see that it is safe.”

“Fine,” Yargol said, mainly because he wanted to get out of this conversation and especially away from the old king’s angry glare.

“Good, leave now. Guards too. I want to be alone with the General.”

The king’s four personal guards bowed silently and marched out of the room. Yargol and his friends followed, but when the door closed behind them, Yargol grabbed Riley by the arm.

The older wizard looked at him, and Yargol could see in the man’s eyes that they had the same idea.

As they stepped away from the room, Yargol clenched his teeth as the ghost-like duplicate split off from him. The others looked at him surprised but thankfully kept their mouth shut as they walked around the corner into the next hallway, where Yargol leaned against the wall and tried to relax.

Yargol’s duplicate, meanwhile, carefully stepped closer to the king’s quarters again. He put his ear against the door and listened.

He heard liquid getting poured into glasses and someone sitting down in a chair with an exhausted sigh.

“So, all in all, how far behind schedule are we?” the king asked, his voice stifled through the wooden door.

“Only a few days. We are lucky that Mr Freecaster survived and that the orc decided to bring him here with the artefact. I do not want to imagine what damage the shard could have done in someone else’s hands.”

“I looked over the list of people you sent on that mission. All highly capable wizards. Fighting off a few bandits should have been no issue.”

Now, it was the General who sighed. “No, it should not have been.”

“So, could you determine what went wrong?”

Something heavy and metallic was put onto a table. “The men who attacked were common, but their armour was not. It seems to be made of a strange material. When enough of it is in one place, it is capable of suppressing magic in a small area.”

“How is this possible? Who could develop something like this?”

“So far, I am afraid I cannot answer either of those questions. But we have narrowed the suspects down to a handful of people.”

“It has to be someone with a considerable amount of wealth and influence.”

“I promise you we will find out who was behind this before they can do more damage.”

“Good,” the king said and was silent for a few moments before he spoke again. “Down in the dungeons, the orc tried to protect the younger wizard.”

The General hesitated before answering the implied question. “Yes, he and Mr Freecaster seem to share an… intimate relationship.”

King Emmanuel cursed under his breath. “You should have shut that down immediately.”

“While it does seem strange to me, the relationship appears to be beneficial to the Eighth’s development. So, I decided not to intervene.”

“I don’t give a shit how well he develops. Do you have any idea how many ‘concerned letters’ I receive on a daily basis? For heaven’s sake, you let the orc get away with practically anything. I heard an elven soldier was even attacked and almost killed by another group of orcs. What happened there?”

“Ah… yes, there was an incident involving Mr Yargol’s family.”

“So, a group of orcs crossed the northern border and assaulted an elf. What did you do about that?” King Emmanuel asked.

“I sent them away.”

The silence that followed was poisonous.

“That is all?”

“I did not want to escalate the situation. It would have only cost more lives and caused conflict with the Eighth. I did not see the point in killing them.”

King Emmanuel groaned. “You should have demonstrated strength. Now, the elves think we are not willing to protect them, and the orcs will go back and spread the word about just how weak and soft our military is. They may even launch raids now.”

“…actually, about that,” Sephiran started. “According to the Eighth, the war chiefs are already making plans.”

The king was clearly seething. “You can’t let them get away with things like that. Leaving the border so weak…”

“And why is the border so weak? Now that the rebellion in the south is dealt with, how many soldiers can I expect to receive so I can bolster the patrols?”

The king hesitated. “One hundred.”

“One hundred?! I am supposed to protect the entire northern border with just one hundred additional men?” Sephiran yelled.

“Don’t raise your voice at me like that. Be glad I’m giving you any at all! It’s not like this region is vital! The Citadel is too strong to fall, and a few raids won’t be the end of the realm! You should be doing better with the massive resources you already have!” the king shouted back. “Just throw the elves a bone. Punish the orc or make some small concession. It’s not hard to appease that arrogant bunch, for fuck’s sake.”

“Forgive me, my king. Of course, I know. Thank you,” Sephiran immediately apologised.

There was another long pause, and Yargol heard more liquid being poured into a glass.

“I’m tired, Zelaria. I just barely managed to crush the bastard Lords in the south, and now I come here only to find another region on the brink of upheaval. There are also farms burning in the west, you know, but most of those farmers have Lords and Ladies in the capital. At this point, the queen can barely hold things together for me. Not a week passes where I don’t learn about a new plot forming against me. I’m running out of time.”

“I have disappointed you. I understand that. The ritual will be ready soon. I promise.”

“Excellent,” the king concluded.

Yargol let his duplicate disappear once he heard someone get up.

He had been relaying what he had heard to the group, and while they were hurrying away, Yargol noticed that Azerius was smiling. “I knew something was off. My magic should have worked when the caravan got attacked. It was not my fault.”

“That armour is huge news. I’m surprised they were able to keep it secret. I call bullshit on that curse. Inian, come with me. You’ll help me collect the books for my research.” Lyra said and already dragged Inian away. “We’ll meet up at your place later, Yargol.”

Yargol waved them goodbye and continued to walk back to his room with Azerius. All the new information was rushing through his head. He could tell that he should probably sit down for a while after fully duplicating for so long, but he was too agitated.

“How much of what we heard today do you think is true?”

“No idea. I would have to see some proof with my own eyes. We will go down there again if necessary.”

They turned around another corner and ran into an elven wizard who seemed to be in the process of moving into one of the rooms. Yargol did not recognise the man, but judging by the foreign-looking, elaborate robes, he guessed the wizard was part of the king’s men.

Azerius had stopped beside him and stared at the man in shock.

“What’s wrong?” Yargol asked and narrowed his eyes at the middle-aged man who had spotted them and approached with a smile. His round face and small glasses made him look about as non-threatening as an elf could appear. But Azerius’ reaction threw Yargol off.

“Mr Freecaster,” the elf greeted in a friendly voice.

Azerius opened his mouth but failed to respond.

“Sorry, who are you?” Yargol asked in hopes of getting an explanation for his boyfriend’s behaviour.

“Oh, you must be the Eighth. I’ve heard a lot about you. Forgive me for not introducing myself. I’m Master Tauron. I was Mr Freecaster’s first teacher.”

It took Yargol a moment to understand who stood before him. He looked back at Azerius. At the jagged scar that stretched over his throat. He imagined how the blood must have been gushing out of that wound while the master stood above Azerius and laughed. All because of some spilt ink.

“It’s an honour to meet you,” Master Tauron said and held his hand out towards Yargol. “You know, Azerius was one of my best students.”

That about did it for Yargol.

He felt a sting shoot through his knuckles as his fist connected with the elf’s face.

The man shrieked as he fell, and Yargol was on top of him before he had the chance to cast a spell.

“I know what you did to him,” Yargol growled as he stared down at the elf’s bloodied face.

“Yargol, stop!” Azerius’ voice cut through his rage-filled thoughts.

Yargol let go, but the elf made no attempt to fight back and only whimpered.

“I’m sorry, I just… I got so angry, and-” he tried to explain but stopped when he saw the men standing behind Azerius.

Commander Venlen looked like he was about to burst into flames out of pure fury. “Get away from the elf! Right now!”

“I-” Yargol started, but the Commander silenced him.

“Not one word! You’re under arrest! Turn around!”

Unsure about what to do, Yargol complied. He looked at Azerius, who was still staring down at his former teacher, who had curled up into a ball and cried silently as two guards attempted to drag him away from Yargol.

“Take Mr Freecaster to the king and report the situation to him. I’ll take care of the orc,” Commander Venlen ordered while he bound Yargol’s hands together. Yargol could have easily resisted, but he was too afraid of making the situation even worse.

“I will… I will explain it to the king, Yargol! Do not worry!” Azerius yelled after him just as Yargol was led around a corner.

Commander Venlen shook his head. “Good luck with that.”

“Listen, you don’t understand,” Yargol said, but Venlen was busy giving orders to several guards. The commands were elvish, but each soldier hurried off urgently in a different direction.

When they reached the dungeon, Yargol started to feel panic rise up from his stomach.

“I thought the dungeon wasn’t in use?”

“I’m improvising. Move,” Venlen ordered, his voice tense and impatient.

They did not lead him far into the bowels of the Citadel, but the cell he was directed towards did not look like the others. It looked renovated, prepared even.

Yargol stopped several metres before the open door.

He heard the soldiers behind him readying their weapons.

“Get in. There is no need for further violence,” Venlen said, and Yargol risked a look behind him to assess his chances.

Several bows were pointed at him. At least four. Plus, three elves with swords and the Commander. Too many. He slowly turned around.

“What’s going on here?” he tried to stall.

“You will be kept here until the king decides how to proceed. I don’t have anything against you, Mr Yargol. Just doing my job. Please don’t make it any more difficult than it already is.”

Yargol looked at Venlen, and the elf’s eyes almost pleaded with him.

“Please, you’ll get a trial where you can explain yourself. No one will hurt you or Mr Freecaster, I promise.”

Yargol felt his paranoia finally fade. He already messed up severely. Fighting now would just make it impossible for Azerius to defend him.

Hesitantly, he stepped into the dark, empty cell. The floor was slippery, and the air smelled of something Yargol did not recognise. The metal door was closed behind him with a heavy bang that had an uncomfortable finality to it.

The viewing slot was pulled open by the Commander, letting a measly amount of light into the cell.

“Thank you, Mr Yargol. This will make things easier.”

Yargol could make out an additional five elven guards hurrying around the corner towards them.

Only when he saw their armour did Yargol realise what was going on. He looked at Commander Venlen.

“You?” he breathed.

Venlen ignored his question. “I advise you against attempting to break out. Your cell is laced with flammable oil. My men can light it from the outside,” the elf informed him and turned to leave.

“I do intend to keep my promise. No harm will come to you or your human lover. If you comply.”

“Why?” Yargol finally asked, even though it felt stupid and pointless.

“My people stood on death’s doorstep once, Mr Yargol, but I won’t let it happen again. And we can’t rely on humans any longer. We have to fight for our own and no one else.”

Chapter Text

After the Commander was gone, Yargol was left in the dark with an indescribable feeling in his stomach. The fumes from the slick, oil-covered ground made it hard for him to breathe and think.

The men outside the cell ignored both his furious demands and desperate pleas.

Yargol guessed that he could probably break through the door with his magic, but there was no way he would be fast enough if the guards could set the cell on fire in seconds.

He paced around the small room, cursing as his mind conjured up unhelpful images of what was happening outside.

If the king and the General really had no idea about Commander Venlen’s betrayal, they would be completely blindsided. And Azerius would likely get caught in the crossfire.

He pictured the elven troops bursting into the king’s quarters and butchering everyone. Azerius would undoubtedly try to defend himself, but if the strange armour sets truly blocked all magic, he was practically helpless.

Yargol was about to spiral completely when a voice from outside the cell made him stop and listen.

“What are you doing down here, wizard? Leave immediately,” one of the elven soldiers demanded.

Yargol pressed his ear against the wooden door to better hear what was happening.

“Oh my, I seem to have gotten myself completely lost. So sorry. Could you tell me where the exit is?” Riley feigned an apology, his voice making Yargol’s heart jump.

“Stay back. I said stay back!” the guard yelled.

“Shit, he’s got a knife!” another elf managed to shout before the scene outside erupted into noisy and apparently violent chaos.

Yargol heard metal colliding, blades piercing flesh and screams of pain. Then, something slammed into the door with a thud, followed by silence.

“Riley?!” Yargol yelled.

Keys rustled, and before long, the door opened, revealing a heavily breathing Riley, who tried to look upbeat despite the amount of blood that covered him.

“Fuck, are you hurt?” Yargol asked and stepped outside the cell, almost stumbling over the lifeless body of one of the four elven guards.

“No, I think I handled myself pretty well,” Riley joked while trying to catch his breath, but Yargol could tell that the man sounded more than a little shaken. “Who knew fighting with a knife was so easy? I didn’t even really have to think about it.”

Yargol stared down at the dead elves. They all wore armour and had swords. All Riley had was a measly knife. Yet, their throats had clearly been slashed with precision.

“Thanks for the rescue,” Yargol said absently, still slightly staggered by the bloodbath before him.

“No problem, just… don’t tell Azerius about this. I’ll never hear the end of it. There’s fighting all over the Citadel, and my magic isn’t doing what it’s supposed to. Any idea what is going on exactly? Is this it? Are we too late about the whole apocalypse thing?”

“Not sure. But I know that the Commander was the one who ordered the attack on the caravan. Their armour blocks magic. I’m guessing they want to overthrow the king and get the Soulshard.”

“Any idea where the others are?”

“Azerius is with the king,” Yargol said since that was the only thing occupying his mind right now.

“Let’s get your boy then. Here, I have a feeling you’ll need this.” Riley said, now with his usual confidence, as he handed Yargol the ritual knife he had used to test Yargol’s magic in their first lesson.

Yargol frowned. “Did you get this from my room?”

“Yes, I went there first when I heard people fighting. When I didn’t find you, I took it and came here. Do you want the origin story for all the knives I carry, or can we go now?”

“Fine, let’s go,” Yargol said, quickly tied the knife to his belt and went to leave.

To his confusion, Riley started off in the opposite direction. He stopped and looked back at the man, bewildered.

“I know a shorter route to the king’s quarters,” Riley claimed and pointed down the hallway.

“Seriously? No experiments this time,” Yargol pleaded.

“Please, Yargol, trust me. Lyra isn’t the only one who can remember maps. We’ll be there in half the time. I promise.”

Yargol stared at the older wizard and finally sighed, irritated, before he followed the master. “If we get lost, and Azerius gets hurt because of it…”

“We won’t. I know what I’m doing.”

***

Yargol ran after Riley through the increasingly dark and decayed tunnels beneath the Citadel. With every passing minute, he doubted his decision to follow the wizard more. But he kept quiet.

The air seemed to get thicker and older, but Riley hurried around the corners with absolute confidence. So Yargol kept running until Riley abruptly stopped around yet another corner.

When Yargol followed him, he quickly saw the reason. A dead end.

“I thought… this was supposed to be… I don’t understand,” Riley stammered, shaking his head.

“What the fuck! Where are we, Riley?!” Yargol blurted out.

“You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be,” a raspy male voice answered his question.

Yargol felt every hair on his body stand on end as he stared down the hallway at a heavy, old door with carved runes that seemed oddly familiar.

“What the hell?” Riley whispered beside him and took a few steps back.

“Who’s there?” Yargol asked and quietly wished he sounded a bit more confident.

“Do you really need to ask? Weren’t you looking for me mere hours ago?” the unsettling voice crept towards them along the cold stone walls.

“You’re the slave who wrote letters to that one general?” Riley asked in astonishment and turned to Yargol. “Then that’s probably the guy who’ll kill everyone,” he said, drawing his knife and readying his magic. “Let’s fuck him up!”

The stranger laughed at that. His sandpaper-smooth voice echoed through the empty dungeon.

“Yes, I’m Ezhar. But there is no reason to fight me. On the contrary, we’re currently allies and have been for a while now. Even if you weren’t exactly aware of it. Besides, do you really think you’d stand a chance against the founder of your own so-called ‘branch’?”

That seemed to throw even Riley off. “What? Ezhar Orovius?”

“I thought that guy died like three hundred years ago,” Yargol asked Riley but got his answer from the stranger.

“I’m sure that’s what was sold as the truth to passing generations in their books. Just like they told the truth about what orcs are like, right?”

Yargol remembered the first time he saw the seventh marble statue in the Citadel’s great hall. The sharp teeth and horns. Five arms sprouting from the ancient wizard’s torso. But most of all, the piercing bird-like eyes. The thought of someone like this lurking in the room down the hallway made Yargol’s hands sweat.

“You need to let me out now,” the voice stated as if it was obvious.

Riley let out a brief, humourless laugh. “So you can rip everyone apart? You’re lying. How would you have survived three hundred years locked up down here?”

“I discovered many things throughout my life. Immortality is just one of them. Magic is so much more powerful than you think. You just have to know how to reach for it. You saw it, Yargol, didn’t you? I showed you. Magic isn’t a tree with branches. It’s a network. Changing. Fluctuating. It’s how I managed to reach you all in the first place.”

Riley shook his head. “Yeah, you’re definitely crazy.”

“I don’t have time for this! Azerius could be dead by now! Riley, let’s get out of this fucking cellar now! We’ll deal with this later!” Yargol cursed at the master beside him.

“Your lover is safe, for now. Held hostage by the elven leader, together with the king. But I promise you, he and many others will perish before sunrise if you don’t listen to me now.”

“What?! What will happen? No more vague omens!” Yargol demanded to know.

“The king’s planned ritual. It’s the source of the omens. I can stop it, but you have to free me.”

“Why me?” Yargol asked wearily.

“The room I’m in is locked with the seven known kinds of magic. But when the seal was created, your magic couldn’t be factored in. Only you can break it with the knife I gave you.”

Yargol looked at the ritualistic knife on his belt.

Riley seemed just as confused. “My grandfather’s knife?”

“Your grandfather never gave it to you. I just made you think he did so you would carry it to Yargol.”

“No, no, I would have known. Manipulating thoughts like that… without a trace. It’s impossible.”

“It is absolutely possible, though admittedly, the procedure is complex. In my current state, I can only guide you. Do you really think you could have taken on four armed guards all by yourself? I’m aware of how strange this may seem, but I promise I only interfered where necessary.”

“What else did you do?” Yargol asked and suddenly had a horrifying thought. “Did you make Azerius fall in love with me?”

“Fortunately, the two of you didn’t need much help. I merely foiled a few attempts on your life and made that one elf rescue you from your family. I even bothered to save the idiot’s life so you wouldn’t immediately get lynched upon returning.”

Yargol could feel the doubts about everything he thought he knew creeping into his mind, but he was still unconvinced. “If you’re not the reason for the omens, why are you locked up down here?”

“When I discovered my magic, it went rather differently than what you’ve experienced so far. It was even more rapid. Painful and sometimes violent. It enabled me to have many unprecedented breakthroughs in quick succession. However, these discoveries weren’t mine. They belonged to my owner. And while Robert treated me like any other person and would have let me do with my knowledge and abilities as I pleased, he was bound by his duty to the king. And the king wanted me to share my gifts only with him. When I made it clear that I wouldn’t cooperate, he tricked me, dragged me down here and tried to force my cooperation. I resisted, so they tried to kill me. When that failed too, they made me fall unconscious. I don’t know if Robert ever believed the lies about my death, but he obviously never found me.”

“Did we wake you, since you’re not unconscious anymore?” Yargol probed further.

“No, Sephiran did. About seventy years ago. She’s a remarkably skilled but equally cruel witch. With the help of several Psychomancers, she twisted my vulnerable mind before waking me. I believed the only ones to blame for my situation were orcs. I wanted revenge, and she gladly provided an army for me to slaughter. By the time I realised that I was just being used by yet another king to win a war, I had killed thousands.”

“...you killed thousands?” Yargol breathed, shocked.

“As I said, I was manipulated. I harbour no thoughts of revenge anymore. My only wish is to survive and be free again. That is the truth.”

Yargol swallowed and took the dagger off his belt. “If I let you out, will you help us save Azerius? Will you make sure we all get out of this city safely?”

Riley looked at him, disturbed. “You don’t believe any of this bullshit, do you?”

Yargol did not give an answer, mainly because he did not have one. He simply waited for the stranger to respond.

Chains silently rattled, and when the voice spoke again, Yargol could practically feel its desperation even through the door and hallway that separated them.

“Yargol, if you free me I promise you you’ll survive and never have to fear anyone again. Not your family, not elves or strangers on the street. No one will hurt you or the ones you love. I swear, all I want, all I’ve been living for the last three hundred years, is to be free again. A chance to bring the man I love back from the dead. I mean no harm to anyone.”

“Hold on. You can bring people back to life?” Riley intervened.

“Not yet, but I’ll find a way. I always do.”

Yargol remained silent. He gripped the dagger tightly as he tried to make a quick decision and realised just how desperately he wished Azerius was here.

Riley put his hand on Yargol’s upper arm. “Yargol, whoever is locked up in there. Even if really is the Seventh, and even if half of what we heard is true, you can’t risk it. We can free Azerius without him. Let’s leave. Please.”

Yargol looked at the frightened wizard and decided that going through with this would be insanity if not even Riley wanted to risk it.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” he said, putting the knife away while slowly backing up.

A few seconds of silence passed before the voice spoke again. Contrary to Yargol’s expectations, it did not sound particularly angry.

“Perhaps you don’t understand the seriousness of the situation, Yargol. Hundreds will perish if you turn your back now.” The voice practically slithered across the floor and into Yargol’s ears.

He knew freeing Azerius alone would be dangerous. Perhaps even impossible. If Azerius died because he had refused to take the risk, he would never forgive himself. Riley might think that the two of them could fight their way through the building and out of the city, but he knew that was ridiculous. They needed help.

“Yargol! Let’s go! He’s trying to do it again!” Riley’s voice tore Yargol out of his thoughts.

Yargol was now standing in front of the door at the end of the hallway, close enough to hear breathing from the other side. The ancient knife was still in his hand, its blade coated with a faint blue shimmer.

Without a word, Yargol turned on his heel and ran.

The angry and frustrated voice of the stranger chased them through the hallways.

“Others will pay with their lives for your decision, Yargol! But you will come back to me eventually! You’ll see!”

***

Yargol had no idea how, but they somehow exited the dungeon. Whether it took them minutes or hours, he could not tell. They had several close encounters with elven soldiers but managed to escape unseen.

By now, the air burned in his lungs. He leaned against the wall beside Riley while trying to calm himself a bit.

“Don’t you hate it? You forget to check the basement for a couple of centuries, and suddenly, there are all sorts of eldritch horrors down there,” the other wizard breathed and offered Yargol a weak smile.

Yargol just shook his head. “At least we got out. We need to keep going before he finds another way to get into our heads.”

“Right, this way. I’m sure this time,” Riley agreed.

Yargol and Riley rushed down the hallways, which were already in chaos. They passed several bodies. Soldiers and wizards. Elves and humans. The violence seemed to spare no one. Yargol considered stopping to see whether he could help some of them, but he kept going, scared that every additional second he wasted could be Azerius’ last.

They reached the stairs towards the king’s room, where fighting could be heard in the distance.

Riley groaned at the sight of the many steps and coughed, out of breath again from running. “Your boyfriend better be nicer to me after I helped you pull him out of this mess.”

“I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t make any promises,” Yargol offered while already climbing the first few steps.

Ten elven soldiers blocked their way when they arrived at the top. Only the moon’s weak twilight lit the hallway the elves were standing in since their strange grey armour seemed to have extinguished the magic spheres of light which usually illuminated the halls.

Instead of words, an arrow greeted Yargol moments later, caught only by his magical hand before he could even register the danger.

“Shit, I thought the orc was supposed to be locked up?” one of the soldiers cursed.

Yargol raised his hands in an attempt to calm the situation.

“There’s no need to fight. Just let me-”

Another arrow narrowly zipped past his head.

Yargol ducked and quickly pulled Riley back around the corner with him.

“I feel like diplomacy won’t work here,” Riley said while attempting to cast a spell, which failed almost immediately.

Yargol frowned. “Why does my magic work and yours doesn’t?”

“Yours probably didn’t exist yet when they developed the armour,” Riley said and pulled out a knife. “I’ll help you as best I can.”

Yargol drew the ritualistic dagger but handed it to Riley. “I’ll try talking first.”

“Are you sure?” Riley asked, but Yargol was already around the corner.

He approached the group of elves slowly with his hands raised.

“I’m unarmed. No one needs to get hurt. I-”

“Don’t listen to a word from the beast. It doesn’t need steel to murder,” an elf further back immediately warned. With lowered spears, three soldiers blocking the hallway’s width cautiously began to advance on Yargol.

“Agree to your arrest, and we may be merciful.”

“I just want to make sure Azerius is alright. That’s all,” Yargol promised while the elves got closer.

“No wrong moves,” one of the three warned and prodded Yargol’s chest with his spear. The metal had barely touched Yargol’s armour when his magical arm automatically manifested again.

It hit the spear to push it away from Yargol, but the excessive force easily broke the weapon. The wood at the tip of the elf’s spear splintered, sending the sharp metal tip straight into the neck of one of his colleagues.

The soldier stumbled backwards from the impact and clutched his throat before he made a strange gurgling sound and fell.

“Oh, fuck,” Yargol mumbled as he stared at the dying elf on the ground.

“Kill it!” a voice shrieked from the back.

The soldier to Yargol’s right dropped his broken weapon and drew a sword while the other remaining elf tried to stab at Yargol’s stomach with his spear.

He dodged and caught it around the wooden part below the tip, this time with his real hand, and easily disarmed his opponent. Before the elf could regain his footing, he stepped forward, grabbed the man by his helmet and slammed him against the wall.

Yargol felt something break, though whether it was the metal of the helmet or something else, he did not know.

His magic blocked the strike of a sword directed at his back, and he spun around, his fist coated in a shimmering blue as it smashed into the midsection of the third elf.

The odd metal bent under the force, sending the soldier to the ground, where he remained motionless.

Yargol turned his attention towards the rest of the elves, who seemed uncertain now.

“Please, just leave! This is unnecessary!” he yelled as he approached.

Almost immediately, two arrows flew towards him. While his spectral hands managed to catch both of them, he lacked another one to block a third. Yargol barely felt the impact when it hit his shoulder, adrenalin and shock covering the pain for the moment.

Seeing the elves already nock more arrows, Yargol finally charged.

Another hail of arrows flew towards him before he could reach the group of soldiers. Two were caught again. One barely missed his head, while another struck the side of his stomach. This time, no amount of adrenalin could conceal the searing hot lightning that shot through his body as he stumbled and almost fell.

Still, he reached the elves before they had a chance to shoot again.

Two soldiers stepped forward and tried to halt Yargol’s charge. He focused on the elf to his left while his consciousness split in half, as a full duplicate of himself branched off to parry the one on the right.

When he made contact, the thin guardsmen stood no chance. Yargol took out his enemy through the heavy collision alone, but the impact still halted him. The duplicate, on the other hand, completely overran its opponent and managed to catch one of the archers off guard, smashing the man against the wall beside the door.

Yargol was now facing two of the four remaining elven soldiers while the other two still stood behind him. Before the limp body of the archer had even hit the floor, all of them moved to attack.

The ghostly mirror image of Yargol disappeared and reappeared in order to block the two elven swords coming from the front.

One elf made the misguided decision to jump onto Yargol’s back, sending him stumbling forward and causing the fourth elf to miss with his rapier, merely grazing at the hardened leather of Yargol’s armour.

The cold blade of a dagger briefly flashed in the moonlight, but Yargol quickly used the momentum he had gained unwillingly from stumbling and threw his back against the wall. A squeal and the sound of a knife clattering to the ground were enough for Yargol to turn his attention to his remaining three foes.

He was swaying slightly. His body was beginning to feel heavy from all the physical and magical exertion. When he saw the three soldiers readying themselves to strike simultaneously he was just starting to doubt his ability to go on as Riley stabbed one of them in the throat.

Yargol had not noticed the wizard’s approach, nor had the elves, but he certainly would not waste the opening.

When the two unstabbed elves turned their head for just a second to register their colleagues’ demise, Yargol lunged forward and landed a strike on one of them. The impact took the soldier out clean, and they hit the floor with a finalising thud.

The last one retreated until he had his back to the door.

Yargol meanwhile fell onto one knee and allowed himself a few painful breaths to steady himself.

“Thanks,” he mumbled towards Riley, who was approaching him.

“Don’t worry about it. Not the first guy I stabbed today, after all,” Riley said and pointed his blood-smeared knife at the last elf. “Just fuck off, dude! It’s over.”

But the soldier steadied himself instead.

Yargol groaned as he forced his body to get up.

“Careful, Yargol, maybe we should retreat so I can have a look at that,” Riley said, looking at the two arrows sticking out of Yargol.

“No. Azerius,” Yargol muttered and stumbled forward.

The elf swung around, trying to immediately punish Yargol’s uneven step.

Yargol was slow, but not too slow. He caught the blade with a short, painful burst of magic and grabbed the defiant soldier’s sword arm.

The stranger yelped as he was disarmed and tried to hit back, resulting in a brief struggle that ended when Riley joined in, knocking the guy down and sending his helmet clattering over the floor as they pinned him down.

Draennor stared up at them, hateful and defiant. Gone was the humbled elf Yargol had seen last time.

Riley expressed what Yargol was thinking. “You bastard!”

“What’s wrong? You didn’t have a problem killing all the others. Go on,” Draennor taunted.

“You promised…” Yargol said, tightening his grip.

“I heard what your people are planning. I knew it! And I won’t stand by,” Draennor spat at him.

“I’ve heard enough.” Riley silenced the man by hitting him on the head with the hilt of his dagger. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

With Riley’s help, Yargol got up. The door was locked, so he gathered whatever was left of his strength and kicked it open.

The door hit the floor with a loud crack, and Yargol entered a room which was in just as much chaos as the hallway he had just fought in. Several members of the king’s honour guard lay dead amidst broken furniture. The king himself, bound and gagged, sat on the side of the room, leaning against a bookshelf.

In front of the large wooden table at the end of the room before the exit to the balcony stood Commander Venlen. The elf had drawn his sword, appearing nervous and startled by the sudden intrusion.

“Yargol!” Azerius gasped. The young wizard stood beside the Commander with his hands tied but seemingly unharmed.

Yargol decided that he would not hesitate or fall for any tricks. As he moved forward, the elf raised his sword above Azerius. But in the elf’s eyes, Yargol could see doubt.

With a loud crash, he tore Venlen to the ground and easily immobilised the man.

“No! Mr Yargol, be reasonable! We are both-”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Yargol barked and twisted the sword out of the elf’s hand.

“We were so close to freedom! All you had to do was stay in the cell! You’ll be the death of my people!” Venlen wailed and tried to push Yargol off.

“If I hear another word from you, I’ll make sure you never talk again,” Yargol threatened and kept holding the struggling elf down.

Riley hurried after him into the room, quickly freeing Azerius and King Emmanuel.

Azerius immediately hurried over to Yargol’s side. “Yargol, you are bleeding!”

“Getting used to it,” Yargol dismissed, though he was beginning to feel woozy.

Heavy steps approached Yargol from behind, and he turned his head to look up at the king, whose expression was unreadable. “Move, orc.”

Yargol silently did so while Riley joined Azerius in inspecting the arrows, which were still lodged into his side and shoulder.

“I stand by my actions,” Venlen said as the king knelt over him.

“Why?” the king asked, his voice trembling with anger as he spoke. “Decades of meticulous diplomatic work by our forefathers. Amadee’s legacy. Our alliance. Undone. Just like that. And for what?”

“What alliance? We never had an alliance. Not really. Your kind imposed their conditions onto us and refused any reforms. Kept us out of power and dependent on you. And now that you’re supposed to defend us, you turn your back. Letting orcs infiltrate the realm and trample over us unhindered. We won’t stand for it. I won’t stand for it.”

The king shook his head. “That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard,” the king cursed and hit the elf beneath him in the face. “The. Dumbest. Shit. I! Have! Ever! Heard!” he yelled, landing a strike with every word.

Yargol watched, still shocked from stress and violence, when Azerius suddenly touched the arrow stuck inside his shoulder. He almost howled from the sudden pain.

“Sorry,” Azerius quickly apologized. “We need to get further away from the cursed armour sets in the hallway to pull the arrows out and heal you.”

“Right, come,” Riley said and offered Yargol a hand to get up.

“You three are going nowhere,” the king growled, turning his attention to them while still holding the bleeding elf down.

Before Yargol could respond, the sound of soldiers approaching caused everyone to look at the door.

“Shit,” Riley cursed and grabbed a sword from one of the dead soldiers on the ground.

Yargol somehow managed to get back up again with Azerius by his side to support him.

The soldiers that stormed into the room were not elven, however. General Sephiran’s entrance finally put Yargol’s mind at least somewhat at ease.

“I’m uninjured,” the king quickly dismissed the General before she could speak. He pointed at Yargol. “The orc isn’t leaving, but make sure he doesn’t die.” Upon his order his soldiers proceeded to flank Yargol, shoving Azerius and Riley away.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Azerius protested.

“Following my orders,” one of the men said, annoyed, and began inspecting Yargol’s injuries.

The king, meanwhile, turned back to General Sephiran. “What’s the situation?”

“From what I’ve gathered so far, we have held control over most of the Citadel. The attacks were concentrated mostly on Your Majesty and the vault in the dungeon, which was broken into.”

Commander Venlen, still lying beaten and now tied up on the ground, tried to prop himself up and laughed hoarsely. “With the Soulshard in our hands, my failure won’t matter. You won’t be able to stop us.”

The king glanced at the elf with a mixture of pity and disgust before he turned back to the General. “I assume they fell for the decoy?”

“Yes, the real shard is in a safe place,” General Sephiran confirmed.

Venlen only stared at her blankly before slowly sinking back to the ground.

“What’s wrong, Commander? Disappointed in your own usurping abilities?” the king sneered without a hint of humour in his voice as he approached the elf again.

Venlen stared back defiantly. “I won’t speak another word until my trial.”

“Trial?” the king suddenly roared and seized the man by his collar. “You want a trial after what you did today?”

“I have the right to one,” Venlen insisted, sounding hopeful rather than confident.

“Certainly, then a trial you shall get. Actually, I’ll skip right to the verdict,” King Emmanuel hissed and dragged the beaten elf through the room. “For the crime of high treason, I, King Emmanuel the first…”

“Wait, please, you can’t-” Venlen squeaked as the king pushed open the door to the balcony.

“…sentence you, Venlen Kellam, to death,” King Emmanuel announced before throwing Venlen over the snow-covered railing.

Venlen screamed as he fell. Until the frozen cobblestone of Midvalley’s streets silenced him.

Yargol gripped Azerius’ hand when the king stepped back inside. Nobody dared to make a noise.

King Emmanuel took a deep breath and rubbed his face before speaking to Sephiran again.

“We can’t wait any longer. We’re doing the ritual. And we’re doing it now.”

Chapter Text

“Hell no! You can keep your fucking ritual!” Riley yelled, immediately drawing the attention of the whole room onto him.

A soldier took the liberty of silencing the master with a quick punch to the face, followed by another hit to the stomach.

Riley groaned and sank to his knees. Two more guards seized him before he could try anything else, so he resorted to staring defiantly at the king, who seemed rather unimpressed.

“Don’t test me, wizard, unless you want to join the Commander outside,” King Emmanuel warned and turned back to the General. “Make everything ready and bring them down to the chamber.”

“Yes, my king,” Sephiran nodded, signalling the guards to leave.

Meanwhile, the soldier inspecting Yargol’s wounds had successfully removed the arrow from his side and mostly stopped the bleeding. Though he had been anything but gentle about it.

Yargol felt the draining weight of his magic’s afterburn in his muscles, and the blood loss made him even weaker. He held on to Azerius’ hand while he tried to endure the thumping pain in his side and shoulder.

“We could have done that better with magic,” Azerius complained as he glared at the messy medical aid the soldier had provided.

“Shut up and be glad someone’s bothering at all,” the soldier grumbled back and pulled the other arrow out of Yargol’s shoulder with one tug.

“Fuck!” Yargol cursed and writhed in pain while the soldier tried to bandage the bleeding wound.

However, when the General stepped closer, the would-be medic immediately stopped his so-called ‘treatment’.

“Durable, your kind, I’ll give you that,” Sephiran complimented cooly. “I suggest you follow us now without making a fuss.”

Yargol glowered at her but did not move, and neither did Azerius.

“There is no curse, am I right? What is this ritual really about?”

Sephiran ignored Azerius and instead looked at Yargol with a mixture of disgust and pity. “Let’s make this clear. Since you are the only member of your branch, we need you alive, Mr Yargol, but the same can’t be said for your… friend,” she said while two more soldiers shoved Azerius away and forced Yargol back to his feet.

“Stay away from Azerius. If you do this ritual, we’ll all die, you included.”

That shook the General less than Yargol had hoped. “What do you know about magic, orc? King Emmanuel is the only man who can hold this realm together. For him, I will risk everything if I must. Even my own life, and so will you.”

***

The march back down to the dungeon felt like an eternity to Yargol. His hands were now tied behind his back with rope. This would likely not have been much of an obstacle if he had been at full strength. But right now, he was more stumbling than walking down the endless stairs of the Citadel.

Azerius and Riley were led a small distance in front of him, escorted by several guards. Azerius sometimes shot him a scared look that made Yargol feel sick. He wanted to tell him that it would be alright. That they would find a way out of this. But in truth, he was just as frightened and clueless about what to do. They were in over their heads with this.

Fighting seemed to be the only option, but they were hopelessly outmatched, and Yargol did not know how much he could stretch the little strength he had left or how far the inhibiting aura of the elven armour reached. Without magic, they were just an injured orc and two defenceless humans against a dozen soldiers.

The king and the General marched behind them, ready to give orders should anyone try anything. By now, several other wizards had joined them. Yargol recognised most of them from the council. Each of them was an experienced master of their discipline.

They eventually reached the dreaded dungeon and its rotten walls. The soldiers brought them to the room in front of which Yargol and his friends had first met the king not long ago.

It was empty, but its floor, walls and arched ceiling were painted with strange lines and symbols in eight different colours. The lines converged into a circle in the centre of the room, around which the council’s wizards began to gather.

Yargol saw Riley trying to break through the ropes that bound him when the king walked by, but the soldiers had made sure to leave no wiggle room.

Yargol was led to the circle of council members in the middle of the room, with Azerius taking the place to his left while the king positioned himself in the centre.

General Sephiran joined him, together with a guard who carried a carved wooden stick and a certain box which looked all too familiar to Yargol.

“Stop this! Whatever this is! Please!” Yargol yelled but was ignored.

Sephiran opened the small box and placed it on the floor between herself and the king. She grabbed the wooden stick from the soldier and dismissed him.

Yargol’s heart was racing. He tried to reach for his magic. Anything to stop this at the last moment. But he could not concentrate, his head spinning from panic and pain, and only managed to produce a faint glimmer of blue from his skin. And so, he watched as the General reached into the box with the tip of the stick.

When she slowly pulled it back up, the Soulshard floated at the end of it like the tip of a magical spear. The flickering light of the torches in the room bent and broke around its unpolished and jagged edges, giving it a faint, strange corona of colourful light.

Yargol had only seen the artefact once so far, but he still clearly remembered the feeling. Its power immediately flooded the now-dead silent room.

Sephiran pointed the shard at the king’s chest, who looked at her with determined eyes.

“Thank you, Zelaria, for your many years of loyal service. I won’t forget it,” he promised, the sincerity in his voice making him sound almost like a different person.

Sephiran nodded, her stern face showing no fear or doubt, as usual. “You are the only person in this world worthy of magic. Take our knowledge and our power. Put it to good use,” she said before reaffirming her grip on the stick and taking a deep breath. “Long live the king,” she finally said, shoving the Soulshard into the king’s heart.

The king’s scream was quickly swallowed by a wave of silence erupting from the shard.

Yargol watched, horrified, as the artefact’s energy flooded into Emmanuel, setting his veins ablaze with pure magic. The General dropped the staff and stepped back as strands of light burst from the king’s chest, bending and latching onto Azerius and Yargol, as well as all the other wizards standing in the circle with them. They pierced Yargol’s skin like barbed needles and pulled him to his knees.

Just as Yargol tried to get up and fight back, a pulse of magic radiated outwards from the shard. It forced him back down and then travelled further, beyond the walls of the chamber.

For a brief moment, Yargol saw the network which connected all wizards. Thousands of little dots flickered as the shard’s power travelled across the strands of light linking them. Another pulse followed, and then another. Each firmer than the last.

Yargol tried desperately to think of a way out, something he could do to stop this, but every shock of magic disrupted his mind as much as his body. Frozen in fear and stunned by the intensity of all of this, he struggled helplessly.

Until he saw Azerius collapsing beside him.

Yargol stared at the lifeless body of the young man. Blood trickled from his nose onto the ground. Desperately, he gathered whatever magic he could muster through his clouded consciousness and mentally stemmed himself against the ritual’s shockwaves. His muscles strained, and he could feel the wound on his side opening again, but he kept going. His duplicate slowly peeled itself from him, wavering with every onslaught of energy that washed over it. Yargol was unarmed, but that would matter little once he had his hands around the king’s throat. Every step he took was more brutal than the last, and he felt every fibre in his body strain to keep going.

The pattern of shockwaves radiating from the Soulshard changed without warning. Instead of pushing outwards, the shard now pulled at Yargol’s magic. His clone stumbled forward and fell only a few steps away from Emmanuel. Just a moment ago, he had felt like he was climbing a mountain to topple the king. Now, it seemed more like he was drawn towards the gaping maw of a monster sustained by magic. He could feel it leeching at him, pulling away his magic through the strings of light buried in his skin.

The abrupt change broke what little focus Yargol had been able to muster, and his duplicate quickly dissipated.

King Emmanuel turned towards the General. His mouth was forming words, but they were drowned out by the rush of blood in Yargol’s ears and the sizzling tension of stolen magic flowing around him.

The white network of all collective Epistomancers now flared up, stretching across the kingdom and beyond. Its brightness kept increasing with every shock until it seemed to be overloaded with energy. Several of the white dots of the giant network glimmered and flashed in distress before the whole branch collapsed into itself. Like a riptide of pure white light, the magic streamed through Sephiran and into the king’s chest.

Sephiran had her mouth and eyes wide open, silently screaming until the last bit of white light left her body. Then she went limp and dropped to the floor like an empty husk.

Emmanuel took a few seconds to recover from this. Then, with a heaving chest, he turned his attention to the next wizard kneeling beside Sephiran’s corpse. The direction of the shards’ greedy absorption of energy immediately shifted towards the man, who seemed significantly less willing to die than the General. Not that this seemed to matter now.

Yargol attempted once more to get up but was forced back down by another pull from the shard. He closed his eyes in desperation and began to surrender to his exhaustion. He almost missed the sound of metal clattering over old stone.

The ritual dagger’s blade glittered in the spectacle of light around them.

Yargol looked to the side and spotted Riley on the ground near a wall. He knew what the man’s eyes were saying. He could take the dagger, or they would all die. If it had only been about him, Yargol would have considered it. But it was not.

He turned his head to face Azerius lying on the ground beside him, pale and dying. Yargol wanted him to live more than anything he had ever wanted in his life. And suddenly, that was the only thing that seemed to matter. He reached for the knife, but at this point, his physical body refused any orders. So, he called for his magic again, and when it refused to materialise voluntarily, he forced it. His body wailed, capillaries bursting and heart straining, hammering against his chest as the copy tore itself from him.

Yargol perceived little of what happened next. How his duplicate stumbled down the hallway. He could tell it was too much. For his body and his mind. But he kept going.

His clone flickered when the king began to absorb the second branch. Yargol put everything he had left into this. He felt Ezhar’s presence. Eagerly, it guided him through until he reached the sealed door. With a last, desperate leap, Yargol slammed the ritual dagger into the wood.

A tiny bit of his magic seeped through the blade and into the door, sizzling silently as it dissolved a seal intended to contain what was inside for an eternity and more.

“Thank you,” was the last coarse whisper Yargol’s duplicate heard as it was lying on the ground, fading away just as the door’s hinges creaked.

***

Yargol was gasping for air on the ground, clinging to consciousness.

The king was nearly done destroying the second branch when the door to the room flew open. Out of the darkness came something that made Yargol’s eyes widen in fear.

Five arms unfolded spider-like when a tall, naked figure, thin as a skeleton, walked through the door. Dry skin stretched over Ezhar Orovius’ face, and sunken cheeks and thin lips showed rows of brittle but sharp teeth. His The bird-like eyes stared at King Emmanuel like a starving hawk that had spotted a mouse on a barren field.

The king’s ritual seized immediately as if Ezhar had commanded it to end upon his entrance.

Yargol’s head was spinning from the sudden relief. As if a boulder had been lifted off his chest. Still, even though it was a strange, lightweight feeling, he could not move, but neither did he feel any pain. His heart no longer hammered violently against his ribs. He took shallow breaths as he numbly watched torn strings of residual magic float through the air above him.

“What?” King Emmanuel gasped, staring at Ezhar in shock, clutching his chest, where a blood-red spot formed and spread around the Soulshard. “You died. No, you died. I-” he mumbled and fell to his knees.

The ancient wizard remained silent as he began to walk across the room towards its centre.

A single wizard in purple robes managed to stand up not far from Yargol’s place in the ritual circle. His right arm glowed with hastily built-up magic, pointing at the intruder.

Ezhar did neither stop nor bother to take his eyes off the king, merely making a small gesture with one of his hands.

The spell of the purple-robed wizard immediately misfired, bright light breaching the man’s veins in a short but gruesome detonation.

Warm blood splattered onto Yargol’s legs, but he barely reacted to what was happening around him. Ancient wizards and kings, all of that seemed so far away. He only managed to turn his head just enough to see Azerius out of the corner of his eye. Still lying on the ground, unmoving. All Yargol wanted to know was if he had been too slow. If he was alive or dead. But he could not tell.

Ezhar had reached the dying king and roughly seized the man’s head with one hand while grabbing the Soulshard with another. The artefact sizzled as the raw magic tried and failed to destroy Ezhar’s body.

“No, wait. You don’t understand. I have to live. This kingdom needs me,” Emmanuel whimpered, trying desperately to push Ezhar away.

“No one ever needed the likes of you. Greet Sephiran for me when you get to hell,” Ezhar said, ripping the Soulshard out of the king’s chest.

Emmanuel’s body went limp and unceremoniously dropped to the ground.

Yargol wished he could scream at Ezhar. That he owed Yargol for freeing him. That he had to save them now in return. But he had no air for the words and no strength left to form them. He was cold and wished he could hold Azerius right now. Feel his familiar warmth and soothing touch.

Ezhar was busy inspecting the Soulshard, turning the glittering splinter in his hand with fascination. And then he vanished. Without a word or even looking around. Leaving behind a brief purple afterimage of himself, which disappeared as quickly as the last of Yargol’s hopes.

Yargol was now lying in a quiet room with the smell of blood and magic swirling in the air. He thought about the night he had found Azerius. How nice the man’s family and friends had been to him. He remembered the sad look in his own mother’s eyes as she left and the cheeky smile of his little sister.

Darkness was beginning to join the cold around Yargol, gently swallowing up his memories and erasing his last worry.

***

Ezhar materialised on a barren, snow-covered field not far from Midvalley.

The sensory shock was immediate and harsh. The orange light of the first sunrise he was allowed to see in decades burned in his eyes like hellfire. An ice-cold breeze chilled him to his bones, and snowflakes bit into his skin. It should have all felt horrible, but to Ezhar, it did not. Not at all. For the first time in ages, he truly felt alive.

He knelt down, overwhelmed, as he inhaled the clear winter air. Filled his lungs to the brim and used the next breath for something he had not done in a long time. Ezhar screamed. As loud and long as he could. His voice was broken, but he released every bit of tension, doubt and anger that had built up inside him over so many years.

But it had all been worth it in the end. He was free. No more darkness. No more agonising hunger and thirst. No cruel kings and no chaffing chains. Nothing to hold him back. And no one to hold him down.

He needed several more minutes until he had calmed himself enough. He opened his palm. The Soulshard was lying in his hand so innocently. It was as if it wanted to pretend it did not have the power to tear the world apart. Which was ridiculous. Everyone who laid eyes on it immediately knew that it did.

Ezhar closed his fist again and felt the crystal’s rough edges dig into his thin skin. This was his chance. Now, he would get his justice and set things right. He would bring back the man he loved. No matter the cost.

But when he stood up, he could not help but turn and look back at Midvalley. To him, this was no city. It was a prison with hideous towers and pretentious mansions. A dark and low feeling gathered in his stomach. He wanted to raze it. Pulverise every single brick until nothing was left.

It was a fleeting feeling. One that had once caused him to lose everything. And Ezhar had promised himself that he would bury his anger in the dungeon and leave it behind. That he would not look back. Still, something prevented him from turning away and moving on. A small, irritating voice in the back of his head reminded him that there was unpaid debt. He could already hear Robert’s judgment. His lover had always been too selfless.

Ezhar sighed, defeated, and disappeared.

***

Distant voices mumbled in the dark. They were unintelligible, but their sound had something alluring. They grew louder and slowly pushed away the numbing vail.

Yargol’s eyes fluttered open. His vision was a blurry mess, but he could tell that someone was leaning over him.

He let out a choked sound as dull, agonising pain spread through his body. His head felt like it was bursting, and it was hard for him to breathe. He was disoriented and had no idea what was happening or where he was. Panicked, he tried to move, but something was pressing down firmly on his chest. As his vision cleared, he finally saw who stood over him.

“We’re even,” Ezhar stated, taking his hand off Yargol’s chest. He vanished again before Yargol could say a word.

Stunned and confused, Yargol kept lying on the cold floor, trying his best to get his thoughts in order.

Then, he abruptly sat up – which he immediately regretted when his head started spinning. Despite this, he began to look around, his eyes hectically scanning the room until they found red robes.

“Azerius?” Yargol asked and began to crawl over to the man. Yargol anxiously pressed his ear against the unconscious man’s chest. He almost cried when he heard a heartbeat.

“Hey, wake up. Please?” Yargol asked with a hoarse voice.

Azerius groaned, strained. “Did we die?”

“No, but we need to get out of here now,” Yargol whispered as he heard some of the other wizards regain consciousness as well. Against the protest of every cell in his body, Yargol forced himself to his knees. He spotted Riley using a wall near the door to get back to his feet.

“Good?” was all Yargol managed to ask before his dry throat forced him to cough.

Riley offered a not very convincing thumbs up. “About twenty years too old for this. Otherwise, fantastic.”

Yargol gently shook Azerius by his shoulder. “Can you get up?”

Azerius nodded and clung to him as they slowly managed to rise to their feet together.

Riley waved them over to the door. “C’mon, after today, I never wanna see this fucking dungeon again.”

The three wizards hobbled down the hallways together, occasionally taking short breaks to catch their breath until they reached the exit.

“We need to find Lyra and Inian. Then we go to the gates and hope my family made it out already,” Azerius said with surprising calmness. “If they are not there, I will-”

“Then we’ll go pick them up. We get it. Let’s go,” Riley interrupted and opened the door before Azerius could say anything stupid or make ten hypothetical contingency plans.

When they dragged themselves along the Citadel’s walls as quietly as possible, they walked past fallen soldiers and dead wizards alike. But Yargol noticed that most of the dead wizards wore white robes and lacked any external wounds. He remembered the lights of the white network going out, and the pit he felt in his stomach became more noticeable with every dead body they saw.

If Azerius was noticing this as well, he did not let on. He looked forward, stern-faced and concentrating on getting out of here.

There seemed to have been less fighting in this part of the Citadel. The few wizards they met on the way paid them little attention. Everyone seemed to share the sentiment that it was time to leave.

Azerius guided them to the hallway with Lyra’s room, where they ran into Inian.

He gasped when he saw the trio approach. “Oh fuck, I thought you guys were dead for sure.”

“Thank you for the confidence,” Azerius mumbled but smiled. “I am glad you are alright as well.”

When Azerius attempted to open the door, he found it unlocked.

The room they walked into was stacked with books, and the air was filled with the smell of ink and parchment.

Lyra was sitting at a small desk. If Yargol had not known what had happened in the dungeon, he would have guessed that she was sleeping. Her head was lying on an opened book, silvery hair sprawled out over the table.

“Lyra?!” Azerius and Inian yelled, rushing to the young woman’s side.

Lyra did not wake, even when they dragged her off the chair and to the ground.

Yargol knelt beside her. His heart sank when he touched her cold skin.

“She’s not breathing!” Inian yelled and looked up, terrified.

“No pulse either,” Azerius breathed.

Riley pushed himself in between Inian and Yargol. “Out of the way. Let me do this.” The older wizard put one hand over Lyra’s heart and the other on her throat. “Azerius, you help me.”

“Understood,” Azerius said and nodded.

A faint, red light began to emit from Riley’s hands, flowing gently over pale elven skin and into delicate veins.

“What should I do?” Yargol asked, looking helplessly at Lyra.

“Watch the door with Inian,” Riley said while keeping his focus on Lyra.

Inian did not react. He was staring at Lyra’s face in shock with his mouth slightly open.

“Inian. Door,” Riley said, more forceful this time, startling the young soldier, who quickly got up.

Yargol watched, fascinated, as Riley worked. Calm and focused, seemingly unshaken by all the events of the last hours. The light of his hands sometimes pulsed softly, and soon, Yargol saw Lyra’s chest gently rise and fall again.

“Lyra? Can you hear me?” Azerius asked, but the woman remained unconscious.

Inian immediately left his post at the door. “Is she back?”

Neither Riley nor Azerius said anything. Their expressions were strained as they focused on their magic, but Yargol saw Riley’s light flickering in irritation.

Yargol was barely paying attention to the hallway outside. As the minutes passed, his eyes fell on an open book on Lyra’s table that he recognised. The dictionary he had been working on with Lyra had only a few empty pages left.

Lyra still did not move. Yargol could tell that both wizards were starting to reach their limit. And they still had to find Azerius’ family. He was so lost in his worried plans that he almost missed it when Riley took his hands off Lyra.

Even Azerius looked up, confused at the other wizard. “Why did you stop? Her heart was beating. We need to keep trying.”

Riley’s face was as neutral as his voice when he spoke. “No,” he said and began to stand up. “Without our magic, her heart just stops again. Her body isn’t injured. There is nothing we can do.”

Everyone was staring at Riley now, processing his words.

“What do you mean her body isn’t injured? You said her heart isn’t beating!” Inian protested, confused, looking at Azerius and Yargol for support.

For the first time since Yargol had known him, Riley seemed at a loss for words.

Azerius got up as well, shaking with a mixture of exhaustion and rising anger. “So, you are giving up? Just like that?”

“We still need to get out of the city, and some of us can barely walk. It’ll get worse the longer we wait,” Riley explained, but Azerius shook his head.

“No! You kneel back down with me right now and bring her back! There must be something stupidly dangerous you can do to save her! Anything!” Azerius demanded, his voice cracking.

Riley looked away for a moment and shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Azerius…” Yargol said as he barely managed to grab the man’s arm before he could throw himself at the redhead.

“And you call yourself a master?! I knew from the very beginning that you were a fraud! I bet you cheated on every test you took, you stupid, useless piece of garbage!” Azerius yelled while he struggled against Yargol’s grip.

Riley ignored the insults and joined a confused-looking Inian at the door.

Yargol carefully tried to draw Azerius closer to him, but the man shoved his hand away and knelt back down beside Lyra.

“I’m going to think of something. I just need to think.” Azerius mumbled while he put his shaking hands on Lyra’s body again.

Yargol knelt behind Azerius and slid his arms around the young man. “Azerius, we need to find your family. Please, come with us.”

Azerius shook his head and wiped his face with the sleeve of his robe.

Inian’s eyes were still fixed on his friend lying on the ground. “She isn’t actually dead, right? Not permanently?”

Riley pressed his lips together for a moment before he spoke again. “Do you know the fastest and safest way out of the city?”

Inian seemed to think for a moment. “Uhm, there probably won’t be many soldiers manning the city walls right now. I have access, and we could reach the gates that way.”

“Good,” Riley said and opened the door.

“Wait, what about Lyra? We can’t just leave her here.” Inian protested, panicked.

“We can’t drag her with us. Come now, please,” Riley pleaded. Exhaustion was starting to weigh down his voice.

“I’ll carry her,” Inian quickly said, but Riley held him back.

“We don’t know what or who we’ll run into on our way out. You’re probably the only one of us who can still fight.”

Yargol slowly pulled Azerius’ hands away from Lyra. “We’ll find a way to bring her back. I promise you we will, but not now.” He hated making a promise he had no idea how to keep, but at that moment, it seemed necessary to him. He just wanted to get Azerius out and far away from here.

To Yargol’s relief, Azerius did not fight or argue. But the man’s defeated state was worrying in a different way.

Before they left, Yargol grabbed the dictionary off the table and gave Lyra one last look before leaving the room.

Inian did not move. His eyes lingered on Lyra. He was startled when Yargol grabbed his upper arm.

He could see the hurt and disbelief beginning to pool in the soldier’s eyes. “I won’t leave her.”

“We’ll come back and fix this. But for that, we need to be alive. We need you to get out, Inian. Please.”

Inian looked back at Lyra’s body. “We’ll come back…” he mumbled.

Whether he said it to himself or Lyra, Yargol did not know.

Finally, Inian turned away, silently taking the lead as they set out to leave the city.

***

The entry hall to the Citadel was in chaos. Spells of all kinds had torn through the thousands of mosaic tiles on the floor, making the tree they used to depict nearly unrecognisable. Bodies of wizards and soldiers, rebels and loyalists alike, were lying dead among the rubble, ignored by their panicked colleagues who hurried past them. They were all leaving, just like Yargol and his friends, who were hiding in the shadow of one of the large marble statues on the side of the hall.

“We won’t leave through the main exit, but we need to cross the hall. Be quick, don’t stop, and don’t draw too much attention,” Inian informed them before walking out of their cover.

Yargol hurried after the man, making sure Azerius was by his side at all times as he shot nervous glances around. But the people around him were too occupied with themselves to notice or care about them.

“Azerius!” someone shouted across the hall, causing Yargol to freeze.

Adeline was marching against the steady stream of people fleeing, looking incredibly annoyed by the situation around her.

“Azerius! See, this is why I didn’t want you boys to move to the city. The people here are all mad.”

“Where is Lucian?” Azerius asked, ignoring his mother’s ranting.

“I dropped them off at the gates before I came here. I hope you’ve packed your stuff and are ready to leave,” Adeline explained and frowned as her eyes scanned their group. “Aren’t we missing one? The elven girl you always run around with, what’s her name?”

Azerius opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“Lyra. She didn’t make it,” Riley answered instead, barely covering up the impatience in his voice.

Adeline seemed genuinely taken aback. “Oh, that’s a pity.”

“Can we keep moving now, please?” Riley said, motioning towards the door on the other side of the hall where Inian was already waiting.

The hallways they followed Inian through were smaller and darker than the usually more pompous and wide areas of the Citadel. It almost felt like being in the dungeons again. But the next door Inian opened led outside.

Yargol had never been so glad to see the sky. It was filled with the peaceful early light of the day, but the air reeked of fire and destruction. The full extent of it only became visible when Inian took them up onto the city’s walls. The king might have had things under control inside the Citadel, but outside, the city watch was fighting battles in the streets and alleys. Particularly in the elven district right outside the Citadel. The wind carried unintelligible screams and the smell of fire up to them.

Inian stopped. “Oh…”

“Inian, come. No stopping now,” Yargol urged and focused on moving forward. He tried not to think about the chaos below. Or the fact that he briefly died, or Lyra’s lifeless body. Or that he set free an ancient wizard who now possessed a source of unimaginable power. It was all too much right now.

“All the ravens are dead… I can’t see a single one alive.”

Yargol was not listening. Out. He wanted out of this horrible place. And take Azerius with him. Back into the woods where no one could find them. No elves, or orcs, or humans. Where they would be safe from all of this. From the world.

The gates stood open, its guard posts abandoned. Lucian waited for them with his wife Larilla, who was carrying a crying Jason.

On cue, he felt Adeline’s hand on his shoulder. “Right, boys, let’s go home.”

But as Yargol took one last look back at Midvalley, he decided that what he had said to Azerius was no desperate lie. That he would not accept Lyra’s death. At least not so easily. He remembered Ezhar rambling about bringing back his lover when they met him in the dungeon. If Ezhar thought it was possible to bring back someone who died three hundred years ago, then there was hope. They would find a way.

And with this thought, Yargol turned his back on Midvalley and took Azerius’ hand.