Grothar was slipping. Jack could feel it in his body—limp, heavy, like a mountain cracking under its own weight.
"Brother… don't you dare close your eyes now. We didn't survive hell just to die like this," jack whispered, his voice already fraying at the edges.
But Grothar didn't respond. His jaw trembled, and his mouth moved like he wanted to speak—but the pain had already stolen his voice. Jack could feel his heat against him. Fever. Grothar body was burning like molten rock.
And just when the night felt hopeless… a flicker of firelight in the trees. Singing. Laughter. Life.
Jack didn't think—he spurred the horse toward it. But as they moved, Grothar coughed violently, spraying blood down his chest.
"Shit—" jack yanked the reins. "Hold on, dammit. I can't lose you too."
Jack slid off the horse, heart hammering, and held his head. Grothar skin was boiling. Tears stung Jack's eyes, but jack didn't wipe them. He had no hands free. Jack needed Grothar, his brother, to live more than him needed to breathe.
So he walked—dragging the horse by its reins, steadying Grothar's limp body with his other arm. Every step stabbed into his ribs. He could barely breathe. His lungs felt like they'd been crushed by the fall during their escape, but jack didn't stop. He couldn't.
"Come on, body. Not now… not yet," jack muttered through clenched teeth.
Every muscle screamed. Jack's vision blurred. But the singing grew louder, the flames brighter. His knees nearly gave in, but he kept walking. For Grothar.
Grothar stirred weakly. "Jack… leave me. I'm done."
Jack stopped and breath and say out loud.
"It's you or no one," jack coughs, and didn't say another word. He couldn't. His chest burned too much. But he kept going.
The trees broke.
Celebration. People dancing around a roaring fire(bonfire). Music,laughter , life
Jack took one step forward—and everything turned black. And Grothar remained motionless on horse
---
A voice swam through the darkness. Deep. Echoing.
Wake up, Jack... Wake up the flame has only begun to rise! Wake up...
The voice echoed like a dragon's roar across his soul before the silence returned
Jack gasped awake, his heart pounding. His chest was bandaged, his ribs aching. He was in a dim room filled with strange herbs and glowing potions. Alchemy. He touched his chest and found his father's pendant still hanging there. The North Star symbol gleamed faintly. Home. But what the hell was home now?
And that dragon's voice… Was it a dream?
A knock snapped him out of it.
"Come in…" jack croaked.
The door opened—and she walked in.
Dark, straight hair cascading over her shoulders. A loose black shirt that clung in the right places without trying. Her hips swayed without meaning to. She was beautiful, in the kind of way that made pain blur for a moment.
She smiled. "Oh! Dear, you're finally awake."
Her voice was soft. Sweet. And it made jack feel seen.
"Your brother'll be happy to hear this," she added, setting down a glass of what looked like melted swamp.
JAck straightened against the headboard. "Where is Grothar?" he added
"Might be out back, cutting trees with my father." she said this with a warm smile
She moved gracefully through the room, adjusting bandages and sorting bottles.
"He stayed up every night for you," she said without looking at him. "Told me he'd do anything if I brought you back."
Jack smiled and said "He's all I've got left."
She paused, meeting Jack's eyes. "Time changes everything. The pain too. It'll pass."
She leaned closer, brushing her hair aside, and checked his pupils with gentle fingers. "Pupil reaction's normal. You'll live."
Jack blinked at her. His mouth worked faster than his thoughts. "Who are you? Why am I here?"
She raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Pushy little thing, aren't you?"
"I flushed. Shit. What am I doing?" Jack said while escaping eye contact
She laughed softly. "Name's Alisa. I'm a healer. My father used to forge swords , well used too... Now I take care of fools like you."
"You've been taking care of me?"jack still confused
"For two days, pretty boy. Your brother healed way too fast, by the way. Not normal. Almost... not human. He said he'd do the chores until I got you back on your feet."
Jack tried standing—and immediately regretted it , a spike of pain drove him back onto the bed.
"Easy," she whispered, catching his shoulders. "Stop trying to act tough when your body's still begging for mercy."
She handed him the glass.
"What is this?" he sniffed it and gagged.
"Shut up and drink, brat."
She pressed it to his lips, and he downed it, coughing. He could already feel it messing with his head. Dizziness.
She leaned in to adjust the bandages again—and as her collar slid, jack saw it. A tattoo. A black skull. A Zenetsian mark. His stomach tightened.
But he didn't say anything. Not yet.
---
Outside, Grothar swung an axe into thick tree trunks like they were paper. Sweat gleamed off his muscles. Achilis, the old man, stood beside him.
"We needed men like you in the Shattering War," Achilis said.
Grothar laughed. "Thanks, old man—"
Whack! The stick smacked his head.
"I'm not that old, brat."
Grothar winced. "Alright, alright. Uncle Achilis!"
Achilis narrowed his eyes. "You an orc, boy?"
Grothar froze.
That word. Orc. The sound of it brought back a painful memory—his mother, bloodied and dying, whispering in his ear: "Never tell anyone who you are, my son."
He swallowed. "No. I'm human. Look—normal teeth, normal ears. Just... big genes, I guess."
"You can lie to everyone else. Not me."
Achilis stepped closer.
"I led men into battle when the Zenetsians shattered our pacts. I've fought beside half-orcs. I know what I see."
Grothar's face drained of color.
"Don't worry. I won't sell you out. I know what they did to your kind. Slavery. Branding. Shackles. I'm not that kind of bastard."
He placed a hand on Grothar's shoulder. Warm. Firm. Kind.
As the sun dipped below the trees, they walked home together.
Inside, Jack was still asleep, the bitter potions pulling him deeper into healing. Alisa sat nearby, checking his bandages and with practiced care tending his wounds.
She glanced at the tattoo on her neck in the mirror.
The past was catching up to her.
But far to the east, shadows moved. Black-armored Zenetsian soldiers marched beneath banners of black skull, led by Warchief Hordes—his eyes still burning with the image of Jack, defiant and fierce, setting the ground on fire , ablaze, to escape with his brother.
What fate awaited Jack remained uncertain. Why Grothar—a brute with the strength of ten men—feared his own identity was a mystery even time dared not answer yet.
But destiny had already begun to burn.