Page 61 of Orc's Redemption

The silence stretches. Until I can’t take it any longer so I break it.

“Tell me something real,” I say, my voice low and shaking. “Something you wouldn’t tell anyone else.”

Z’leni arches a brow. Ryatuv hisses softly.

His tail brushes the side of my leg, deliberately and slow. A shiver races up my spine, and I can’t tell if it’s fear or something far more intimate.

“That’s a dangerous request down here,” Z’leni says at last.

“I don’t care.”

Z’leni considers, then moves closer to my opposite side. He puts his back to the wall and slides down, stretching his long legs in front of him. His voice, when he speaks, is low and rough.

“I was thirteen when I saw what the Zmaj do to my kind for the first time,” he says. “I was on patrol. We came across a group of Zmaj. The others were all older than me. Trained. Armed. But they didn’t last.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “I couldn’t scream. Couldn’t move. I hid behind one of the fallen, the stench of blood clogging my throat. I stayed there, frozen and silent, until I was sure that the Zmaj had left. I swore I’d never be that helpless again.”

“Is that why you’re here?” I ask, swallowing hard. “Is that why you were kind to me? Why you saved me?”

Z’leni half-nods, half shrugs.

“My people, the Urr’ki, have lost hope. Despair is so pervasive that it’s become normal. Some few of us cling to what we once were. Before the Zmaj. Most definitely before the Shaman, but not many. I can’t trust anyone else to do what needs doing. Not even my own people.”

There’s pain in his voice. Not bitterness. Not rage. Just a quiet, empty sort of grief that I wasn’t expecting. It makes something twist in my chest. I turn to Ryatuv. He hasn’t spoken. But his grip has tightened ever so slightly. He doesn’t look at me when he speaks.

“I was born underground. I’ve never seen Tajss’ real sky.”

My heart sinks, leaving an empty ache in my chest. “Never?”

He shakes his head slowly.

“I’ve dreamed it. Heard stories, but dreams are pale things. They don’t warm your scales.” He glances at me now. “I want to see it. I want to feel sunlight, real sunlight, before I die.”

It’s the first time I hear this from him. Vulnerability. Hope. It shatters something in me.

“You’re going to,” I say fiercely. “You are both going to. We’re getting out of here.”

Neither argues. The silence that follows is warmer. Still heavy, still full of unspoken emotion but softer. And when Ryatuv tucks me tighter into his side, I let him. When Z’leni finally shifts and leans into me, resting his arm on his raised knee, I let that happen too.

It feels… safe.

Gods help me, I feel safe here. Between them. In this forgotten ruin, chased by horrors, half-buried in the bones of a dead citythisis where I feel safest.

It’s not rational, but it’s real. We sit in silence that, if not comfortable, is at least something close to it.

I must drift. Just for a moment.

I blink and the light has dimmed further and the air has grown colder. Z’leni paces silently near the far wall. Ryatuv’s warmth surrounds me, but he’s tense.

“Something’s changed,” he murmurs.

I sit up straighter. “What?”

Z’leni gestures toward the sealed opening above. “The hum is gone.”

He’s right.

The vibration, the steady pulse of whatever it was that flows through these tunnels has stopped. It’stooquiet.

“Do you hear that?” Ryatuv asks.

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