Page 83 of Orc's Redemption

We continue the journey in silence. I don’t know if either of them knows the way home or not. I hope they do, but I’ve been afraid to ask. I’m also trying not to think too much about what happens when we get there. That part of the journey remains the most uncertain.

I do know that with each step, the bonds between us are growing stronger. Tempered by fire and the shared determination to face whatever comes next. Together.

Or so I hope. I hope I’m not making this all up in my head. That I’m not blurring the lines between fantasy and reality. Urr’ki and Zmaj getting along? It defies everything that I know about the two species. Much less the idea of the two of them with me. Sharing. The three of us making a?—

The floor buckles then undulates and I’m off my feet. I wave my arms, yelping, as dust fills the air. The rumbling is so loud it hurts my ears.

“Elara!” the boys yell as one.

Hands grab at me, the world spinning in a wild, choking haze of dust. Something cracks. Someone yells. I think it might be me.

Gravity grabs hold and I fall. I curse, heart in my throat, my stomach dropping.

Then I stop mid-air and I’m floating. As the dust settles and the world stops twisting I realize that they have me. One on each side, their hands holding me up. I’m painfully aware that each of them has a hand on my ass.

They’re staring at me, eyes wide with fear on their faces. An uncertain, nervous smile forms on my face almost of its own accord. My heart slows as I look from one of them to the other.

“Well that happened,” I say, not daring to move.

Not wanting to from both fear and a subtle desire to continue having their hands on me. On my ass. On all of me.

The tremors fade, but the air buzzes and every nerve in my body is strung tight as wire. Ryatuv moves first. His eyes going from me to Z’leni then I see it on his face. The realization that his hand is touching Z’leni’s underneath me. That his enemy, mortal or not, is that close.

Z’leni is only a moment behind and he growls. They set me onto my feet, glaring at each other. I sigh, wishing the moment had lasted at least a little longer than it did. Ryatuv grunts, stepping back, then staring at Z’leni as if daring him to say something before he takes my hand.

“We need to keep moving,” Z’leni says, eyes scanning the tunnel ahead.

Ryatuv’s grip tightens, not painful, but possessive. My pulse flutters against my skin. Z’leni gives him a glare then picks up the dropped torch and leads the way.

We walk in silence for a time. The world seems hushed, as if it’s holding its breath. Every now and then I hear a distant crack or low rumble as the earth shifts. It makes me think that the ground is breathing. I can’t keep from picturing what lies beneath the stone. Not just lava, but something alive. Something ancient.

The Paluga.

I wrap my arms around myself as we move. The ground levels out. We pass through another series of chambers that are more open than the suffocating tunnels we crawled through earlier. The walls are carved in spirals, circles within circles. It must be some kind of Urr’ki symbology. Z’leni lingers near one mural, gently brushing off dust with his fingers.

“It’s all here,” he mutters. “The warnings. The reverence.”

The mural shows the Paluga. A vast, coiled shape buried beneath a crumbling city of spires, flames clawing upward like desperate hands. People kneel before it, hands outstretched in both fear and awe. One figure stands tall in the mural, separate from the others. A priest, maybe. Or a fool.

“They didn’t worship it,” I whisper. “They feared it. Tried to appease it.”

Z’leni nods slowly. Ryatuv stands behind me, silent but present. Always present. I turn to face them both.

“We can’t let this happen again. Whatever they did, whatever mistakes they made, we have to do better. Be better.”

“And what does that look mean?” Z’leni asks. “Trust the Zmaj? Let them destroy our last city in the name of survival?”

Ryatuv’s jaw clenches.

“I am Zmaj,” he says defiantly. “And I have no interest in destroying your pathetic excuse for a city.”

“No?” Z’leni snarls. “And your warriors? Your endless blood hunts?”

Ryatuv takes a step forward, standing tall and towering a good head and half over Z’leni.

“And what of the Urr’ki who kill Zmaj? Who leave their filthy traps for us to stumble upon? Who desecrates our dead? What of them?”

Their voices echo too loud in this fragile place. I step between them, heart pounding, hands raised.

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