14
XYLON
Istand in the ruins of a stone table, a trembling mountain of negation. My roar still echoes in the vast, silent cavern, a raw sound torn from the deepest parts of my soul. The air is chokingly thick with the dust of shattered crystal and the ozone of my fury. I am a wall between her and the Vrakken. Between her and the words he spoke. The obscene, impossible words.
Willing sacrifice.
The phrase is a venom that seeps into my mind, a poison that the beast’s rage cannot burn away. It coils in my gut, a cold serpent of pure horror. The Orc inside me, the man who is bound by the laws of honor and the truth of his own heart, rebels with every fiber of his being. I would rather let the curse consume me entirely, let the fire burn away the last of my memories until only the mindless beast remains, than see a single hair on her head harmed. I would rather live for ten thousand years as this monster than be cured by her death. Her death is not a price. It is the end of everything.
Dina is my purpose, my end and my beginning.
The Vrakken, Kasian, watches me, his ancient, sorrowful eyes holding no surprise. He is a statue of midnight silk and palebone, a silent witness to the carnage I have wrought. He does not fear me. The realization is a cold stone in my gut. He sees my rage, and it does not move him.
“She understands the necessity,” the Vrakken’s voice is a soft poison, a silken thread weaving its way through my rage. “The magic is specific. It requires what she can give.”
He does not understand. He sees only the magic. He does not seeher.
Dina steps out from behind me. Her movement is a knife to my heart, ripping every piece of thick hide to smithereens. I want to roar at her to stay back, to hide behind me where she is safe, but she moves to my side, her small hand resting on my massive, trembling forearm. Her touch is a fire that both soothes and scalds.
“He is just telling us the truth,” she says, her voice soft, but filled with a strength that is a torment. She is not speaking to the Vrakken. She is speaking to me.
I turn my head, looking down at her. Her face is pale in the cold, crystal light, the dark bruise on her cheek a stark reminder of the cruelties of this world. But there is no fear in her eyes. There is only a devastating, heartbreaking resolve.
I cannot allow it. I cannot let her even think this way. But the words are trapped behind my monstrous teeth, a prison of my own flesh. I am a warrior, a chieftain’s son, raised on debate and council, and I have no voice to plead the case that matters more than my own life.
So I use my body.
I shake my massive head, a violent, absolute gesture of refusal.No.The sound that escapes my throat is a guttural, desperate snarl. I raise my hand, a weapon of claws and fury, and point a single, trembling finger at her. Then, I turn the hand and beat my own chest with a heavy, rhythmic thud that echoesin the cavern.Thud. Thud. Thud.The gesture is crude, primal, but it is all I have.
Me. Not her. If a life is the price, it will be mine.
“There is no other way,” she says, and her quiet reason is a hammer blow to my soul. “The carving was clear. The magic needs a human life. Your life would not work.”
Her calm acceptance infuriates me. It is a strength I cannot comprehend because it is aimed at her own destruction. She is willing to die for me. For this… thing that I am. She sees a life worth saving inside this monstrous shell, but she does not see the treasure that is her own.
I roar in frustration, a sound of pure, impotent agony. I grab a great, silver platter from a nearby display and hurl it against the far wall. It crashes and rings, the sound a pale echo of the storm inside me. I turn back to her, my chest heaving. I must make her understand.
I point at her again. Then I touch my own heart. I point to the sun tattoo on my shoulder, the mark of my clan, my soul. I point back at her.You. You are my heart. You are my clan.The gestures are clumsy, inadequate. They cannot possibly convey the truth: that my life began not in the stronghold of the Fire Sun, but in the darkness of that kennel when she first showed me kindness.
Her eyes soften with pity, and it is the cruelest wound of all. “I know you want to protect me,” she whispers. “You have. You saved my life. Now, let me save yours.”
The despair that crashes over me is a black tide, heavier and more suffocating than the beast’s rage has ever been. It is the despair of utter powerlessness. I can fight Dark Elves. I can shatter stone walls. But I cannot fight the gentle, stubborn courage in her heart. I cannot protect her from her own goodness.
And in that despair, the beast sees its chance.
The red haze I have fought so hard to control begins to creep back in at the edges of my vision. The quiet, purposeful fire of the man is smothered by a rising wave of chaotic, mindless fury. The beast offers a simple solution.Rage. Destroy. Forget.It is a seductive promise. To be mindless would be a relief. A mindless beast does not have to watch the person it loves offer to die. A mindless beast does not feel its own heart break.
I cannot stay here. I cannot listen to one more word of this madness.
I give one last, heartbroken look at her, at the small, determined woman who holds my entire world in her hands and is willing to let it go.
Then I turn. With a roar that is half fury and half a sob of pure grief, I storm away from them, plunging into the darkness of the deeper caverns. I leave her alone with the manipulative Vrakken. It is the last thing in any world I want to do, but I cannot stay. I cannot watch her choose to die. And I am terrified that if I do, the beast will take over, and I will destroy everything.
15
DINA
Xylon’s roar of heartbroken fury fades into the oppressive silence of the deep caverns, leaving an emptiness that is a physical ache in my chest. The echo of the shattered table is a stark testament to the rift that has just torn open between us. He is gone. He left me. He left me alone with the ancient, sorrowful creature who is the architect of our pain.
