Leone remained quiet, watching everything with sharp eyes. He understood enough Okshakai to realize that what was at stake there was much more than a peace treaty.
I exchanged a glance with Malek. The fear that the elder might reject us tightened my stomach, but Malek met my gaze with quiet steadiness. One corner of his lips pulled upward in a ghost of a smile, a private gesture that said: We’re in this together.
My heart warmed, and my nerves settled beneath his quiet confidence.
Before I could pull back, Kroshak stepped closer and cupped my face in his rough, cold hands. I felt Malek shift beside me and heard Leone’s sharp intake of breath, but I remained perfectly still. The shaman’s touch slowly warmed against my skin, and a shiver traced down my spine as something ancient pressed at the edges of my consciousness, as if knocking on a door.
I closed my eyes and let it in.
Disconnected images flickered behind my eyes: fire that didn’t burn, ashes carried by the wind, a heavy sky before the storm. My chest tightened, not with pain, but with recognition.Then, I was ten years old again, sneaking through the corridors of the castle in Ceilte with Kristan at my side.
An insistent tug led me to the secret entrance of the dungeon, which I entered despite Kristan’s pleas for me not to. I saw my younger self, face to face with an orc with dark hair and brown eyes.
He was larger than me, yet small compared to the images of other orcs I had seen before. His green skin was covered in bruises and dirt. Dark green blood trickled from his nose.
I whispered a greeting to him, but he remained silent, watching me like a predator. Near him, the tug grew stronger, almost unbearable. A latent need to help him drove me to hand over the ring my father had given me for my birthday.
I ran out of the dungeon, afraid of being caught by the guards, yet a single word resonated in my mind.
Krash’uk.
The orc called me krash’uk. At the time, I thought it was his name, but it wasn't. I opened my eyes abruptly, meeting Kroshak’s greenish ones.
"I don't believe it..." Kroshak whispered.
His hands pulled away from my face, but the heat of the vision still burned behind my eyelids. I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat, struggling to remain steady under the shaman’s gaze. The distrust from before was gone, replaced by a smile that seemed to illuminate the wrinkles of his face.
"I swear by my name, Kroshak, that I’ll help seek peace between our peoples," I promised, my voice strong with a conviction that came from the depths of my soul. "I’m not your enemy."
The elder kept staring at me, making me uncomfortable. Malek let out a low, protective growl and stepped forward with his hand outstretched. However, before the Ruk’hai could touch the old male, Kroshak let out a loud laugh, moving away from me with his arms spread wide.
"You truly are akra’yn, Fiona," he said. Malek’s eyes widened. "Welcome to the clan, Krash’uk Fionnuala Kerridan."
His smile was wide, proudly displaying his fangs. I was left speechless, paralyzed by the word he had used. Krash’uk. The same word the small, wounded orc had spoken in the dungeon when I asked for his name. For a century and a half, I had carried that sound as if it were his identity.
But it wasn’t his name. It was a title. Princess.
I shifted my gaze to Malek and felt the ground disappearing beneath my feet. Everything rearranged itself within me; the puzzle pieces finally clicked into place with a painful impact. I saw him differently now. I saw beyond the imposing warrior, the scars, and the commanding posture. He had grown, not just in muscle, but in presence.
He was no longer a lost child in Ceilte, trapped in a cage for the simple crime of existing.
The knot in my stomach tightened, painful. My eyes stung, and I had to blink rapidly to keep from giving in to tears. I had truly believed he was dead. I had convinced myself of it just to move on from the guilt of having left him behind.
The truth hit me like a physical blow: the Ruk’hai who saved me in the forest, the male who claimed me the night before... he was the same boy I had abandoned to his fate.
And years later, he had returned. Not to hold it against me or to judge me, but to save me.
My heart tightened, overflowing with regret, relief, and something even deeper, almost sacred.
The thread between us, the same one I had felt as a child, too fine to be seen yet too strong to be broken, pulsed violently. It wasn’t being forged now; it had merely awakened from a long sleep, finally recognizing its master.
"Malek…" I whispered.
He cupped my face, his expression inscrutable. Now that I understood, I noticed the familiarity in his eyes, the way he had always watched me like he was guarding a secret.
"Yes, krash’uk," he replied.
The recognition was mutual and silent, but the certainty washed over us. The wounded orc in the dungeon; the child who helped him escape; the Ruk’hai who saved her in the forest; the male who now stood before her, her lover and blood-oath partner.
