The streets on the eastern side were emptier than the rest. Not even the sound of skittering rats or whispers of the wind could be heard. The air hung heavy, as if it was being pressed down. Even our footsteps were muffled, the sound smothered by some weight from above.
It felt as though we were being watched. I couldn't see it, I couldn't hear it, but I knew in my heart it was there. It felt like the prickle at the back of one's neck.
After ten minutes of running through the quiet we reached the eastern wall. It rose from where we were and into the sky, completely blocking out the outside.
This wall was built as a stronghold against the monster nest known as Duskmere. It's ability to survive this long is anything is a testament to the fortitude of the Confederacy. Its height a testament to its purpose: to keep out the monsters who wanted in.
Stairs were carved into the dark stone, along the side of the wall, doubling in on itself as it rose into the sky.
"Brilliant engineering," I muttered. "Who doesn't love sprinting up a hundred feet of stone after nearly dying?"
No one answered, so we started climbing.
It was brutal. My legs burned after the first dozen flights. And every breath felt heavier than the last. Fighting has a tendency to drain you. Your body, mind, and whatever part of you once felt invincible. All that's left after a fight is the ache. But nevertheless, we kept running up the stairs.
Nox slowed first. Her breathing turned ragged, each step heavier than the one before. Annalise stayed with her, trying to steady her arm, though she wasn't much better off. For someone born to a house with servants and silk sheets, she had grit. But she lacked formal training, the fitness that comes from constantly throwing ones life into battle.
Qapla, on the other hand, barely broke stride. On his leg, the leather had fallen away to reveal glistening raw burns. But he climbed like he was made of iron, never once looking down.
I also did not want to look down. I wasn't a fan of heights in the first place, but here we were climbing almost fifty feet tall. There was no banister to keep us on the wall, no safety net. Not that I had ever had that, but one day I would like to have the easy path in life.
We crested another flight of stairs and got to a relatively large landing that was carved into the wall, like a hollow on an oak tree. Annalise dropped onto the stone immediately gasping for breath. Nox leaned beside her, hands trembling on the rail.
Something, or rather someone caught my eye.
An orc sat slumped against the wall, armor dented, helmet gone. He wasn't dead, yet he looked emptied out, like the fight had been pulled out of him.
Qapla locked eyes with me, then the orc. I nodded. We could talk to the orc, find out more information while also giving the others a needed break.
We approached quietly. The orc didn't move, didn't even glance up. His lips were moving, though repeating something over and over. "Mor'vakr'nar varnak'dru'nakh. Rukh'drak'nar… urzan' gar varnak' zul…"
The words rolled low and broken in his throat, almost like a man trying to choke back sobs. I caught fragments. My orcish wasn't perfect, but I recognized the words for storm, death, futility. A prayer, maybe. Or a curse. Then he spat out word that made my blood run cold.
Rukh'drak'nar.
The Living Storm. The old orcish name for Cloudbreaker. The Fenrir cloaked in tempests.
Qapla's voice thundered, his anger sudden and fierce. "Solider!" He grabbed the orc by the collar, hauling him upright with a strength that defied his wounds. I had never seen him so angry. "In Valaris's name… What are you doing here? Why aren't you on the wall?"
The orc's armor bore the crest of the city guard, though it was half-smeared with soot and rain. His head lifted slowly, eyes unfocused and dull, as if he were staring at something far away. His lips trembled between a sob and a smile.
"There's no point in being up there." He rasped. "It's coming."
Qapla's jaw tightened, his hand digging into the mans collar. I stepped in before he lost his temper completely. "What's coming?"
"Balu'drukh'gor." He said, voice cracking. "The fury of Balu."
Qapla's brow furrowed. "What the hell does that mean?"
"The storm was walking." The orc let out a laugh. The broken kind, the kind that doesn't sound human anymore. "I saw it from the parapets before the lightning blinded me. Its eyes burned through the storm. Yellow, like molten glass. It was looking at me."
His voice died off into a tremble as he finished his sentence. Annalise rose from behind us, still catching her breath, "Are you sure you saw eyes?"
The orc's gaze darted between us, unfocused still. "Yes. Because it wasn't just looking. I could feel hatred. It is Grath'val."
The god's wrath.
He swallowed, voice trembling, "I only caught a glimpse, before lightning struck me. When I woke, all my comrades were gone. I don't know if they ran or if the wind took them, but I knew… it didn't matter. So, I ran too, before I realized that running is pointless."
He gestured weakly toward the wall's edge, out toward the black horizon. "I think it's keeping us penned here. Waiting to feed."
Qapla slammed him against the stone wall, fury radiating off him like heat, "You abandoned your post because you saw lightning and got frightened?"
"You think are better than me," the orc snapped back, "You think you are brave? You think you have seen monsters? You haven't looked at that."
Lightning cracked overhead, a violet white that split the sky. For a heartbeat, no one spoke. Even Qapla hesitated, his jaw tight, eyes narrowing at the orc.
"You are a shame to what it means to be an orc." Qapla said at last, his voice low and dangerous. "You were trained, equipped, and paid to protect the people in this city. And here you are – cowering in the dark."
Qapla ripped a medallion from the soldier's neck and threw him aside like discarded armor. The orc crumpled against the wall, staring numbly as Qapla turned the medallion over in his palm.
"By taking this," Qapla said, his voice cutting through the still air, "You swore to fight Balu's children. To kill, so the people you protect may live a moment longer. And when you fall, you are to feed the beast with the flesh so that children will not have to. That is what it means to be a warrior. That is what it means to be an orc."
The medallion groaned under Qapla's grip. Then with a single flex of his hand, he crushed it. The metal warping with a sharp final crack. Without another word, he turned and started up the stairs again.
The orc stayed where he was, staring down at his empty hands. Annalise and Nox followed in silence, their faces pale, their steps unsteady but firmer than before.
I lingered for a heartbeat longer. The soldier had pushed himself to his feet and now stood near the ledge, eyes fixed on the storm that surrounded the city. His armor gleamed faintly with each pulse of the lightning.
When I finally turned away and started up the next flight, another flash lit the wall behind me. And when the light faded, he was gone.