27. Kael

27

KAEL

O rcs charge through the forest, their roars echoing off the trees. My heart pounds, a rhythm that matches the chaos around us. Laia stands beside me, eyes wide but fierce, ready to fight.

Without thinking, I grab her wrist. “You have to move,” I say, keeping my voice steady despite the storm brewing around us. “Now.”

She pulls back, determination flashing in her eyes. “I can fight, Kael?—”

“No.” The word slices through the air, sharper than any blade. “They’ll overpower you. You need to go. Now.” I point toward the waterfall in the distance. “There’s a cave behind the falls. It’s hidden. Stay there.”

Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t argue further. She knows what’s at stake.

The orcs draw closer, their stench filling my nostrils. I push Laia toward the path leading to the falls. “Go!” I bark, more forcefully this time.

Laia hesitates, her heart thudding in her chest as the sounds of battle rage around us. “But what about you?—”

“I’ll come for you. I promise.” My eyes soften, but my tone leaves no room for argument. “You’ll distract me if you stay. Please. Trust me. I can’t fight properly if you’re here.”

Her breath catches, and for a moment, I see the conflict in her eyes. She wants to fight, to stand beside me, but she knows I’m right. With a final nod, her feet start moving, though it’s clear each step costs her.

She takes one last look at me, and I try to convey all the reassurance I can muster. Then she sprints into the darkness, her form vanishing among the shadows.

Turning back to face the orcs, my grip tightens on my axe. They’re close now, their wild eyes glinting with bloodlust. The first attacker lunges at me with a savage roar, his blade slicing through the air.

I meet him head-on, my axe swinging with brutal precision. The blade sinks deep into his chest, and blood sprays across my face. But there’s no time to dwell on it; another orc is already upon me.

With a swift kick, I send the dying orc crashing into his comrade. The forest erupts in chaos as more of them surge forward, but I stand my ground. Each swing of my axe is a promise—to Laia, to my brothers—that we will survive this night.

Another orc charges at me from the side, and I pivot just in time to parry his strike. My muscles burn with effort as our blades clash, but I force him back with sheer strength.

In the corner of my vision, Thalos fights like a whirlwind of fury and steel, while Irix’s wild laughter echoes through the trees as he tears through their ranks.

We’ve faced worse odds before. We will prevail.

With a final push, I bring my axe down on another attacker, ending his threat. The battle rages on around me, but in the back of my mind, there’s only one thought: Laia must be safe.

More come—five, six, seven of them, their weapons gleaming in the firelight. The orcs move with a savage purpose, their eyes fixed on us like predators zeroing in on prey. I grip my axe tighter, feeling the familiar burn in my muscles. There’s no room for hesitation.

They want to take Laia from us. These words keep repeating in my head, and I don’t need another reason to fight with my life on the line.

“Don’t let them get through!!” Thalos’s voice roars through the chaos, a command that cuts through the noise. His form is a blur of power and precision as he fends off the attackers.

Irix is going crazy beside me, his laughter wild and untamed. But my focus is razor-sharp, each swing of my axe is calculated, deliberate. The blade slices through flesh and bone, the scent of blood thick in the air.

An orc’s blade comes from nowhere, a flash of steel in the firelight. It slices across my arm, searing pain erupting along the wound. Blood drips down, staining my fur red. But I can’t stop. I won’t stop.

I thought of Laia’s retreating figure. A sharp pain twists my heart, more intense than the wound on my arm. Will I see her again? The thought drives me to fight harder.

With a roar, I push forward, my body moving on pure instinct. Each movement is a blend of rage and desperation. Another orc falls beneath my axe, his scream cut short by the blade’s edge.

As more orcs flood the area, I dig my feet into the earth, refusing to give an inch. My axe feels like an extension of my arm; every swing is a testament to my resolve. No one will get past me. Not tonight.

An orc lunges at me, and I meet his blade with mine, the clash of steel ringing in my ears. The impact sends a shockwave through my body, but I push back, forcing him to stagger. A quick twist of my wrist and my axe slices through his neck, blood spraying across the ground.

My body screams with exhaustion, muscles burning with every movement.

An orc a foot bigger than me charges from my side, his eyes wild with bloodlust. I sidestep his attack and bring my axe down on his shoulder, cleaving through bone and muscle. He drops to the ground with a guttural cry, but there’s no time to rest—another takes his place almost immediately.

The batlle presses on me like a boulder wanting shut me down; every breath is a struggle. Laia’s safety depends on this moment, on our ability to hold the line against these monsters. My strength is slowly leaving me, blood seeping from my wounds.

Thalos’s voice cuts through the chaos, a command that resonates deep within me: “Stop them!”

My vision blurs for a moment as exhaustion threatens to overtake me, but I force myself to focus. Every drop of blood that spills from my wounds is a reminder of why I fight—why I can’t give up.

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