11. Emilia

11

EMILIA

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

My entire body trembling and my heart pounding, though, are telling me that I cannot, in fact, do this. I feel like I'm about to pass out, and Jurto – enough orcs were shouting it that it didn't take long to figure out his name – must notice.

"Do I need to fucking drag you?" he huffs as he turns around. And even though I'm close to blacking out from fear, my mind still drinks in the sight of his shirtless torso. I shouldn't think someone like this is so hot.

But I do.

My short legs are barely keeping up with him as he leads me back to the clan, the other orcs having taken off and leaving the two of us alone, and I'm stumbling so bad I'm surprised I haven't tripped. Or vomited from the nerves.

I open my mouth but no sound comes out. Jurto just grunts, the noise sounding dangerously like an angered animal. With a grumbled "got to be fucking kidding me," he stalks toward me and grabs my bicep, nearly yanking me off my feet as he jerks me into a half-jog, half-stumble at his side.

The fear coating my tongue is nearly suffocating at this point. I'm trying to hide it, trying not to anger him, but I can't stop it. He beat the shit out of Aleryn. He's absolutely terrifying.

What the fuck have been thrown into?

Jurto's grip is unyielding as he drags me through the clan's encampment. My legs struggle to keep pace with his long strides, and the ground beneath my feet feels uneven and treacherous. The other orcs barely glance our way, too engrossed in their own celebrations and spoils.

We approach a sprawling estate, its dark, imposing structure looming against the twilight sky. The air is thick with the smell of smoke and sweat, and the sounds of revelry fade as we enter the quieter, more secluded part of the compound.

Jurto's grip tightens as he steers me through the emptier areas, and the rough stone walls that encircle the camp feel like they are closing in on me. My heart pounds louder with each step, echoing in my ears. His brusque manner and snarling voice terrify me, and I can barely manage to keep from collapsing in fear.

I hardly get a glance at his house as we approach it. I'm too busy trying to keep up, but I do notice it's massive. It's rougher than dark elves' homes, more in line with the brutish nature of the orcs, but I can tell it was made with care. Even as I'm dragged through the wide living area and down a tall corridor, I'm impressed that this is how he lives.

Finally, we stop in front of a heavy wooden door. Jurto shoves it open with a grunt, revealing a small, bare room. The only furnishing is a narrow cot pushed against the far wall. The room is cold and unwelcoming, the air stale.

"You'll sleep here, human," Jurto growls, his voice dripping with disdain. "And you'll serve me obediently."

I nod mutely, unable to find my voice under his intense gaze. His eyes are dark and piercing, filled with a mixture of contempt and something else I can't quite identify. He lingers for a moment, as if ensuring his command is understood, before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

The door shuts behind him with a solid thud, the sound reverberating through the small space. I'm left standing alone, the weight of my situation crashing down on me. My legs give out, and I sink to the cot, my body trembling with exhaustion and despair.

I can do this. I have to do this. But as the reality of my predicament settles in, I feel the first tears of hopelessness welling up in my eyes. The room feels like a prison, and the narrow cot offers little comfort. I curl up on the thin mattress, hugging my knees to my chest, and let the tears fall silently.

Over the next few days, my life becomes a cycle of fear and confusion. Jurto's presence is a constant, looming threat. Each morning, he storms into the small, bare room, barking orders with a snarl.

"Get up, human," he growls one morning, kicking the cot's leg. "Don't just lie there like a useless lump."

I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding. "Y-yes, Jurto," I stammer, trying to avoid his piercing gaze.

"Stand over here and clean," he demands, pointing to a dusty corner of the room.

I hurry to comply, grabbing a rag and starting to wipe away the grime. But no sooner have I started than he changes his mind.

"No, wait," he barks. "Go over there and tidy up the shelves instead."

I hesitate for a split second, unsure whether he means it, but the flash of irritation in his eyes spurs me into action. I rush to the shelves, my hands shaking as I try to organize the clutter.

"Never mind," he snaps, his voice dripping with contempt. "Go cook in the kitchen. I'm hungry."

My head spins from the rapid-fire commands, but I nod and scurry to the kitchen, desperate to avoid his wrath. The kitchen is a chaotic mess, pots and pans strewn everywhere. I start by lighting the fire and gathering ingredients, my mind racing to figure out what to cook.

"Faster, human!" Jurto growls from the doorway, watching me with a predatory gaze. "I don't have all day."

I fumble with the knife, slicing vegetables as quickly as I can without cutting myself. The heat from the fire makes me sweat, and I can feel his eyes boring into my back, judging every move.

As I stir the pot, trying to make something edible, he steps closer, his breath hot on my neck. "Pathetic," he mutters. "You can't even cook properly."

I bite my lip, fighting back tears. "I'm s-sorry," I whisper, knowing it will do no good.

"Sorry won't feed me," he snaps. "Hurry up, or you'll regret it."

Finally, the meal is ready, and I serve it on a crude wooden plate. Jurto takes it, sniffing the food with a sneer.

"This better not be as disgusting as you look," he says, turning and walking away without another word.

The days pass in a blur of menial tasks and harsh commands. Jurto's orc servants are no less intimidating. Their guttural language, filled with growls and snarls, echoes through the hallways, and their imposing frames tower over me, making me feel even smaller and more vulnerable.

One morning, as I'm scrubbing the kitchen floor, one of the orc servants barges in, nearly knocking me over. His massive frame blocks out the light from the doorway, casting a shadow over me. He barks something in their harsh language, and I flinch, not understanding a word he says.

"What did you say?" I manage to ask, my voice trembling.

He snarls, pointing to a pile of dirty dishes that was just dumped in the wash bin. "Clean," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I nod quickly, scrambling to my feet and hurrying to the sink. As I start washing the dishes, I can feel his eyes on me, watching my every move. The tension is suffocating, and I struggle to keep my hands steady.

Jurto enters the kitchen, his presence instantly commanding attention. He glances at the orc servant, then at me. "What's taking so long, human?" he demands.

"I-I'm doing my best," I stammer, my voice barely audible over the clatter of dishes.

"Your best isn't good enough," he snaps, stepping closer. "Hurry up, or I'll find a way to make you work faster."

The orc servant chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound. I grit my teeth, my hands scrubbing furiously. The anger and sadness inside me bubbles up, making it hard to focus.

"What did I do to deserve this?" I whisper to myself, the question hanging in the air.

Jurto's sharp ears catch my words. He grabs my arm, yanking me away from the sink. "What did you say?" he growls, his face inches from mine.

"N-nothing," I reply quickly, my heart pounding.

"Don't lie to me," he snarls, his grip tightening painfully. "You think you deserve better? You're here because you're weak. You're here to serve. Understand?"

Tears well up in my eyes, but I blink them away. "Yes, Jurto," I whisper, my voice hollow.

He releases me with a shove, and I stumble back to the sink, my body trembling. As I resume washing the dishes, I can feel the anger boiling inside me. Why is he doing this? Why do they all take such pleasure in my suffering?

The orc servant eventually leaves, but the oppressive atmosphere remains. Jurto's brutish behavior is a constant reminder of my helplessness, and each day feels like an endless struggle to survive.

But somewhere deep inside, a small spark of defiance remains. I cling to it, knowing that as long as it burns, there's still a part of me that Jurto can't control. And that gives me the strength to face another day.

Despite everything, I try to be strong. I try to hold on to that small spark of defiance. But each insult, each command, chips away at my resolve, and I wonder how much longer I can endure this torment.

Isolated and afraid, I feel completely alone on this estate. Not another human in sight, just orcs who regard me with disdain or indifference. Each day is a reminder of my captivity, and each night, the silence amplifies my loneliness. I yearn for home, even the dubious safety of Aleryn's house. Despite the dangers there, it was a world I understood, a world where I had some semblance of control.

At night, I lie on the narrow cot, staring at the dark ceiling. My mind drifts back to that fateful zyrphix match, the moment my world was shattered. Tears well up in my eyes, and I bury my face in the thin pillow, weeping silently. My sobs are muffled, but the anguish is all-consuming.

"This can't be happening," I whisper to myself, my voice breaking. "Why did this happen to me?"

The darkness offers no answers. And there is no one to hear my pleas. No one to rescue me from this nightmare. Enslaved by monsters, I see no hope left for my bleak future. Each day blurs into the next, a monotony of suffering, and I struggle to hold on to any shred of hope.

As I weep into my pillow, the memories of my old life feel like a distant dream. A world where I was free, where I had choices. Now, those memories are all I have to cling to, a fragile lifeline in this sea of despair.

But as the nights stretch on and the days grow darker, I wonder how much longer I can hold on. How much longer I can endure this torment before I break completely.