7. Hayden

7

HAYDEN

" H ey!"

The deep voice slices through my peaceful moment. My heart leaps into my throat as I whip around, water droplets flying from my hair.

Orc.

Massive. Green. Dangerous.

Panic seizes me. I surge out of the stream, feet slipping on slick stones. My hands grasp blindly for the tattered flag I use as clothing. It's barely dry, but I don't care.

Stupid. Careless. How did I let my guard down?

I sprint, clutching the damp fabric to my chest. Twigs and rocks bite into my bare feet. I don't dare look back. The forest blurs around me as I run, branches whipping my face and arms.

My lungs burn. Every instinct screams to keep moving. To get as far away as possible.

Years of running from orcs have honed my survival instincts. I duck and weave through the undergrowth, trying to lose him in the dense foliage. But I hear heavy footsteps behind me, gaining ground.

No. No. No.

I can't go back. I won't.

My legs pump harder, muscles screaming in protest. I vault over a fallen log, nearly losing my makeshift clothing in the process.

"Wait!" the orc calls out.

Fat chance. As if I'd ever trust one of them again.

I veer sharply to the left, hoping to throw him off. My wet hair clings to my face, obscuring my vision. I swipe it away frantically, searching for somewhere to hide.

There – a tangle of roots from a massive tree. I dive into the small hollow, pressing myself against the damp earth. My chest heaves as I try to quiet my ragged breathing.

Please don't find me. Please don't find me.

I strain my ears, listening for any sign of pursuit. For a moment, all I hear is the pounding of my own heart.

Then... footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Getting closer.

I clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle a whimper.

My back presses against rough bark, heart pounding so hard I'm sure he can hear it. Sweat mingles with stream water on my skin, making me shiver despite the warmth. This can't be happening. Not again.

The orc's footsteps crunch through the underbrush, slow and methodical. Hunting. Searching. For me.

I grip the makeshift blade tighter, its jagged edge digging into my palm. The pain grounds me, keeps the panic at bay. I've survived worse. I can survive this.

But which clan is he from? The markings I glimpsed... Swordstone, maybe? My mind races, cataloging everything I know about them. Brutal. Efficient. Not as fond of "playing" with their prey as some. Small comfort.

A twig snaps nearby. I freeze, not daring to breathe.

I hear him breathe a deep sigh. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Lies. Always lies with them.

My fingers twitch around the blade. If he finds me, I'll go down fighting. No more running. No more cowering.

"Please," he continues, closer now. "I just want to talk."

Talk? Since when do orcs want to talk? It has to be a trick. Some new, cruel game.

I press myself harder against the tree, willing myself to melt into its bark. My legs ache to run, but I know he'd catch me in seconds. All I can do is wait. And hope.

The forest falls silent. No birdsong, no rustling leaves. As if the whole world is holding its breath along with me.

Then, a shadow falls across the ground beside me.

"Hey, come out! I'm not going to hurt you!"

His voice rumbles through the forest, setting my teeth on edge. My fingers tighten around the makeshift blade, knuckles white with tension. Liar. They're all liars.

Images flash through my mind – bruises, blood, screams in the night. Years of torment at their hands. My body bears the scars of their "kindness."

"I just want to talk," he continues, his footsteps crunching closer. "You're safe, I promise."

A bitter laugh threatens to escape my throat. Safe? With an orc? There's no such thing.

I press myself further into the hollow, ignoring the way bark scrapes against my skin. My wet hair clings to my face, and I resist the urge to push it away. Any movement could give me away.

"Look, I know you're scared," he says, his voice softer now. "But I'm not like the others. I won't harm you."

My jaw clenches. How many times have I heard those words? How many times have they been followed by pain and humiliation? They'll say anything to lure you in, to make you drop your guard.

I can see his massive feet now, just beyond my hiding spot. My heart pounds so hard I'm sure he must hear it. One wrong move and I'm done for.

"Please," he tries again. "I'm Cagan of the Swordstone Clan. I give you my word as a warrior that I mean you no harm."

Swordstone. Of course. One of the most brutal clans out there. My grip on the blade tightens, ready to lash out if he comes any closer. I'd rather die fighting than go back to that life.

He sighs, a heavy sound full of... frustration? Concern? No, it has to be an act. They're all monsters underneath, no matter how convincing their masks are.

His massive form rounds the corner of the tree, and I seize my chance. My muscles coil, ready to spring. I've only got one shot at this.

I slip from my hiding spot, silent as a shadow. My bare feet barely make a sound on the forest floor. Years of running, of surviving, have honed my body into a weapon.

The orc's back is to me. He's distracted, still calling out empty promises. Fool.

I pounce.

In one fluid motion, I'm behind him, my makeshift blade pressed against his thick, green neck. My other arm wraps around his massive chest, using his own bulk for leverage.

"Don't move," I hiss, pressing the jagged edge harder against his skin.

He tenses, muscles bunching under my arm. For a heartbeat, I think he might try to overpower me. My grip tightens, ready to slash if he so much as twitches.

"Easy," he rumbles, voice surprisingly calm. "I told you, I'm not here to hurt you."

"Shut up," I snarl. My hands are shaking, but I force steel into my voice. "I've heard all your lies before."

He starts to turn his head, but I dig the blade in deeper. A thin line of dark blood wells up.

"I said don't move!"

My heart hammers against my ribs. I'm acutely aware of how small I am compared to him. One wrong move and he could crush me. But I've got the advantage of surprise, and desperation makes me dangerous.

"Alright," he says, slowly raising his hands. "I'm not moving. What do you want?"

What do I want? To run. To be free. To never see another orc as long as I live.

But right now, survival is all that matters.

"Why are you here?" I demand. "Who sent you?"

He takes a deep breath, and I feel his chest expand against my arm. "No one sent me. I came here to clear my head. I didn't expect to find anyone."

Lies. It has to be. The woods aren't safe for solitary wandering, not even for orcs.

"You expect me to believe that?"

"It's the truth," he insists. "I'm Cagan of the Swordstone Clan. I give you my word as a warrior-"

"Your word means nothing to me," I cut him off. The name Swordstone sends a chill down my spine. I've heard whispers of their brutality.

I press the blade harder against his neck, my arms trembling with the effort. A thin trickle of blood runs down his green skin, but it's nothing more than a scratch. Terror claws at my insides as the realization hits me - I can't hurt him. Not really. Not enough to stop him if he decides to attack.

The orc - Cagan, he called himself - doesn't even flinch. Instead, he smiles. The expression is so unexpected, so out of place, that I nearly lose my grip on the blade.

"Let go," he says softly, his deep voice rumbling through his chest. "You're not going to hurt me, and I'm not going to hurt you. Just let go."

I glare at him, mustering every ounce of defiance I have left. My legs shake, threatening to give out, but I refuse to show weakness. I've come too far, survived too much, to back down now.

"I said, let go," he repeats, his tone firmer this time.

As I stare into his golden eyes, a sickening realization washes over me. He's humoring me. Playing along. If he wanted to, he could disarm me in an instant. Crush me like an insect. The only reason I'm still standing is because he's allowing it.

My stomach churns. I'm completely at his mercy, just like before. Just like always.

I take a step back, my eyes never leaving the massive orc before me. My heart pounds against my ribs, every instinct screaming at me to run. But I force myself to stand my ground, jaw clenched tight.

He hasn't attacked. Hasn't even tried to grab me. It doesn't make sense.

"What do you want?" I spit out, hating how my voice trembles. My fingers tighten around the makeshift blade, though I know it's useless against his thick hide.

Cagan holds up his hands, palms out. A placating gesture. As if I'm some wild animal he's trying to calm. "I told you, I just want to talk."

"Talk?" I scoff, the word bitter on my tongue. "Since when do orcs want to talk?"

His golden eyes narrow slightly. "We're not all the same, you know."

"Right," I sneer, taking another step back. My bare foot catches on a root, and I stumble slightly. Panic flares in my chest – any sign of weakness could be deadly. But Cagan doesn't move to take advantage.

Instead, he sighs heavily. "Look, I understand why you don't trust me. But I swear on my honor as a warrior, I mean you no harm."

Honor? The word almost makes me laugh. As if orcs know anything about honor.

"What do you really want?" I demand, searching his face for any sign of deception. "If you're going to kill me, just get it over with."

Cagan's expression softens, and something that looks almost like pity crosses his features. It makes my skin crawl. "I'm not going to kill you," he says quietly. "I'm not going to hurt you at all."

I bare my teeth in a snarl. "Then what? You want to take me back to your clan? Use me as a breeder?" The words taste like ash in my mouth, memories of past horrors threatening to overwhelm me.

"No!" Cagan's vehement denial startles me. He takes a step forward, and I immediately tense, ready to bolt. But he stops, seeming to realize his mistake. "No," he repeats, softer this time. "Nothing like that. I just... I want to help you."

I stare at him, searching for the lie. It has to be there. Orcs don't help humans. They use us. Hurt us. Destroy us.

But I can't find any deceit in those golden eyes.

"Are you lost?" Cagan asks, his voice surprisingly gentle for such a massive creature.

I shake my head, my wet hair clinging to my face. "And you aren't going to tell anyone that I'm out here either." It's not a question. It's a demand, even if my voice wavers.

My fingers tighten around the makeshift blade, though I know it's useless against his thick hide. No one can know I'm here. If word gets back to the Sword Hammer clan... I suppress a shudder. I'd rather die than go back to that hell.

Cagan's golden eyes study me, and I force myself not to flinch under his gaze. I've survived worse. I can survive this.

"Alright," he says after a long moment. "I won't tell anyone."

I narrow my eyes, searching for the lie. There has to be a catch. There's always a catch with orcs. "Why?" I demand. "What do you want in return?"

He shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. It looks out of place on his fierce features. "I don't want anything. You clearly need help, and-"

"I don't need your help," I snarl, cutting him off. The words taste like ash in my mouth. How many times have I heard that before? How many times has "help" turned into pain and humiliation?

Cagan holds up his hands, palms out. "Okay. You don't need help. But at least let me give you some supplies. Food, water, maybe a proper weapon?"

I blink, thrown off balance by his offer. It has to be a trick. Some new, cruel game. "Why would you do that?"

He sighs, running a hand through his thick black dreads. "Because it's the right thing to do. And because..." He trails off, his gaze distant. "Because I know what it's like to feel trapped. To want to escape."

For a moment, I see something in his eyes. Something that looks almost... human. But I push the thought away. He's still an orc. Still dangerous.

"Fine," I say, my voice hard. "But if you try anything, if you tell anyone I'm here, I'll-"

"You have my word," Cagan interrupts, his tone serious. "No one will know you're out here. I swear it on my honor as a warrior."

There's that word again. Honor. But there's something in his voice, in the set of his jaw, that makes me pause. Maybe... maybe he's telling the truth.

Cagan opens his mouth, clearly about to say something else, but I don't give him the chance. My instincts scream at me to run, to get as far away from this orc as possible. Without a second thought, I bolt.

My bare feet pound against the forest floor as I sprint away from Cagan. Branches whip at my face and arms, but I ignore the sting. All that matters is putting distance between us.

I don't look back. I can't. If I see him pursuing me, I might lose what little courage I have left. Instead, I focus on the path ahead, dodging trees and leaping over roots with the agility born of years on the run.

My lungs burn, and my muscles scream in protest, but I push harder. I've survived this long by never letting my guard down, by never trusting anyone – especially not an orc. No matter how sincere Cagan seemed, I can't shake the feeling that he's dangerous. Not just because he's an orc, but because... because for a moment, I almost believed him.

That terrifies me more than any physical threat.

As I run, my mind races. What if Cagan was telling the truth? What if he really did want to help? But even if that's true, it doesn't matter. Getting involved with any orc, no matter how seemingly kind, is asking for trouble. I've learned that lesson the hard way, over and over again.

No, it's better this way. Better to be alone than to risk being betrayed or hurt again. I've built my life around survival, around staying hidden and free. I can't let one conversation, one moment of weakness, jeopardize everything I've fought for.

I hope I never see Cagan again. He represents an unwelcome complication in my carefully constructed solitude. Just the thought of him makes my chest tighten with anxiety. What if he changes his mind and decides to tell his clan about me? What if he comes looking for me again?

I shake my head, trying to clear these thoughts. It doesn't matter. I'll be long gone, hidden so well that even if he does try to find me, he never will.