12. Thrag

12

THRAG

T he chill of the night air cuts through my heavy furs, but it's nothing compared to the icy daggers Claire's gaze throws my way. "We leave. Now," I insist, my voice a low rumble.

"But the kids!" Claire hisses, her eyes wide with desperation.

I grit my teeth, the taste of iron flooding my mouth as I resist the urge to snap at her. "I'm not risking my life for a bunch of humans," I growl. "They’re not my problem."

Her hand shoots out, grabbing my arm with a strength that surprises me. "They’re my problem! Those are my students! I taught them to read, to hope, to dream about a better world. I can’t let them die like this!" she cries softly.

I shake my head, my jaw clenched so tight I fear my teeth might crack. "Hope doesn’t save lives. Strength does," I growl.

"Then use your strength!" Claire snaps through clenched teeth. "You’re the strongest being I’ve ever met. You can save them. Why are you running away? What are you so afraid of?"

Her words strike deeper than any blade, stirring something within me that I've kept buried for years. I don't want to help. I don't want to get involved. But as I glance back toward the trail left by the captors and their quivering cargo, recognition slices through me. Those are the kids I gave the wolf to. The ones who called me Santa. They're really from her settlement.

I hadn't understood it then, the significance of that word—Santa. But now, seeing these children in peril, it stirs a memory. A long-forgotten tale from my childhood, one of the rare moments where my mother's voice was soft, her eyes distant and filled with longing. Santa, a figure of generosity and magic, a symbol of a season that was never meant for the likes of orcs.

Claire's breathing is ragged, her fingers digging into my arm as she awaits my response. The pressure of her expectation is suffocating, yet there's a part of me that yearns to live up to it—to be the warrior she believes I can be.

I step away from her, my boots crunching in the snow as I move closer to the edge of our hidden enclave. The orcs are far enough away now that they won't hear us, but the children's sobs still carry on the wind, a haunting melody that threatens to unravel the last of my resolve.

"Thrag," Claire whispers, her voice now soft, pleading. "Please."

The word hangs between us, a single syllable that holds the power to shatter my self-imposed exile. I've spent so long running from my past, from the failures that haunt me, that the idea of stepping back into the fray terrifies me more than any battle I've ever faced.

The silence that falls between us is as cold and unyielding as the frost creeping over the landscape. Claire's eyes search mine for some glimmer of hope. She doesn't understand—she can't. I'm not the savior she's looking for. I'm a shadow that looms in the night, a disgrace to my kind and myself.

"I'm no protector," I say finally, the words tasting like ash. "I lost my clan. My family. They all died because of me."

Her hand finds mine, her skin pale against my rough, green hide. "They died because someone else took their lives. Not you. But you're still here, Thrag. And you can make sure no one else suffers like that," she whispers gently. Her grip tightens, those slender fingers threading through mine with a strength that surprises me. "You saved me. Twice. If you were truly the monster and failure you think you are, you wouldn’t have done that. You're a protector, whether you believe it or not."

Her words pierce the armor I've built around my heart, the one that's kept me alive through countless battles and the bitter loneliness that followed. I want to pull away, to tell her she's wrong, but something anchors me to this spot. It's not just her touch—it's the unwavering belief in her eyes.

Without another word, Claire turns and begins walking toward the orcs, her determination a palpable force. I watch her, this slip of a human who dares to challenge the darkness with nothing but her conviction. Her figure is soon swallowed by the swirling snow, but the sound of her footsteps echoes in my ears, a silent accusation.

"Damn human," I mutter, grabbing my axe and striding after her. My boots crunch through the icy crust, each step a testament to my own foolishness. I should let her go, let her face the consequences of her recklessness. But the thought of her out there, alone and unprotected, stirs a fury within me that I can't ignore.

As I catch up to her, I see the set of her jaw, the way her breath forms little clouds in the air. She's a warrior in her own right, armed with a courage that I've never known. "You're going to get yourself killed," I growl, my voice barely carrying over the wind.

She doesn't look at me, but her words are clear. "Then it's a good thing you're here."

We move as one, our steps muffled by the snow. The trees loom over us, their branches heavy with ice. I can feel the gravity of the moment, the tension that crackles between us like static electricity. Claire is a force of nature, a hurricane that's swept me up in its path. And try as I might, I can't find it in me to resist.

We halt at the edge of a clearing, the moonlight revealing the hulking forms of the orcs as they leer over their captives. The children huddle together, their bodies shaking with fear and cold. I clench my fists, the familiar rage simmering just below the surface.

“We need to do something fast, before it’s too late,” she insists.

My mind starts to race with possibilities, but none of them can ensure everyone’s safety. This might just be a losing battle, again.