Kael's POV
They threw me in a cage. Again.
But this time, instead of human soldiers jeering outside, I had orc warriors sharpening their weapons and staring at me like I was their next meal.
"Comfortable, human?" One massive orc with tusks filed to points grinned at me. "Don't worry. If the chieftain decides to kill you, we make it quick. Mostly."
"How generous," I muttered.
Tom was in the cage beside mine, barely conscious. A healer had bandaged his hand, but three fingers were gone forever. He hadn't spoken since the orcs captured us.
"Tom," I whispered. "I don't blame you. They tortured you. Anyone would've—"
"I broke," he said flatly. "I gave them everything. Nearly got you killed."
"But you didn't. We're alive."
"For how long?" He finally looked at me, eyes hollow. "Kael, we're prisoners of the people we've been murdering for weeks. Why would they let us live?"
I didn't have an answer.
The Ironpeak stronghold was carved into the mountain itself—a massive fortress of stone and iron that had probably stood for centuries. Orc families moved through the streets, going about their lives. Children played. Merchants sold goods. Old ones sat in doorways, watching.
They looked so... normal. So human, despite not being human.
And we'd been killing them.
"Kael Thornwood." Grimmar's voice boomed across the courtyard. The chieftain approached, and every orc bowed their head in respect. He'd cleaned the battle blood off, but he was still terrifying—a mountain of muscle and scars. "You will come with me. Now."
Guards unlocked my cage. I stumbled out on shaky legs.
"Where are you taking him?" Tom called out, panic in his voice.
"To see if he's worth keeping alive." Grimmar grabbed my arm—gently, but with enough strength to remind me he could snap me like a twig. "Walk."
He led me through the stronghold. Orcs stared as we passed, their expressions ranging from curiosity to outright hatred. A female orc spat at my feet. An elder muttered something in their language that was definitely a curse.
"They want you dead," Grimmar said conversationally. "Most have lost family to your war. Seeing you in that uniform makes them want to tear you apart."
"I understand."
"Do you?" He stopped suddenly, forcing me to face him. "My mate died in the Silver Creek massacre. Ashira's mother. The knights burned her alive while she tried to protect our youngest daughter. I heard her screaming from miles away." His eyes were wells of pain. "You understand that?"
"I... I'm so sorry—"
"Sorry doesn't bring her back." He started walking again, pulling me along. "But Ashira says you tried to save her. That you risked your life. That you're different from the others." He glanced down at me. "Are you? Or are you just a clever human playing a long game?"
"I don't know what I am anymore," I admitted. "A month ago, I was counting grain in my father's storage room. Now I'm a deserter, a traitor, and apparently the only human who thinks genocide is wrong. I don't have a plan. I just... I couldn't keep being part of it."
Grimmar studied me for a long moment. Then he nodded, like I'd passed some test.
We entered a large hall carved from the mountain. A council of orcs sat around a massive table—elders, warriors, and Ashira, now cleaned up and wearing proper armor.
She caught my eye and nodded slightly. Encouragement? Warning? I couldn't tell.
"This is the human who freed my daughter," Grimmar announced. "Kael Thornwood, bastard son of a human lord, junior officer in the army that's trying to exterminate us." He shoved me forward. "He claims the war is built on lies. That his own people orchestrated attacks on both sides to create conflict. He says he can prove it."
Every eye turned to me. The weight of their stares was crushing.
"Can you?" An elderly female orc leaned forward. "Can you prove your people manufactured this war? Or are you just trying to save your skin?"
"I can prove it," I said, voice shaking. "I've seen the evidence. Supply records showing raids planned months before the first attacks. I've heard commanders admit they dressed as orcs to attack human villages. I watched them murder a messenger who came with peace terms." I met her eyes. "And I've seen what we did to your people. Villages full of families. Children who never got to grow up. That's not war—it's slaughter."
Murmurs rippled through the council.
"Words are wind," a scarred warrior growled. "How do we know you're not a spy? Sent here to learn our defenses?"
"If I was a spy, I'm the worst one ever. I got captured immediately."
A few orcs actually chuckled at that.
Grimmar raised his hand for silence. "The question is simple: do we trust him? And if we do, what do we do with that trust?"
"We should kill him," someone said bluntly. "He wears the uniform of our enemies. His people have murdered dozens of our kin. His blood would be justice."
"Justice is what humans claim while committing genocide," Ashira spoke up. "Killing Kael makes us no better than them."
"He's ONE human!" the warrior protested. "One life against the hundreds they've taken!"
"One human who knows the truth!" Ashira stood, facing the council. "Don't you see? Kael can testify that the war is manufactured. He's proof that some humans want peace. If we kill him, we lose that proof. We lose the chance to show the world what really happened."
"And if we keep him alive, we risk him betraying us," the elder female said.
"Then I'll take that risk." Ashira looked at her father. "Make him my responsibility. If he betrays us, you can kill us both."
"ASHIRA, NO!" I blurted out. "Don't stake your life on me!"
She ignored me. "Well, Father? Do you trust your daughter's judgment?"
The hall went deathly silent. Grimmar stared at his daughter, then at me, then back at her.
Finally, he sighed. "You're as stubborn as your mother was. Fine. The human lives—for now. But he's your prisoner, Ashira. You guard him. You train him. You make him useful to us. And if he steps one toe out of line..." His eyes promised murder. "I'll make you watch while I kill him slowly."
"Understood." Ashira bowed.
The council disbanded, muttering amongst themselves. Some looked relieved. Others looked disappointed they wouldn't get to see an execution.
Ashira grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the hall before anyone changed their minds.
"That was insane!" I hissed once we were alone. "You just bet your life on me!"
"Yes. Don't make me regret it." She led me through corridors carved into the mountain. "You're staying in the prisoner quarters. You'll be watched constantly. Break any rules, and my father's threat becomes reality."
"What rules?"
"Don't leave your quarters without me. Don't speak to anyone without me. Don't touch weapons. Don't go near children—some families lost kids and might attack you on sight. Basically, don't do anything stupid."
"I'm good at stupid. It's kind of my specialty."
She almost smiled. Almost. "Then learn to be good at smart. Fast."
We reached a small room carved into the rock. A bed, a table, a window that looked out over the mountains. Nicer than my tent had been, actually.
"Rest," Ashira said. "Tomorrow, you start earning your keep. I'm going to teach you our language, our customs, our history. You're going to learn why we're worth saving."
"I already know you're worth saving."
She paused in the doorway. "You've seen one village massacre and talked to me for a few hours. You don't know anything yet, human. But you will."
She left, locking the door behind her.
I collapsed onto the bed, exhaustion crashing over me. I'd survived another day. Barely.
But Tom was still in a cage. My own people wanted me dead. And I was now living among the enemy I'd been taught to hate, betting everything on the hope that they wouldn't kill me before I could prove the truth.
Sleep was impossible. My mind raced with everything that had happened. Every choice I'd made. Every person I'd lost.
A soft knock at the door made me sit up.
"Who's there?"
The door cracked open. An elderly orc peered in—ancient, bent with age, but with sharp, intelligent eyes.
"Peace, young one. I mean no harm." His Common was perfect, barely accented. "I am Elder Thokk. I've been advisor to Chieftain Grimmar for forty years." He shuffled inside, closing the door quietly. "And I need to speak with you about something urgent."
"About what?"
"About your brother." Thokk's expression was grave. "Aldric Thornwood. The Grand Commander."
My blood went cold. "What about him?"
"I was a scholar before I was an elder. I study human politics, human military strategy. And I've been watching your brother for years." He sat heavily on the room's single chair. "Kael, what you've seen—the manufactured war, the false flag attacks—it's just the beginning. Your brother isn't building an empire. He's building something far worse."
"What do you mean?"
Thokk pulled out a worn book from his robes. "This is a collection of Radiant Shield prophecies and legends. Most are nonsense. But there's one that should worry you." He opened to a marked page. "The Bloodveil Prophecy. It speaks of an ancient entity that feeds on warfare—grows stronger with every death in battle. For centuries, the Radiant Shield existed to keep this entity imprisoned."
"That's just a legend—"
"Is it?" Thokk's eyes bored into mine. "Thirty years ago, the Radiant Shield changed. Became more militant. More focused on expansion. And their new leader?" He pointed to a faded illustration in the book. "Looked remarkably like your brother. Same face. Same cold eyes. But the picture is fifty years old."
The room spun. "That's impossible. Aldric is only twenty-eight."
"Exactly." Thokk closed the book. "Either it's a remarkable coincidence, or your brother is something other than human. Something that's been orchestrating this war not to unite kingdoms, but to feed an ancient evil with the blood of thousands."
"You're saying my brother is... what? Possessed? A demon?"
"I'm saying there's more happening here than politics and power." Thokk stood, moving toward the door. "Your brother has been searching for something. The Silver Creek massacre wasn't random—they were looking for ancient orc relics. Artifacts that supposedly have the power to break or strengthen the Bloodveil's prison."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because if I'm right, this war won't end with orcs and humans. It'll end with something far worse being unleashed." He paused at the door. "And you, Kael Thornwood, might be the only person who can stop it. Your bloodline is old. Older than you know. There's a reason you feel different from your brother, even though you share a father."
"What reason?"
"That's for you to discover." Thokk opened the door. "But know this: your mother wasn't just a servant. She was descended from the original Bloodveil Wardens—the ones who imprisoned the entity in the first place. You carry that blood. That power. Dormant, but there."
He left, his words hanging in the air like poison.
I sat there, mind reeling. My brother might not be human. An ancient evil might be waking. And apparently, I had magic powers I never knew about.
This was insane. Impossible.
But so was everything else that had happened.
I looked out the window at the orc stronghold—families settling in for the night, lights glowing in windows, children being tucked into bed by parents who'd survived genocide attempts.
And somewhere out there, my brother was planning something that made this war look like a warmup.
A shadow moved outside my window.
I pressed against the wall, heart hammering. Someone was climbing up to my room. A assassin? A spy?
The figure swung through the window with practiced ease.
It was Ashira.
"What are you—"
She put a finger to her lips. "Quiet. We don't have much time."
"Time for what?"
"To escape. Again." Her face was grim. "My father just received word. A human army of five thousand is marching on the Ironpeak stronghold. They'll be here in three days. Led by your brother Aldric himself." She grabbed my arm. "And he's not coming to fight. He's coming to perform some kind of ritual. Using orc lives as fuel."
"The Bloodveil," I whispered. "Elder Thokk just told me—"
"I know. He told me too. That's why we're leaving." She pulled me toward the window. "We need to find the artifacts Aldric is searching for before he does. It's the only way to stop whatever he's planning."
"Where are these artifacts?"
"The Ruins of Kael'Tharos. Three days north, deep in cursed territory where even orcs don't go." Her amber eyes met mine. "It's a suicide mission. But it's the only chance we have."
"Your father will never allow it."
"That's why we're not asking permission."
Outside, voices shouted. Guards discovering something.
"They found the rope I used to climb up," Ashira said. "We have maybe thirty seconds before they lock down the stronghold. Are you coming or staying?"
I looked at her outstretched hand. Going meant abandoning Tom, running into cursed ruins, probably dying horribly.
Staying meant watching five thousand soldiers slaughter everyone here while Aldric performed dark magic.
I took her hand.
"Let's go save the world."
We jumped.