Dawn arrived in the cavern not as a sun, but as a slow, creeping shift in the light from the crystals above. The stars dimmed, their glow softening to a gentle, pearly luminescence that painted the stone village in shades of grey and silver.
Valkar woke to a heaviness in his limbs and a pleasant soreness in his muscles. He was alone on the pile of furs that served as Zura's bed.
Last night was a whole new experience for him. He had taken their mother not once, but many times. Thraxa, ever-present, had watched, touched, and tasted, her own needs building to a fever pitch. However, Zura never allowed her to do more than touch.
"A mate must be claimed in combat, daughter, not stolen in the dark," their mother had insisted, though her words were tinged with a playful smirk.
By the end, the raging fire of his awakening had been tempered, the uncontrolled mana refined into a steady, potent core that hummed within him. He felt stronger, clearer, and more solid than ever before, allowing Valkar to identify what kind of ability he awakened.
"Hmm?" He closed his eyes, sensing the energy within. Soon, information about his ability flooded his mind.
"Rage?" He tilted his head slightly, confused and feeling a little disappointed.
Rage was a simple and common ability for an orc warrior. It boosted his attack and defense at the cost of mental acuity, a wild, untamed force that turned him into a mindless engine of destruction.
"Disappointing."
Nonetheless, it was better to awaken a common ability than none at all. He could work with this.
"Oh?... you woke up, cub." Zura's voice brought him back to the present. She was already dressed, her leather bindings in place, standing over a small fire where a piece of roasted meat was sizzling. She tossed a strip to him.
"Eat."
Valkar caught the meat out of the air and took a bite, the rich, smoky flavor filling his senses. His stomach rumbled, reminding him of the energy he'd expended.
"Thraxa?" he asked between bites, looking around the small hut.
"Gone to prepare," Zura said, her tone even. "The hunt begins soon. You need to be ready."
She turned to face him fully, her amber eyes appraising. Valkar's gaze flicked down to the red scratches that crisscrossed her chest and arms, the marks of his passion from the night before. A primal surge of pride went through him.
"The awakening is over, cub," she said, as if reading his thoughts. "The coupling was just the beginning. Today, the great hunt begins. The hunt will test you in ways the awakening never could."
A flicker of something—challenge? expectation?—crossed her face.
"Remember what I taught you," she continued, her voice dropping to a low, serious tone. "The monsters out there... They are not like the tales you heard from the elders. They are smart. They are cruel. And they are hungry. Do not underestimate them."
"Valkar, not afraid," he said, his jaw tightening. He finished the last of the meat and stood, stretching his limbs, feeling the new power coiled in his muscles.
"No," Zura agreed, a faint smile touching her lips. "You are not. But fear can be a weapon if you know how to wield it. Bravery is for fools. A true warrior uses every tool at his disposal."
No matter how much talk Zura did, Valkar was stupid like the rest of the male orcs. He only understood one thing: strength.
It's not their fault. These orcs mutated in a way that favored the development of their bodies rather than their minds. They were built for war and conquest. They couldn't do complex thinking. They relied on their instincts and their physical prowess.
However, this was not the case for Zura and the other orc women.
Since females were rare, no more than 20% of the entire population, they were forbidden from leaving the tribe. If all females were killed, the tribe would die out.
Their purpose was to lead, to guide, to ensure the survival of their people. Their bodies, unlike the males, didn't prioritize brute strength. Instead, they developed sharper minds, a deeper connection to the mana of this land, and a wisdom that allowed them to see what their male counterparts could not. They were the ones responsible for everything inside the tribe, even training the young orc warriors.
The men were busy defending the tribe from monsters and exploring this forsaken place, trying to find a way out.
This is why, aside from the orc chief and the old one—the shaman—the rest of the male orcs were dumb as a brick. Hell, they couldn't even speak properly, referring to themselves in the third person most of the time.
Zura watched her son, a flicker of something unreadable in her amber eyes. He was strong, yes. His will was iron. But his mind... it was still a youngling's. All fire and force, with no subtlety. A weapon, but not yet a master of that weapon.
'At least he's better than the rest.' Zura shook her head slightly. There was only so much she could teach him. The rest, he would have to learn through blood and pain.
"Mother, I'm back!" Thraxa burst into the hut, her breath coming in quick gasps, her eyes alight with excitement.
"Mother, Valkar, the hunt is about to begin! The warriors are gathering at the mouth of the cavern. We need to prepare."
"Did you get it?" Zura asked, her voice low.
Thraxa nodded, a wide grin splitting her face. She unslung a small leather pouch from her belt and tossed it to her mother. Zura caught it deftly, her expression unreadable as she opened it and peered inside.
"Good," she grunted, turning to her right and picking up a clay pot filled with a thick, red substance. She mixed the contents of the pouch into the pot and stirred.
"Valkar. Stand still." She stood up and approached him with the pot and a brush made from some sort of stiff animal hair.
Valkar obeyed, standing stiffly as Zura began to paint intricate patterns on his face and chest with the red paste. The paste was cool against his skin, but it seemed to hum with a faint energy, a tingling sensation that made the hairs on his arms stand up.
The symbols were not random; they were the sigils of their clan, marks of protection and strength, passed down from their ancestors who had been ripped from their world and thrown into this one.
When Zura was done, she looked at her work and nodded in satisfaction.
"Now you look like a warrior," she said.
"Valkar is a warrior," he corrected her, his voice deep with pride. He looked down at the red sigils painted on his chest, his amber eyes glowing with a fierce light.
"Here you go, brother." Thraxa handed him a leather bag filled with dried meat, enough for three days, a waterskin, and a small, sharp dagger made from the tooth of some great beast.
Nothing more. That was the rule.
The great hunt, they called it, but in reality, it was about surviving alone in this forsaken land for a whole year, with the bare minimum of supplies. The young warriors had to prove their worth by returning to the village alive, preferably with a trophy of some sort. A monster's head, something to show that they had not just survived, but thrived.
This was their true test, their rite of passage into adulthood. Those who returned would be recognized as true adult orcs.
"We should go," Thraxa said, her voice eager.
"Wait." Zura's hand on her shoulder stopped her. She turned to Valkar, her gaze intense.
"This is it, cub. From this day on, you are on your own. The tribe will not help you. The mountain will not protect you. Only your strength, your will, and the lessons I taught you will keep you alive."
She reached out and placed her hand on his chest, right over his heart. The sigils there seemed to glow brighter at her touch.
"Do not come back until you are stronger than when you left," she said, her voice a low growl. "Do not come back until you have something to show for your journey. Do not come back a failure."
"Valkar will not, Mother," Valkar promised, his voice steady. "Valkar will return a conqueror."
"I know." A small, proud smile touched Zura's lips. "Now go. Make me proud."
She stepped back, and with a final, fierce look at her son, she turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the hut.
"Don't die, brother." Thraxa's voice was softer, a rare moment of vulnerability from her.
"Valkar won't, sister," he replied, a small smile touching his own lips. He reached out and ruffled her hair, a gesture of affection that was rare between them. "You wait for Valkar. When Valkar comes back, Valkar will claim you properly."
"I'll be waiting." Thraxa's smirk returned, her eyes glinting with mischief and challenge. "Try not to get eaten by a shadow-lurker before then."
With that, she turned and left, leaving Valkar alone in the hut.
He took a deep breath, the scent of smoke, herbs, and his mother's musk filling his lungs. This was the last time he would smell this scent for a year. The last time he would be in this place that had been his entire world.
He shook his head, clearing the sentiment from his mind. Now was not the time for weakness. He was a warrior. He had a hunt to begin.
He slung the leather bag over his shoulder and, with a final look around the small hut, he stepped out into the corridor and made his way to the main gate.