My name is Himmel. Just a few days ago, I lived an easy life. I was part of an above-average family — my father, the strongest orc around, stood proudly at level 5. My mother matched him in strength but surpassed him in intellect; her mind was sharper than any blade.
Together they raised me, their Dark Orc son — a rare subspecies that carries both the strength of the Warrior Orc and the wisdom of the Shaman. With that bloodline, I was expected to one day climb higher than either of them, to reach level 6, perhaps even 7, and maybe wear the crown of an Orc king. To ensure my rise, my family entrusted me with our greatest heirloom — an ancient living artifact that grew stronger with each generation of Dark Orcs who bore it.
But yesterday, the night of my birthday feast, that future shattered.
I drank until the world swam, fell into sleep without a thought, and awoke to find the heirloom torn from me. No tracks. No scent. No trace of the thief. Only shame.
When my father saw me, his roar shook the walls."You ugly orc! You were to be the best of us — now leave! Never return!"
His words cut deeper than any blade. My mother, ever the shaman, tried to temper him. With sharp reasoning, she convinced the elders to grant me one chance: bring back the heirloom, or remain banished forever.
So here I stand outside the gates of my village. The same guards who had cheered me yesterday now glared with disgust. One even spat at my feet. From the rafters, the baker Jottur — who once fed me with warmth and laughter — reached into his bag. I hoped for bread. Instead, he hurled a rotten tomato. It missed, but the sting of betrayal struck true.
I turned away, swallowing the lump in my throat. As I walked, I swore I glimpsed my mother's silhouette, watching. Maybe she was the only one who still believed.
The Orc continent is merciless. Weakness means chains or death. Our monsters are vicious, and our kind enslaves as easily as they breathe. My only chance is to flee southwest, toward the coast, to the port town where I might smuggle myself away.
The land stretched flat and sun-baked. Hours passed before I felt it — a disturbance in the air, an instinct crawling up my spine. Off in the distance, something writhed in the light, a haze of smoke given shape. Even without seeing it clearly, I knew: this thing was stronger than me.
I dropped low, sliding into the tall grass, just as my father had taught me. I palmed a stone and tossed it. It struck the dirt with a dull thud. Another I hurled at a tree, the thunk echoing across the savannah.
The aberration reacted instantly. It thundered toward the tree, smashing it into splinters.
So — it could hear. Very well.
I gathered more stones and flung them in scattered directions. Each one lured the beast away, its smoky form pounding the ground in blind fury. That was my chance. I sprinted low and fast, heart hammering, each breath screaming don't stumble, don't falter.
By the time its rage faded into the distance, I collapsed against the dirt, sweat pouring. My father's voice whispered in my head: Even the strongest prey falls to the clever hunter. For once, I thanked his endless drills.
The savannah stretched on, barren save for the shimmering heat. Then, on the horizon, I spotted salvation: a herd of striped beasts, like zebras but broader, stronger. Their hides glistened, and among them towered an alpha mare, muscles taut, eyes sharp. She grazed little, never fully lowering her guard.
I hesitated. Alone, night would kill me. With a herd, I might survive. But approach wrong, and I'd be trampled to paste.
So I crawled low, clutching a tuft of grass, making myself small. The herd flicked their ears but did not scatter. Step by step, I closed the gap. My chest thudded louder than my feet.
Then the mare moved. She strode toward me with deliberate steps, her gaze piercing. I froze, caught in the weight of her eyes. Behind her, foals suckled, unafraid.
That was when I understood. She wasn't just a leader — she was a mother.
I dropped the grass, straightened my spine, and spoke as if to an equal."Would you lend me your strength? I have no friends. No family. Only a path ahead."
She snorted, the sound like laughter, then bent her head low. With a sudden toss she flung me into the air. I landed on her back, breathless.
The herd neighed in chorus. The mare's eyes met mine, sharp yet kind. Lead the way, they seemed to say.
And for the first time since my exile, I smiled.
When darkness fell, the herd slept soundly, trusting their alpha's watch. I tried to rest, but hunger gnawed at me. Hunting at night meant suicide.
Then pain shot up my back — sharp bites. Ants. Dozens of them. I almost brushed them off in fury before realization struck: food.
I gathered them into a writhing ball, crushed them, and chewed. Bitter. Acidic. But packed with strength. I rolled a few more into meals for later.
With a full stomach, I lay among the herd. They shifted around me, unbothered. Accepted.
And for the first time since my banishment, I did not feel alone.