Gra’zuk

Wes floated in the blackness of the void.

His thoughts spiraled, unraveling at the edges—was he even floating? Was the void actually black? Or was that just what his mind told him because it had nothing else to latch onto?

The longer he drifted, the less certain he felt.

Was he still him? Or was he starting to dissolve into the emptiness?

The thought sent a jolt through him. No. Focus.

Wes flexed his mana ideal, and immediately, it answered. A pulse. A presence. Solid. His will bent effortlessly to his command, wrapping around him like an anchor.

Good.

But then another thought hit him.

His ideal was working.

But he couldn't sense mana.

His mind stilled.

He reached out again, searching for the familiar flow of energy.

Nothing. No resistance. No ambient presence pressing against him.

Was mana really absent?

Or was it just beyond his ability to sense?

More questions. And no answers. It was frustrating—infuriating—being trapped in a place without his senses.

How long had he even been here?

His ideal was tied to his soul. That much he knew.

But his other laws—they were gone.

Why?

Was it because an ideal was tied to will and not mana?

Did will need mana?

Ideals were forged from will…

Wasn't that how it worked?

He blinked—or at least, he thought he did. He couldn't really feel anything. His five senses were absent. It was strange, perceiving himself in a place where perception barely existed.

Maybe none of this was real.

His form wavered.

Wes immediately flexed his ideal again, pulling himself back together.

Dammit. Almost lost himself again.

It was too easy. Like lying in a warm bed, exhaustion pulling at him, the edges of his awareness slipping away bit by bit into a deep, endless sleep.

Huh.

The realization settled in, and he sighed.

Damn void.

That bastard could've at least told him more before sending him here.

But at least he wasn't dead.

…Or was he?

God, this place sucked.

If he ever saw that giant bastard again, he was going to kick him square in his oversized ass. A little warning would've been nice.

Wes exhaled—or whatever passed for an exhale here—and shifted his focus.

Something solid. Something real.

His first day of Gra'zuk.

Wes hadn't slept much the night before.

They had been told training would begin today, and the barracks had been hastily sectioned off with flimsy wooden dividers. Each sleeping area held forty beds, crammed close together. Privacy didn't exist here.

Since arriving at the orc stronghold, life had been… good. A warm bed, full meals, safety. Better than anything he'd had before. They'd warned them that training would be brutal, but how bad could it really be?

Wes exhaled, running a thumb over the ink on his arm—the single chain marking him as unproven. He tried to mentally prepare himself, but his thoughts drifted, as they often did, to the void-eyed man.

As a kid, he had thought of him a lot.

He clenched his jaw.

There was no justice in this world.

Only strength.

A small number of orcs had come through the portal in the past weeks, bolstering their ranks, but even then, there were only 125 of them.

Of those, 25 had been assigned as trainers for the 1,000 recruits.

Each orc had been given 40 recruits to train.

Wes and Xavier had been placed in the same group, their beds next to each other. Close enough that if one moved too much, the other would feel it.

He remembered waking up before dawn, the barracks dim, the air still heavy with night.

Something felt off.

Why?

Then the bell rang.

Wes snapped awake, instincts kicking in. Surviving on his own had ingrained the habit—wake fast, be aware.

Most of the kids reacted the same way.

A few were slower to rise, but barely. They had all been waiting for this.

Then came the voice.

"Wake up, you pieces of shit! When you hear the bell, you stand at attention at the edge of your bed, and you better be fucking dressed!"

The barracks were mixed—boys and girls thrown together—so most had slept fully clothed.

But not all of them.

A few boys had gone to bed shirtless. Some had slept in just undergarments.

The orc's voice boomed again.

"What the fuck is this?"

Heavy footsteps thundered through the barracks as he stomped between bunks, sharp golden eyes scanning the room.

"Not dressed? Not ready when the bell rings? What the fuck is wrong with you all?"

He let the silence stretch, daring someone to speak.

"This is Gra'zuk. I expect you to be dressed and standing before I even touch this bell."

Then a dramatic sigh.

"Guess we're not starting the day right. One… three… fuck, one too many for me to count."

He was counting the ones still scrambling to get to the edge of their beds.

Then he grinned.

Too many teeth.

"Guess what? We get to do sprints."

The air grew tense.

No one argued.

Some of the kids had spent their nights whispering rumors. That the orcs were going to eat them. That they were just keeping them alive until they were fat enough to be worth the trouble.

Wes rolled his eyes.

The orc smirked, then finally gave his name.

"I am Azhok. You will remember it, because if you forget, you'll be hearing it a lot."

His presence was commanding but not monstrous. Broad-shouldered, his skin a deep earthen green, his golden eyes sharp with intelligence. Not an adult by orcish standards, but by human ones, he might as well have been ancient.

He crossed his arms, looking over them.

"Also," he continued, "your human language is quaint."

He snorted, as if he found it amusing.

"You're going to learn Universal."

He let the words settle.

"And then you're going to learn Orcish."

A few of the kids exchanged uneasy glances.

"Every single day, I will teach you a word. You will think about it while you run, while you swim, while you fight, while you heal, while you eat, shit, and sleep. And by god, if you fucking forget—"

Azhok pulled a whip from his belt, the leather curling in his grip.

He flicked it once against the wooden floor, the crack echoing through the barracks.

"You'll taste my whip, and then you'll run."

A few kids tensed, eyes wide. Deer caught in torchlight.

The air had changed.

The room felt smaller.

The fear was real now, tangible.

But even as intimidating as Azhok was, there was something else beneath it.

Motivation.

And looking back, he had been fair about the use of his whip…

Well, mostly fair, Wes thought, an inward grin tugging at the edges of his mind.