The Captive

Leopold sat hunched near the fire. His wounds still ached, but his mind was more restless than his body. He stared into the flames, then at the woman pacing before him. Zhrak'ta.

A spitted carcass turned slowly over the flames—what had once been a lean forest beast now crackled and sizzled under the heat. Leopold had gutted and prepared it with a kind of precision that startled even him. How he knew what to cut, where to split the hide, how to roast meat without turning it to charcoal—all of it had come not from memory, but from motion. His hands moved on their own. Muscle memory? Instinct? Maybe something older.

As the fat dripped into the fire and hissed, he wiped blood from his palms and watched the meat brown. Satisfaction tugged at his gut. Not pride—something darker. This was the first time he had killed. Now he had ripped a living thing's head from its shoulders, and felt something in it… thrilling. But the thrill didn't sit clean. It scraped against his memories—of quiet apartments, of a desk job, of never raising his voice in anger. It clashed with the boy who had flinched at loud noises and cried at war movies. That boy would've thrown up. But this man—this Leopold—felt alive. And that was the most terrifying part.

He frowned. "What does it say about me... that I enjoyed that?" he muttered to himself.

Then came the voice, smooth and amused. Don't be so dramatic. It's survival. You were born for this. And let's be honest—you liked it. Just like you like fucking your orc woman.

His hand clenched around the stick in the fire.

He hated how right the voice sounded.

Gor'ka turned slightly at the sound of his breath catching, but said nothing. The fire crackled on.

Zhrak'ta… she keeps calling herself that. Is that her name? He frowned. Or just a title?

He heard the voice again, that strange whisper buried deep beneath thought. *She's yours. She gave herself.

And yet, a chill ran through him. Because somewhere beneath that sense of triumph, a sliver of doubt twisted in his gut. Was this really what he wanted—or just a fantasy come alive? The line between fulfillment and fear blurred, and he couldn't tell anymore which part of him was smiling. That means something here. You remember, don't you? All those nights—alone, craving control, imagining worlds where you weren't weak. Fantasy girls, endless mods, all crafted to make you feel powerful. And now it's real. You should be thrilled. This is what you wanted. So stop pretending you're not enjoying it. Stop resisting what you are.*

His gaze wandered to the edges of the clearing. The silence of the forest felt deceptive—calm on the surface, but something darker stirred beneath. He touched the wound on his side, the rough stitches Zhrak'ta had sewn. He should be resting. But his mind refused.

Branches snapped before she appeared—slow, deliberate steps crunching over damp leaves. A low grunt echoed through the clearing, followed by the scrape of something heavy being dragged. Then she emerged between the trees, dragging something large and limp behind her.

He rose instinctively. When he saw the orc, bound and bloodied, his pulse quickened. Gor'ka looked at him briefly, then tossed the captive forward. The orc groaned.

Leopold blinked. "What's this?"

Gor'ka pulled the axe from her shoulder and laid it beside the fire. "Gift," she said simply. "For you."

He stared at it. The weapon was massive, brutal in form, but somehow... familiar. The weight of it spoke of old blood and older wars. Something in his bones recognized it. He reached out and touched the haft, his fingers running over the faint notches and dark stains. It felt too natural in his grip, as if it belonged there all along. The sensation unsettled him. Was he becoming someone new—or simply remembering what he truly was? yet he could feel the balance in its curve, the sharp edge still slick with dark blood.

"For me?"

She nodded. "He had it. You take now."

Leopold still stared at the axe when realization dawned. He looked up sharply at the orc, then at Gor'ka. "Wait... you brought him back. You caught him. Why didn't you say anything?"

Gor'ka's expression shifted. "I didn't want you to worry. You still heal. I can fight."

"He's one of them, isn't he? From your... your tribe?"

She nodded. "They hunt me. My blood shamed them. I left. I chose. You bested me. I belong to you now."

He opened his mouth, closed it, then muttered, "Zhrak'ta... that's not your name, is it? That means... wife." A strange warmth bloomed in his chest—confusion, disbelief, and something like awe. His mind raced, heart thudding. It wasn't just a title. It was a vow. And she'd already made it.

She said nothing, but her slight smile said everything.

Leopold flushed red. Confusion, embarrassment—then something else, something hot and rising. For a heartbeat, he felt like the boy who'd always been laughed at, always unsure. But that was then. Now, something darker stirred. Before he could respond, the bound orc let out a harsh laugh, gurgling around cracked lips.

Something snapped.

The old Alexander might've taken the insult, might've flinched, retreated into shame. But Leopold?

It was enough.

He stepped forward and struck the orc hard across the face.

"I want to know where your people are."

The orc growled, spitting blood.

Gor'ka knelt beside him, translating. The orc shook his head, defiant.

Leopold stared into his eyes. The voice in his mind chuckled darkly.

He'll talk. Or he'll scream.

A slow grin spread across Leopold's face. Not polite. Not human. His jaw tensed, and something inside him stirred like a waking beast. The air thickened around him. He felt it—the rush in his blood, the raw thrill curling up his spine. Yes, the voice whispered, gleeful and dark. This is you. This is what you were made for.

Gor'ka glanced at him, her eyes widening slightly. Admiration flickered there. But it wasn't just respect—it was primal, fierce, full of want and awe. This wasn't just her Grakh'tul. This was the warrior who could protect, conquer, claim. Her breath caught in her throat. Oh gods, she thought. Please let me be pregnant. Oh gods, she thought. Please let me be pregnant."