Tarn and Bog sat on the wooden docks by the harbor, listening as the tide slowly rolled out beneath them. Half the beach had already been revealed as the sea continued its relentless cycles, damp sand drying in the morning sun.

On farther piers to his right, the great ships of the Realm now stood moored, their lines being tended to by both human and orc sailors. The children and elders that Narsol had spirited away were now disembarking, their feet returning to a land and a people forever changed.

“They still know how to handle the ships,” Bog said, staring off at the sailors on the far peer. “Just as they knew how to handle blades and bows.”

Her voice had a sadness to it that Tarn had never heard in her before, but it was one he recognized in himself too. This may have been a victory, but it had come at a price. In the end, it was hard to argue with Yarex’s predictions.

“What would the old man say?” Bog turned to him. Her eyes were dry, her jaw set. “Something about playing the pieces you have?”

“That sounds like Rykin.” Tarn chuckled lowly. “I guess sometimes you can win and lose, Bog. The alternative for these people was worse. Death, or slavery.”

Tarn stopped, considering. All they had been through – all the adventures, the laughs, the hard times, and even the deaths. Bog had been at his side for all of it. He had never known a truly free day without her at his side.

“Bog, let me ask you something.” He stopped, letting the waves crash onto the beach once more, then allowing them to slowly recede. “When we met outside Baltoro Prison. Before the gems and the dungeons and all of this… were you happy?”

She picked up a single strand of rope on the dock, passing it between her fingers.

“Yes.” She nodded, a smile coming to her face. “I was with you, and with the team. My family. Doing something I love.”

Tarn laughed, his mind running to Lash. That one was one thing the big orc and the tiny gremlin had in common, simple needs. At times, he envied them.

“But it never bothered you that you didn’t know your past life? You never felt that you’d lost something?”

“Not a bit.” Bog shook her head. “You know that. I didn’t enjoy being in that labor camp, of course. But the life I decided for myself? Yeah, I was happy with that one, Tarny. I still am. Happier I’ll bet than that Kai ever was.”

She turned, taking his hand.

“What the mages did to me was wrong, Tarny. I still believe that even though I’ve found happiness – and it’s NOT like what we did, or at least not why. The Kai? As near as I can tell she had no choices in her life. All her decisions were made for her, by the chieftain, by tradition, by history. They chose her pain, her beliefs, her enemies. It’s the same with the orcs. Now they get to decide who they will be, what they will believe.”

Tarn looked out at the orcs farther up the beach. They sat in a circle, older and younger holding hands together, as one of the elders Narsol had rescued led them in a song. Their voices were uncertain, but their hands were clasped tightly.

“That helps, Bog.” Tarn let a sigh release. “I know we didn’t have a better choice open to us, but that didn’t make this an easy one.”

“You saved us.”

A voice came from behind them. Standing, they turned to see a younger orc man standing before them. Tarn judged him to be in his early twenties, barely an adult. He wore a simple leather coverall, hammers, and planes hanging from his belt.

“I heard you talking. I saw you from the beach… and decided to come here to you.” He looked past them, out to the sea for a moment, his eyes narrowed as if he were unsure of what it was. “I don’t know why I did, but I thought you should know, I feel you saved us.”

“I guess,” Tarn said. He wanted to smile at the young orc, but couldn’t muster it. “We were part of it, but you were part of it too. This solution – was not what we wanted. Tell me, what do you remember… of who you are?”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“My name is Rerta.” He looked down at a small patch on his sleeve. “That’s what this says anyway. From the tools, I guess I’m a carpenter. I don’t remember being one or being anything. But I know how to use the tools. It feels – strange.”

“It is hard.” Bog stepped forward, timidly at first. She then seemed to regain herself, closing the distance and putting her hands on the orc’s shoulder. “At first. But it does get easier. I … I can help you. I… want to help you.”

A pair of older female orcs shambled forth down the pier, each tapping old canes on the wooden deck as they locked arms with their surprising human escort.

“I brought some friends,” Ramad said with a smile. Leaping to his feet, Tarn burst into a shocked grin at the sight of the Realm’s steward. He had assumed that Ramad had sent Lurim’s navy warships along to assist, but had never guessed the man himself would leave the spire and join them.

“We can help you, as well.” The older looking of the two elders said. “We have within us the histories of our people. The names and places, the songs and tales. The fabric of the orcs has not been fully lost.”

“He needs to hear that,” Bog said. She rose and stepped closer to the elder. “Narsol did save his people in the end, by saving all of you.”

“And yet.” The second woman spoke up, looking over at Tarn with her wizened eyes. “Not all the old teachings still need to be taught. Some old stories should die this day.”

“Stories on both sides,” Tarn said. “Just like you, we’ve been taught to fight and hate each other, for reasons centuries old. But look what we have done together.”

He gestured off to the distant Axe Dungeon. The rising sun caught the metal of its massive blade as it scraped against the clouds. The doors sealed, their enemies trapped now on the other side.

“A sight I am glad to see.” Ramad worked his way gently around the older orcs, coming to Tarn’s side. He paused for a moment, then his face broke out into a broad grin.

“Ramad.” Tarn laughed. “If you hadn’t come – where would we be?”

“Dead, I’d guess.” He gave Tarn a playful punch on the shoulder. “And yet if you hadn’t gone here – well, I wouldn’t have realized I needed to help you.”

“So, who’s running things back at the spire?” Bog looked at Ramad with curiosity. “Not that hag Satine Gorford?”

At this suggestion, Ramad roared with laughter.

“She’d have a hard time running things from her cell at Baltoro!” He shot Tarn a wry grin. “Tried to have me killed just two days after you left. I spent ten years with Lurim, and she really thought she was going to get the better of me?”

“But if you’re here then who-“

“I left good people in charge Tarn, don’t worry. Like you, I know the value of a strong team. And yesterday I learned the value of getting my hands dirty sometimes.”

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” He turned back to address the two elders. “Now ladies, I think this is a lot of time in the hot sun, don’t you? Maybe we head back to the tent for a time?"

“Come,” the first elder said. “We are about to sit to the Dawn’s Bounty – for orcs, that is the first meal of the day. It would be good to learn of this, young one.”

Bog watched them leave, her feet shuffling back and forth. Tarn waited a moment, then gave her side an elbow.

“You can go with them, you know? It doesn’t have to mean anything you don’t want it to.”

“I want to.” She looked down, sighing. “I can feel it. I am – curious. I had all that time with Narsol, where I could have asked him so many questions. But I’m afraid that if I-“

“Bog,” Tarn interrupted her. “In all the time we’ve been friends, the one thing you’ve never been is afraid. You are who you decide you are. Going and learning, even helping them, isn’t going to change that. Not if you don’t want it to.”

She laughed, a sound that was free of the weight he had felt within her.

“You’re right.” Smiling, she pulled him into a crushing embrace, squeezing tight before releasing him. “You’re like the brother I never had, Tarny. I can learn about them, and maybe even my past, but it won’t change who I am today.”

“Then quit wasting time with me and go have breakfast before they start without you! And teach them to have some coffee, Narsol would like that.”

Turning, she began to run after them. The wood of the pier shook with her footfalls, as she sang off-key about the Lord of Coffee.

He watched her depart, catching up with the three orcs and Ramad headed for the beach tent. At the end of the beach was the jungle, and farther still the Axe Dungeon loomed.

Welcome home, Bog, Tarn thought to himself. In truth, she carried her home with her. He had little doubt that when it was time to leave, she’d be coming with them. But there was a road she had been on since he had met her, on a dark and rainy afternoon outside a Realm Army prisoner camp.

A road where she had been at war with her own blocked past, and the danger she was worried it represented to who she was now. Tarn himself had run that long mile within the Sword Dungeon, climbing out from under his guilt for his sister’s fate and his own mistakes.

Now Bog had an opportunity to move on. But as he saw the familiar winged shape of Isca hovering toward him, Lash and Urthin in tow, it was a reminder that not all of them had reached the same closure as he and Bog. Isca’s home was still lost, as were Urthin’s dreams for his future.

“Not yet.” He said to his three approaching friends, his eyes drifting up to the Axe Dungeon once again. “But I will get them there.”