CHAPTER 35: THE BITTER AWAKENING

Pain. Deep and gnawing, like something had burrowed into his ribs and made a home there. Gorgrok sucked in a slow, ragged breath, his throat burning with the taste of iron and ash. His head throbbed, heavy as if filled with molten lead.

He should be dead. He was dead—or close enough that he had welcomed the black abyss with open arms. Yet, the abyss had spat him back out.

A shadow shifted in the dim light.

His vision was blurred, but he caught the outline of a figure, framed by the sickly, pale glow filtering through the ashen air. A familiar face, sharp and elegant by orcish standards, softened slightly by the flickering firelight behind her. Long, ink-black hair fell in braids over her shoulders, and her emerald eyes gleamed with something between amusement and calculation.

A woman. A pretty one, at that.

She held an empty glass bottle, turning it idly between her fingers.

Gorgrok coughed, his throat raw. His tongue felt like sandpaper against his tusks. “Who...?” His voice barely scraped out, dry and brittle.

The woman smiled, tilting her head. “Ashra,” she said smoothly, her voice a pleasant rasp. “Assistant to High Chief Drakgar. Hired by his wife, Kora.”

Gorgrok narrowed his eyes. That name. Kora. The High Chief’s mate.

His thoughts churned sluggishly, struggling to piece themselves together. He should be dead. The fight—Drakgar had gutted him. His blood had stained the sand black. There had been no mercy in the Chief’s eyes. No hesitation in the killing stroke.

Yet here he was. Alive.

He tried to sit up, but fire lanced through his ribs. He groaned, pressing a hand to his side. The wound was there, but sealed—tender flesh where there should have been a gaping hole.

“How?” He rasped, his gaze flickering to Ashra. “I should be dead.”

Ashra smirked and held up the empty bottle, giving it a little shake. “Goblin-made healing potion.”

Gorgrok let out a low whistle, his tusks clicking together. “That’s expensive.” His gaze darkened. “Why?”

Ashra shrugged, unconcerned. “Kora thought you were worth it.”

Gorgrok barked a short, humorless laugh that sent another jolt of pain through his chest. “Worth it for what?”

The smirk widened. “She intends for you to bond with a dragon egg.”

The words hit like a hammer to his skull. He stared at her, waiting for the punchline.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

None came.

“A dragon egg?” He spluttered, voice rising. “Me?”

Ashra nodded, unfazed. “And then you’re going to help the elves. Spy on them, maybe.”

Gorgrok let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Kora’s lost her mind. You can’t just hand me a dragon egg! The others won’t allow it. And that’s assuming the damn thing even bonds with me.”

Ashra rolled her eyes. “No one’s going to deny you after what you pulled in the pit,” she said dryly. “You should be dead. But you aren’t. That earns you respect. Fear, even.”

She leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming. “And the egg doesn’t have a choice. It needs a bond soon, or it dies. It’ll take whatever it can get.”

Gorgrok exhaled through his nose, flexing his fingers. This was madness. Even if the egg did bond with him, the elves would never trust an orc in their midst. And spying on them? He wasn’t subtle. He was a warrior, not a snake.

His jaw tightened. “Drakgar dragged out the match,” he muttered. “Everyone would have noticed.”

Ashra shook her head. “Almost everyone with any real fighting experience was occupied elsewhere,” she said. “And for people like me? Well, we wouldn’t know the difference.”

Gorgrok let that sink in.

He had been meant to die. Everyone thought he was dead. And now Kora wanted him alive for something even more dangerous.

A dragon egg. A second chance. A mission built on deception.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his tusks clacking together. “This is madness,” he muttered.

Ashra raised a brow, leaning forward slightly. “You’d rather be dead?”

Gorgrok scoffed. “Might be the simpler option.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Perhaps. But you’re not dead. And now, you have a choice.”

His eyes flickered to her, sharp and questioning. “Do I?”

Ashra met his gaze without hesitation. “Kora saved you. She expects something in return. That’s the way of things.”

Gorgrok grunted, running a hand over his face. His fingers brushed over the rough scarring on his cheek—old wounds, trophies of battles past. This new one, though, the one hidden beneath the hastily sealed flesh on his ribs… this wasn’t a trophy. It was a debt.

And Kora had come to collect.

He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling of the dimly lit tent. “You really believe the egg will bond with me?”

Ashra’s expression remained unreadable. “I believe it has no choice. And neither do you.”

Gorgrok let out a bitter laugh. “Always good to have options.”

Ashra smirked. “If it makes you feel better, you’re not the first warrior to be thrown into something beyond his control.”

His eyes narrowed. “And how many of those warriors ended up in an unmarked grave?”

Ashra didn’t flinch. “Plenty. But those who survived? They became legends.”

Gorgrok huffed. “Not much comfort.”

She leaned back, crossing her arms. “Then let me give you something better. Refuse, and Kora’s favor means nothing. Your survival becomes an inconvenience. And inconvenient men don’t last long.”

He rolled his shoulders, wincing as pain flared up his side. “And if I accept?”

Ashra’s smirk returned. “Then you become something more than a corpse left to rot in the sand.”

Gorgrok studied her, searching for any trace of deception in her emerald eyes. He found none—only that same mix of amusement and cold calculation.

His fate had been sealed the moment he opened his eyes.

He exhaled sharply. “Fine. Show me the egg.”

Ashra’s smile widened. “I thought you’d see reason.” She pushed herself up, brushing stray strands of hair from her face. “Rest for now. When you can stand, I’ll take you to it.”

She turned to leave, but Gorgrok’s voice stopped her.

“This isn’t trust,” he said quietly. “Just survival.”

Ashra paused in the doorway, her silhouette outlined by the dull glow of firelight. She glanced back over her shoulder, her smile unreadable.

“Survival has a way of turning into something more,” she murmured. And then she was gone.

Gorgrok lay back, staring at the flickering shadows on the tent walls. His ribs ached, his head throbbed, and his future felt like it balanced on the edge of a knife.

A dragon egg. The elves. A mission soaked in deception.

His fingers curled into fists.

He had barely escaped one death.

And now, they were throwing him into another.