As Rikuya and Volgra made their way through the dense woods, the tension in the air thickened. The sound of distant rustling leaves seemed to grow louder, but it wasn't the forest that commanded attention—it was the ominous presence of four hulking orcs standing at the edge of a clearing.
Their bodies were massive, their features animalistic and brutal, with tusks protruding from their lower jaws. But what caught Rikuya's attention, and what immediately made Volgra stiffen, was the way their eyes fixated on her. Their gazes were unsettling—lecherous and full of an unspoken intent. The orcs' tongues flicked out as they leered, their massive forms casting long shadows over the moonlit path.
Volgra's fist tightened around Rikuya's shirt, her body brimming with silent anger. She shot a sharp glare toward the orcs, her own fiery gaze matching their intensity. "Stay out of my way," she growled, the warning clear in her voice.
But the orcs didn't flinch. Instead, one of them—larger than the others—stepped forward with a cocky grin on his face, his eyes glinting with mischief. He sniffed the air. "Ooh, look at that, boys," he said in a low, grating voice. "Another human—and a pretty one too. Looks like we got ourselves a new toy."
Volgra's hands balled into fists at her sides, but before she could react, Rikuya stepped forward, a calm but unwavering presence. His posture was relaxed, but there was a definite intensity in the way he stood—his body coiled like a spring, ready to explode into action.
Then, in a fluid motion, he shifted into a Muay Thai stance. His feet planted firmly on the ground, his knees slightly bent, and his hands held high in defense—every inch of him exuded confidence and readiness. The way he moved was almost hypnotic to watch. Volgra, who had seen countless battles and warriors in her time, couldn't help but be impressed by the sheer focus and precision Rikuya carried.
His gaze never wavered from the orcs, who seemed to hesitate for a moment, clearly thrown off by Rikuya's sudden shift in demeanor. The massive orc who had spoken faltered, his grin fading slightly. Rikuya's posture spoke volumes: He wasn't just standing there; he was preparing for a fight, a fight he knew he could win.
Volgra's breath caught in her throat as she watched him. There was something about the way he stood—calm, controlled, and utterly confident—that struck her in a way she hadn't expected. It wasn't just his physical prowess, though that was impressive. It was the way his strength didn't need to be flaunted—it radiated from him quietly, but powerfully. She had fought alongside many warriors, but this was different. Rikuya wasn't just a fighter; he had a presence that commanded respect.
The orcs, no longer certain of their approach, exchanged uneasy glances. Volgra could feel their hesitation, the shift in the air. She glanced at Rikuya, her heart pounding unexpectedly, a mix of admiration and something deeper tugging at her.
"Stay behind me," Rikuya said softly, but his voice carried the weight of authority. His eyes didn't leave the orcs for a second.
Volgra was about to respond when the largest of the orcs, anger beginning to flare in his eyes, made the first move. With a bellow, he charged at Rikuya, his fists raised high to strike. But Rikuya didn't flinch. He shifted his weight, and as the orc swung, Rikuya sidestepped with the grace of a predator—his movements precise and effortless.
As the orc's attack missed, Rikuya's knee shot up in a lightning-fast strike, landing squarely in the orc's ribs. The impact echoed in the night, the force enough to send the orc stumbling back, momentarily stunned.
Volgra stood there, her heart racing as she watched Rikuya in awe. She had known warriors—many of them strong and capable—but there was something different about Rikuya. His style was a seamless blend of strategy and power, each movement deliberate and calculated. In that moment, she realized something: she wasn't just fighting alongside him out of necessity—she admired him.
The other orcs hesitated, then roared in anger, charging at Rikuya from all sides. But Rikuya remained unfazed. His stance was a beacon of confidence, every muscle in his body tuned for combat, every movement flowing with the fluidity of a seasoned fighter.
Volgra could see it now—Rikuya wasn't just strong. He was a force to be reckoned with, and the orcs could feel it too.
The ground beneath their feet seemed to pulse with the energy of the upcoming battle, the tension thick in the air as the orcs circled. Rikuya remained still, the calm before the storm. Volgra's heart raced, but it wasn't just the fight that had her on edge. It was the way Rikuya's presence had shifted something in her.
She took a deep breath, her anger at the orcs burning away, replaced with a quiet determination. "Let's finish this," she said, her voice steady, her eyes fixed on the fight ahead.
Rikuya gave her a brief nod, and without another word, the fight continued. The orcs didn't stand a chance against the synergy of their skills—Rikuya's fluid, calculated strikes, and Volgra's raw, unbridled power. Together, they were unstoppable.
And as they fought side by side, Volgra couldn't help but wonder if this moment was the beginning of something deeper between them.
As the moon climbed higher and the forest finally gave way to the jagged rocks of the Western Cleft, the adrenaline from battle faded into a heavy silence. Rikuya's arm was still around Volgra as they stepped onto the stony path, the cool wind brushing past them like a whispered lament.
There, scattered near the cliff's edge, lay the remains of Volgra's fallen comrades—those who had stood with her, laughed with her, bled with her. Her breath caught in her throat as she knelt beside them, her hand trembling slightly as she reached out.
Rikuya said nothing. He simply removed his cloak, set it down beside her, and started digging into the earth with his bare hands. The ground was stubborn, filled with root and rock, but he worked silently, tirelessly, as if offering his effort as a sign of respect.
Volgra wiped her eyes, but the tears still came. "They deserved better than this... not a grave under broken stone."
"They deserved a warrior's farewell," Rikuya replied, his voice low, firm.
Together they buried the fallen—one by one, laying them down gently, covering them with care. Volgra whispered their names under her breath, each one like a soft wound reopened. Rikuya stood beside her the whole time, guarding the silence.
As the last mound of dirt was packed down over the graves of Volgra's fallen kin, a heavy silence hung between them. The wind howled gently through the Western Cleft, sweeping through the carved stone like a mournful hymn. Rikuya stood beside her, hands calloused and dirt-streaked, watching the strong orc woman quietly trace her fingers across the final grave marker.
She didn't cry. She stood tall, but the pain was in her eyes—burning, proud, and aching.
When she finally turned toward him, her expression softened. "You… you didn't have to do all this," she murmured, voice lower than usual. "But you stayed. You fought beside me. You helped bury my clan like they mattered."
Rikuya opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Volgra stepped in, grabbed the collar of his torn shirt, and pulled him into a kiss.
It wasn't gentle. It was raw, sudden, full of everything she hadn't said. He blinked, stunned, but didn't pull away—until she did, lips barely parted, breath warm against his.
Rikuya stood frozen. "Okay… didn't see that coming."
Volgra chuckled, a rare flush rising to her cheeks. "Don't read into it too much. Maybe I just like my men bloody and brave."
"You really have a type, huh?" he teased, still breathless.
She stepped closer, deliberately brushing her arm against his bare side where his shirt had torn. "You're not bad to look at either," she said slyly. "All that muscle from swinging your fists around. I've noticed."
He raised an eyebrow. "You were unconscious half the time."
Volgra smirked. "Didn't stop me from peeking."
Rikuya cleared his throat, flustered now. "You're a dangerous woman, Volgra."
"And you're a surprisingly decent man," she said softly, her voice dipping into something tender.
For a while, they stood in that tension—something between flirtation, grief, and warmth. Then, as night crept further in and the stars above began to sparkle, Volgra stretched, her armor shifting slightly, the plates creaking as a strap came loose and slid down one shoulder.
Rikuya turned his head, trying not to look. "Uh—you want help tightening that, or…"
Volgra shot him a look. "Relax. It's not the first time you've seen a warrior's shoulder, is it?"
"No," he admitted, then muttered, "but none of the others were glowing under the moonlight."
She blinked, surprised. Her grin faded to a softer smile. "You're such a dork," she said, stepping forward and resting her forehead briefly against his chest. "But I like it."
And that night, under the stars and among the stones, they sat close by the fire. Their words faded to quiet laughter. Fingers brushed. Eyes lingered. Something passed between them that wasn't loud, but it was real.
They didn't speak of it aloud—but something deeper happened. And when morning came, they were still side by side, warmer than the fire had ever been.
The sun filtered through the leaves above, golden rays landing on the uneven stone floor of the Western Cleft. Rikuya stirred first, the morning chill brushing against his skin. Beside him, nestled under the furs, was Volgra—the sharp-eared, raven-haired goblin who had fought like a beast and slept like a cat curled against him.
She shifted slightly, the blanket slipping just enough to expose her bare shoulders and a teasing sliver of green skin. Rikuya turned his head—then immediately looked away.
"Damn it…" he muttered, face turning slightly red. "Why does she always end up like that?"
Volgra's crimson eyes cracked open. She blinked slowly, then stretched with a luxurious yawn, her black hair tumbling over her chest. "You're staring again," she teased, her voice low and playful.
"Wasn't," Rikuya replied, deadpan. "Just making sure you didn't stop breathing or something."
"Oh, I'm breathing just fine," she said, rolling over deliberately, pressing herself slightly against his side with a grin. "Especially after last night…"
Rikuya choked on nothing, trying to sit up, but she grabbed his arm and dragged him back down.
"You really trying to run off again without saying anything, hunter?"
He looked at her, at the soft smirk playing on her lips, the way her black hair fell across her face, wild and messy from sleep. "I was going to get breakfast," he muttered, eyes flicking away again. "You're the one making it weird."
Volgra leaned in, eyes half-lidded, her warm breath brushing his cheek. "I like making it weird."
Before he could protest, she kissed him—playful, bold, and quick. Then she flopped back, stretching again, completely unbothered.
"Go then, hero. Bring back something big and juicy," she said, pulling the blanket back up over herself—but not quite high enough to hide the mischievous curve of her grin.
Rikuya stood, raking a hand through his hair. "You're the worst."
"And you love it."
He didn't deny it.
Rikuya moved silently through the underbrush, his footsteps barely stirring the frost-tipped grass. The morning had started simple—find food, scout the surrounding land, maybe snag a wild boar if luck was on his side. But the deeper he wandered toward the jagged cliffs to the northwestern edge, the more the forest grew... silent.
Too silent.
No birds. No rustling. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
That's when he felt it—a pulse, faint and rhythmic, like a second heartbeat beneath his feet. It wasn't magic. It wasn't monstrous. It was... familiar, and that was what unsettled him the most.
He crept forward until he reached a moss-covered rock wall with an opening half-hidden by overgrown vines. A cave.
Rikuya narrowed his eyes. There's something here.
He pressed his hand against the cold stone. The pulse was stronger now.
Cave systems this close to the cliff? Dangerous... but something's calling.
He stepped inside, shadows swallowing him whole as the light from the forest faded behind him. The air changed—cooler, heavier, laced with the scent of iron and something faintly floral. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the faint flicker of torches deep within the tunnel.
Then he heard it—footsteps. Many. Not beasts. Not the guttural sounds of orcs or monsters.
Voices.
Human... but not.
They spoke in a language he couldn't place, but there was laughter. Whispered chants. One deeper voice murmured with a clarity that chilled Rikuya's spine:
"The pact begins again."
He crouched low, heart pounding now—not with fear, but alertness. This wasn't just some rogue bandit camp.
Something far more ancient—and organized—was gathering in the dark.
Rikuya slid through the shadows like a wraith. The torchlight ahead flickered against damp cave walls, outlining two sentries deep in quiet conversation. He crept low, his breath steady, focused.
In one seamless motion, he surged forward.
His elbow shot up under the first guard's chin with brutal force. The crack of bone was brief—horrifying. The man's body collapsed instantly, eyes wide, lifeless.
Before the second could react, Rikuya twisted in place and sliced his hand across the guard's neck with clinical precision. Blood sprayed, warm and silent, as the man grasped his throat, falling to his knees. Then, nothing.
Rikuya wiped his hand clean on the fallen cloak and stepped deeper into the cave. The silence returned, heavier now. But he felt it—that strange pressure. Not monsters. Not beasts.
People.
Or something like them.
He narrowed his eyes. The deeper he moved, the more unnatural the air felt—too still, too cold. And ahead, just out of view… voices. Dozens of them.
He clenched his fists.
Something wasn't right.