Grut, seventeenth year of the Third Age
Without sleep, the body begins to weaken. Without sleep, fatigue grows like a burden, weighing its victim down until he can barely move. Without sleep, the mind begins to fade, slipping in and out of consciousness, but never truly entering the velvety blackness of peace. Without sleep, one would slowly waste away until he died of sheer exhaustion.
Such was not the case with Ragnak. Though he lay down every night, he feared the darkness that gathered at the edges of his vision. He feared the nightmares that waited to engulf him, full of pointing fingers and unanswered debts. And if he did finally slip from wakefulness, he awoke soon after, shaking and shivering uncontrollably, his mind tortured by those he had avenged.
There is a way to have peace, he thought to himself over and over. He was determined to find it. Even if it took a hundred years, he would find it. There must be a way. There must be. But what that way was remained hidden from him. His life had been torn asunder, filling him with pain. First Grimnak, and then Tornak had taken those he loved from him. He had responded in kind, and though the thirst for revenge had been slacked, the pain remained, consuming him from the inside. There was no resolution, no fitting end, no final peace. There was only the pain of his loss, a pain he could not dispel.
As the years crept by, Ragnak fell into an endless spiral of battles, each deepening his pain more and more as those he knew and loved were taken from him. He saw everything through a haze now, a haze that was growing steadily thicker as the crushing weight of loss bore down upon him, threatening to smother him beneath it…
Kira laughed. She whipped around the corner and then stumbled back as Terog appeared before her. She turned and took off in a different direction, Terog in hot pursuit.
The two orcs chased each other around the village, ducking, swerving, and laughing the whole time. They were joined by other young orcs who sprinted between the houses in an attempt to catch each other. A ’saur hide ball was found, and immediately the orcs were tumbling through the dust, each trying to grab it, rolling over each other as they scrambled forwards.
Ragnak sat in front of his home and watched them. Normally young orcs had no time for play. But Ragnak had ensured that his village would never be attacked while he remained in it, ready to lift an axe against any foe.
Kira scrambled free of the pile of orcs, clutching the ball tightly. Shrieking with laughter as the others chased after her, she took off between the houses, dodging their tackles and leaping over their grasping arms.
Ragnak watched her go. No smile lit his face. He sat, hunch-shouldered and still, half concealed in the shadows. There had been a time when Kira could comfort him, lift him from the pit of pain that now held him firm in its grasp. But that had been many years ago. That had been when Aderra was alive, with him, her presence calming his mind. That time had passed.
Kira, now relieved of the ball, raced to where Ragnak sat and stood before him, catching her breath. “Come play, father,” she said, tugging on his unresponsive arm. “Come and have some fun.”
Ragnak shook his head. “You play, Kira,” he whispered. “I enjoy watching you smile.”
It was true. Ragnak’s spirits couldn’t help but lift slightly as Kira rejoined her companions to scramble after the ball. But they could never remain up for long. It wasn’t that Ragnak did not want to have fun, or that he did not want to play; it was that fun had fled from his life. He had been leeched of happiness until only sorrow remained. He would give nearly anything for a moment of untroubled joy. Unfortunately, for Ragnak, such moments were a thing of the past.
Ragnak knew that something was wrong. Revenge was nothing new on Grut. It happened every day. And yet, none of the orcs who carried it out had sunk into a pit of pain like Ragnak had. They had grieved, yes, but they had returned to their lives. Ragnak had tried forgetting his loss, tried ignoring the nightmares, even tried returning to his every day hunting and acting like nothing had happened, but none of it had worked. Always the pain followed him, unrelenting. There was something he had missed, something he had done wrong.
The only thing that kept Ragnak from furiously trying to dig himself out of his plight all day long was Drelach. The orc had killed his own share of demons, and by now had a good supply of Hearts. Both he and Ragnak regularly carried out half-hearted raids on each other, but neither relished the idea of meeting on the field of battle. It would be a fight to the death, and when both of the combatants are unkillable, a fight to the death can take a very, very long time.
There would be no peace between their domains, however. Drelach had invaded Ragnak’s village. He had attacked his people. He had killed those he protected. He had even struck close to his family, killing Berog. Ragnak grinned to himself. He had gotten Drelach back for that. And then it hit him.
Ragnak sat bolt upright. “Kira!” he called, and she seemed to materialize before him instantly.
“Kira,” Ragnak repeated. “When Berog was killed, I ventured into Drelach’s village to find his murderer and bring him back.”
Kira’s expression fell at Berog’s name. She had been but four when he had died, but even now, ten years later, she still missed him.
Ragnak went on. “I found him. He was Melak, the son of Drelach. I captured him. I brought him back here. I gave him to you, telling you to punish him as you saw fit for what he had done.”
Kira nodded. It was true. Ragnak had commissioned two large orcs to guard Melak, but it had been Kira who had decided his fate.
Ragnak took a deep breath. Could this be the moment? Could he be about to hear the answer? Kira had suffered the same loss, experienced the same pain. And yet she was happy. How? What had she done different? He had never bothered to find out…
“What did you do with him, Kira? How did you punish Melak?”
Kira looked up at him. “I forgave him, father.”
Ragnak blinked. She had spoken as if this were the most obvious fact in the world.
“I let him go,” said Kira, merely looking politely confused.
“You — I — You let him go?” Ragnak repeated.
“Yes,” said Kira. “I let him go.”
Now Ragnak understood why Drelach had not attempted to get his son back: he had come back on his own. He contemplated Kira. She smiled hopefully at him. How could she be happy, knowing that Berog’s killer still walked free?
“But, Kira,” said Ragnak, “do you not hate him? Do you not seek his destruction? He slew your friend, your protector. Should not he be slain in turn?”
Kira’s eyes widened in horror. She looked as if she had never heard of such a gruesome concept. “Oh, no, father. I could never do that. Why would I? That would just double my pain, bring it to someone else as well. I don’t want to make more misery, father. I wanted to heal the misery that was already there. He was sorry for what he had done. I forgave him. I am sad that he slew Berog, yes, but I cannot hold a grudge forever. It would consume me. I could never live with that darkness inside of me. Never.”
“But how can you forgive him?” pressed Ragnak. “He shattered your life. How can you forgive him when he killed Berog?”
Kira was silent for a moment. Ragnak could tell she was thinking, trying to put her reasoning into words. After a time she looked up at him.
“I could forgive him,” she said slowly, “because it’s not about me. It’s not about what will make me happy, or what will satisfy me. If I can make others happy through my actions, isn’t that a far better reward than making myself happy at their expense?”
The magic of Ragnak’s Heart flickered inside of him at her words. He felt its familiar touch, pressing him to action, giving him the strength to do whatever was needed, and an inkling of the truth dawned on him. The thought did not last however. Everything suddenly changed with the swiftness of a death-stroke.
Where there had been happiness and fun a moment before, there was suddenly chaos. Where orcs had walked calmly, there were suddenly burned corpses. Where rows of comfortable houses had sat, there were flames and blackened remains. It took Ragnak a moment to figure out what had happened. Half the village seemed to have exploded for no reason.
Kira screamed and ran into the house, cowering in the shadows. Ragnak leapt up, his thoughts thrust aside as the demon Heart took over, feeding magic into his blood, strengthening his muscles and sharpening his mind. He grasped his two axes from where they had lain against the side of the house.
A monstrous shadow fell over the village. The flames seemed to burn brighter and higher in the darkness. Ragnak looked up, but did not comprehend what he saw. Nothing could be that big…
Scales as long as an orc was tall. Armor as thick as three orcs side by side. A mouth able to engulf twenty houses. Flames spilling from the maw hotter than lava. Leathery wings that blocked out the sun and flattened homes in their wake. A hide the color of sun baked rock in the dry season. Levach. Dragon.
“RUN!” bellowed Ragnak to anyone who could hear him. His order was unnecessary. Orcs were already running in every direction, bumping into each other, crying out in panic. There was a time to fight and a time to flee. This was one of the latter.
“HALT!” thundered a voice from overhead.
Ragnak looked up. For one impossible moment he thought the Levach had spoken. And then he recognized the voice, and saw the miniscule figure atop its back.
“Halt!” bellowed Drelach again, his face a picture of demonic glee at the terror he had inspired. “I mean you no harm!”
Ragnak found this hard to believe, given that half the village was in flames.
“There is only one thing I seek,” said Drelach. “There is only one orc that need fear me.” The Levach tilted to the right, and in that moment, Ragnak knew what was coming.
The jaws opened wide. Orange light spilled from them. Drawing his blades, Drelach leapt from the back of the Levach, landing in the doorway of Ragnak’s home.
“KIRA!” bellowed Ragnak, but it was too late: Drelach plunged into the shadowy house. As Ragnak made to follow, flames boiled up from the Levach’s stomach, burst from its maw, and consumed him in an inferno of pain. The force of the blast knocked him back to the ground, fire searing his skin.
His Heart exploded, magic dueling fire, death fighting life. His skin burned, then healed, then burned again. Which would give up in the end?
Everything was orange and red about Ragnak. He could see nothing but fire, hear nothing but fire, smell nothing but fire… surely the world was burning with him at its center, surely this was the final torture, surely no magic could keep him alive this long, surely the blackness approaching was the final darkness, the cold embrace of death, of true peace…
“KIRA!”
The terrible cry ripped through Ragnak, tearing him from sleep, from his ever persistent nightmares. Pain racked his body, but he ignored it. Ashes buried him, but he burst through them as though they weren’t there. Smoke choked him, but he no longer needed air to survive; the small red Heart bound to his chest was his life now.
He hurtled through the gray stillness, stumbling blindly in the dark until he found it… his home, his blackened house. He rushed through the door and by the rooms, all clogged with smoke so thick he could barely see through it. “Kira!” he shouted. “Kira, come to me!”
But no answering cry met him, no blackened figure burst from the rooms to greet him. The Levach, Kira, Drelach… they were all gone, leaving ruin and destruction in their wake.
Ragnak was finally forced to accept that she was gone, taken by Drelach. He sank to his knees in the ruined house, sinking through a foot of ash. His burnt skin cracked painfully, but he didn’t care. He was beyond all but the simplest emotions now.
His father had been taken by Grimnak. His wife had been taken by Tornak. And now his daughter, the last ray of hope and light in his life, had been taken by Drelach. His life had been shattered too many times to ever be repaired again. He would die, alone, darkened, in a world full of hate and suffering. There was but one final deed to be done.