Still your fears.

Cyrus' dream

Cyrus' bare feet clapped against the cold stone floor as he walked through the palace he served in. His movements were followed by the soft clamoring of the chains he always wore. Wearing a flowy layered skirt with just his shackles connected with chains, Cyrus was covered in a shimmery lotion that made his malnourished skin glow radiantly.

He was heading to the grand hall, where his master often entertained other slave masters and held lavish parties. He passed by other slaves and palace guards, keeping silent as he made his way downstairs. The palace was beautiful, it was covered in gold and red decor but to Cyrus it was a prison. The sight may dazzle outsiders but to him it was hollow and lifeless. Much like how he felt inside.

The beauty of the architecture was nothing more than places his face had been shoved into; walls he had been forced up against; Stairs he was tossed down and, even the statues carved by his ancestors brought memories of when he was chained to them for speaking up.

When he got into the grand hall the grandeur of it left a dull note for Cyrus. He simply dissociated with the room. His mind blocked it from his view as it blurred around him, and his only focus was on the man standing beside his Master.

It took him a moment to really realize who it was, as if his mind was pulling back layer after layer of his clouded vision to reveal him. A rush of confusion and panic washed over him as he could focus on the facial features.

"King Malach? What are you doing here? Why are you in Nual?" It was as if Cyrus had a glimpse of his reality seeping into his dream, making him remember the events of what just happened as it washed over him in subtle waves.

A slap to his face threw Cyrus' head to the side and he fell to his knees, his chains slamming on the floor. He just looked at his Master's feet as he held his cheek which stung with a burning pain.

"Do not speak to the King of Vibhurik so casually slave." Stein's words hissed with venom down at Cyrus.

"My sincerest apologies. I shall call upon a slave with more sense." Stein gave a disgusted look to Cyrus who cowered beneath them both.

Cyrus was too afraid to move. He was confused. Why was he back in Nual? Wasn't he in the camp? Wait no, he was at Vibhurik. Wasn't he? Or was that an illusion? Is this reality? He was pulled up to stand by his arms, squeezing his eyes shut he expected to be hit again. But instead he felt as if he was being carried while someone ran.

Opening his eyes he looked around, squinting from the rushing air. A person he believed was Malach was carrying him as they ran through the forest they were somehow now within. Cyrus' heart lurched as he caught eyes with something running alongside them, running through the trees.

Cyrus panicked, tapping the man's chest who carried him and pointed at the massive beast. But before they could do anything a massive claw swooped over and snatched Malach right up from the floor mid sprinting.

"Run Cyrus!" Malach's voice roared as he threw Cyrus out of the beast's grasp, falling into the cold icy dirt of the forest floor.

The beast stopped with a skid, taking a tree down as it crashed into it. This beast looked similar to the one he saw on route to Vibhurik, but it was different in a way Cyrus couldn't explain. He screamed as he watched the beast's mouth open, rows of sharp teeth clamped down onto Malach who had been swinging his axe at it. Cyrus' scream made no sound. All he could hear was the crushing of bones and tearing of flesh as he watched in horror.

He scrambled away, pulling himself backward as fear stilled his legs. Tears fell from his burning eyes. He tried screaming again, for help, for anyone. He had no voice. Yet again he was overcome with the sinking feeling of just how helpless he was.

The beast tossed Malach's legs and roared, its large claws tore up the ground as it started rushing to Cyrus.

Cyrus' heart was about to explode as he felt true terror. Before the beast pounced on him his sight went red.

With a flash his sight came back and the beast was in flames, sprawling about on the ground as it helplessly tried saving itself from the flames that refused to die down.

Breathing heavily Cyrus heard someone calling out to him. His sight turned white as he turned his gaze behind him.

—----

Cyrus' eyes shot open, he was sweaty and his eyes felt like they were on fire. His breathing was unsteady and heavy. His hands and feet tingled with an odd sensation as he forced himself to sit up. He rubbed at his eyes, blinking slowly as he couldn't see clearly. He brought himself to the end of the bed and wobbled his way to the beaded door. His dancer outfit was a bit tattered, but still intact, unlike the scorched cloak he was given that was taken off. His hands weakly pushed the strands aside, the bone and wooden beads clamoring only made the ringing in his head more intense.

He rubbed his eyes one last time. As he looked around the Shaman hut it looked empty, his eyes catching something moving in the corner of his vision he snapped his head to the statue of the Naga that the Shaman called Syaket. He wasn't sure how long he stood there staring at it. It made him feel at ease, but also incredibly confused. A soft silky voice whispered in his ear as he stood there. "Ssstill your fearsss."

It made him jump as he swatted his ear. He looked around the hut in a panic before his eyes went back to Syaket. He hesitated to believe that the statue talked to him.

"S..Syaket? Was.. Was that you?"

He felt foolish as he asked, especially getting no response. Cyrus ran his hands down his face as he slumped onto his knees. The anxiety from before burned in his stomach, his mind filled with a million questions.

"If you are praying for food, consider your prayers answered." Malach's voice was warm as he silently walked back into the hut with 2 trays of steaming food.

Cyrus looked up at him with a mixture of sadness, relief, and fear. Staring at Malach with tear filled red eyes. Malach really had no idea how to act around him so he just sat down beside him and handed him his food without looking his way. Silently hoping the elf wouldn't cry or scream at him.

"Eat." Cyrus took the tray, shifting to sit in a more comfortable way as he settled the tray on his lap with shaky hands.

He felt guilty, and worried that Malach was upset with him. His eyes blurred over as he looked at the food while tears fell down his cheeks. He wiped his face off after calming down. Malach ate beside him casually. With a deep breath he looked over the food and picked up a chicken leg, or he was pretty sure it was Chicken. It was much bigger than any he had ever eaten. He side eyed Malach before taking a big bite from it.

The meat was so tender and flavorful, his face lit up as he ate. Softly humming as he enjoyed every bite of food his anxiety began to subside for the most part. The subtle scent of daisies came from Cyrus as he ate, which made Malach smirk to himself. Even if he was still sad, the small amount of happiness that he could sense from him was nice.

After eating without speaking a word to each other Malach placed the trays of theirs onto a table near the front entry.

Once their hands were cleaned off on a towel Malach brought out Cyrus finally looked at Malach in his eyes. His hand rubbed at his own wrist where one of the cuffs had been, finding an odd sense of comfort in being able to touch his skin there.

"I'm… really confused about you." The words kind of came out on their own.

Malach was quiet, his eyes held Cyrus' gaze with a distant look. He waited patiently for Cyrus to continue as he crossed his arms and leaned against a support beam. He stumbled over his words, awkwardly pacing in a small circle in front of Malach.

"I've.. Obviously heard things about you.. And about Orcs.. That is probably why I'm…" He looked away from him. "Terrified.. Of you… And uh. Since meeting you, I've had very… Vivid dreams about you… Some, you were horrifying.. And tried to kill me... I'm.. Just confused. These dreams feel so real. Then, when I actually see you, you aren't the same."

Cyrus looked at him and groaned. "Well.. Sort of… I don't think you'll kill me.. But sometimes… I'm reminded of the stories about you, and the dreams of you… I just want to know…" Cyrus looked at him with a desperate expression, his hands were tightly clasped together over his chest. "Are the stories true? About you, and about the Orcs?"

Malach's expression slightly hardened as he inhaled. "All stories hold some kind of truth. You should form your own opinions…"

"Understanding someone means you have to understand their past, right? Their culture? Is it so bad that I want to know? Have the stories of you been twisted? Because… As much as I do see your ruthlessness.. I just don't see you as the same person I've heard about." There was an obvious hope in Cyrus' words mixed with some denial.

Malach looked away as he shook his head, letting out a rough huff. "As I said.. They hold truth."

"You… Ate elves? Do you really expect me to believe that you were torn to pieces? You aren't missing any limbs that I can see."

"I've had limbs torn off. I've been disemboweled. My throat slit. I've had my bones crushed in the mouth of a dire wolf." He gives Cyrus a tired look before continuing. "I haven't eaten elves… I have, however, done horrible things to some. War.. and battles.. They don't get won by playing nice."

Cyrus looked only slightly relieved. His red eyes looked over Malach's neck with curiosity, eyeing some particularly long scars across his throat. "I understand War.. is what it is.. But.." His eyes went back to Malach's as if he was searching for something.

"But?" He softly urged him on.

"Your eyes.. They're… I know this is odd… But in my dream, your eyes were so different. Cold, and heartless. But when I see you, at times you look sad… But you have such.. I don't know… Warm eyes. I feel like I can trust you."

Malach's eyes narrowed slightly. "I am who they say I am… I have no intention of harming you… But that doesn't make me any better of a person."

"But… You've treated us better than the humans have. You even.. Y-you didn't hurt me when.. I uh.. Set you on fire.."

"My fight is not with your people, and that was an accident…And I did piss you off, on purpose." Malach couldn't hide his slight grin tugging at the side of his mouth.

Cyrus looked at him a little annoyed. "On purpose? I should light you up now for saying that.."

Malach shrugged. "Do it then. If you feel like you can trust me not to harm you, then do it."

Cyrus looked at him wide eyed. Crossing his arms he turned around away from him and huffed. "I'd rather not burn your clothes off… Again. Plus, that was a joke..."

"You are much calmer now, so go ahead." He strided over to Cyrus and towered over him from behind. "I'm not getting naked just to avoid burning the clothes. You'll just have to figure out how to control yourself."

"And how would you know if I'm calmer?" When he turned around he looked right into his chest, his arm bumping into his abdomen as he hadn't realized how close he was. He slowly looked up with a nervous expression, his ears and cheeks were as red as his eyes.

"I can tell. You're nervous… A bit scared. But, you aren't on the brink of a meltdown like before."

Cyrus had stepped a few inches away, the shame of his previous actions knotting in his stomach. "I… I'm sorry about before." His eyes fell to the ground between them.

Malach tilted his head as he looked down at Cyrus. "You should only apologize when you've done something wrong. Still your fears,"

Cyrus' eyes widened, his gaze snapping upward to Malach's as he felt a strange tingling sensation travel from his ears and down his back. "Do you also talk to the gods?"

Malach was dumbfounded with his mouth left agape, he was in the middle of trying to be encouraging to him as Cyrus hit him with that question. He grumbled and ran his hand down his face. "No. The gods have always left me without answers. The Shamans speak with them, and carry out their messages and will... Why?"

Cyrus rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, looking over at the statue of Syaket a bit shamefully. "It's just… I heard a voice say the same thing you just did…"

Malach followed his gaze and looked grumpy, humphing as he crossed his arms while he addressed the statue. "After years of me asking for answers with nothing, not so much as a whisper in return, and you speak into the ear of a newcomer? Self righteous bastard…" He was clearly jealous, his ego just a bit bruised as he scoffed and looked away from the insulting Naga statue.

Cyrus felt a bit guilty, his mouth instinctively opened to begin apologizing but Malach cut him off. "It isn't your fault the gods don't speak to me, my anger is at them, not at you."

Malach's ears twitched at the sound of a distant whistle, most ears wouldn't pick it up from the distance. He placed his hands on his hips in a relaxed way. "Try and summon a flame and I will return you to your kin, the Shamans have signaled their return and I would prefer to be out of this dreadful hut before they reach it."

Cyrus gulped and looked at his trembling hands. The cut he got from Malach's tusk was covered with a wrapped cloth. He took deep shaky breaths as he paced himself, his hands gradually getting hot as he let out a whoosh like breath. "Okay… Fire… summon fire…"

Malach watched with a quirked brow, taking a step closer to him. They both flinched when a spark cracked on his palm. Cyrus' eyes began to water and he inhaled with a loud scared whine. " O-okay-okay-okay…" He yelped as a bigger crackle sparked in his hand.

Malach gently cupped his hands under Cyrus', speaking softly to help him calm down. "Cyrus, close your eyes."

He looked up at him and shook his head as he stumbled over his words. Malach just shushed him gently. "Close your eyes and just listen. Steady your breathing. When you think of fire, what do you see?"

Cyrus tensed up, his eyes squeezing shut. His mind was racing with the many instances that fire caused him or someone he knew pain. "I see… The burns upon… the skin of my friend… from branding irons… to boiling water thrown upon them… the fireplace in my master's chambers…" His hands were balled up in painfully tight fists that trembled in Malach's hands. Malach softly squeezed his big hands around Cyrus' fists as he choked on the painful memories.

"Fire can hurt, but it also brings many good things. Like warmth on a cold night. We use it to cook our food, right Cyrus?"

He nodded stiffly, though he was noticeably relaxing as he began envisioning what Malach was saying. "It also brings light, it helps us feel safe in the dark. Imagine a torch light within your hands."

As Cyrus relaxed his fists opened and a flame crackled in his palms, growing and dancing beautifully between them.

Malach let out a soft sigh of relief. "Open your eyes, remember this when you want to use your magic." Cyrus' eyes glowed bright red as he opened them, his breath hitched in his throat as he saw the flame.

His shoulders relaxed, watching the flame dance and flicker. His ears tingled as he heard that slithery voice once more, "Chhhild of sssun, know freedom… know power."

Malach sensed something strange, pulling his hands away as he saw Cyrus was calm. His eyes looked at Syaket, hearing the Shamans nearing the hut he pulled his mask over the half of his face. "Good… Not to ruin your moment but, now that that is done lets go. My skin is crawling."

Cyrus closed his palms and the flame went out, he let out a small soft laugh of disbelief in himself. He didn't want to mention that he heard Syaket once more. "This feels so unreal…" He began to feel a bit lethargic, his hand going to his head as he swayed on his feet.

Malach placed a hand on his shoulder and steadied him. "Let's get you and the others in a room to rest… You'll probably have to share for now."

Cyrus nodded, wrapping his arms around himself as he walked with Malach to leave the hut, not without casting a glance to the statue of Syaket, offering him a mental thanks. Once outside the group of what he assumed to be the Shamans were approaching, they saw Malach and in unison they growled a huff at Malach, which he returned to them while still walking away from the hut.

Cyrus looked them all over, they were a mixture of teal and gray orcs, all holding large bundles wrapped up in their arms. Some of them seemed very young. Turning his gaze back to where Malach was leading him he saw the path lead beside a very long and massive building the height of the hut hid from his sight before. There was a lot of commotion coming from the building, merrimaking from what he could tell. The closer he got the strong smell of ale and delicious food wafted to his nose.

Malach huffed at the building. "That's the mead hall, we eat and drink together. Celebrate wins and mourn our losses."

Cyrus felt dwarfed as they walked along the side of it down the path. "Everyone here fits inside?" Malach nodded silently. Cyrus was about to speak when an armored Orc hooted at Malach for attention. He spoke to Malach in Orcish, so Cyrus couldn't really understand him.

After the brief exchange that Cyrus wasn't sure if it was good or bad, the Orc slammed his fist against his own chest and slid back between 2 houses and disappeared. Malach continued down the path, Cyrus following right beside him. The path descended down a hill and lead to a very large longhouse, massive ancient looking bones that lined the roof, giving the building a menacing look. Above the main door a massive skull of what seemed to look like a large reptile was displayed with its jaws open, showing its jagged teeth.

Cyrus stopped in his tracks at the sight, Malach looked back at him. "It's just a skull, it's been dead for generations."

Cyrus grimaced and followed hesitantly down the steps to the longhouse. His eyes take in the massive house's structure. "What is it?" "Dragon." Malach said immediately.

"What-seriously?" "Do I look like someone who makes jests often?" Cyrus shook his head. "I didn't know they were real."

"Many things of myth and legend are real, just long dead." He opened the large heavy wooden door of the longhouse, the handle was carved bone that his hand seemed to swallow. Malach cocked his head as he stepped to the side to let Cyrus inside. The entryway was spacious, and was lit by a large fireplace with even more skeletal decor. Malach's 2 older children were brawling on top of a beast rug as multiple orcs and some of the elves watched. 1 teal orc woman sat on the side of the rug and hollered with encouraging words, the smaller child sitting in her lap.

Malach didn't seem worried at all, unlike Cyrus who gasped as the girl threw the boy will all her might.

"Good Rasu! Show us your might!" The woman holding the child excitedly roared.

There was an older male Orc who resembled the older children with gray skin who made a beastly growl sound. "Zezach! Get up boy, fight back!"

The children went at eachother again, but it didn't seem like they were hurting each other senseless, they were obviously trained even at such a young age. The girl was much faster in her reaction time and in mere seconds she had the boy, Zezach pinned to the floor in an armbar.

Malach got closer and clapped a few times. "Rasu'zara, I see you have your mother's prowess in battle. Chalach and Olatir would be proud of you both." He knelt down and the 3 kids went up to him once more, Cyrus having walked to stand with Zestari who was standing to the side.

"Mala, you should have seen when the 3 of them ganged up on their pops." A woman who was practically the spitting image of Malach who stood next to the older gray orc spoke, she went to Malach and pat the top of his head.

"Oh? Did the 3 of you take the old man down?" The children excitedly all at once spoke of their wrestling against their pops, which Cyrus learned was Malach's father, the Gray Orc. Zestari had whispered in his ear and pointed them out for him.

"Hmph. They remind me of when you and Chalach were pups. Knew from a young age the both of you would be strong, same as these pups will be." He was a rough spoken man, but he seemed loving in his own way. His orange eyes went to Cyrus, which startled him. "I am Mahlagash. This is my mate, Rask'heni. We are Malach'karh's parents."

"I am Cyrus." He gave him a polite bow.

Malach stood, huffing at his children he motioned his head to Cyrus.

They each in turn introduced themselves to the elves.

The girl spoke first. "Rasu'zara." Then the older boy. "Zezach." Then the smaller boy. "Koribur!" Whose introduction was like a war cry.

The woman Koribur had been sitting with stood up and picked Koribur up. "Sogri. Kori's mother."

Cyrus was putting things together. "Is Sogri the queen then?" That earned him a hearty laugh from her.

Malach grumbled. "We are not mated." Cyrus just cleared his throat and nodded awkwardly.

"Come elves, I can sense your exhaustion from miles away." Thera had popped in from a hallway to the left of them with Shireen right next to her who smiled sweetly.

Cyrus and the others went with Thera down the hallway, past a few doors, showing them that a large door down the hallway was Malach's room. She opened the door to a pretty big room. It had enough beds for them each, somewhat cramped with all the beds but it was a room for them that wasn't damp, dirty, and pretty much a cell.

They were all exhausted as they figured out which bed they would sleep on and rested for the night. Cyrus laid in his bed made of fur and a wooden frame restlessly as the others were sound asleep. His mind didn't want to accept that he was safe, having never known freedom. He also didn't want to have another intense dream. Amid his worrying, and his anxious thoughts, he did eventually fall asleep.