Wrath Unleashed

The road stretched before Arinyanénar as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of crimson and gold. His heart was heavy, weighed down by the echo of Lúthien's gentle rejection and the aching void it left behind. He clutched the reins of Goldenstar—Lauriënénar, who sensed his master's turmoil and trotted quietly, her golden mane shimmering like molten sunlight against the dimming sky.

As the woods grew darker, the silence of the wilderness was shattered by guttural laughter and the clinking of crude weapons. Shadows moved among the trees, their forms hunched and twisted. A band of orcs emerged, their vile stench filling the air.

"Well, what have we here?" one snarled, its yellowed fangs glinting as it grinned. "A lone elf, dressed like a prince, ripe for the picking!"

Arinyanénar reined in his horse, his golden eyes burning with an intensity that sent a chill through even the brutish hearts of the orcs. Slowly, he dismounted, drawing Amanarótar from its sheath. The sword flared to life, its golden flames illuminating the forest, turning the shadows into grotesque caricatures of their owners.

"You should have stayed hidden," Arinyanénar said, his voice low and trembling with controlled rage.

The first orc lunged at him with a jagged blade, but Arinyanénar sidestepped effortlessly. With a single swing, he cleaved the orc in half, the radiant heat of his sword cauterizing the wound even as the creature fell lifeless to the ground. The remaining orcs hesitated, then charged together, snarling and howling.

Arinyanénar met their charge head-on, his movements a whirlwind of vengeance. He severed limbs with precision, his blade leaving trails of golden fire in the air. An orc shrieked as its arm was lopped off, the stump glowing red-hot before it collapsed in agony. Another tried to strike from behind, but Arinyanénar spun, Amanarótar slicing cleanly through its neck. The head tumbled to the ground, its eyes still wide with shock.

His blows were unrelenting, fueled by the storm of emotions raging within him. Each strike was a catharsis, a release of the anguish, the rejection, the heartbreak. He wasn't just killing—he was venting every ounce of his pain on the wretched creatures before him.

One orc fell to its knees, begging for mercy. "Please, lord, spare me!" it croaked, its voice trembling.

Arinyanénar stared down at it, his golden eyes hard as stone. "Mercy? You'll find none here." With a swift downward strike, he split the orc's skull, the blade igniting its corpse in a golden blaze.

The battle devolved into a massacre. Arinyanénar's strikes became slower, more deliberate, as he drew out the deaths of the last few. He impaled one orc, lifting it off the ground with Amanarótar's blazing blade, the creature writhing and screaming as its flesh charred. Another he disarmed—literally—before plunging his sword into its chest, twisting the blade as the flames consumed its body from the inside out.

When the last orc fell, the forest was eerily silent save for the crackle of flames licking at the ground and trees. Arinyanénar stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving, his face and armor splattered with blackened blood. The golden glow of Amanarótar began to fade as he sheathed it, the weapon seemingly sated by the slaughter.

Goldenstar—Lauriënénar approached him cautiously, her gentle whinny breaking through the haze of his fury. He placed a trembling hand on her neck, the warmth of her presence grounding him. Arinyanénar closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the weight of what he'd done settling over him.

"I am not this," he whispered to himself, though he wasn't sure he believed it. The faces of the dead orcs flashed before his mind's eye—not in guilt, but in grim satisfaction. The world had wronged him, and tonight, he had struck back.

Mounting Goldenstar, he urged her forward. The bodies lay scattered behind him, their remains a testament to his wrath. As he rode away, the flames began to die down, leaving the clearing in darkness once more.

He did not look back. The road to the Avari realm stretched ahead, and with it, the hope that his parents might offer solace to the storm raging within him.