THE SCROLL OF ÓRKOS
THE SCROLL OF ÓRKOS
Chapter 28
From the terrace that stretched beyond his study, Alpha King Lir stood in silence, his sharp gaze fixated on the frozen courtyard below the building.
He silently watched the small frames of the slaves gather, their stances at ease, in the center of the field, as Commander Saphena declared the rules and obligations of their training.
As they were being briefed on the do’s and don't’s, warriors handed them their respective training weapons for the opening duel.
An initiative ceremony where the trainees are expected to choose an opponent and take them down. It was also used to differentiate the weak from the strong.
The horn blew at the commencement of the ceremony, and the slaves descended into action, each with her own quest to win. It was a chaotic sight to behold, but Lir could not deny the effort the women put into their fight, because he didn't look away. He was not a lover of weakness and timidity, yet he fed his gaze with the sight of those attributes.
A gust of misty cold wind brushed through his hair as he folded his arms, his gaze drifting, inevitably, to her.
The red-haired maiden whose name he had not bothered to find out.
She stood out from the others, mostly because of her appearance, glistening brown skin, and bright red hair. Aside from that, her strikes and other battle movements were the weakest and most disappointing to watch, yet Lir refused to tear his gaze from her.
There was something about her, something he didn't understand, no matter how long he thought about it.
Lir had been watching her since the moment he placed her in that tent, through the weeks of traveling in the wagon, and now the training field.
This odd-looking woman was nesting in his head, longer than she should. She made his wolf restless with each move she made, and each time the wind carried her scent his way.
The door creaked open behind him, but Lir didn't move a muscle, knowing who it was.
“Lancelot,” he said simply.
His Beta approached quietly, halting beside him on the terrace. Together, they observed the training yard below in a mutual and comfortable silence.
“How are the other slaves?” Lir asked in a calm and measured tone, referring to the men who had been separated days back and were undergoing their own training under Beta Lancelot.
“Dead,” Lancelot announced, exhaling.
Lir’s brow twitched, but he remained silent, giving Lancelot the accolade to continue.
“They didn’t survive the task of the wild, the same task that was given to the women, who, an impressive number of them, returned.”
Lir’s jaw tightened slightly, though he remained composed; his mind was swirling with thoughts, and the news was indeed something to ponder on.
“Have them buried as soon as possible.” He said after a moment of silence as he adjusted his stance tracing his gaze back to her.
She had fallen, her opponent winning the duel. Lir frowned, irritated by the profound helplessness she was putting out.
Lancelot followed his Alpha’s gaze, his lips stretching into a small smile “She’s very different. Whispers around the castle say she led her crew back to safety.”
Lir ignored Lancelot's comment. “What news do you have on the queen of Prospera?” he asked instead, his tone clipped, redirecting the conversation.
Lancelot shook his head. “Nothing yet. The spy hasn’t sent word, but hopefully, the Ravens will fly in soon.”
Lir gave a small nod, his face unreadable. His hands were subconsciously clenching and unclenching.
Finally, he spoke, “Report back to me as soon as you receive anything.”
“Yes, Alpha,” Lancelot said with a bow, before excusing himself, the heavy door closing behind him.
Lir turned away from the terrace, walking back to his desk. The room was dim, the firelight from the torches illuminating the space, casting shadows all around.
Maps, reports, and coded letters lay scattered before Lir, but he settled his gaze on the scroll of órkos, spread open with a dried quill pen resting lightly on it.
Lir picked up the quill and dipped it into the bottle of ink by the stack of other official scrolls. Dabbing the pen to rid off the excess, and bringing it back to the scroll.
The scroll contained a total of five names: Hopevale, Cyberia, Wildstorm, Majestic, and Prospera. Four of which had fallen in the space of twelve years.
Lir settled his quill on Majestica, striking a line across it like he had done with the others, leaving Prospera as the last kingdom standing untouched by his quill and his wrath, but not for long.
Ares, the queen of Prospera, was going to fall just like her acquaintance did. She was going to taste a portion of the pain, damage, and suffering she caused him and his entire pack.
It was a vow he made twelve yea
rs ago, and a promise he would uphold until his very last breath.