Ghak trudged through the abandoned streets, her legs heavy and her vision narrowing with each passing moment. Blood seeped steadily from the wound in her shoulder and her leg, staining the ground with every step she took.
The world around her felt distant, muffled, as though she were underwater. The devastation of the town was mirrored in her spirit—empty, broken, and devoid of hope. She stumbled, catching herself against a crumbling wall, but her strength was fading rapidly.
Her knees buckled, and she fell to the ground. The impact jolted her slightly, but she remained there, too weak to move. She stared at the overcast sky, her vision blurred by exhaustion and the edges of unconsciousness creeping in. Her breaths were shallow, ragged, and punctuated by faint whispers of self-recrimination.
"Ahh..." she thought bitterly. "Is this my end? What a worthless life... I couldn't protect Thorkan. I couldn't fulfill my parents' wishes. What was it all for?"
Her eyelids grew heavier, and darkness began to consume her sight. Just as she thought she would succumb to her fate, a voice cut through the haze.
"Look! Someone's lying there!"
Ghak's fading vision barely registered a figure kneeling beside her. The voice spoke again.
"It's an orc… and she's just a kid," the boy said.
The figure leaned closer, and her blurred sight focused momentarily on a face. It was young Naguk. Though slightly older than Ghak, his eyes carried a maturity that belied his age. His brow furrowed as he examined her injuries.
"She's alive," Naguk called to someone in the distance. "Let's help her."
Ghak stirred weakly. She managed to whisper, "Leave me… Leave me alone."
Naguk leaned closer, trying to catch her words. "What?"
She repeated faintly, her voice cracked, "Leave me alone… there's no reason for me to live."
Naguk paused, his expression softening. He crouched lower, meeting her faint gaze. "Come on," he said gently. "There's always a reason to keep living. You might not see it now, but that doesn't mean it's not there."
Ghak's lips trembled, but she said nothing. Naguk continued softly. "I don't know what you've been through, but I know it's not your fault. You've been through hell, haven't you? But you need to keep moving. There's always a chance to find something worth living for. Don't you want to to find that?"
For a brief moment, Ghak's vision of Naguk flickered, melding with the present. The young Naguk she saw kneeling before her blurred and shifted into the face of Amukelo, crouched beside her now. His expression carried the same determination, the same desire to help.
Her lips parted slightly as the overlapping images of the past and present tugged at her heart. Amukelo's voice cut through the memory.
"Do you want to die here? Just like that?" he asked softly. "After what you did, you might think you don't deserve to live. And maybe you're right. But you know what? So do I. I've done things I can't undo, made mistakes I can never make up for. And yet, for some reason, I keep holding onto this life. Don't you want the same?"
Ghak's gaze locked onto his, her lips trembling as tears welled in her eyes. Her body shook, and she finally broke down. Her grief and guilt spilled out.
Everyone around them froze, taken aback by the sight of Ghak's usual cold demanour reduced to tears. Even Naguk, who had hardened his heart in preparation for what he thought he must do, seemed shaken. His grip on the axe slackened slightly.
Through choked sobs, Ghak finally spoke. "I don't… I don't want to die," she admitted. "But I don't deserve to live. Not after what I've done. My brothers… my brothers have died because of me. Thorkan… I failed him. And now I've failed you. How could I possibly ask for forgiveness?"
Amukelo straightened, his eyes narrowing as he turned to Naguk. "Then you should speak," he said firmly. "Maybe—just maybe—it will change something."
Naguk looked at him, his grip tightening again on the axe. But Amukelo didn't back down. His gaze met Naguk's with quiet determination, silently pleading for a moment's pause.
Naguk hesitated before sighing heavily, lowering his axe but not releasing it entirely. He turned back to Ghak. "So will you tell us? Why did you betray us, Ghak?"
Amukelo stepped back, giving her the space she needed, and then everyone turned to Ghak who was silent for a moment as she continued sobbing.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she managed to choke out words between her sobs.
"I didn't want to see anyone else die," she began, her voice trembling. "I saw what happened in Crimsonspire. Half of us didn't come back. And those who did… they were broken. I was terrified that if we kept going, it would happen again. That I'd see more of us fall, more of us ripped apart for this dream of joining the council."
She looked at Naguk, her eyes red and swollen. "And then… then came these humans." Her voice cracked. "They were strangers, outsiders. I thought—" she hesitated, clutching he fists, "I thought they would lead us to our doom. That they'd abandon us when it got hard or betray us when it suited them. I convinced myself that trusting them was a mistake we couldn't afford."
She turned her gaze downward, unable to meet anyone's eyes as her voice grew quieter.
"I didn't mean for anyone to die. I didn't mean to bring this on us. I just wanted to stop it before it happened. I thought…" Her voice wavered. "I thought if I could stop us from pursuing a place in the council, no one else would die. No one else would suffer. But I was wrong. I see that now. I should have trusted you all more."
Her last words were barely a whisper, but then a long silence followed. The crowd that had gathered remained still. No one knew what to say. Ghak had never shown such vulnerability before. It was disarming, even to those who was angry at her for what she had done.
Naguk stood motionless. He finally exhaled a long, heavy sigh and spoke.
"Look, Ghak," he began, his tone tinged with sadness. "Every one of us who follows me understands the risks. They know that this path is dangerous, that they could die for what we're trying to achieve. But they chose it anyway."
He turned slightly, addressing his people as much as he was addressing her.
"Yes, this is painful. It always will be. But this is the path we chose. We walk it because we believe in something greater than ourselves. Those who died—Zurgha, Yargol's team, your team—they died for what they believed in. For the ideals we share as a tribe."
His gaze shifted back to Ghak, his eyes hardening slightly.
"But you…" His voice dropped lower. "You took that away from them. Their deaths now mean nothing. Your betrayal undermined everything they fought for, everything we've been working toward. And now, not only have we lost them, but you've also all but guaranteed we'll fail the match. That we'll lose the chance to make our dreams come true."
Ghak winced at his words. Naguk's voice was full of disappointment. "You didn't want anyone to die. I understand that. But by doing what you did, you ensured that they died for nothing."
For a moment, it looked like Naguk would say more, but he stopped himself, his face darkening further. He stepped back slightly, turning to the crowd.
"So I ask you again," he said loudly enough for everyone to hear. "What should we do with her?"
The crowd was silent at first. Ghak knelt with her head bowed, trembling as she awaited their judgment. Then, after a longer pause, a voice rang out.
"Execute her!"
Another voice joined in, angrier and louder. "She's a traitor!"
The shouts multiplied, filling the air with a chorus of anger and condemnation. Ghak's trembling worsened, and she closed her eyes tightly, as though trying to shut out the sound. She didn't speak, didn't plead for her life. Her expression was resigned, though tears continued to stream down her face.
Naguk raised his hand, silencing the crowd. The voices died down, leaving an uneasy hush. He turned back to Ghak, with sadness on his face. For a moment, he just stared at her.
"I guess," he said quietly, "the crowd has spoken. It didn't change the verdict after all."
Ghak's shoulders sagged, and for a moment, it seemed she might collapse entirely. But then Naguk softened his tone.
"But I will remember your loyalty, Ghak. And your love for our people. Even if it was misplaced, even if it led to this."
Those words seemed to bring her a sliver of comfort. She looked up at Naguk, her face a mix of gratitude and sorrow, but she said nothing.
Naguk exhaled deeply, raising his axe slightly, though his hands trembled faintly.