The clearing grew eerily silent.
The only sounds were the shallow breaths of the Orcs and the faint rustle of the leaves in the wind.
Volk stared at Gar'ruk, whose massive frame knelt in the dirt, trembling from exhaustion.
Blood pooled beneath the Ogre, but there was something off—something unnatural in the way his body quivered.
Gar'ruk made a low, guttural sound, almost like a growl, but it carried a strange rhythm.
His head hung low, his massive shoulders rising and falling like tidal waves.
The Orcs exchanged wary glances, their weapons still raised, but none dared move closer.
"What's he doing?" one of the Orcs whispered, his voice shaking.
"Is… is he surrendering?" another asked, his grip tightening on his weapon.
Volk narrowed his eyes, his instincts screaming at him.
There was no surrender here.
