The sky was streaked with the first light of dawn, the orange glow painting the bloodied battlefield in eerie shades of fire and shadow. Ashar remained kneeling beside Gorn's fallen body, his hands trembling on the hilt of his sword, his breath ragged as the weight of the past hour settled on him. His body felt like lead, every part of him exhausted, bruised, and battered.
But amid the silence that followed the battle, there was something even heavier in his chest—a hollow ache that refused to let him go.
"Is it over?" Rylah's voice was raw, her bow still clutched in her hand, her body swaying slightly as she approached him. Her gaze was fixed on Gorn's massive form, the death that had once seemed inevitable now bringing a cold sense of finality.
Ashar looked up at her, his eyes weary, his expression clouded with doubt. "I don't know."
Gorn was dead, but the Orcs were still out there, retreating but not defeated. This battle might have been won, but the war... the war was far from over.
***
The sounds of the battlefield echoed faintly around them—groans of the wounded, the shuffling of soldiers tending to the injured. The dead were already being gathered in piles, the grim reality of their sacrifice sinking in. Ashar's gaze lingered on the bodies of his fallen comrades—Karis, among the most honorable of them, had given everything to buy them this moment.
How many more will die for this cause?
Rylah knelt beside him, her eyes haunted by the carnage. "We won, but at what cost?"
Ashar clenched his jaw, his fists tight around the sword. "We lost more than we should have." His voice was barely a whisper, the weight of leadership crashing down on him. "I should have done more... I should have led them better."
"Don't," Rylah said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You can't carry their deaths alone. We all fought together. We all made this choice."
Ashar nodded stiffly, grateful for her words but unable to shake the burden that pressed on him. He had led them to victory, but the toll was more than he had imagined.
***
As the sun rose higher, the retreating Orcs regrouped. Their shattered morale was evident in the disarray. But Ashar knew better than to think it would be easy to defeat them. They were a ruthless, savage people, and their pride would demand retribution.
"We can't sit back," Darius's voice cut through Ashar's thoughts, his face grim as he approached. "They'll regroup. They'll come back stronger."
Ashar stood, slowly, as the weight of his responsibilities began to settle in. "And when they do, we'll be ready for them."
"With what?" Darius scoffed. "Our forces are decimated. We need to rebuild, to recover, and even then, we're still outnumbered. Gorn was their leader, but there are more Orc generals behind him."
Ashar's gaze hardened. "Then we fight back. We don't wait for them to make the next move."
"But you saw the numbers," Darius continued. "We can't win just by being brave. We need strategy."
"And we have one," Ashar replied, determination building in his chest. "We'll hit them where they least expect it. Guerrilla warfare. Small, tactical strikes. We'll force them into a corner."
"You're talking about more losses," Darius said. "More blood."
"That's what it takes," Ashar said, his voice cold. "We fight, or we die. No more running."
***
The next few days were a blur of activity—tending to the wounded, fortifying their position, and securing what little supplies they had left. Ashar found himself increasingly at the center of it all, directing his people with a level of authority he hadn't anticipated having to wield so soon.
The constant pressure of leadership gnawed at him, pulling at his nerves and eating away at his resolve. He could see the fear in their eyes—his people were grateful for the victory, yes, but they also feared what came next. The Orcs would retaliate. The world was still a dangerous place, and survival wasn't guaranteed.
Late one night, as Ashar stood watching over the stronghold's perimeter, his thoughts turned to the prophecy that had haunted him since the day they escaped the Orcs. He had learned of it from an old prisoner—an Orc seer who had foretold that humans would rise up and destroy their world. But was it truly a prophecy? Or had it been a tool to keep them enslaved, to justify the brutality they had endured?
"What if it's not just about destroying them?" Ashar murmured to himself. "What if it's about survival?"
He turned as Rylah approached, her face tense with worry.
"You're deep in thought," she said, her tone soft. "Is something wrong?"
He shook his head, trying to dispel the dark thoughts. "Just thinking about what's ahead. The Orcs will retaliate soon. And when they do, we need to be ready."
Rylah's eyes softened. "We will be. We've already beaten them once. We can do it again."
***
The next day, Ashar called a meeting with his closest advisors. They gathered around a large map spread out on the table, showing the surrounding lands—the forests, the mountains, and the Orc strongholds.
"The Orcs will come after us," Ashar said, his voice firm. "We can't afford to wait and hope they don't. We need to strike first."
"But how?" Darius asked, his brow furrowed. "We're too weak. We don't have the strength to launch a full-scale attack."
Ashar smiled, though it was more out of necessity than optimism. "No, we don't. But we do have something they don't—knowledge of their weaknesses. We know their hierarchy. We know their leaders."
"The power struggle between the Orc generals," Rylah added, catching on. "We could exploit that. Create chaos within their ranks."
"Exactly," Ashar said. "We'll strike their supply lines, sabotage their equipment, and create divisions among their generals. We'll force them to fight each other instead of us."
"It's dangerous," Darius warned, his eyes dark with concern. "The Orcs won't just sit back and let you undermine them."
"I'm counting on that," Ashar replied in a calm voice. "Their response will reveal who the real threat is. And once we know that, we can strike with everything we've got."
***
Ashar's mind was consumed with the new strategy. He had no illusions—it was a dangerous path, one that would lead to more death and suffering. But it was the only choice. They couldn't wait for the Orcs to regroup and strike at them with overwhelming force.
As the days passed, Ashar's leadership was put to the test. It wasn't just the military that demanded his attention. The civilians—the women, children, and elderly who had been rescued from the Orcs—needed food, shelter, and protection.
The stronghold wasn't just a fortress—it was a symbol. A symbol of hope for a future where they were no longer slaves.
But as the days grew longer and tensions escalated, Ashar began to feel a growing unease. The pressure was mounting, and the weight of every decision, every life, was on his shoulders.
And then, when he least expected it, a messenger arrived, bringing word of a new development that would shake everything they thought they knew.