The night was unusually still, the usual sounds of nature muted under the weight of impending uncertainty. Ashar stood on the parapets of the stronghold, his eyes scanning the horizon, the pale light of the moon casting long shadows over the land. The world felt on the brink of change—again. After the battle, the exhaustion had not yet worn off, but there was no time for rest. There was always something else to consider, something else to prepare for.
A cold breeze ruffled his hair as Rylah approached, her footsteps light on the stone. "You've been out here for hours," she said, her voice soft but firm, like it always was when she saw him getting lost in his thoughts.
Ashar gave a tired smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I can't sleep. Not with everything that's coming."
She leaned against the stone next to him, her eyes following his gaze over the land. "It's hard to ignore the weight of it all. But we can't fight the world in our heads, Ashar. We need to focus on what we can control."
"I know," he said, his gaze narrowing. "But sometimes... it feels like we're running out of time."
Rylah's lips quirked slightly. "You always think that. But every time, you pull us through."
"I don't know if I can this time," he admitted, his voice quiet. "The Orcs will retaliate. And this time, I'm not sure if we're ready for what's coming."
Rylah turned her head to look at him, her expression serious. "And what if the Orcs aren't the biggest threat?"
Ashar frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I've been hearing things," she said, her tone dropping. "Whispers among the survivors, some of the older ones who've seen more battles. There's a new faction growing among the Orcs. One that wants to see us wiped out before we can even get our footing."
Ashar straightened, the weight of her words sinking in. "Another faction? After Gorn's defeat?"
Rylah nodded. "They're led by someone... someone powerful. A warlord named Drogath. He was a general under Gorn but has his own ambitions. He sees the defeat as an opportunity to take control of the Orcs, to unify them under his banner. And he won't hesitate to use every resource at his disposal to destroy us."
Ashar clenched his fists, his heart racing at the thought of facing a new, potentially more dangerous opponent. "What does he want? Why hasn't he acted yet?"
"He's biding his time," she said. "But he's getting restless. He knows we're weak right now, and he knows that if he strikes quickly, we could be overwhelmed. We need to prepare."
"How much time do we have?" Ashar asked, his mind racing with the implications of this new threat.
"Not long," Rylah replied. "Drogath's spies are already watching us. The Orcs are never far from their prey."
***
The next day, Ashar called a council meeting. The room was dim, lit by the flickering light of oil lamps. His closest advisors gathered around the table, their faces weary from the constant vigilance, but there was no choice but to press on.
"This changes everything," Ashar said, standing at the head of the table. His voice was steady but heavy with the burden of leadership. "We've been too focused on the Orcs as a whole, thinking that if we crippled their leadership, they'd scatter. But Drogath is a different kind of threat. He's not going to let that happen."
Darius, ever the skeptic, leaned forward. "So, what do we do now? We fight another battle before we've even healed from the last one?"
"We adapt," Ashar replied, his gaze sweeping across the room. "We've already been training, preparing for the Orcs. Now, we must turn that preparation into something more—something ruthless. We strike first, but with a new strategy. We target Drogath's assets, his supply lines, his commanders. We destabilize his forces before they have the chance to unite."
"Do you think we can defeat him without exposing ourselves?" Rylah asked, her voice calm but sharp. "He's powerful, and he's not alone. His generals won't just sit back and let us tear down their infrastructure."
Ashar met her gaze, a fire kindling in his chest. "If we fight on their terms, we'll lose. But if we strike fast and hard, we can sow the kind of chaos that will make them turn on each other. Drogath will be distracted, and we'll take advantage of his weaknesses."
Darius shook his head. "You want to attack before we have our strength back. We're already stretched thin."
"I don't have a choice," Ashar replied, his voice hard. "If we wait, Drogath will hit us when we're at our weakest. We can't afford that."
The room fell silent, the weight of the decision hanging over them. They had all seen the horrors of war, the destruction it brought, and the blood it demanded. But they knew Ashar was right. There was no time to rest. The threat was here, and it wouldn't wait.
***
As the meeting adjourned, Ashar found himself once again on the battlements, the night air cool against his skin. The weight of the decisions pressing on him felt unbearable, but there was little room for doubt or hesitation. He had made his choice, and now he had to see it through.
He turned as a figure approached from the shadows—Darius, his face etched with concern.
"You're taking a risk," Darius said, his voice low.
"I don't have any other choice," Ashar replied, the exhaustion in his voice betraying the weight of his thoughts. "I can't let them build up while we recover. If we don't hit Drogath now, when he's still trying to consolidate power, we'll lose the initiative."
Darius studied him for a moment, as if weighing something in his mind. "I know. But you're not the only one taking risks. Every person who follows you will be putting their lives on the line for this."
Ashar nodded, the reality of leadership settling back on his shoulders. "I know. And I won't ask them to do it alone. We fight as one, or we die alone."
***
Later that evening, as Ashar sat alone in his quarters, a cold shiver ran down his spine. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, something he wasn't seeing. His thoughts kept circling back to the prophecy—the one that had haunted him since their escape. The one that spoke of a human uprising that would bring down the Orcs.
What if this was always meant to be?
But his thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock at the door.
Ashar stood, instinctively reaching for his sword before recognizing the figure entering his room. It was one of his trusted lieutenants—Sarek, a quiet man with a reputation for loyalty.
"What is it, Sarek?" Ashar asked, his voice weary.
"I need to speak with you," Sarek said, his eyes darting around nervously. "In private."
Ashar's brow furrowed, sensing the unease in the air. "What's going on?"
Sarek hesitated for a moment before lowering his voice. "There's someone among us. Someone who's been feeding information to Drogath's spies. We've been compromised."