The plains of Druvan'hal'or, once the crown jewel of the world, now linger as a faint memory etched into the whispers of the wind. Long ago, this vast expanse of land was home to a kingdom that stood as a beacon of strength and prosperity—a realm that gleamed like gold beneath the sun. Verdant fields swayed as if greeting the heavens, rivers coursed through the land like veins of life, and the people thrived in harmony under the wise rule of their sovereign.

Yet that harmony was shattered when the Orcs descended from a distant corner of the world, bringing with them the fog of war and the fire of destruction. They stormed the lands like an unstoppable tempest, torching villages, ravaging cities, and toppling the grand towers that once defined the kingdom's splendor. Beneath their bloodstained black banners, the Orcs seized dominion over the land, renaming it Druvan'hal'or—"The Plains of Despair"—a bitter mockery of humanity's fallen glory.

The remnants of the royal bloodline, scattered like stars across a forlorn night sky, burned dimly yet refused to be extinguished. Amidst the shadows of Orcish tyranny, they fought silently, safeguarding the legacy of their ancestors with unwavering resolve. Among these remnants was a courageous pair, the last pure descendants of the royal line, who waged a relentless battle to fan the flames of rebellion. But betrayal is a poison that seeps swiftly. Their trusted allies turned against them, forcing the couple to flee to the farthest reaches of Druvan'hal'or.

In a desperate bid to protect their legacy, they concealed their infant son, Ardan, in a remote village called Erindor. Nestled on the banks of the tranquil River Velarnis, where the waters flowed like a soothing melody, the child was discovered by an elderly couple. Wrapped in tattered cloth yet emanating an unspoken aura of hope, Ardan was taken in and raised as their own.

Erindor was a haven of peace, far removed from the tumult of the war-torn world. Children played in fields golden with the harvest, farmers sang as they tilled the fertile earth, and prayers of gratitude rose from a modest temple at the village's heart. Here, Ardan grew into a steadfast young man, his soul brimming with an innate sense of justice, though he remained unaware of the true nature of his lineage.

But peace is a fragile veil, easily torn by the claws of tyranny. One by one, villages succumbed to the Orcs' relentless advance. Fertile lands turned into silent graveyards, and humanity was enslaved in the depths of shadowy mines. Ardan, unable to turn a blind eye to such atrocities, resisted in his own quiet way. Yet, his defiance came at a cost. In a moment of valor, he was captured while shielding a friend from Orcish cruelty. Beaten and bloodied, he was cast into the suffocating darkness of a mining cavern, where hope seemed all but lost.

**

The evening sun hung low in the sky, draping the plains of Druvan'hal'or in a gentle golden glow. Yet, its beauty felt like a cruel jest, for near the mouth of the mine, the scene unfolding was anything but serene.

Eira stood concealed behind the dense foliage of swaying trees, her form shrouded in the shifting shadows of rustling leaves. Her sharp green eyes pierced through the undergrowth, fixed intently on a group of towering Orcs encircling two battered humans. Her breath caught, trembling like a leaf poised to fall from its branch.

At the heart of the grim circle, a sturdy young man swayed on unsteady legs, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Though his body bore the brutal marks of battle, his eyes still burned—a faint ember defying the tempest. Behind him, an older man lay crumpled, his body almost lifeless.

"Cowardly humans!" one of the Orcs snarled, his thunderous voice resonating like a storm. He slammed his massive club into the ground, sending clouds of dust spiraling into the air. "You think you can stand against us? You're nothing but slaves!"

The young man, his voice hoarse but resolute, retorted, "Let him go. He's done nothing wrong."

The Orcs' laughter erupted, coarse and mocking. Their leader stepped forward, a cruel grin splitting his scarred face. "Oh? You want to play the hero, little man? Very well, I'll give you your chance."

Eira's body tensed as if gripped by an invisible force. She longed to step out of the shadows, but her legs felt as though rooted to the ground. Her fists clenched tightly, yet she knew that acting now would only mean certain death.

The Orc leader swung his colossal club, striking the young man with a sickening force. The sound of the impact rang out through the golden dusk, harsh and violent, like wood snapping under unbearable pressure. The young man staggered but refused to fall, standing firm to shield the elder behind him.

"Ardan! Stop this!" the older man croaked, his voice frail and strained.

The name echoed in Eira's mind—Ardan.

"Do you want to take his place?" the Orc sneered, his tusks gleaming like fangs. "Very well."

Before anyone could intervene, the Orcs descended upon the young man, raining down blows with merciless ferocity. He did not fight back, enduring the onslaught with his battered body, a living shield for the elder he sought to protect. Eira held her breath, unable to look away even as her heart screamed for the violence to end.

Satisfied with their savagery, the Orc leader gestured dismissively. "Throw him into the mine. Take the old one—we can still make use of him."

Ardan reached weakly toward the elder, his trembling hand falling short. "Don't… don't take him…" he rasped.

The Orcs' laughter was the only response as they dragged the older man away. One of them hoisted Ardan like a sack of grain and flung him into the mine's gaping maw. His body struck the stone wall with a dull thud, the sound making Eira wince.

The golden glow of the evening seemed to dim, as though the heavens themselves turned away from the atrocity.

Eira waited in tense silence, ensuring the Orcs had truly departed before she moved. Her heart pounded—not with fear, but with a resolve that burned brighter with every passing moment.

She stepped quickly toward the mouth of the mine.

**

The mine shaft was dark and damp, illuminated only by the dim glow of torches mounted on the jagged stone walls. Ardan lay sprawled on the cold, unyielding ground, his body battered and torn, his breaths shallow and uneven. Pain clawed at him relentlessly, and he teetered on the edge of surrender when the faint sound of footsteps broke the oppressive silence.

"Hey... are you still alive?" A woman's voice, soft yet deliberate, pierced through the gloom.

Ardan's eyelids fluttered open with effort. The faint light from the small torch she carried revealed her face—beautiful, yet marked by sharp, discerning eyes that seemed to peel back every layer of his being.

"Who are you?" he croaked, his voice rasping, nearly swallowed by his labored breathing.

She knelt beside him, her movements fluid but cautious, as if weighing her next steps. For a moment, she studied his injuries in silence before finally speaking. "Someone who happened to pass by," she said. "That's enough of an answer, isn't it?"

Ardan attempted to shift his position, but agony surged through his body, forcing a low groan from his lips. "I don't need your help," he muttered, though his words carried little conviction, his weakness betraying him.

The woman sighed, a sound that was equal parts exhaustion and exasperation. "Of course not. Because lying half-dead in an orc-infested mine is all part of some grand plan, right?"

Ardan's lips twitched weakly, as if he wanted to challenge her sarcasm, but he lacked the strength. "Why are you here? This place is crawling with orcs..."

She paused, her expression unreadable as she regarded him. "I have my reasons," she said at last. "But it seems I found you first." She extended a hand, and her palm began to glow with a soft, green light.

Ardan's eyes widened. "That's... magic?"

"Something like that," she replied curtly. "Stop talking and stay still. If you move, you'll die before I'm done."

The green light enveloped his battered form, a gentle warmth seeping into his wounds and slowly dulling the pain. Yet his curiosity refused to wane.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked softly.

She remained focused on her task, her calm expression betraying only a hint of irritation. "Do people on the brink of death always ask so many questions? You need help. I'm giving it. That's all."

"I don't trust people who help without a reason," he pressed, his voice strained but persistent.

A faint smile tugged at her lips, though there was something enigmatic behind it, something he couldn't quite grasp. "Maybe I just don't want to stumble over a corpse on my way out. It's inconvenient."

Ardan frowned but lacked the energy to argue. "What's your name?"

"Eira," she said simply. "That's all you need to know."

"Eira..." He struggled to keep his voice steady. "Why are you in this mine?"

Eira's hand stilled for a fraction of a second before she resumed her work. Her gaze flickered to his, cool and guarded. "As I said, I have my reasons. You don't need to know them."

Silence stretched between them as Ardan studied her, his gaze clouded with exhaustion but laced with suspicion. "I feel like... you're hiding something."

Eira let out a soft chuckle, her tone laced with an inscrutable mix of amusement and distance. "Everyone has secrets, Ardan. So do I. Now stop talking, or I'll leave you here."

Reluctantly, he closed his eyes. The soothing warmth of her magic eased the tension in his body, but his mind still simmered with unanswered questions.

When Eira finally finished, she rose to her feet, her green glow fading into the dim light of her torch. "Rest," she said. "You'll need your strength to get out of here."

Ardan opened his eyes slowly, his gaze heavy with doubt. "Why didn't you ask who I am? Aren't you curious?"

She hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't need to know who you are. You're just someone who needed help. That's all."

With that, she turned and began to walk away, the light from her torch casting flickering shadows on the walls. "Sleep. Morning will come sooner than you think."

Ardan watched her retreating figure, his mind a storm of thoughts. There was more to her than she let on—of that, he was certain. But for now, weariness overtook him, and he let his eyes drift shut.

In the stillness of the mine, questions hung heavy in the air, unspoken but potent, as two strangers, bound by fate, stood on the precipice of a story neither of them fully understood.

**

The mine was cold, its walls slick with the dew of the night seeping through from above. The faint glow of the small torch they had lit offered little warmth, but enough to cast their shadows dancing across the rough stone walls.

Ardan sat slumped against one side of the cave, his body still weak though his wounds had begun to heal. Opposite him, Eira sat cross-legged, her gaze fixed on the small fire crackling softly, its sound reminiscent of distant, gentle rain.

"This place…" Eira began, her voice low, as though speaking more to herself than to anyone else. "Why is it like this?"

Ardan lifted his head slightly, his brow furrowing as he glanced at her. "What do you mean?"

Eira bit her lip, hesitating before finally speaking. "Orcs, humans… all of it. Where I come from, everything is peaceful. There's no slavery, no chaos like this. But here…" She let out a long sigh, her eyes distant as they remained on the fire. "Everything feels wrong."

Ardan rested his head back against the cave wall, his gaze tracing the jagged stone ceiling above them. "So, you're really not from here."

Eira shrugged, a faint, wry smile tugging at her lips. "I thought that was obvious by now."

Ardan nodded slowly, a bitter smile flickering across his face. "Yes, it's obvious. You seem… different."

Eira turned to him, half-curious, half-intrigued. "Different, how?"

He tilted his head, searching for the right words. "The way you speak, the way you look at things around here. You don't seem… accustomed to any of this."

Eira let out a soft, mirthless laugh, the sound tinged with bitterness. "Of course I'm not accustomed to it. Where I'm from, people live peacefully. There are no Orcs enslaving humans, no mines like this. But here…" Her gaze shifted to the dark entrance of the cave. "How did it get this bad?"

Ardan was silent for a moment, weighing his response. "It's a long story," he said at last. "Centuries ago, the Orcs came from the north. At first, they raided small villages, but over time, they began conquering the land—one territory after another. Until finally…" He exhaled heavily, his eyes fixed on the flickering torch between them. "Until they took everything."

Eira tilted her head slightly, her brows knitting together. "No one fought back? No kingdoms or armies tried to stop them?"

Ardan's small, bitter smile returned, this time laced with a trace of self-mockery. "They did. But they lost. Some were destroyed outright, others forced to surrender. The survivors had no choice but to endure under Orc rule. Over time, even the memory of those kingdoms faded into obscurity."

Eira lowered her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "Like the village of Erindor?"

Ardan nodded. "Yes. That village fell to the Orcs a few years ago. Since then, they've taken everything—the fields, the mines, even the people. What you saw in the mine earlier? That's just a fraction of what they do."

Silence enveloped them for a moment. Eira stared at the cold, stony ground beneath her, her thoughts swirling. "I never knew," she murmured, almost to herself. "I never imagined the world outside could be this cruel."

Ardan looked at her, his eyes attempting to decipher the expression on her face, but he said nothing.

Eira lifted her head, her gaze meeting his directly. "And you? How have you managed to survive all this?"

He met her gaze, his eyes sharp but carrying an exhaustion that spoke of years of struggle. "You survive because you have no other choice. That's all there is to it."

Eira bit her lip, the weight of his words pressing down on her chest. "I feel guilty…" she admitted at last.

Ardan raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "Why?"

She sighed. "Because I knew nothing about this. I lived in comfort while here… people are forced to endure this kind of life."

Ardan studied her for a long moment before shaking his head slowly. "There's no shame in that. You were simply born in a better place."

Eira lowered her head again, her arms wrapping tightly around her knees. "But still… I can't ignore what I've seen here."

The silence returned, heavier this time. The small torch between them continued to burn, its light and shadows dancing lazily across the cave walls.

Eira stole a glance at Ardan, but he seemed lost in his own thoughts, his expression unreadable. The air between them grew thick with unspoken words, a fragile tension neither dared to break.

Outside, the night crept onward, bringing with it a cold wind that whispered through the cracks in the stone. In that quiet stillness, two strangers, brought together by chance, found themselves contemplating a world that felt worlds apart—unaware that the dawn to come would bring with it stories yet untold.