Page 9 of X'nath

The fire crackled softly, its warmth a cruel contrast to the chill that had settled in my bones. The other women huddled together, shivering under the makeshift shelter, their young faces filled with confusion and fear. They hadn’t learned yet. They hadn’t lived long enough to understand how the world worked. But I had.

At forty-two, I was past the carefree days of youth, no longer touched by the softness that came with them. But I wasn’t so old that I had forgotten how to fight. I Still knew how to survive, even if it was at the cost of every ounce of trust I once had in the world.

I had seen it all—the betrayals, the broken promises, the endless cycle of owing debt and the consequences that came with that. I had learned how to look past the faces of people pretending to be saviors, only to find out later that they were the real predators. Trust was a luxury I no longer afforded, not even to those who seemed to have come to our rescue.

These orcs... they had stumbled upon us. Or had they? No, it was too perfect. Too convenient. It didn’t sit right with me. Theirtiming, the way they just appeared on the shore after the wreck, after the storm. It wasn’t luck. It was too orchestrated, and I had lived long enough to know when something didn’t add up.

I couldn't tell if the orcs had been sent after us or if we were simply caught in their path, but the suspicion gnawed at me. The ship had been taking us somewhere—somewhere no one would willingly go. Some of the younger women, the naive ones, still clung to the hope that these orcs were here to help. But hadn’t the chains on the ship been enough to open their eyes? Yes, our captors had been human, but they were still male, just like these orcs. I knew better. The ship’s purpose was clear—we were being taken to be sold, and no one aboard had been innocent.

I ran my fingers over the pendant my mother had given me when I was younger. It felt like a lifetime ago. Now, it was just a reminder of what I had lost, of how everything had changed. The pendant had once been a symbol of innocence, but now it just reminded me of the price of survival.

I glanced over at the blonde woman, shivering beside the others, looking to me for comfort, for reassurance. I wanted to give it to her, to tell her everything would be alright, that they were safe now. But that would be a lie. There was no safety here. We didn’t even know where we shipwrecked.

I turned my gaze back to the orcs, my suspicion deepening. They were gathered around the fire now, speaking in their harsh, guttural language. I couldn’t make out every word, but I had spent enough time eavesdropping on our captors to pick up a few phrases that sounded familiar to their native tongue. The tone, though, was unmistakable—their laughter was too sharp, their gestures too pointed, the way their eyes flicked to us with a hunger that didn’t sit right. They weren’t here out of any goodwill. I could feel it in the air.

The orcs returned, offering food once again. This time, their hands were full of dried meats and what looked like chunks oftough, leathery bread. The young women’s faces lit up as they took the offerings, their eyes wide with relief. For a moment, it almost seemed like they had forgotten where they were. The hunger in their bellies and the hope in their hearts made them easily fooled.

But I wasn’t so quick to trust them.

These orcs weren’t here to rescue us. They were here for something else. Their eyes lingered on us a little too long, their laughter too loud, too brash. They were opportunists, not saviors. I could see it in every glance, every gesture they made. This wasn’t charity; it was a transaction waiting to happen.

“You shouldn’t take that,” I said sharply, my voice cutting through the quiet hum of the group. “Don’t be so quick to trust them.”

The blonde girl—Sophie, I think her name was—looked at me, her eyes wide with surprise. But when she heard me, she frowned, looking down at the food in her hands. “But... they saved us. They gave us food.”

“They didn’t save us, Sophie,” I said, my voice low but firm. “They’re just like the men who put us on that ship. Do you think they won’t try to sell us, too? Look at them!” I gestured at the orcs, whose grins were too wide and too knowing. “These orcs are no better than the slavers who took us. Trusting them is the same as trusting the men who chained us.”

The other girls, most of them still too young to understand, murmured in protest. “But they’re not like the others,” said Erin, one of the younger ones. “They helped us, didn’t they? They pulled us from the water!”

“They helped themselves,” I snapped. “We were nothing but a lucky catch for them. Don’t you see? They’re waiting for their chance. They’ll take what they want and leave us with nothing.” My words were harsh, but I couldn’t afford to sugarcoat the truth. Not now, not when the stakes were so high.

I could feel the tension rising. The younger girls began to squabble among themselves, each defending the orcs for their own reasons—too blinded by the temporary safety they had found to realize they were still in danger.

“They gave us food, Gracie!” Sophie insisted, clutching her portion like it was a precious gift.

“Food? So what?” I retorted. “That doesn’t change the fact that we’re still at their mercy. You think this is about charity? You think we’ll just walk away from this? No. We’re still slaves in their eyes, just with different chains now.”

Sophie opened her mouth to respond, but Kelly, a more levelheaded woman, cut her off. “You’re being too harsh. They’re not bad. Maybe we’ve been through enough, don’t you think?”

The girls started to argue more vehemently, their words rising in pitch. The orcs, who had been watching quietly, seemed confused by the sudden outburst. They exchanged looks, glancing from one another and then back at us as we bickered.

“Enough,” I muttered, my voice quiet but sharp, cutting through the rising chaos. The others quieted, sensing the shift in my tone. “We are not safe here, and you're acting like this is some kind of sanctuary. Stop letting these orcs play on your hope, your hunger, your fear.”

I paused, the weight of what I was saying sinking in. The words came out heavier than I intended. "We can't afford to trust them. Not yet," I tried again.

But as I spoke, I felt something shift within me—an unsettling, gnawing doubt. Perhaps my caution was too rigid, too dismissive. Maybe they were right to want to believe in some kind of salvation.

I swallowed, forcing myself to stay calm, but the nagging voice inside me wouldn’t stop. Maybe my rationale wasn’t as solid as I thought it was. Maybe I was fighting a losing battle, letting my own fear cloud what little hope there was left.

So I said nothing more, retreating into myself, letting the silence fill the space between us. I watched the others, some still clinging to hope, while others glanced nervously at the orcs, unsure whether to trust their instincts or mine.

But me? I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

My lingering words did little to calm the storm. The younger girls huffed in frustration, crossing their arms as if they were children being scolded. The orcs just stared, clearly unsure of what to make of the scene. They had expected gratitude, maybe even awe, but instead they were met with resistance.

The orc who had spoken the most, the one who gave orders for the fire, stood up slowly, his massive frame towering over us. “Ungrateful,” he muttered, his voice more curious than angry. “You think we do this... for fun?”

“You don’t do it for fun,” I shot back, my eyes narrowing. “You do it... 'cause we’re useful to you.”

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