Page 43 of Orc's Little Human
My hands freeze on the ties of my tunic. The brand is ugly—twisted lines that form no pattern I recognize, raised flesh that's never quite healed properly. It's a mark of ownership, of violation, of everything I've tried to leave behind.
But it's also the thing that connects us. The reason his magic sings when I'm near, the source of the power that saved us both.
Maybe it's time to stop hiding.
I untie the laces slowly, my fingers trembling despite my determination. The fabric falls away from my shoulders, baring the mark to firelight and Korrath's steady gaze.
His breath catches. Not with revulsion or fear, but with something that might be recognition.
"It's old magic," he murmurs, leaning closer to study the twisted sigil. "Older than anything I've ever seen."
The brand pulses as he speaks, sending waves of heat through my chest. Not painful heat—something deeper, warmer, like recognition answering recognition.
"May I?" He raises one hand, hovering inches from my skin.
I nod, unable to find words for what I'm feeling as his fingertips brush the raised flesh of the mark. The moment we make contact, power flares between us like lightning seeking ground.
The brand stops burning.
For the first time since it was carved into my skin, the mark doesn't ache. Instead, it warms like sunlight on stone, like coming home after a long journey through cold wilderness.
"Gods," Korrath breathes, his hand flattening against my chest. "It's not fighting me anymore."
Because you're not trying to break me.The realization flows through me like clean water, washing away years of pain and confusion.You're trying to heal me.
Magic hums between us, blood-forged power that no longer feels like violation but like completion. Like two pieces of something broken finally finding their way back together.
"Try using your magic," I whisper, covering his hand with mine. "I want to understand what this is."
Korrath draws his knife with his free hand, making a shallow cut across his palm. Blood wells, dark in the firelight, and power responds like a tide rushing to shore.
But this time, it feels different. Stronger, yes, but also... right. Like this is how magic is supposed to flow, how power is supposed to feel when it's shared instead of stolen.
The stones around our fire shift and reshape themselves, forming a perfect circle of raised earth that will shelter us from wind and rain. The working should have left Korrath pale and shaking—blood-forging always demands its price.
Instead, he looks energized. Alive in a way I've never seen before.
"It doesn't hurt you anymore," he says, wonder coloring his voice.
I shake my head, marveling at the warmth spreading through my chest where his hand rests against the brand. "It feels... complete."
Like I feel complete.The thought whispers through my mind, dangerous and hopeful in equal measure.Like this is where I belong.
For so long, I've defined myself by what was done to me—victim, prisoner, experiment, exile. But sitting here with Korrath's hand warm against my skin and magic flowing between us like shared breath, I feel something I thought I'd lost forever.
Purpose.
Not the purpose others tried to force on me, but something I choose for myself. Someone I choose to stand beside, to fight for, to build a future with.
The brand pulses one more time beneath Korrath's palm, then settles into steady warmth. Like a heart finding its rhythm after too long beating out of time.
"What happened to you in that place was evil," Korrath says quietly, his thumb tracing the edge of the mark with infinite gentleness. "But what you've become because of it... that's something else entirely."
I lean into his touch, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes. "What have I become?"
His smile is soft as dawn breaking over mountains, fierce as the fire that burns between us.
"Mine," he says simply. "And I'm yours."
