Zephyr's breath hitched as the orc loomed, his war axe gleaming with a cruel edge that promised death. The beastman's green skin glistened with sweat, tusks curving upward like jagged daggers, his eyes burning with rage. Zephyr's heart thundered, a wild drumbeat in his chest, as he gripped his dull sword, its weight a mockery in his trembling hands. Mud sucked at his boots, pulling him down, the cold slime coating his legs. The orc swung, the axe whistling through the air, and Zephyr dove aside, pain flaring in his shoulder where the blade grazed him. Blood trickled, warm against his skin, a stark contrast to the chill that gripped him. The slum crowd murmured, a mix of beastmen watching with bated breath, some cheering the orc's brutality, others silent with pity.
He scrambled to his feet, mud squelching underfoot, his gray eyes blazing with defiance. The orc charged again, his roar shaking the shacks, and Zephyr swung his sword in a desperate arc. The clash rang out, steel meeting axe, the impact jarring his arms. His weapon held, but barely, the blade chipping under the orc's strength. Anxiety coiled tight, a snake writhing in his gut, as he realized his weakness. No mana. No aura. Just a boy against a monster. The orc grinned, revealing yellowed teeth, and raised his axe for a killing blow. Zephyr ducked, heart pounding, but the slum offered no escape, its narrow paths a trap closing around him.
A sudden cry pierced the air. A figure leaped from the shadows, a wiry beastman with gray fur and a dagger flashing in his hand. Varkis Clawrend, the wolf-kin from the day before, crashed into the orc, his blade sinking into the beastman's arm. The orc bellowed, stumbling back, blood streaming from the wound. Varkis grinned, his cheeky smirk cutting through the tension. "Thought you'd need a hand, noble!" he laughed, his voice light despite the danger. Zephyr's chest eased, a flicker of happiness breaking through his fear, though he masked it with a nod.
The orc shook off the pain, turning on Varkis with a snarl. Zephyr seized the moment, lunging forward, his sword slashing at the orc's leg. The blade bit flesh, drawing a roar of pain, and the beastman faltered, his axe dropping to the mud. Varkis darted in, dagger striking again, and together they drove the orc back. The crowd erupted, some cheering, others jeering, their voices a chaotic blend. The orc retreated, limping into the mist, his curses fading into the distance. Zephyr sank to his knees, breath ragged, blood dripping from his shoulder onto the ground.
Varkis sheathed his dagger, wiping mud from his fur. "You're tougher than you look," he said, offering a hand. Zephyr took it, pulling himself up, the wolf-kin's strength a surprising comfort. "Thanks," he muttered, voice rough. Varkis shrugged, his grin returning. "Name's Varkis. Stick with me, and we might both live." A faint laugh escaped Zephyr, a rare sound that warmed his chest, though sadness lingered in the memory of his fall.
They moved deeper into the slum, the shacks closing in like a suffocating cage. The air reeked of smoke and decay, a stench that clung to Zephyr's clothes. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, a dull ache that grew with every step, his body weak from lack of food. Varkis led him to a lean-to, its roof sagging under the weight of patched cloth. Inside, a small fire crackled, its weak light casting shadows on the walls. Varkis tossed him a piece of stale bread, its crust hard as stone. "Not much, but it's something," he said. Zephyr ate, the dry crumbs scratching his throat, gratitude mixing with envy for Varkis' resilience.
Night fell, the sky darkening to a velvet black studded with stars. Zephyr sat by the fire, its warmth a fleeting comfort against the cold that seeped into his bones. Varkis sharpened his dagger, the scrape of metal a steady rhythm. "Why help me?" Zephyr asked, his voice low. Varkis paused, his amber eyes meeting Zephyr's. "Saw you fight. You've got heart, even if you're a noble wreck. Besides, I like a challenge." The words sparked a flicker of hope, though Zephyr's mind drifted to Aldric's scorn, Darius' spit. Anger flared, a fire that refused to die.
Tears stung his eyes as he clutched Sylra's pendant, its runes cool against his palm. Her face appeared, soft and kind, her belief a ghost that haunted him. "You are enough," she'd said, but now he doubted. The slum's silence pressed down, broken only by distant growls. He wiped his face, hiding the wetness, determined to prove her right. Varkis watched, saying nothing, his presence a quiet support.
Dawn broke, golden light filtering through the mist. Zephyr's wounds throbbed, his shoulder stiff, but he rose, driven by resolve. Varkis handed him a crude bandage, torn from his own cloak. "Orcs won't stop," he warned. "They hate nobles worse than we do." Zephyr nodded, tying the cloth, the pain a reminder of his fight. Envy gnawed at him, a bitter taste for the mana he lacked, the power Darius wielded so easily.
A rustle sounded outside, and Varkis tensed. Zephyr grabbed his sword, its edge dulled but ready. The lean-to's flap lifted, revealing a hulking orc, his skin scarred, axe in hand. "You're dead, Bladeless," he growled, stepping forward. Behind him, more orcs emerged, their eyes glinting with malice. Zephyr's heart raced, anxiety surging as the odds stacked against them. Varkis drew his dagger, his grin fading. "Time to run," he said, but the orcs blocked the exit. The fight loomed, a desperate stand in the mud, leaving readers on edge for their survival.