Kallen woke up to searing pain coursing through his body, every muscle aching, his skin slick with sweat.
The air was stifling—scorchingly hot. Shadows danced unnaturally across the dark room, flickering in rhythm with the blazing furnace embedded in the wall.
The sharp clanging of metal against metal filled his ears, echoing endlessly.
He groggily turned his head, taking in his surroundings. Young orcs—some not much older than himself—were busy at work, crafting, hammering, sharpening.
But their eyes weren’t focused on their tasks.
They were watching him.
Some with open hostility. Others with quiet apprehension. A few... with fear.
Kallen took in his surroundings with a tired sigh and stood up, brushing his soot-covered rags for clothes.
The fabric clung to his sweat-drenched skin like tarred mud. The effort was pointless—his skin was just as blackened with soot as his clothes.
Though his body still ached, the injuries from before were gone, healed as though they’d never existed.
A sharp echo of footsteps rang out, measured and deliberate, like boots striking the stone steps of a deep cellar.
At the sound, the other young orcs returned to their work with instinctive discipline, though a few couldn’t help stealing distracted glances at him, suspicion and hatred still simmering beneath their focused façades.
The forge door creaked open, and in stepped Menelaus. His expression was colder than ice, but his eyes... his eyes carried the weight of a shattered man, who had just lost something dear.
He scanned the room, then locked eyes with Kallen.
That same calm, unreadable expression on the boy’s face; the same one from before, nearly broke Menelaus.
With a snarl, he lunged forward, and Kallen had just enough time to sigh in resignation before the punch landed, sending him flying.
He crashed to the floor, unconscious.
Menelaus stormed over, grabbed the limp boy by his collar, and raised his fist, every muscle in his arm shaking with fury.
He wanted to kill him. He really wanted to.
But the fist never came down.
His arm trembled violently, his heart caught in a storm of grief and rage. Tears welled up in his eyes before he let out a primal roar, a sound torn from deep within.
He hurled Kallen’s body aside and rampaged through the forge, overturning tables, shattering tools, demolishing everything within reach.
The younger orcs scattered in fear, scrambling for safety.
Some glared at Kallen’s unconscious form with barely veiled hatred. Others simply watched from the shadows, trembling.
The rampage lasted a while, and though the initial shock had faded, no one dared to intervene.
They simply watched—silent, tense.
None were foolish enough to try and pacify him. They knew Menelaus needed this moment. Some even empathized with his pain, their eyes burning with quiet hostility as they glanced at Kallen’s limp form.
Menelaus stood amidst the wreckage, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his brow, and heart pounding with something he couldn’t name.
His gaze swept across the forge—the shattered tools, the upturned benches, and most of all, the young ones who had once looked at him like a mentor, like blood.
They had grown under his hand, hardened by his guidance. To them, he was more than a teacher. He was family. A pillar.
For the first time, they had seen him lose control.
Shame crept up his spine like a slow chill, and exhaustion wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak.
"Take him out of here," he growled, voice low and cracked, pointing in Kallen’s direction without meeting the boy’s face. "Out of my sight."
He didn’t trust himself to look—not again. He was afraid that if he did, he might actually go through with what his rage screamed for.
There was a moment of hesitation, then the oldest pair among the group stepped forward. With stoic expressions, they lifted Kallen’s unconscious body and carried him away, toward one of the side chambers, deeper into the forge complex.
No one spoke a word. Not even Menelaus.
The silence was heavier than the heat.
They carried Kallen deep into the underbelly of the forge, far from the blistering heart where the main chimney choked the air with soot and smoke.
Here, the heat was still present, like an ever-pressing weight on the skin, but it wasn’t as suffocating. Not like the core.
The tunnel curved tightly, dimly lit by some strange gems embedded into the stone walls, gracing the dark with rare yellow light.
Eventually, it opened into a vast chamber—a living space of some sorts, carved into the earth itself.
Rows upon rows of stone doors lined the walls, more than the number of occupants in this place.
They carried Kallen to the farthest end, stopping before the last door.
One of them shoved it open with a grunt, and together they tossed his unconscious body onto the bed inside... or more like flinging a sack of refuse than handling a person.
The thud echoed in the silence.
They didn’t care. Not anymore.
They had the leeway to treat him like filth now. He was landing against a bed so he wouldn’t get hurt, nor break. Not easily.
It wasn’t hard to see that Menelaus had beaten Kallen into unconsciousness twice, battered him with genuine murderous intent, and yet hadn’t dared to follow through with the kill. Showing restraint instead.
And that only meant one thing. Someone, or something, was watching over the boy. And even Menelaus didn’t dare challenge or provoke that person.
And they all understood what that meant.
That truth lit a fire of rage and more hatred in their chests.
Their hatred for Kallen surged wild, but so did their reverence for the one they called father.
He had shown discipline. He had chosen them over vengeance.
In their eyes, he had sacrificed the justice he yearned for, and deserved, in order to protect them from forces beyond them. And considering who Kallen had murdered, it was only right he did kill Kallen, but he had not.
To them, it was noble.
And yet... infuriating.
They spat beside Kallen’s bed, contempt thick in their throats, and gave low, guttural harrumphs as they turned to leave.
The heavy stone door slammed shut behind them with a resounding boom.
And Kallen lay still for some seconds after they had left, before he sat up. An indecipherable light shimmering in the depth of his eyes.