Grima stumbled through the darkness, Raemok held tightly to her chest, every step sending searing agony through her wounded side. Blood seeped between her fingers, staining her hand, her strength rapidly ebbing with every labored breath. But she refused to stop, driven forward by the fierce instinct of a mother determined to protect her child.

  The forest around them was a blur of darkness, branches clawing at her face and arms as she pushed onward. Eventually, her legs trembling beneath her, Grima found the small hovel, hidden amidst thick vines and brambles, nearly invisible from the outside. Desperation gave her the strength to break open the rotting wooden door, slipping inside and pulling it closed behind her.

  Inside, darkness swallowed them, broken only by faint moonlight streaming through gaps in the walls. She stumbled to the ground, her breath ragged, vision swimming with pain.

  Carefully, she set Raemok down, her shaking fingers brushing gently against his soft cheek. The infant's wide eyes stared up at her, somehow calm despite the chaos and pain around him. His gaze, clear and trusting, broke Grima’s heart even as it filled her with a desperate resolve.

  “Be brave, little one,” she whispered softly, her voice breaking. “Stay silent, my love."

  Grima lay back against the wall, feeling the cold of the stone press into her back, providing fleeting relief from the burning agony of her wounds. Her vision blurred again, darkness creeping in at the edges, threatening to pull her under.

  “I won’t leave you,” she murmured fiercely, fighting back unconsciousness, her hand resting protectively over Raemok's tiny form. Tears spilled down her cheeks, hot and uncontrolled, as she desperately clung to life.

  Through her fading senses, she heard the distant clash of steel and cries of battle echoing through the forest. Her thoughts drifted to Remoran, wondering desperately if he was still alive, still fighting. She wished more than anything that she could be by his side now, facing the enemy together.

  Her gaze turned once more to her son, who lay quiet and wide-eyed beside her, his tiny face pale in the moonlight.

  “Raemok,” she murmured, tears slipping freely down her face. “You must survive. You must grow strong."

  Weakly, she clasped a small carved amulet around his neck, whispering an ancient prayer to the Orcish Gods, her voice trembling with the effort. “Guard him. Let him grow strong and wise. Let him find peace, and let his heart remain free of hatred."

  The amulet is carved from polished obsidian, smooth and cool to the touch, shaped into an intricate emblem that intertwines two powerful symbols—a wolf and an oak tree. The wolf represents strength, loyalty, and courage, traits Grima saw in Raemok even as a child. The oak symbolizes wisdom, endurance, and deep-rooted strength, reflecting Grima's hope for Raemok’s future.

  Inlaid in the obsidian is a delicate spiral of silver that gleams softly, catching even the faintest hint of light. At the center of the spiral, a tiny amethyst crystal rests, shimmering with a subtle violet glow.

  The edges of her vision began to darken further, a numbness spreading through her limbs. She reached out, her fingers brushing gently over Raemok’s soft hair, memorizing the peaceful expression on his tiny face.

  "Forgive me, my love," she whispered, her breath faint, fading. “I wish I could watch you grow. Remember me… and know you were loved."

  Her eyes closed slowly, her hand resting gently beside Raemok. The infant stirred softly, unaware of the tragedy unfolding around him, wrapped safely in his mother's final embrace.

  Back at the stronghold, chaos raged, flames devouring buildings as warriors fell to merciless blades. At the center, Remoran faced Grimgor, the flames illuminating the hatred etched deeply into their faces.

  Their eyes locked, the moment heavy with years of bitter rivalry and betrayal.

  "This ends now," Remoran growled, voice tight with controlled rage, Orkinder pulsed ominously in his grip.

  Grimgor smiled wickedly, bloodied and victorious. "I already ended your world. This is merely the finale."

  Without another word, the two warriors lunged forward.

  The clash of steel rang out like a thunderclap as Remoran and Grimgor collided, their blades meeting in a shower of sparks. Grimgor’s massive axe swung with brutal force, each strike aimed to cleave Remoran in two. But Remoran moved like a shadow, his movements fluid and precise, Orkinder humming with dark energy as it parried blow after blow. The air between them crackled with tension, the weight of their hatred fueling every strike.

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  Grimgor roared, his axe arcing downward in a devastating overhead swing. Remoran sidestepped, the blade biting into the ground where he had stood moments before. He countered with a swift slash, Orkinder’s edge slicing through Grimgor’s armor and drawing blood. The warlord snarled, his red eyes blazing with fury as he retaliated with a backhanded swing that forced Remoran to leap back.

  The two warriors circled each other, their breaths heavy, their eyes locked in a deadly dance. Grimgor lunged again, his axe a blur of steel, but Remoran ducked under the strike, driving Orkinder upward. The blade caught Grimgor’s side, tearing through flesh and eliciting a guttural growl of pain. Grimgor staggered but didn’t fall, his massive frame absorbing the damage as he swung his axe in a wide arc, forcing Remoran to retreat.

  “You fight well, Remoran,” Grimgor spat, blood dripping from his wounds. “But you’re still weak. You always were.”

  Remoran’s eyes burned with fury, his grip tightening on Orkinder. “Weakness is betraying your own kin. Weakness is slaughtering the innocent. You’re the one who’s weak, Grimgor.”

  Grimgor laughed, a deep, mocking sound. “Innocent? There’s no such thing in this world. Only the strong survive, and I am the strongest.”

  With a roar, Grimgor charged, his axe swinging in a relentless barrage of strikes. Remoran met him head-on, Orkinder moving like an extension of his own body. The two warriors traded blows, their weapons clashing with such force that the ground beneath them shook. Each strike was a testament to their skill, their strength, their unyielding will to destroy the other.

  Grimgor’s axe grazed Remoran’s shoulder, drawing blood, but Remoran didn’t falter. He pressed the attack, his strikes relentless, each blow fueled by fury. Orkinder’s dark energy surged, its blade glowing with an eerie light as it cut through Grimgor’s defenses. With a powerful thrust, Remoran drove the blade into Grimgor’s chest, piercing his armor and sinking deep into his flesh.

  Grimgor gasped, his axe slipping from his grasp as he stumbled backward. He looked down at the blade embedded in his chest, his expression one of shock and disbelief. Blood bubbled from his lips as he sank to his knees, his massive frame trembling.

  Remoran stood over him, breathing heavily, his eyes filled with a mixture of rage and sorrow. “You took everything from me,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “My clan. My family. My future.”

  Grimgor coughed, a weak smile spreading across his bloodied face. “I now see why Orkinder chose you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Orkinder will enact your vengeance… just as it wanted.”

  With those final words, Grimgor’s body went limp, his lifeless form collapsing to the ground.

  Remoran stood breathing heavily, the fight's conclusion leaving his hands slick with Grimgor's blood. He looked down at the fallen warlord's lifeless body, feeling no triumph, only a deep emptiness and consuming anger. His chest heaved painfully, his pulse thundering in his ears as the firelight flickered across his face, highlighting his anguished expression.

  Slowly, Remoran raised his head, taking in the full devastation around him. The stronghold was gone, nothing more than smoldering ruins. His warriors, his clan, all lay slain, their lifeless bodies scattered grotesquely amidst the burning rubble.

  His throat tightened painfully, eyes burning with tears he refused to shed. Everything he had built, everything he had loved, lay destroyed around him. He dropped to his knees, Orkinder slipping from his grip, hitting the charred earth beside him.

  "Grima...Raemok," he whispered brokenly, tears stinging his eyes as the stark reality of loss consumed him.

  Grimgor's taunts echoed cruelly in his mind. He had said they were dead, had taken joy in Remoran's agony. He had no reason to doubt it; all around him lay proof of merciless slaughter.

  His grief twisted violently, swiftly replaced by searing hatred, consuming everything else within him. Remoran roared, a sound of pure agony and rage, his fists clenched so tightly blood dripped from his palms.

  Orkinder thrummed sharply, feeding eagerly off the intensity of his anguish, the blade practically humming with dark anticipation.

  "I have nothing left," Remoran whispered, his voice broken yet growing colder, harsher with every word. "No family. No clan. Nothing but vengeance."

  Orkinder’s whispers returned, dark and seductive, filling his mind with promises of power, of revenge, of endless, merciless strength.

  "You have me," the sword whispered. "Embrace your hate. Let it fuel you."

  Remoran gripped the hilt tighter, welcoming the darkness, letting hatred wrap itself around him like armor. He no longer feared the blade’s power—he embraced it fully, willingly letting it guide him into oblivion.

  "I will destroy them all," he growled, eyes filled with bitter hatred. "Orcs, humans—all who have wronged me will fall beneath my blade."

  He stood amidst the ashes, a lone figure of darkness and rage, the remnants of his past life burning around him, heart empty except for fury.

  "Come," Orkinder purred with dark satisfaction. "Let us begin."

  Remoran lifted the blade, feeling its darkness entwining fully with his own soul.

  Around him, the flames crackled fiercely, illuminating the grim path ahead—a path forged in blood and vengeance.