Yuki walked through the castle grounds, having finished her training. She was bruised and battered, covered in a lather of sweat. Her supple leather armor creaked against clay skin, slick with sweat. Dual swords, their spiked crimson knuckle guards protruding over her shoulders, spoke of danger. On her feet, she wore matching displacer hide sandals.

  She tightened the topknot on her silver hair, grimacing around a pair of ivory fangs, her smile radiant and deadly. She lifted her chin as she made her way up the courtyard stairs, heading for the great hall.

  Enchanted steel doors swung wide on silent hinges as she approached. A complex spread of meats, cheese, and fruit – spilled from a cornucopia of dishes, at the table's center. Mother threw a sideways glance in Yuki’s direction, and her father proffered a snort.

  The King and Queen, or Mother and Father, as she thought of them, were the embodiment of power and grace.

  Mother was, as usual, strapped with more weapons than clothing. Her father splashed zug zug across his bronze armor – as he tipped back a tankard of the stuff, finishing with a kingly belch.

  “Daughter, where have you been? Today is a special day, today–” Yuki cut her father off, “Yeah, I know, it's all you’ve talked about my whole life.”

  She stomped to the far side of the long banquet table, placing as much food as possible between herself and her self-absorbed progenitors. Today was going to happen, there was no escaping it – so she would face it like any other challenge, head–on.

  Yuki thumped herself onto a bench and reached for a kebab with one hand and a tankard of –

  A kitchen knife sunk into the table between her and her prize, “Not today, grunt of mine – you’ll go to the Titans, with your wits about you.” Yuki sighed, pulling a water flask from her hip, before taking a deep pull. After wiping her face with the back of her hand, she released a kingly belch of her own.

  Her mother cleared her throat, a single brow raised. “ You're going to be – LATE.” She emphasized the last word, in case Yuki had any doubts about their meaning.

  Yuki pushed herself away from the table, tossing her half-finished kebab back, before storming up to her quarters.

  “Don’t forget to scrub your fangs, dear… we’re counting on you!”

  When Garzha got up to her rooms, she caught her servant sleeping on the job. She looked worse for wear. Her clothing was torn, and her skin covered in scrapes and smudges. The girl had been training again, secretly mimicking her.

  The young servant thought she was being sneaky, but it was apparent the girl hadn’t finished any of her actual duties. Yuki sighed at the pile of garments sitting in the corner before stomping across the room. The strong-jawed gruntling stirred from her slumber, “What time is it, where–”

  Yuki burst into laughter as the girl’s eyes shot wide in realization, “Mistress, I – your clothes are…

  Her face went pale as she looked past Yuki to the wadded clothing, “I’m sorry, I must have lost track of the time – and I haven’t been feeling well.” She spoke to the floor.

  “Fill the wash basin, and fetch my comb – time is short, I’m running late as is.” Barked Yuki. The princess unceremoniously dropped her clothing on the floor, slipping into her shift and simple square-cut dress. She didn’t understand why royalty had to dress like humans; she preferred the revealing and practical nature of tribal clothing – why cover something with a whole piece of cloth, when a thin strip of vine would do?

  Yuki didn’t know, but tradition was everything, and her mother would not take no for an answer when it came to palace fashion.

  Every time Yuki brought up her mother's scantily clad outfits, the warrior Queen reminded her that she could do whatever in Daybrokes' name she pleased.

  “Liars and hypocrites!” Yuki exclaimed as she let her hair down, fanning it across her smooth scalp.

  “Yes, mistress.” The servant replied, a brush trembling in her hand, as she stood beside the wash basin.

  Yuki rolled her eyes at the girl. She was no meek servant. Marching up to the basin, Yuki sank her face into the crisp, cool water before vigorously scrubbing the grime away.

  “Remain calm or die screaming,” Yuki repeated her mother's favorite mantra, as she stared back at her reflection. She’d always hated those words, and right now, it only made her want to run around the castle screaming.

  “What does that mean?” Her servant blurted the question, unable to contain her curiosity.

  “Something mother always says, it's stupid – I know.” Yuki sat herself down, and the young orc circled her. She pulled the brush delicately through Yuki’s hair while refusing to make eye contact. Yuki chuckled to herself, causing the girl's eyes to snap to the mirror, only for a moment, as she quickly looked away.

  “B-but its meaning?” Asked the girl, as she dared to look Yuki in the eye.

  Yuki smiled, revealing her delicate fangs, “What is your name, girl?”

  The girl froze, brush in hand, “Garzha – Garzha Stonestribe.”

  Yuki’s smile deepened, “An orphan, that is to be expected, you're lucky to have this job – girl, fall asleep again, and you’ll be back in the muck with the rest of the rabble.”

  Garzha’s hand trembled, and her eyes fell to the floor, “S-sorry, mistress – I, it won’t happen–”

  Yuki’s hand clamped around her servant's wrist, taking Garzha by surprise. The princess turned to look her servant directly in the eye, “Never let anyone treat you like that, Garzha. Your birth does not define you. Mother – the Queen, was a Stonestribe like you, did you know?”

  Garzha’s eyes went wide as she shook her head. Yuki reached up a hand, clasping her servant's shaking fist, the contact breaking the poor girl from her stupor.

  Yuki continued as Garzha got back to brushing, “Mother wasn’t born in the Mire – she grew up in the Stonecoil Mountains, amongst the Barbarians. She was known only as Runt.”

  So rapt was Garzha’s attention that she had stopped brushing, again, Yuki paused until the girl's cheeks flushed, and she resumed her duties, “Orcs were a scattered people, fighting for scraps in dark caves – barely able to use their own blood to scribble a few runes.”

  “Do you mean before the system?” Garzha's interest was palpable.

  Yuki nodded, “Yes, she was–”

  “But your father, the King! Was he also a Stonestribe, where did–” Blurted Garzha.

  Yuki chuckled, “The Order of Concern really isn’t doing their job, are they. Every grunt and muckling in the Mire should at least know their people's history.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Yuki stood up, pulling her topknot into position, before binding it with a strip of chorde, “On Daybrokes call, all orcs crawled from under rock, and stump, to trek through storm, sand, and sleet – that they might enjoy his protection in the lands of the beast.

  Yuki smiled at herself in the mirror, her hair bound and shining, as she smoothed out her dress, “The King doesn’t come from the Stonecoil as our beloved Queen did – she was a Shield Maiden – and her strength comes from training, and a belief in herself – not as a divine right.”

  A fist pounded on her chamber door, “Mistress, the Queen begs you attend.”

  Yuki pursed her lips before heading towards the door – she gave Garzha’s hand a gentle squeeze, offering a smile. “Have this mess cleaned up when I return – yourself as well.”

  After Yuki left the room, Garzha stood in place, deep in thought, wondering at her mistress’s words.

  Garzha was lost, alone, and in immediate danger – if the ringing of alarm, tickling every fiber of her being, was any indication. She clutched a pair of wooden short swords in sweaty fists; the sounds of the night wrapped her in fear.

  Her leather trousers were torn in a dozen places, barely clinging to her soft flesh, as she stumbled along. She was going to die – she’d never see Yuki again.

  That thought surprised her; years had gone by since Yuki’s Apexing Day, and the young princess had obtained her titan-mark. She’d grown to respect the young mistress more with each passing day – her training, her belief in herself, and the speed that she leveled.

  Garzha wanted all of those things. Her own rune mark, a simple band around her waist, and her class [Royal Maid], had come recently – at first bringing her down, she didn’t want to be a maid, even a royal one. But she was what she was, and she would have faith in herself, as the Queen and the Princes did.

  Her faith had been rewarded, as it turned out, combat maids were a thing – after all, protecting the royalty was the duty of all. So Garzha, with a single combat and agility skill, thought she was more than ready to take up some of Yuki’s more – rigorous training exercises.

  She’d been wrong, moving quicker and hitting harder didn’t matter when you missed your targets, repeatedly – shattering your hand-carved weapons in the process.

  They were on her trail. She’d lost them for now. Every cicada and croak, pulling her stomach into her throat. Her foot caught a root, sending her sprawling into the muck. Her broken and useless swords flung uselessly away.

  Garzha bit back tears. I can do this, I am a Stonestribe –

  A cacophony of clicks obliterated all the fight she had left, her face slapping into the muck. Hopelessness reverberated in her very bones – I am nothing, and no one.

  As the clickfang swarm dove on her position, their sharp cries pinning her down, the sound of footsteps squelching through the mire gave her pause.

  “It's remain calm, not cower like a tadpole!” A tooled leather sandal, occupied by pristine toes painted in black, splashed mud across Garzha’s face – leaving the magical sandals and their elegant occupants untouched.

  A muscled calf, bulged as corded sinew, popped out like strands of iron – Yuki’s ferocious sword strikes rang out with implacable precision. Murderous rage blanketed the area, as Yuki’s killing intent leaked – her emotions barely restrained, as she fought to save the young maid.

  Garzha dared not move. She lay still – she was a hopeless fool, risking the kingdom's future, over her own silly dreams.

  The tears finally came, as Garzha pressed her face into the bog – the sounds of battle like a thousand spikes into her heart.

  How had it come to this – families turning on one another, neighbors waging war on each other, a cataclysm tore through the mire, and none could stop its malignant rampage. Garzha had fought tooth and nail, and Yuki had guided her every step of the way.

  Since that day, when she’d wept into the bog, Yuki had taken her under her wing, vowing that Garzha would never be alone again. A deep and loving friendship had developed between the two orcs.

  Together, she and Yuki explored the mire, battled monsters, and had each other's backs through thick and thin.

  But now, the kingdom was on the brink, and the spilled blood of thousands mixed with the murky waters of the mire. One disaster after another struck the Kingdom: famine, war, flood, and disease – just to name a few.

  Yet the King and Queen, comfortable in their castle and safe in their levels, saw traitors around every turn. The rise of Eldrin Mythweaver fed the monarchy’s fantasies. His district trees and the subsequent creation of Murkspire burned like demon fire in their minds.

  It started with small rebellions – stolen food or coins on the roads. Whispers in tea houses and in the bustling night markets of Murkspire spread like wildfire. With each slip in the monarchy’s power, the push from the denizens of the Mire became stronger.

  Garzha watched from the shadows as Yuki argued, fighting tooth and nail with her parents – begging them to help the people, to acknowledge their faults as rulers, and to show the Mire that they cared by fixing the problems and taking accountability.

  The King laughed in Yuki’s face, pointing to his apostles, who assured the King Daybroke’s faith in their leadership was as strong as ever.

  And so the Queen, trusting in her Husband and in her King, spoke to the people, traveling far and wide, her charismatic presence and booming voice driving home a single unmistakable point – the people were wrong, they should not believe their own eyes.

  So the Mire was left with one single choice – find someone else to blame.

  For the beastkin of the swamp, the answer was obvious. The Tearing, the advent of the mists, and all of the subsequent disasters that had befallen the Mire – came after the arrival of the orcs and of their God.

  For the orcs, the answer was equally as simple – beastkin did not believe in Daybroke, and thus, had ushered in the ruin of all, with their lack of faith and blasphemous ways.

  Garzha found herself alone more and more, as the civil war intensified – Yuki had made it her mission to stop the fighting, to get at the root of the problem. She was certain something had gone terribly wrong, that her parents should cling so tightly to their beliefs.

  Yuki was sneaking off alone to meet in secret, pushing Garzha away, in an effort to keep her safe. A young Garzha didn’t know what hurt worse, her friends' lies, or the fact that they may have been necessary.

  It's what led her to this moment, skulking in the trees, as she leaped from branches and swung on vines – keeping pace with her mentor and dear friend, as she snuck through the mire like a thief in the night.

  Garzha was forced to remain in the trees as Yuki entered the Broken Lands, an area she was unfamiliar with and one that offered little cover. She thought about pushing into the zone, once Yuki was out of sight, using her tracking abilities to keep on her friend's trail.

  Garzha was the cautious type, and so stayed hidden – biding her time. Day turned to night, and a warm wind blew – scattering sand across the Broken Lands, creating streams of dust in the arid zone. Just as Garzha thought to turn back home – her mind searching for alternate possibilities, maybe Yuki had gone the long way around and was waiting for her, worried and angry – Yuki appeared.

  Garzha instantly knew something was wrong with her friend: the hunched posture, hand clasped to her side, feet dragging through the sand.

  Garzha Stonestribe flew on the wind, ignoring the pain that raced through her legs, as she hit the ground running, dropping an impossible distance – not bothering to slow her fall. Yuki needed her, and every second could count. Her lungs burned as she pumped her arms, digging into the sand – uncaring of any would-be danger.

  She slid to her knees at her friend's side. Yuki had collapsed – blood pooled in the sand beneath her, there was too much blood, “Yuki – sister!” Garzha shook her companion as Yuki’s eyes rolled back in her head.

  Yuki’s wet cough made Garzha’s skin crawl – blood splattered her friend's lips, her tongue flicking out to taste the moisture, she spoke as her eyes fluttered open. “Garzha – I’m sorry.

  The princess choked on her own blood, and a hacking cough overtook her. She curled into a ball as Garzha struggled to think of a way to save her friend. She had travel skills, if they ran – maybe someone on the road – or she could get help.

  “Garzha, I had to stop them – they were…children, just children, it wasn’t their fault, please, please.”

  Yuki pressed a sceptor into Garzha’s hands before falling silent. Garzha knew the second her friend was dead, her class made it impossible not to know. She could not deny it, Yuki was gone – because of Garzha’s caution, if she’d just gone after her – maybe she could have…

  So deep was her acceptance of Yuki’s death that Garzha slipped into shock – her body frozen, as if [Paralyze] had been used on her.

  She did not register as her friend's body was dragged away, and sucked into the sand in a vortex of dust and blood.

  When Garzha awoke from her stupor, she sat in Eldrin's chambers, a fire crackling, and the fattest wyrmback she’d ever seen stared at her – its eyes flicking back and forth between Garzha and a bowl of steaming broth at her side.

  “Hello Garzha – how are you feeling?” Eldrin kneeled at her side, taking her hand in his, as he offered a gentle squeeze.

  Garzha looked down at the contact, surprised at the touch – this dream felt so real. “Where am I?”

  Eldrin proffered a smile, his kind eyes standing in contrast to a face cut from stone, “You’re in the Spire – there are some things I need to tell you…Garzha.”