2. Brannock
Brannock
“How in the ever-loving abyss do I get out of this gods-damned forest?” I mutter, swatting at a bramble that has the audacity to smack me full across the face.
Thorns rake angry welts down my arms, tug at my clothes, and tangle around my legs like the forest is trying to keep me here.
My shirt snags—again—and I growl, ripping it free.
I shoulder my way through another thicket, branches clawing at me, sweat plastering the rough linen of my prison-issued shirt to my back. When I finally burst into a clearing, I gasp like a man surfacing from deep water.
The relief is short-lived.
The clearing is ringed by trees so tall and tightly packed that their branches weave together into a suffocating canopy.
Only a thin, reluctant slice of night sky peeks through, like the moon is afraid to look me in the eye.
Off to the left, frogs croak in rhythmic chorus.
A pond? Or—if the gods are feeling generous—a river. Clean, cold water.
I’d trade what’s left of my dignity for a drink right now.
I’ve been stumbling around for hours. Maybe longer.
All I know is that it was enough time to come apart at the seams. Time doesn’t behave normally when you’ve spent gods-know-how-long in a magical prison built on silence and nothingness.
No sun. No moon. Only the darkness and the weight of your own mind, whispering things you’d rather not hear.
And the reason I’m here in this gods-forsaken forest? Because back home in Drokthar, I killed a zombie.
Yeah. A zombie.
It was guarding some necromancer’s apothecary, and I was injured. I broke in for a healing draught, got ambushed, and did what any trained warrior would do when something half-rotted lunges at him with a blade.
I took its head off.
Apparently, that zombie was part of a state-sponsored workforce rehabilitation program. Technically alive, they said. Protected under necro-labor accords.
I did not get that memo.
So, I was sentenced to five years of magical imprisonment and declared “unfit for reintegration.”
Then, without warning, I woke up on the ground in this cursed place with nothing but a threadbare shirt and a splitting headache, with vague memories of a portal and bad dreams.
Redemption through relocation, a voice said in my dream. Serve your time in another realm.
Nobody mentioned being ejected from my world and dumped into this plane through a swirling portal. Or this forest being alive and hellbent on eating me for breakfast.
As if to prove my point, a twisted root lunges out of the undergrowth and nearly takes me down.
I catch myself on a tree, panting, the bark gritty beneath my callused palms. I pause, trying to get my bearings.
The forest gives me nothing—no moss to read, no stars to navigate by.
Just dense shadows and a strange sense of being watched.
The kind of awareness that prickles your neck and makes you feel like prey.
A rabbit scampers out of a nearby bush. Its eyes catch mine, see the scars and the sheer size of me, and it bolts like I lit its fur on fire.
I don’t blame it.
I’m not a good man. Hell, I’m not even a man.
I’m an orc. Big, broad, and green. Black hair, green eyes, tusks. My hands are better at breaking than building. And my temper... well, that’s what got me caged in the first place. Gods-damned zombie.
Now I’m free—sort of. Banished, technically. With no map and no way back to my world, to my friends, to a tavern with decent ale and too much noise. Anything but the sound of my own breathing in this cursed place.
The sun has set, the temperature dropping with it, but hunger claws at my insides and thirst burns my throat like fire. I don’t remember the last time I ate or drank. Or felt something that wasn’t weariness.
Luck finally throws me a bone when I hear rushing water.
I don’t hesitate. I crash through the underbrush like a half-mad…
well, orc, thorns and branches slapping me as I barrel toward the source.
Hitting the riverbank, I drop to my knees, plunging my hands into the icy current.
I drink until my stomach aches, cold water dribbling down my chin.
Heaven.
When I can breathe again, I sit back and scan my surroundings.
Moonlight slices through a break in the clouds, turning the world silver.
A long, straight branch juts from the brush, and beside the river, obsidian glints like black ice.
I gather both, begin flint-knapping the rock with another stone until I’ve chipped it into a wicked spearhead.
Tearing a strip from my tattered shirt, I lash it to the wood.
Probably overkill for fishing. Don’t care.
I’m hungry and pissed off. Besides, having something sharp in my hand makes me feel orc-ish again.
The weapon makes the orc as much as the orc makes the weapon.
I wade into the shallows and wait, muscles tight with anticipation. It only takes three tries before I land one—a fat, wriggling fish. I gut it with a sharp obsidian edge, the stench of raw flesh hitting my nose as the entrails steam on the cold stones.
A spark, some kindling, and soon, I’ve got a fire. The fish sizzles on a flat rock propped above the flames, the smell so good I almost moan. Smoke drifts upward, curling through the trees.
I slump beside the fire, exhaustion wrapping around me. For the first time in too long, I feel something resembling comfort.
My eyes narrow as a light flickers through the trees, warm and golden. Rising above the treetops is a tower. Tall and narrow, with only one window perched like an afterthought near the top.
The clouds shift, moonlight pouring down in a ghostly beam that illuminates the tower in full. It looks ancient. Moss-covered. Haunted, maybe. Possibly cursed. But that light…
I squint. It must be an oil lamp or a candle.
Who the hell lives there?
I assume it’s a man. Or maybe a couple. Surely no woman would live alone in a forest like this. Not with the way the shadows move and the trees feel like they’re watching. This place hums with hunger. Testing. Wanting… what? My blood? My life? My energy? All of the above?
I’m not sure yet.
I’ve spent the whole damn day trying to get out of this strange place. It’s as if the forest doesn’t want to relinquish me, holding me captive as surely as the void prison I left behind.
I tear into the fish, chewing slowly, eyes fixed on the glowing window. Something about it is familiar. Not the tower itself, but the sense of isolation. The loneliness of the person who lives there is almost palpable.
I shake my head, cursing my fanciful thoughts.
A twig snaps behind me, and I freeze. I slide my hand toward the spear, listening intently.
Nothing. Just the rush of the river and the crackle of the fire.
Once I’ve eaten, I toss the fish bones into the flames, rinse my hands in the river, and scrape together a bed of leaves. Crude, but dry, and better than brambles.
The light across the river blinks out.
Did they see my fire? Wouldn’t they come to investigate if they had? Or maybe it is a witch. One of the reclusive witches who guards her territory with magic. Best I keep my distance. I don’t need to get hexed.
I lie back, hands behind my head, watching the black web of branches overhead.
The quiet settles like a weight on my chest. I craved noise when I was incarcerated.
Chaos. Ale-soaked nights. A return to my old life.
But that life—and all the bad choices that came with it—led straight to that cell.
Maybe it’s time I stopped running toward the past and started thinking about the future—whatever that looks like now.
I’m almost asleep when I hear it.
Singing.
Soft. Clear. Unmistakably female. Notes spill into the night like raindrops on glass, weaving through the trees.
My breath catches. I sit up so fast that my head spins for a second. That voice…
It slides under my skin, settling into places I didn’t know were empty. Calms something wild in me. Am I dreaming? Probably. But it doesn’t feel like a dream. The song makes something inside me ache with loneliness and something else. Purpose. Destiny.
I scrub a hand over my face, cursing my vivid imagination. This place, combined with my hunger and lack of sleep, is messing with my head.
But the heartfelt melody curls around my heart like a vine and pulls.
I stand. The river should be a problem. It isn’t.
The current shoulders me sideways, and a neat line of stones appears where there wasn’t one.
A low branch dips to catch my balance. When I push through the undergrowth, the brambles that spent all day skinning me…
part. Roots that kept tripping me flatten into steps. The ground firms. The path clears.
I’m not just following a song.
I’m being guided.
Reaching the base of the tower, I duck behind a tree. Peering up, I spot her—a woman sitting in the window.
Golden hair that glows like starlight. Skin pale and smooth. Full lips. Curves that make my mouth go dry. Soft, round, and perfect.
Not a fragile damsel. Not to me.
My throat tightens. I take a step closer, heart pounding. She sings as if she’s made peace with the solitude. As if she belongs here. Her voice soothes something raw inside me.
My body responds before I can stop it. Heat pools low in my belly. My cock throbs. I shift, muttering a curse. Gods, it’s been so long since I felt anything like this. Now isn’t the time to take care of it.
I should look away. I should move on. But I don’t.
I’m about to step closer when the shadows move.
Something slithers around my ankles—a vine. Before I can react, I’m yanked off my feet with a grunt, the air knocked clean from my lungs as I hit the ground. My head cracks against the hard earth, and my vision swims. I scramble for purchase, but whatever has me is dragging me across the dirt.
Toward the tower.
Maybe this forest is hungry.
And it’s not done with me yet.