Chapter 47 The Outsider’s Eyes
THE OUTSIDER'S EYES
“The best chains are not forged from iron or steel. The best chains are built from pity. Make them pity you, Gregor, and you will never need to beg for power again.”
—Bard, during Gregor’s final lesson
Gregor
Isit on the cold ground, my back pressed against a wall that feels alive, like the wood itself is breathing. I’m trying to process everything I’ve just seen. ávera.
Bard spoke of this place, a hidden village in the depths of the forest where the vólkins live.
He described towering warriors, their homes nestled in ancient trees, and strange, ethereal beings that roamed the woods.
I knew it existed—at least in theory—but knowing and seeing are two very different things.
This place feels unreal, like I’ve stumbled into another world entirely.
The vólkins themselves . . . gods, they’re enormous.
Twice my size, with fur that looks too soft for creatures so dangerous.
Their eyes are the worst, sharp and glowing, they cut through me like they can see every lie I’ve ever told.
And the spirits. Little leaflike creatures with faces, flitting around like children of nature. They’re alive. They move and giggle and shimmer, something out of a tale told to scare children into behaving.
The homes here defy logic. They’re built into the trunks of trees so enormous they make human buildings look like toys. The branches cradle each structure like arms. This is a world no human knows. Except for me.
And Noel.
That thought should bring me comfort. We share this secret, this connection.
But I don’t belong here.
Bard said there were only male vólkins. That much was drilled into me during my lessons.
But he was wrong. I’ve seen females, tall, graceful, and every bit as terrifying as the males.
What else did Bard get wrong? How much of what I was told is a lie?
Even the Shadow Guild, with all its resources, doesn’t know as much as they think they do.
And I thought of them as gods.
Two vólkin guards stand outside my cell, their bodies so massive they don’t let the sunlight in. They don’t move, don’t blink, they just stand there as if I’m not here. I wonder if they even acknowledge my existence—or if they’re simply waiting for the order to end it.
No one back at the base would believe this.
Not the lieutenant colonel. Not anyone. Gods, even I wouldn’t have believed it if I weren’t seeing it with my own eyes.
I can’t even imagine the conversation back in the barracks.
All we ever knew was stone and dirt, with a glimpse of nature only when we left the village.
Even on the road to Tárnov from Róstan, it was the same.
Trees and rocks on one side, the endless ocean on the other.
How would I even begin to tell the rookies about this place? About giant wolves walking like humans, speaking like humans, with their shining, colorful crystals? About the laughing leaves and the living trees?
They’d think I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. Maybe after everything I’ve been through, these living leaves are figments of my damaged imagination. Maybe my mind seeks colors and happy memories at last.
Heavy footsteps break through my thoughts, growing louder as someone approaches the entrance to my living cage of twisted branches and roots. My heart pounds, and I look up, dread curling in my gut.
A figure stands at the entrance.
A female vólkin.
She steps in, rests a big basin full of water near the wall on my right, and turns toward me.
Her presence fills the space instantly. She’s tall.
Not as massive as the males, but her sleek gray fur, a band of crystals on her wrist, eyes as green as the entire forest, and straight posture give her an air of authority.
My gaze flicks to her forehead. It’s bare.
No crystals.
What does that mean? Bard told me that vólkins couldn’t survive without their crystals. That removing them is a death sentence. But here she is, standing right in front of me. Alive.
But then again, I have a pink crystal up my arse.
Her green eyes sweep over me, and I can’t decipher her expression. I also can’t look away. I don’t want to stare, but I can’t stop myself. Every detail—the way she moves, the sheen of her fur in the dim light—it’s a puzzle I don’t have the pieces to solve.
How much of what Bard told me is wrong?
She doesn’t speak as she approaches, and my body tenses. I shrink back, pressing myself against the wall of living wood. Is she going to hurt me?
The thought sounds absurd, even to me, but nothing in this place makes sense. Every rule I’ve ever known has been rewritten, and I’m at the mercy of creatures I don’t understand.
She kneels beside me, her powerful body close enough I can feel the heat radiating from her. Is she going to grab me?
Instead, she extends her hand—or paw. It’s something in between, covered in fur but shaped like a human’s. Tiny talking leaves emerge from her palm. Except they don’t speak now. I guess I wasn’t imagining them. They are leaves, dressed in more leaves.
I stare as they move toward my ankles. The glowing, light blue shackles cling tightly to my skin. Shackles made of weightless ropes that appeared out of thin air when the vólkins restrained me. Bard’s words about energy transfer come rushing back, but none of it prepared me for this.
The leaves reach my ankles, their tiny, expressionless faces focused on their task. Their small hands move around my shackles. I feel something, a strange sensation, like a delicate breeze brushing against my skin.
Before I can process what’s happening, the shackles vanish.
The female vólkin straightens to her full height, and her voice is low but firm when she says, “Her Majesty wants you to bathe and clean the grime off before we heal you.”
Her Majesty. Noel.
My throat tightens, and I nod stiffly. Words fail me. My mouth is dry. She’s speaking on Noel’s behalf.
The vólkin holds my gaze for a moment longer. Then she strides away, the living leaves scurrying back up her arm before disappearing altogether.
I’m left sitting there, staring at the spot where she stood, trying to make sense of what just happened. My ankles are free, my mind anything but.
Bathe?
The water in the basin she left behind is clear, shining with the light of a crystal nestled at the bottom. Hesitant, I dip my hand into the water.
It’s warm.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. A warm bath. How long has it been since I’ve had one? In the barracks there were no baths, just rows of cold metal showerheads. In summer, the water would scald. In winter, it was icy enough to numb your skin.
The only time I truly enjoyed a bath was at a friend’s house. Back then, we were allowed to leave the barracks once every few months, but I rarely went home. Róstan was too far, and traveling there for only a weekend didn’t make sense.
One time, my roommate invited me to his family’s home in Tárnov. I agreed, eager to see what life outside the barracks was like.
Walking into his house was like stepping into another world.
Strong stone walls, furniture that looked like it belonged in a merchant’s gallery, and the scent of real home-cooked food hanging in the air.
His parents greeted us warmly, and his brothers ran around the house, their laughter echoing off the walls of their big home.
A family.
How different his life was from mine. A father, a mother, a real home. At least five siblings, maybe more.
Unlike me and Linnéa. Orphaned before we had a chance to know what a real family could be.
I glance over at the two guards stationed outside. Their backs are turned.
It’s fine, right? Just to take off my clothes?
They don’t wear clothes anyway.
Slowly, I strip out of the dirty, tattered fabric clinging to my body. Each piece drops on the floor with a heavy thud—a thud of blood- and piss-soaked fabric. The basin of water looks small, but I step in and carefully lower myself. I actually fit, as long as I don’t stretch my legs all the way.
I’m no tall man, a little taller than Noel. And she’s . . . well, she’s a shorty. Probably around five feet tall.
Letting the warmth of the water seep into my muscles, I lean my head back. The tension I’ve carried for weeks begins to melt away.
Oh, this is incredible.
For the first time in forever, I feel like a human again. I close my eyes and relax.
“Human!”
My body flinches before my brain even catches up. Water sloshes around me as a cold shiver runs across my skin. I snap my eyes open and see a dark vólkin standing at the entrance of my cell.
A gasp escapes me as I instinctively try to move backward, but the basin doesn’t allow much room for retreat. Right. I’m in this thing.
The giant vólkin lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing his snout with a clawed hand. His fur is pitch black, his burgundy crystals glowing faintly above a single, piercing blue eye. The other socket is empty with a jagged scar across it.
Oh gods. He has one eye.
“Y-yes?” I stammer as I close my thighs.
After the way the other vólkins mocked my body, I’m not about to give this one a reason to laugh at me too. Compared to them, I’m practically a runt. Gods, just his balls are bigger than my entire length. How could anyone even compare themselves to these creatures?
He tosses a bit of fabric at me, and I manage to catch it before it falls into the water. My tunic and trousers, clean and dry.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“Shut your mouth,” he snaps. “You’ve slept the whole day. Her Majesty is inviting you to the feast. Get dressed. I’ll wait here.”
His words are harsh, and now I’m not sure who scares me more—this one or Noel’s mate.
I nod and stand, stepping out of the bucket. My skin feels soggy, my fingers wrinkled from soaking for so long. I angle my body to the side, avoiding his gaze. “Could you . . . turn away?”
He growls low. Of course not.