Chapter 6 Kragna
KRAGNA
Sleep doesn’t come easy after blood. Not for trolls. Not for me.
When it finally does, it comes in the shape of war.
I dream of the clang and scream of iron, the thunder of giants meeting on open fields.
I dream of Derga’s laugh—low, wicked, sharp enough to cut—and the way her axe sang through elf flesh like music.
I dream of the moment her chest split under a cursed blade, black fire eating her from the inside out while I tore the world apart around her and still couldn’t put her back together.
The dream ends in fire. Always does.
I wake with a growl locked in my throat, sweat cold on my skin. My claws have sunk into the earth beside me, carving deep furrows in the moss.
And she’s there.
River’s curled against my side, her breath steady, warm as embers.
Somewhere in the night she stole most of my blanket, leaving me half-covered and shivering.
But I don’t move. Don’t pull it back. I just watch her sleep, her dark hair loose across her cheek, lips parted, hands tucked close like she’s finally let go of the world.
It hits me harder than any axe swing.
This isn’t the battlefield. This is something else. Something I’m not ready for and maybe never will be.
Dawn comes bleeding through the canopy, soft and gray. When she stirs, I’m already up, packing the satchel. I keep my face blank, my voice casual. “Eat. Then we move.”
She doesn’t argue. That’s new. Less barbs, more silence. But the silence between us now isn’t cold. It’s heavy. Charged. Like we’re both listening to something neither of us dares name.
We travel in that silence, through mist-wrapped trees and gullies slick with moss.
My hooves sink deep in the loam, her boots whispering over the ground like she’s part shadow.
Every now and then, our eyes meet. She looks away first, always.
But not before something sparks there. Something that lingers.
By midday, the mist thins, and I lead her up a narrow deer path that climbs higher, the forest thinning into a ridge. The air sharpens, carrying the tang of old stone, old iron.
And then we see it.
The bones.
White and broken, scattered across the field like discarded dice.
Some tangled in vines, others piled where time and weather dropped them.
Troll skulls big as barrels, ribs like sun-bleached sails rising from the wildflowers.
The flowers have grown tall, purple and yellow, winding themselves lovingly through sockets and jaws.
Life clinging to death like it refuses to let go.
River stops dead. Her voice is hushed. “Gods.”
I walk among them. Slow. Careful. My chest feels tight. My breath catches.
She follows, watching me, but doesn’t speak. She knows. Somehow, she knows this isn’t just a battlefield. It’s a grave.
I crouch beside a half-collapsed skeleton, fingers brushing the stone-cold curve of a horn. Derga’s horn. I remember it snapping when she fell. I remember holding her, promising I’d find a way to bring her back, even though I knew better.
I don’t say her name. Don’t speak the memory aloud. Trolls don’t waste words on ghosts.
But River’s eyes are on me, and I can feel her question unasked.
“This,” I say finally, voice rough, “is where the last war ended.”
She looks at the bones. At me. “And you were here.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you lose anyone?”
I don’t answer right away. My throat is raw. Finally, I nod once. “The only one that mattered.”
Her gaze softens, but she doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t press. Just lets the silence speak.
The wind stirs through the flowers, rattling the bones like faint laughter. I close my eyes and hear it again—Derga’s laugh, bold and bright, long before the fire.
When I open them, River’s still watching me.
And for the first time in centuries, the ghost in my chest shifts. Not gone. Never gone. But lighter.
Because maybe—for the first time since Derga—I don’t feel alone in the ruin.
The ruins rise out of the mist like bones pushing through skin.
Half-buried in moss, walls sagging, stones shifted by roots, they still hold the shape of something once proud.
A tower maybe, or a chapel—dark elf craft, by the taste of iron dust in the mortar.
Time chewed it down until only three walls stand and the roof lies open to the sky.
We take it for shelter. Firewood’s easy here—dead beams splinter under my claws, dry enough to crack. Soon the flames lick upward, warm against the night air. Sparks float toward the open ceiling and fade against the first pricks of starlight.
River settles opposite me, rifle propped within arm’s reach, boots unlaced, her weight resting heavy against a stone block. She stretches her sore leg once, winces, then pulls it back in. The fire paints her face in shifting gold and shadow.
For a while she says nothing. Just stares into the flames, expression unreadable. Then her mouth quirks, and her voice breaks the quiet.
“So,” she says, casual as throwing dice, “troll mating. How does that even work? You bash skulls until one gives up?”
I bark out a laugh, low and rumbling. “Headbutts are for fights, not beds.”
Her smirk widens, teasing. “Good. I’d hate to die of foreplay.”
“You wouldn’t last a round,” I shoot back.
Her eyebrow arches. “You that sure of yourself?”
“Been alive four hundred years. I don’t brag about things I can’t do.”
That gets her attention. Her eyes flicker toward me, just for a heartbeat, before she hides it behind another smirk.
I lean back against the ruin’s wall, let the shadows stretch long across me. “Truth is… troll women are rare. Always have been, since the curse. In four centuries, I’ve seen maybe five. Some trolls never lay eyes on one their whole lives.”
She grows still, listening.
“When a female’s born, the mountains themselves go quiet,” I continue. “Like the world knows it’s somethin’ precious. Whole clans fight just to protect one. The birthrate’s lower than a dry creek.”
Her voice softens, careful. “So… when you do meet one?”
I let the fire hold my eyes. Easier than looking at her. “It isn’t a choice. Not really. It’s… a knowing. Marrow-deep. Blood-deep. The world whispers there she is, and from that moment, nothing else matters.”
The fire snaps, collapsing into glowing coals.
Finally I glance at her. She’s not smirking now. Not mocking. Just watching me with eyes dark and steady, the weight of them like a stone on my chest.
But she doesn’t answer me. Not with words. Instead she shifts, pulls her knees up, wraps her arms around them. The firelight flickers over her face, catching a shadow in her eyes that looks too much like memory.
After a while, she speaks. Her voice is quieter. Rougher.
“I had a friend once,” she says. “Back before the Rangers. Back when I was… property. We were caged together. Slept back to back to stay warm. Whispered plans in the dark—about running. About freedom. She said we’d find the forest, live off berries and rabbits. Sisters.”
Her breath catches, sharp as glass. “When the auction came, she sold me out. Told them my hiding places. My secrets. I thought she’d be the one I could count on.”
She drags a hand down her face, harsh. “But she wanted favor more than she wanted me. So she betrayed me.”
The fire spits, throws sparks into the air.
I don’t move. Don’t speak. Just listen.
Her eyes lift, lock onto mine. Brown and burning. “I don’t trust easy. Not anymore.”
We sit there like that, the silence thick as syrup. The fire crackles between us, and the wind slides through the broken ceiling with a sound like old ghosts whispering. Above, the stars burn cold, indifferent.
I want to say something. Anything. But the words catch. I’ve fought wars with blades and claws, crushed ogres like twigs, torn monsters limb from limb. Yet here, in the ruin, under her eyes, I feel unarmed.
Instead, I reach for the poker and stir the fire. Flames flare, sparks leaping.
Her gaze doesn’t waver.
“Is it always like that for trolls?” she asks finally, voice soft but steady. “That… knowing?”
“Always,” I say. “Once it happens, there’s no going back.”
She studies me a long while. Then she nods, slow, like she’s cataloging the truth of it. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t mock.
The silence that follows is different than before. Not empty. Heavy. Charged.
Her story hangs between us like a wound left open to the night air. Mine too, though I never spoke it.
Our eyes lock again. The fire throws gold into hers, red into mine. The ruin seems to hold its breath.
And then we’re moving again, by unspoken agreement. Close, too close. Got to watch my step before we get past the point of no return.
River finally drifts into sleep, curled near the fire with her rifle hugged against her chest like it’ll whisper comfort if she dreams wrong.
Her breath is steady. Her face, in firelight, almost soft.
I sit with my back against the wall of the ruin, claws idly dragging lines into the dirt.
Sleep won’t come. Not after what I felt in her eyes tonight.
So I reach into the satchel.
The crystal is there, heavy as a heart I never wanted to use. Black quartz, cut rough, humming faint with the stink of old spellcraft. I haven’t touched it in years. Not since I swore off ties. But my hand finds it anyway.
I mutter the word that wakes it. Light spills inside, purple veins crawling through the rock until it glows like a caged storm. Then, clear as if he’s squatting right beside me, Veeto’s voice bursts out.
“Well, well, if it ain’t old bridge-ass himself,” the satyr crows. His tone is smug enough to curdle milk. “Didn’t think you remembered how to work that thing. Must be dire. You run outta moonshine, or finally fall in love with your own reflection?”
I grit my teeth. “Shut your mouth.”
“Oh-ho!” he laughs, sharp and mean. “There’s heat in your growl. Haven’t heard that since you caught me pissin’ in your still.”
“Keep talking and I’ll crush your jaw through the gem.”
“You could try.” He snorts, unconcerned. “But you wouldn’t. You called me, Kragna. You. That means you need something. And I bet I know what.”
His voice dips, mock-sincere. “Tell me. Is she pretty? Smells like fear and gunpowder, I wager. Got that look, don’t she? The one that crawls under your hide and won’t leave? The one that makes you stupid?”
My claws dig deeper into the earth. “Careful, goat.”
He only laughs harder. “You’re soft. By the stones, you’re soft! You found yourself a human girl and now you’re crooning lullabies instead of tearing out throats.”
My lip curls. “I tore two ogres to ribbons today.”
“And then what?” Veeto shoots back. “You carved her a flute?”
The bastard’s laughter rips through the crystal, wild and cruel. My pulse hammers in my skull. I want to crush the quartz to powder, but my grip holds.
“Listen to me,” I growl, low enough to shake the dirt. “If you breathe her name with that stinking tongue of yours, I’ll find you. Doesn’t matter how many forests I gotta burn to ash. Doesn’t matter how deep you crawl. I’ll find you. And you’ll beg me to kill you quick.”
For once, Veeto goes quiet. Just breathing, heavy and thoughtful. Then, softly, almost amused: “That’s it, then. You’re gone.”
The words land in me like a hammer.
“You’re gone,” he says again. “Fallen. Harder than a dwarf down a mineshaft. She’s not just some lost little soldier to you. She’s in your blood already. Your marrow. That’s why you’re snarling. That’s why you’re calling me in the dead of night, instead of sleeping like a troll should.”
The crystal hums. My throat works, but nothing comes out.
Veeto chuckles low. “Careful, old friend. A troll with a mate in his heart… that’s the most dangerous creature there is. Not just to others. To himself.”
I slam the crystal shut with a hissed word, drowning his voice in darkness. The ruin returns, quiet but for the fire and River’s breathing.
I sit there, claws shaking against the stone, breath rough in my chest.
The satyr’s words echo like war drums. Not because they’re lies. Because they’re truth.
River is no longer just a human I pulled from a river. No longer just a wounded soldier needing shelter.
She’s already more than that. Too much more.
She’s becoming everything.