Chapter 9
Unknown
Waking was like floating upward through warmth and shadow, as if the mountain itself was reluctant to let me go. I surfaced slowly, piece by piece, until my eyes blinked fully open in this room I was coming to know.
Only this time, there was no sleeping orc at the table, just one with a furrowed brow and ink-stained fingers, bent over ledgers and maps.
Without even thinking, I reached out and touched his shoulder. It was solid and warm. I could feel the ripple of muscle beneath my fingertips, the quiet strength that lived just beneath the surface.
His shoulder tensed.
Slowly, he turned toward me. First came the awe shining in those deep brown eyes. Then it softened into something else entirely: relief.
“You’ve returned,” he said, placing his much larger hand over mine. His palm was warm, his touch steady.
“Well, I had to make sure you weren’t sleeping on the job again,” I said, grinning.
I wondered what a genuine smile would look like stretched across his solemn face. I hadn’t seen one yet, not really. But I was willing to put in the work.
Instead of smiling, though, his brow furrowed again.
I didn’t like that one bit.
“What is it?” I asked, suddenly more awake.
“Nothing,” he said with a slight shake of his head.
“I’m just… so glad you’re here. There are moments in the day when I question my sanity.
I mean, this whole thing is… uncommon, to say the least.” He took a deep breath, and I finally saw the corner of his mouth turn up in the hint of a smile.
“But when you return, none of that seems to matter.”
I shifted closer, surprised by how grounded I felt, more solid than before. The cool weight that usually tugged at me like an undertow was still there, but distant. Dull. Like a dream I wasn’t quite ready to fall back into.
I flexed my fingers in his grip. “I feel... different tonight.”
His gaze sharpened. “Different how?”
“I don’t know. Just—more.” I touched my arm, smoothed my hand down to my waist, pressing gently, as if I were trying to prove I was really here. “Less like a ghost. More like myself.”
He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he studied me with that intense, unreadable stare that made my breath catch.
“I think,” I said, tilting my head and giving him a half-smile, “I’m becoming your problem.”
His brows lifted. “Problem?”
“Mm-hmm. What happens when your mysterious statue woman stops being mysterious and starts asking questions?” I leaned forward just slightly, teasing. “Like why a strong, fearsome orc wears his worry like a second cloak?”
Thavros gave a small, rough laugh. “If I wear worry like a second cloak, it’s only because I can’t afford to set it down. Not when my people are still healing.”
He meant it lightly, but the weight beneath it was unmistakable.
“Hmm,” I murmured, unconvinced, though I let him believe I was letting it go. “Well, if you ever want a break from all of this,” I gestured to the scrolls and ledgers, “I’m excellent at distracting people.”
He raised an eyebrow, and for the first time tonight, a genuine smile actually spread across his face. It wasn’t wide or full, but it was there—and Gods, it was worth the effort.
I wandered around the table, curiosity pulling me toward the sprawl of parchment. “Mind if I take a peek?”
“Of course not. Though I warn you, it’s mostly numbers and maps and—”
“Worry in ink form,” I teased, before bending to examine one of the scrolls. My fingers brushed a symbol inked into the margin, a curved design, unfamiliar yet… sharp. Something in my chest tightened.
My hand froze.
That mark. I didn’t know it. Not truly. But something about it felt ominous.
Cold bloomed beneath my skin, stark and sudden. A flicker, not even a memory, more like the ghost of one, rose behind my eyes. Not a sound, not a face. Just fear. Just wrong.
“What is it?”
“That mark, what is it?”
“It is a mark of Fae Magic. Is it familiar to you?”
I blinked hard. My heart thudded, too fast. “Sorry,” I said quickly, pasting on a smile as I straightened. “Just had a peculiar… moment. Have you ever looked at something and felt like your brain took a wrong turn?”
He stepped toward me; concern etched across his features. “What did you see?”
“Nothing,” I said too fast. Then, softer, “Really. Probably just… one of those déjà vu moments.”
The worry on his face didn’t ease.
I leaned in, nudging his elbow gently. “Don’t start adding me to one of your worry-scrolls. I’m here, I’m fine, and I am definitely distracting.”
I winked, though inside, the shadow still pulsed like a bruise I couldn’t see.
“Do you remember anything? I wish I knew your name.”
“I wish you did too,” I shrugged, a sigh threading through the words as I moved to join him at the table.
As I sat, my leg brushed his—warm, solid, and unmistakably real. Instinct told me to pull back, but the contact grounded me in a way I didn’t want to lose.
“I can’t tell you who I am,” I said, watching the way the candlelight softened his features, “but maybe you can tell me who you are?”
He gave a huff of a laugh. “I’m no one. Just the bookish brother of the chieftain.”
I scoffed. “That is hardly ‘no one’. You’re much more than that. I’ve watched you longer than you realize. Night after night, poring over maps and reports. I’ve only just learned how to move, but I’ve been awake much longer. You’re someone. And yet I don’t even know your name.”
That earned me another smile—and Gods, the way it transformed his face felt like watching sunrise break over stone.
“I am Thavros,” he said with a soft dip of his head.
“Thavros.” I tasted the word, slow and reverent. It curled around something in my chest and held tight. “I don’t know if I’ve ever heard a more perfect name in all my life, however long or short that may have been.”
His gaze locked on mine again, and the awe returned brighter, sharper. But then something in it darkened. He looked almost… haunted.
“I wish I knew what to call you,” he said quietly. “Is there anything you can recall? Even a sliver? Maybe we can jog your memory.”
I furrowed my brow, reaching inward for something—anything—but all I found was a faint, uneasy echo. I didn’t want to feel what I’d felt when I looked at that symbol.
“Well, I can speak Godling,” I said slowly, “so I must be a descendant on some level. How that translates into being trapped as a statue in this mountain… I don’t know.”
“Trapped?” he echoed, sharply. “You said trapped?”
I cocked my head, puzzled. “I did. Which would mean… I wasn’t meant to be a statue. Perhaps?”
He stepped closer, frowning in thought. “Hmmm. I’m not well-versed in transmutation magic, my clan can’t wield it, but with a little research...”
And just like that, he was gone—already striding toward the shelves. I felt his absence like a draft against my skin, and without thinking, I followed.
“What are you looking for?”
He was already halfway up the ladder, reaching for a thick tome near the top. Dust curled from its cover as he brought it down and cleared space on the table, laying it down with a satisfying thud.
“I can only read some of this. Many of the pages are written in Godling,” he said, glancing at me.
“Well,” I replied, unable to stop the slow smile that curled across my lips, “it just so happens you have a translator.”
His answering grin sent something warm swirling through my chest. “I do indeed.”
I moved to sit beside him again, closer this time.
He opened the book. Most of it was written in the language of the Fae—one any magic wielder could learn. But the other script, the one that shimmered faintly against the yellowed pages, belonged to the Godlings.
“I’ve never been able to read any of this,” he murmured. “I can manage the Fae text, but not the Godling. Until now.”
“If I wasn’t meant to be a statue…” I looked at him, voice soft. “Maybe we can find the answers here.”
His eyes connected with mine, and he gave a small nod. Hope bubbled up inside of me at that thought.
“It’s worth a try,” he said.
He turned the page, and something stopped me. A drawing—a symbol I couldn’t name—leaped off the parchment. I raised my hand to touch it, and he did the same. Our hands met over the book.
Time stilled.
Breathing the same air, this close to him, I felt warmth steal through my body. It felt like I was safe. Like, for the first time in longer than I could understand, I wasn’t alone in the dark.
He turned toward me. That look of awe I was beginning to crave softened his face.
“You feel like home,” I whispered.
“I feel the same way,” he said.
He cupped my cheek. His hand was calloused and careful. I leaned into it, searching for the contact.
“I may not know what this magic is,” he said, voice low, “but whatever it is, it’s nothing I’ve felt before.”
And even though I didn’t know what I had felt before, I knew that was true.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked, eyes shining with reverence.
I nodded—barely, afraid that even the motion might send me slipping away again.
His lips met mine, warm and reverent, and something inside me bloomed.
He pulled back after a moment, but I wasn’t ready. I followed, chasing him into the kiss again, and he met me there—mouth parting, arms sliding around me, pulling me against him like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space.
I wanted to be consumed by him.
Then he stilled, breathing hard but close, resting his forehead against mine.
“I don’t know how it’s possible,” he said, his voice all gravel and truth, “but I know you are mine.”
Gods.
This orc would be my undoing.
I needed to figure out what was happening to me.
And then, the sensation began—slow at first, but inevitable. That sinking. The slipping away. The dreadful, familiar pull back into stillness.
He pulled back, studying me. “What is it? Are you hurt?”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered as the sinking began to pull me under again.
His eyes searched mine, but I was slipping away. He cupped my face, sensing it too. His brow furrowed, and he gave his head a little shake. I wanted to reach out and kiss him again, but I couldn’t.
“Don’t go.” He drew me into his arms, holding me tight. “Please—don’t go.”
“I don’t want to,” I said, the words thick with sorrow. “I want to stay here with you.”
And then… the world began to slow.
It wasn’t time. It couldn’t be time. I needed more time with this orc who made me feel so safe. So alive.
That awful sensation of being dragged down beneath dark water returned. The warmth of him, the light in this place, the pull of something powerful and right… all of it slipped from my fingers.
Why was this happening to me?
His hand cradled my face. The heartbreak in his eyes cracked something inside me—but behind it was something else. A flicker of intrigue. A spark of quiet, unshakable determination.
As the stone took me, I knew—without question—that he would find a way.
He would save me.
That certainty was the last thing I held onto before everything went still.