13. Rakk
RAKK
The lunar shrine caves smell like earth and ancient stone. Cold seeps through the soles of my boots as I stand in the ceremonial circle, waiting for Zurkar to bring Serah down the carved steps.
Three days. Three days of her refusing to see me. Three days of catching glimpses of her hollow expression as she moves through the settlement like a ghost. Three days of knowing I destroyed something precious and having no way to fix it.
"Steady." Kaelen's hand grips my shoulder. He's standing beside me as witness, fulfilling the traditional role of closest brother-in-arms. "She'll come."
"She has to come." The words taste bitter. "I made sure of that."
He doesn't respond. What can he say? We both know what I did. We both know I stole her choice even as I was trying to save her from worse.
The other warriors line the cavern walls—silent witnesses to the binding. Dad stands at the edge of the ceremonial circle, his expression unreadable. Probably pleased I'm finally taking a mate. Probably calculating how this strengthens his political position.
He doesn't know about my magic. Doesn't know what I'm about to do.
Only Zurkar knows. And he's going to be furious.
The shaman appears at the cavern entrance, his pale robes glowing in the torchlight. Behind him, Serah descends the steps. Lola supports her elbow—not because she needs physical assistance but because she looks like she might bolt at any moment.
My breath catches despite everything.
She's wearing traditional mating clothes—soft leather dyed deep burgundy, edged with intricate beadwork that catches the firelight. Her dark hair spills over her shoulders in loose waves. Someone wove small white flowers through the strands. She's beautiful. Devastating.
And she won't look at me.
Her amber eyes fix somewhere past my left shoulder as she approaches the circle. Her face is a careful blank—not angry or sad or anything. Just empty. Like she's carved herself out from the inside to survive this.
Because of me. Because I did this to her.
Lola releases her arm as they reach the circle's edge. Serah steps inside alone, moving like someone walking to an execution. She stops beside me—close enough that I catch her scent, that familiar warmth that's haunted me for weeks.
I want to reach for her. Want to apologize again, to somehow make her understand. But my hands stay locked at my sides.
Zurkar begins the ceremony. His voice fills the cavern, speaking the ancient words in the old tongue. Around us, the assembled warriors respond at the appropriate moments—deep voices creating harmonics against stone.
I hear none of it. All my attention narrows to the woman beside me who feels miles away.
The shaman moves through the opening blessings. He calls upon the War God first, asking for strength and protection. Then the Enchantment Goddess, requesting fertility and prosperity. The traditional invocations that every mating ceremony includes.
Then he gestures us both forward, into the exact center of the circle where sacred herbs smolder in a carved stone bowl.
"Cleansing comes before binding," Zurkar intones. He lifts burning sage and begins the purification ritual, waving smoke over first Serah's body, then mine. The sharp scent fills my lungs. "We cleanse the past to make way for the future. We release old pain to embrace new joy."
Serah's jaw tightens. The irony isn't lost on either of us.
Zurkar produces the ceremonial ropes—braided leather woven with sweetgrass and dried rirzed blossoms. He takes Serah's right hand and my left, binding our wrists together with practiced efficiency.
Her skin is cold against mine. She doesn't flinch away, but she doesn't relax either. Just tolerates the contact like she's tolerating everything else about this.
"The bond between mates is sacred," Zurkar says, his voice carrying through the cavern. "It is protection and partnership. A warrior defends his mate with tooth and claw. A mate strengthens her warrior with trust and devotion. Together, they serve the clan and honor the gods."
Empty words. Beautiful lies about bonds built on mutual choice rather than desperate necessity.
The shaman continues speaking, outlining the traditional expectations. I'm supposed to provide for her, protect her, give her strong children. She's supposed to support me, manage our household, bear my offspring. Standard orc mating arrangements that reduce both of us to functional roles.
Zurkar calls out to the War God, his voice rising in ritual question. "Great God of Battle, do you bless this union? Do you grant your favor to this mating?"
Silence follows. As always. The gods don't actually answer.
Except my magic does.
It rises unbidden—that familiar current of power that I've spent my whole life hiding. It surges through my chest, down my arm, into the point where Serah's wrist presses against mine.
And I make a choice.
Not the careful, measured decision I've rehearsed in my head. Not the controlled demonstration I planned. Just raw, desperate action born from three days of watching her hurt.
If she must be trapped here because of me, then I'll give her everything. My strength. My protection. My life itself if necessary.
I pull on the magic, yanking it from deep in my core where it's always lived. The power responds eagerly—too eagerly—flooding through me in a torrent. I push it outward, toward Serah, weaving threads of energy between us that no one else can see.
The binding formula comes from instinct rather than training. Words in a language older than the clan, older than the gods themselves. They whisper through my mind as I work, guiding the magic into intricate patterns.
Pain is mine. Suffering is mine. Yours is joy, yours is peace, yours is safety absolute.
The magic sinks hooks into my spirit and pulls. I gasp as power tears free from places I didn't know existed. It flows into Serah—invisible to everyone watching but devastating to me.
I'm giving her everything. My strength to sustain her. My vitality to heal her. My very life force bound permanently to hers so that nothing can harm her without going through me first.
The ancient symbols begin burning across my skin. They spiral up my arm from where we're bound together, tracing lines of fire across my chest, my shoulders, my back. Runes that haven't been used in a thousand years, marking me as bound.
Serah stiffens slightly. The same symbols must be appearing on her skin—I can feel the magic settling into her bones, her blood, her very essence.
But she doesn't react beyond that initial tension. Doesn't feel the agony currently shredding through me as the binding completes.
Because that's part of the spell. She takes nothing from me that she doesn't choose. All the pain, all the sacrifice—it's mine alone to bear.
The transfer hits like being flayed alive from the inside. Every nerve ending ignites. My magic rips free in chunks, embedding itself in Serah so deeply that we'll never be truly separate again. I can feel her presence in my chest now—a second heartbeat layering over my own.
I bite down hard on my tongue to keep from crying out. Blood fills my mouth. Around us, the ceremony continues. No one notices anything wrong because I'm holding perfectly still, maintaining the appearance of calm while my entire world restructures itself.
Zurkar's voice stutters. His eyes snap to mine, then to where our wrists are bound. To the faint shimmer of power that only someone with magical sight could detect.
His face goes absolutely white. "Rakk, what did you—"
I shake my head minutely. Not here. Not now. Let me finish this first.
The shaman's jaw clenches. But he continues the ritual, his voice slightly strained as he works through the remaining blessings.
The symbols finish burning into my skin. They fade from visibility but I can still feel them—permanent marks etched into my flesh that declare me bound. Soul-bound in a way that goes far beyond traditional mating.
Serah will never know. She'll think the ceremony was normal. That our binding is the same as any other couple's.
She won't feel the invisible tether now connecting us. Won't sense how every breath she takes echoes through my chest. Won't understand that I've given her the power to destroy me completely just by existing.
It's exactly what she deserves. Protection without chains. Safety without ownership. Everything I should have offered from the beginning instead of making declarations that stole her choices.
Zurkar's hands shake slightly as he unties the ceremonial rope. The braided leather falls away from our wrists, severing the physical connection but doing nothing to the magical one. That's permanent. Unbreakable short of death.
Mine specifically.
The shaman hands the rope to Kaelen, who receives it with solemn formality. It will hang over our door later—symbol of prosperity and fertility that everyone expects.
"The binding is complete," Zurkar announces, though his voice carries an edge of fury that only I can hear. "Let the clan witness this union blessed by gods and sealed by tradition."
He looks at me. At Serah. His expression clearly says you're supposed to kiss her now, you fool.
I turn toward her slowly. She's still not looking at me. Still maintaining that careful emptiness.
"Serah." Her name catches in my throat.
Finally, her eyes meet mine. They're swimming with unshed tears—hurt and anger and something that might be grief, all mixed together in her amber gaze.
I reach for her face with trembling fingers. She doesn't pull away. Doesn't lean in either. Just tolerates my touch as I cup her cheek gently.
"I'm so sorry," I whisper. Too quiet for anyone else to hear over the expectant silence.
She doesn't respond. Her eyes just search mine like she's looking for something she knows she won't find.
I lean down and press my lips to hers. The kiss is supposed to seal the mating—symbolic and public. But it feels like mourning instead of celebration. Like trying to hold water that's already slipped through my fingers.
She doesn't kiss me back. She doesn't fight me either. She just stands there, allowing it to happen while remaining completely detached.
When I pull away, her expression hasn't changed. Still hollow. Still empty.
The assembled warriors roar approval. Weapons clash against shields in traditional celebration. My father steps forward to offer formal congratulations.
And Serah looks like something inside her just died.
The sight nearly breaks me.
There was a time I thought we could have this. That she wanted me the way I wanted her. That the connection between us was real and mutual and worth protecting.
I wasn't trying to trap her. I was trying to save her. Trying to give her safety the only way I knew how in the moment, with warriors circling and time running out.
But I shattered everything instead. Destroyed the fragile trust she'd started extending. Proved that I'm no different from every other male who's hurt her.
The binding magic thrums in my chest—heavy and permanent. It settles deeper with each passing second, weaving itself through my bones until Serah's presence becomes indistinguishable from my own heartbeat.
She'll never know what I did. Never understand the permanent price I just paid. And that's fine. Good, even. This is my burden to carry.
If she must be trapped here because of me, then at least she'll be safe. Protected beyond anything any other orc could offer. Bound to me in ways that ensure I'll feel her pain before she does, that I'll break before she bends.
But it doesn't erase what I've done. Doesn't fix the fundamental betrayal or give her back the choice I stole.
Kaelen claps my shoulder, grinning with forced enthusiasm. "Well done, brother."
I manage a nod. Can't speak yet. The magic is still settling, sending aftershocks through my system.
Lola approaches Serah with a gentle smile. "Come on. We need to prepare for the reception."
Serah lets herself be guided away. She doesn't look back. Doesn't acknowledge me at all as she disappears up the carved steps with Lola supporting her elbow.
The assembled warriors begin dispersing, heading toward the reception area where food and drink wait. My father lingers, clearly wanting to speak with me. But Zurkar intercepts him smoothly.
"Forgive me, Chieftain, but I need the newly mated male for final blessings." The shaman's voice is perfectly polite but leaves no room for argument.
Dad nods and moves away with the others. Kaelen shoots me a curious look but follows when I jerk my head toward the exit.
Then it's just Zurkar and me in the sacred circle, surrounded by dying torch flames and the acrid smell of burned herbs.
The shaman rounds on me. His weathered face contorts with fury barely held in check.
"Soul-binding magic was abandoned for a reason, you absolute fool."
I knew this was coming. I know he's right. But still I don't back down as I say, "But she's worth it."