Chapter 7 #3
"Rest well," Ruka added, his deep voice gentling in a way that seemed reserved for moments like this, and we stepped back out into the night.
The path to Ruka's house wound through the settlement like a silver thread, moonlight pooling in the hollows between houses. Above us, the sky had opened into something magnificent—stars scattered like diamond dust across black velvet, the moon so full and bright it cast actual shadows at our feet.
The silence had a pulse to it. It breathed with us, expanded and contracted like something alive. Comfortable. Easy. Like we'd been walking together for years instead of days.
I was acutely aware of him beside me—the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his presence seemed to create its own gravity. When I snuck a glance at his profile, moonlight caught the strong planes of his face, softening the warrior into something almost tender.
He looked at peace. And somehow, impossibly, I felt it too.
At his door, Ruka paused, one massive hand resting against the frame. "Would you like a fire? The mountains hold onto winter. Even now, the night has teeth."
A shiver I hadn't acknowledged until that moment rippled through me. "Yes. Please."
Inside, I claimed the corner of his sofa, tucking my legs beneath me while Ruka knelt at the hearth.
Watching him work was hypnotic—those enormous hands that could probably snap bone like kindling instead arranged wood with the delicate precision of an artist. Each piece placed with intention, like he was building something that mattered.
The first spark caught. Then another. Flame bloomed, and the room transformed into a play of light and shadow, everything suddenly warm and alive.
"Comfortable?" he asked, still coaxing the fire higher.
"Very." I pulled one of the hand-knitted throws across my lap, the wool soft and smelling faintly of pine.
My gaze drifted around the room, catching on new details—a book left open on the side table, its pages worn soft with reading.
The careful order of everything. "Your home is beautiful, you know. It feels... solid. Real."
He added another log, adjusting it with an iron poker until satisfied. "It serves its purpose."
"But those books." I nodded toward the shelves lining the walls, packed tight with volumes of every size and color. "That's not just practical. You love reading."
Ruka straightened, brushing ash from his palms. The firelight carved him into something between man and myth—all sharp edges and hidden softness. "A chieftain who leads only with strength will watch his people fall."
"That's... actually profound."
The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Besides," he said, settling into the chair across from me with a creak of leather, "they helped me learn your language."
I leaned forward, intrigued. "Wait—I thought Orcs already spoke English?" At least, that's what I'd read. Though, from experience, their English and mine seemed to exist in different universes.
"We do." He stretched his legs toward the fire, relaxed in a way I hadn't seen before.
"But half of what I hear around the settlement sounds nothing like English," I pressed. "I catch maybe one word in three. The rest is completely foreign."
Something like approval flickered across his face, as if I'd passed a test I didn't know I was taking.
"What you're hearing is the old tongue. We slip between languages without thinking—it's instinct when we're among our own.
" He paused, his gaze going distant, reaching toward something long past. "Old English mixed with the languages of the Native tribes who sheltered us.
Centuries of blending, evolving and the language became something that belongs only to us.
" His eyes found mine again. "Coming to the surface meant learning to speak as you do now. Books were my bridge."
"That's amazing." The throw slipped from my lap as I sat forward. "I had no idea."
"There's much about my people the surface world does not know." The firelight turned his eyes to molten gold. "Much that was lost."
The weight of that hung between us. I pulled the throw back up, suddenly aware of the vast ocean of things I didn't understand, and how desperately I wanted to. "Can I ask you something?"
"Always."
"Why did you come to the surface?" The question tumbled out before I could stop it. "Most Orcs stayed underground, didn't they?"
Ruka's gaze drifted to the flames, and for a long moment, he said nothing.
When he finally spoke, his voice carried weight, sadness.
"Once the mining company breached our home, there were battles.
Brutal ones." His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath the skin.
"Blood soaked into stone—Orc and human alike.
The Orc king saw where that path led. Not to victory. Only to graves."
My breath caught at the bleakness in his tone.
"So he made a choice," Ruka continued. "To send some of us topside. To live as we once did, millennia ago, before we retreated into the earth's embrace. To prove that coexistence wasn't just possible—it was our birthright."
"That's why you're here?"
"In part." He leaned back, the leather of his chair groaning softly.
"The king invited humans below first—scientists, mostly.
They came with their instruments and their endless questions.
But human bodies aren't made for our world.
The air is too thin, too heavy with minerals.
The darkness presses down like a living thing.
The weight of all that earth above..." He shook his head. "They couldn't survive it for long."
I hadn't considered that. "So if there was going to be any understanding—"
"It had to happen here. On your terms, in your world." His eyes found mine again, and something in them made my chest ache. "Some of us had to be willing to leave everything we'd ever known and make this place home."
"That couldn't have been easy."
"Easy?" A bitter smile ghosted across his lips. "No. But necessary things rarely are."
The fire crackled between us, filling the silence. I waited, sensing he wasn't finished.
"My sister, Ryhain." His voice softened, but the pain in it sharpened.
"Her mate died in a rockslide just days before the mining company breached our world.
" His hands gripped the arms of his chair until I thought the wood might splinter.
“Lortus was... everywhere. He was a big male, strong as the mountain itself.
Every tunnel they'd walked together, every gathering place, every corner of their home—his ghost lived there. "
My throat tightened.
"She was drowning in grief. And Ardin with her." The words came slower now, each one carefully extracted. "They couldn't eat. Couldn't sleep. I watched my sister fade like smoke, and her tuskling with her. So I went to the king and volunteered."
"To give them a fresh start," I whispered.
He nodded once, sharp and final. "A place where the shadows didn't whisper his name.
Where they could breathe without choking on memory.
" He gestured toward the window, toward the settlement sprawled beneath the stars.
"We built this from nothing. Four years ago, we broke ground on empty land and made it ours. "
"You did all this for your sister and her son."
"For my clan," he corrected, but his eyes betrayed him. He'd torn himself from his ancestral home, from the deep places where his people had lived for countless generations, all to save two souls from drowning in their grief. "It was the only choice I could live with."
The magnitude of it stole my breath. "You keep mentioning your clan. How exactly do that work?"
Ruka seemed almost grateful for the shift. "A clan is family, but the word 'family' is too small for what we mean. Blood relatives, yes—but also those who've sworn themselves to us. Those bound by choice and loyalty and shared survival."
"Like a tribe?"
"Close enough." He considered his next words carefully.
"When Orcs mate, they join one partner's clan or forge a new one if both are leaders.
Children belong to everyone—raised by the whole clan, not just their parents.
My sister's mate was our clan as well, so Ardin is my responsibility as much as hers. "
Understanding bloomed in my chest. "Others in your clan must have felt the same way."
From what I'd seen, at least a hundred Orcs had followed him from the deep. From tunnels carved by their ancestors' hands, from the only world they'd ever known. They'd abandoned everything—history, comfort, certainty—and climbed into the blinding light of an alien surface.
Following him.
That kind of devotion wasn't given freely. It was earned through years of sacrifice, of proving yourself worthy of such faith. My heart squeezed as I looked at him, really looked at him, and saw not just the warrior but the leader who'd inspired such unwavering loyalty.
"They must trust you," I said quietly.
"One hundred and forty-three souls." His voice carried a note of reverence.
"Some were blood family to Ryhain's mate.
Others had sworn to our clan, or their mates had.
A few came simply because they'd dreamed of the surface since they were tusklings.
" Warmth crept into his tone. "We are stronger together.
That is the heart of what it means to be clan. "
"And the others stayed below?"
"They had their own ties. Elderly parents too frail for the journey.
Mates from other clans who wouldn't leave their own people.
Some couldn't fathom abandoning the deep tunnels—they were born in darkness and couldn't imagine living in light.
" He met my eyes, and I saw the old grief there.
"The split nearly broke us. But it had to be done. "