Chapter 12 #2
“Especially in such a world.”
They worked for hours. Vorlag’s knowledge was incomplete, but invaluable.
And she absorbed everything he gave her with the same impossible speed.
Characters started to make sense. Grammar patterns emerged.
It was like watching a puzzle solve itself—her mind making connections faster than she could consciously process.
Magic.
No other explanation made sense, but she was too fascinated to be frightened anymore.
“This word here.” She pointed to a cluster of symbols. “It keeps appearing in conjunction with ‘balance’ and ‘harmony.’ I think it might mean ‘natural order’ or possibly ‘intended state.’”
“In the context of the Curse?”
“In the context of everything. Look.” She flipped back several pages. “The text isn’t just about the Curse. It’s about transformation. Evolution. The natural progression of magical beings.”
“You’re saying the orcs weren’t cursed at all?”
“I’m saying whoever wrote this didn’t think of it as a Curse.” Thea’s excitement built. “They thought of it as… as a gift. A warrior’s gift. The ability to channel rage into strength.”
“Then what went wrong?”
“Someone broke the balance.” She traced the symbols with her finger. “Something—or someone—drew on the power required for the transformation.”
“Thus creating the Curse.”
“Exactly.”
Vorlag sat back, his expression thoughtful. “If you’re right, then breaking the Curse wouldn’t be about removing the Beast. It would be about restoring the balance. Giving control back to the individual.”
‘Yes.” She hesitated. “And I believe what Lasseran is searching for is the way to take all that power and therefore remove any control from the individual.”
The thought horrified her.
“We should break for lunch,” Vorlag said after a moment. “Even scholars need to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Nevertheless.” He gave her a stern look. “The mind cannot function without fuel. And you’ve been working for hours without pause.”
She blinked and looked around. The light had changed. Morning had become afternoon. She’d lost track of time entirely.
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I usually am. It’s one of the benefits of age.” Vorlag moved toward the door, then paused. “You have a remarkable gift, Dr. Monroe. Use it wisely.”
Then he was gone, leaving her alone with Khorrek and the weight of impossible knowledge.
She stood, stretching muscles gone stiff from hours of sitting. Her eyes ached, her fingers cramped, and she’d never felt more alive.
This is what I was made for.
The thought was immediately followed by another, more troubling one.
What if I was literally made for this? What if being pulled through the portal changed me? Gave me these abilities specifically so I could translate this text?
But who wanted her to translate it?
“You should eat.”
Khorrek’s voice startled her from her spiraling thoughts.
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve been working for six hours without food or water.”
Six hours. It had felt like minutes.
“I get focused when I’m working,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Time becomes… fluid.”
“You need to take better care of yourself.”
The concern in his voice was almost her undoing. Because it meant he did care, no matter how hard he tried to pretend otherwise.
“Like you’re taking care of yourself?” She couldn’t help the bite in her tone. “Standing there for six hours without moving? Without resting?”
“That is my duty.”
“Your duty is going to kill you.”
Silence.
“That has always been true.”
The words were spoken so softly she almost missed them. But the resignation in his voice—the acceptance of his own death as inevitable—made her chest ache.
“Khorrek—”
“We should return to your rooms,” he said. “You need food. Rest.”
Back to that professional distance.
“Fine,” she muttered. “Let’s go.”
They walked in silence through the endless corridors and past the silent servants who wouldn’t meet her eyes. Back to her beautiful prison.
He unlocked her door with mechanical efficiency. “Food will be brought shortly. Rest. I will stand guard.”
Always outside. Always apart.
“Will you eat?” she asked.
“When you’re settled.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
His jaw clenched. “I will be fine.”
“Khorrek.” She touched his arm before she could stop herself. God, he felt good. Warm and solid. “Please eat something. You can’t protect me if you collapse.”
“I won’t collapse.”
“Orcs need food too, don’t they?”
A muscle jumped in his cheek. “Yes.”
“Then eat. Please.”
She didn’t know why it mattered so much. But it did. He mattered.
“I will eat,” he said at last. “Later.”
Not the promise she wanted, but close.
“Thank you.” She released his arm and immediately missed the contact.
His eyes met hers for a moment. Just long enough for her to see the hunger there. The regret.
Then he stepped back, putting a safe distance between them
“Rest, Dr. Monroe.”
The formality was back.
“Fine,” she said softly. “I’ll try.”
She closed the door between them, and leaned against it, trying not to think about the dream, the kiss, and the impossible feelings growing in her heart.
This is a disaster.
But she was starting to think it was a disaster he didn’t want to escape.
Even if it destroyed her.