The Chronicles of Onyx: Book 1

Chapter Seventeen

Rok's heart stopped in his chest, his breaths caught in his throat. The moment the orc's words left his lips, the air seemed to grow heavy with the weight of memories and emotions long buried. Or so he had thought. The name Sith reverberated through his mind like an echo from the past, bringing with it a flood of images and feelings that he had fought hard to suppress.

-ooooo-

The weight of the dagger in his hands, the cold metal pressed against his palm. He stood by the side of the royal bed, the room dimly lit by the flickering candles. Demeter, the oblivious, vulnerable queen—whom slept peacefully not knowing that death lingered close by. As he stood by the side of her bed, holding a dagger high above her stone-like heart. Pian, regret, and guilt washed over him, drowning him in a sea of emotions.

The dagger trembled in his grip as conflicting feelings battled within him. In a way, Queen Demeter had been like a mother to him, a figure of authority and care in a world that had often been harsh. And he knew that she had cared for him, in her own twisted way. She had taken him in, raised him, and taught him the ways of power and control. Shielding him with her wings.

And even after he had discovered the truth behind his mother's death, a small part of him had still clung to the love he had once felt. A part of him had forgiven her.

But as the dagger hovered over her, poised to strike, tears welled up in Rok's eyes, blurring his vision. But in that same moment, Rage consumed him. How could he forgive his mother's killer? How could he feel love for this heartless monster? No—she did this to herself, she didn't deserve his humbleness. She didn't deserve his kind embrace. Nor his loyalty.

But Rok was not the only one near the queen's chamber at the hour. Sith, whom had been suspicious of Rok's anger, was looming by. At first with the intension to talk to Rok about the consequences. But the lore of becoming first commander lingered in his mind. Power and greed, typical for a man. But to an orc. It was life's only fruit.

Sith's black eyes flicked to Rok as he entered the chamber. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip.

And then Rok turned, perhaps it would have been easier to kill Rok without looking him in the eye. But it was also cowardly.

"Sith?" Rok called out quietly, confused, surprised, guiltily, it was heard to tell. Maybe all was evident in his tone.

"I can't allow you to kill our Queen," Sith's voice sliced through the air, heavy with authority and purpose. His stance was resolute, his dark gaze locked onto Rok's earthy eyes.

Rok's grip on the dagger tightened, his emotions a storm within him. He met Sith's gaze, a mix of anger and sorrow warring on his face. "You don't understand," Rok's voice trembled, his anger directed not at Sith but at himself, at the circumstances, at the choices he had made.

Sith's gaze, however, didn't waver, his own inner turmoil masked behind a façade of duty. "I understand more than you realize," he retorted, his words dripping with bitterness. Loud enough to wake the Queen, however she stayed silent and still.

In that changing moment, as the two stood locked in a silent battle of wills, Rok knew it wasn't the once bother-like Sith he was talking to. But someone filled with hate and jealousy, someone he didn't know. A stranger.

-ooooo-

"Rok, are you okay?" Onyx's voice called out, concerned. Although he wasn't sure if it was the first time she had called out to him, attempting to drag him out of the haze he was in.

Rok's focus shifted back to the present, his attention locked onto the bound orc before them. The weight of Onyx's concern hung in the air, but he pushed it aside for now, his determination to get answers overpowered everything else.

"Where is he now?" Rok's voice cut through the tense atmosphere, his gaze fixed on the orc's defiant, but weary eyes.

The orc's smile weakly, as if relishing the attention he was receiving. "Wouldn't you like to know, Half-breed?" he taunted, his words laced with a twisted sense of glee.

Rok's fingers twitched, the urge to reach for his weapon nearly overwhelming. But Onyx placed a hand on his arm, a silent signal for him to keep his composure. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay focused.

"You don't need to find him. Sith is coming for you all, faster than you all realize" he spat, his voice filled with spite, with a mocking grin. "Especially you, Half-breed."

"Don't call me a half-breed!" his mind roared yet his mouth clinched shut despite his growing rage. The wounds of the past felt raw once again, the scars that he had tried to let heal torn open by the orc's words.

"Enough!" Onyx's voice cut through the tension, her patience was wearing thin. She turned to Rok, her gaze steady and unwavering. "Rok, leave, go get some fresh air before we get out of here," Her words were firm, leaving no room for rebuttal.

He nodded, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Rok turned to leave, his footsteps carrying him away from the intense atmosphere of the stables. He glanced back only to catch a glimpse of Oldren sitting on a pile of hay, drinking his ale in silence—watching the events unfold before him with an amused glint in his eyes.

"You tie up the Orc once Onyx is down with him, Dwarf," he added, "I am going to find a way to get us out of this.. Hell for a village" he informed, addressing Oldren in hopes of some cooperation out of him.

"I am not your personal little helper you know," he spat back in his defiance, "But, I'll tie him up good, I tie a better knot then ya" he smirked, only fueling Rok's anger more, causing him to want to wipe the smile clean of his face with his fist alone.

Yet at the same time a small voice called out to him, pushing past his raging storm of burning anger, "Rok, calm down." They sounded like Onyx's words. Perhaps it was all he needed to find his calm sea once more, was to hear her soothing voice, even if only inside his head.