Atop the watchtower of a small encampment, a young Oruk surveyed the horizon, looking for any possible threats. The Oruks, a race of humanoid creatures known for their astonishing strength and ferocity in battle, was the dominant species of Orkungthar. They poputed the majority of the nd, usually living in strongholds, led by one Chieftain. The Warwulf cn, to which the young Oruk belonged to, made their home near the coast, providing access to both the sea and the nd, right now they were stationed on a hastily made encampment north of their Stronghold.

  Though trouble near their territory was very seldom, as the Warwulf cn was one of the strongest in the nd, they were still very cautious.

  “Compcency breeds weakness!” Their Chieftain always says.

  Borg, the leader of the Warwulf cn, was a veteran of The Great Famine War; a conflict that threw the entire country into turmoil. He led the cn to numerous victories, earning renown and glory for himself and his kin.

  No one knows what or how it happened, but some 100 years ago, the earth of Orkungthar turned sour, causing the flora and fauna to die out This, in turn, led to the Great Famine War. Out of all the cns of Orkungthar, the Warwulf cn emerged as the most successful, they secured one of the very few nds still capable of supporting life, thus supposedly ensuring the survival of their cn.

  The reality however, was not as simple.

  A small dark figure appeared from the horizon, trotting through the forest. Seeing this the young Oruk nocked an arrow on his bow and observed. Should the figure draw any closer, he was confident he could accurately shoot and neutralize it. Upon closer inspection however, he saw that the figure was another Oruk, he had a banner on his back, a bck Direwolf head crossed with red marks across the face. Seeing this, the guard dropped his bow and blew on his horn.

  “Rider approaching!!” he decred, “Open the gates!”

  The wooden gates of the base slowly dropped down opening the way for the rider. Upon entering, he dismounted his Direwolf and secured the reins to a post. A rge group of Oruks approached him, headed by Borg.

  “Why have you come here, Goo’rak?” Borg asked in a slightly angered manner, “Your orders were to remain in Dushkka’l and await our return.”

  In response, the rider lowered his head “Apologies, Chieftain, but I bring news of the cn-mother”

  Hearing this, Borg’s eyes widened “Grekka?! What happened?!” he asked as he grabbed the rider by the shoulders, “What happened to my wife?!”

  “Chieftain, the cn-mother is about to give birth to your second child” answered the rider. “She has requested you to come home to Dushkka’l”

  Borg’s wife, Grekka had been pregnant with their second child when he left their Stronghold to establish a base in this pce, so her giving birth was not unexpected, what was unusual however, was her requesting for him. His wife knew how important this base was for the future of their cn, so for her to actually ask for him, something must have happened. Acting quickly, he signaled to one of the Oruks beside him.

  “Fetch Lirka” He said in a commanding tone, “I’m heading back to Dushkka’l”

  The young Oruk standing beside Borg quickly nodded and dashed off toward the tents where the warriors and scouts were stationed. Borg turned to the rider, his brow furrowed with a mixture of concern and impatience. His thoughts raced — Grekka, ever strong and resilient, had never been one to make such requests lightly. Something must be wrong.

  "Stay here and rest, Goo’rak," Borg commanded. "I’ll need you at full strength if I were to return to Dushkka'l" He turned to survey the camp, his keen eyes picking out the nearest warriors. "Gather our most trusted, we're moving out at once."

  The rider nodded, grateful for the reprieve, though his tension never faded. Something had stirred in Borg's voice that had sent the camp in a somewhat panic. It wasn’t just about the birth of a child anymore.

  Soon, Lirka, the cn’s battle-hardened strategist, arrived at Borg’s side. A towering Oruk, with jagged scars crisscrossing his body like a map of past battles, his eyes sharp and calcuting.

  “Chieftain,” Lirka said, his deep voice filled with respect but with a hint of measured concern. “You wish to leave now, when the camp is still vulnerable? The fortifications here are barely finished. We should wait until we have a secured foothold.”

  Borg's grip on his axe tightened, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him like the clouds that gathered over the horizon. "No," he said firmly, "Grekka needs me, your cn-mother needs me. The future of our race lies with this child."

  Lirka hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering to the camp’s horizon, where the faint silhouette of the sea met the sky, then nodded. "Very well, Chieftain. I shall stay and finish the fortifications. Should you need our full force, simply send a call, and we shall ride out in force."

  Borg csped Lirka’s shoulder. "You will do well, old friend," he said, his voice a low growl of trust and resolve. "Wait for my return."

  With that, Borg turned to mount his battle-steed, a massive Direwolf with ash-grey fur, even rger than the one Goo'rak was riding, it was a creature fit for the Chieftain. He adjusted his armor, a mix of iron and darkened leather, and looked once more at the encampment. His warriors were busy fortifying the base and preparing for any possible attack, yet he could not afford to stay. His heart, though full of loyalty to his cn, was torn. Grekka’s call meant more than any battle.

  As Borg rode toward the distant Stronghold of Dushkka’l, the wind began to pick up, howling through the trees, as if nature itself was warning him. This child of his, could very well mean the survival, or the extinction of their race.

  The Direwolves the Oruks rode made sure that they would arrive on time. These massive beasts, though tough and hardy, were extremely agile and resilient. They could cover great distances over a short amount of time, even without resting. The beasts howled and grunted as they sprinted past the dead forests and almost arid nds. These part of their territory looked devoid of life, far from what it once was.

  Arriving near the coastal road, the towering walls of Dushkka'l filled the groups eyes. Though looking like it was crudely built, this Stronghold has survived countless battles. It's location made it fairly defensible. As a cove with the mountains on the side and the sea to the back acting as natural barriers, it came to be known as the impregnable Dushkka'l.

  Loud booming horns could be heard even from the distance they were at, the guards atop the walls had noticed them. Within a few moments, the rge gates of the stronghold slowly opened, allowing entry. Upon entering, Borg quickly dismounted his Direwolf and approached a guard, "Where's Grekka?" he asked.

  Borg had noticed it when they entered the base, the usual liveliness of the stronghold - Oruks drinking and ughing, steel cshing against steel in friendly competition, hunters skinning and prepping their kills, it was all absent. A solemn atmosphere had engulfed everyone present.

  "Chieftain" A noticeably elder Oruk said in a low voice, his eyes were filled with sadness and despair, "the cn-mother is currently still in bor, but she is incredibly weak.. our healers are doing everything they can but.." he hesitated, "I fear for the worst."

  Hearing this, Borg felt his heart almost shatter. Death was not an uncommon thing in Orkungthar, even more so for Oruks who, above all else, seek a glorious death. In their culture, dying in childbirth carries the same honor as dying in battle. Nevertheless, Grekka had been his mate for how many years now, and the prospect of him losing her stung greatly.

  Refusing to show any weakness, Borg clenched his fist, "take me to her" he commanded.

  The Chieftain was led through the halls of the temple by the elder Oruk, their steps heavy as their boots made with leather and streaks of metal clunk and thud against the stone floor. Arriving near at the very end of the corridor, a faint crying sound could be heard - the cries of an infant - behind the rge wooden door. Without hesitation, Borg hurriedly opened the door

  The sight that met Borg’s eyes was one he had never quite expected - Grekka, the strong and dependable cn-mother, sprawled atop a wooden bed, made comfortable by numerous soft animal furs - her body which was once retively well-built, was drenched in sweat, her breathing slow and shallow, but her grip on the hand of the infant in her arms was firm.

  The child.

  Borg stepped forward, his gaze locking onto the tiny form in his wife’s arms. It was not the scene of a triumphant birth he had imagined, but it was still a child born to the Warwulf cn, it's supposed to be a great joy.

  Grekka’s eyes slowly opened as she heard the ctter of Borg’s boots, the heavy presence of her mate filling the room. She managed a faint smile, though it was strained. "You made it," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

  Borg dropped to his knees beside her, his massive frame looming over the wooden bed where she rested. He reached out to gently touch her cheek.

  "I’m here, Grekka," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He then gnced down at the infant, his brow furrowing with a mix of awe and concern. "Is it..? Our second?"

  Grekka nodded weakly, and though exhaustion weighed her down, there was a glimmer of pride in her eyes. "It is," she whispered, although the next words drew a faint sadness, "Another son, my love. I'm sorry.."

  Borg’s eyes softened as he gazed at his wife. Normally the birth of a son was to be a joyous occasion, someone to carry the cn's legacy - but this was not such an occasion.

  The same time the earth of Orkungthar turned sour, females stopped being born from the Oruk race. Slowly over the course of the years, the females of their species died out one by one. Grekka was the st known female Oruk in the entire nd, and she was weak, the child she was carrying was the st hope for the survival of their race, now that it turned out to be a boy, the fate of their race was all but sealed.

  Borg grasped Grekka's hand, "nonsense, my love." he said as he sat down beside the bed, "you need not to apologize, pcing the burden of saving our race on your back was selfish of us, no one should carry that much weight."

  Grekka's eyes teared up, a sight that Borg had never seen before. "But the seer prophesied that my child would be the future of our race, I thought for sure I was carrying a daughter.." she said in between her shallow breaths.

  The Chieftain looked at the small infant covered in cloth. "You have done well, Grekka." He said as he caressed the child's cheek, "I thank you for providing me another son."

  Grekka’s eyes fluttered as she took in her mate's words, the strength of her resolve already wavering in the dim light of the room. Her hand gripped his tightly, finding comfort in the familiarity of his touch. She gazed at their newborn son, his tiny form swaddled and nestled in the warmth of her arms, unaware of the weight that hung over him even before he could truly know the world.

  "Do you think…?" she whispered, her voice trailing off, barely a breath escaping her lips. "Do you think there's still hope?"

  Borg’s gaze remained fixed on the child, a deep, solemn silence filling the room as he fought to gather his thoughts. Grekka’s exhaustion and pain had rendered her fragile, but the truth of their situation had not escaped either of them. The birth of a son, while traditionally a blessing in Oruk culture, now felt like a quiet death sentence to their people. The prophecy that had once sparked hope now loomed over them like a dark cloud, its meaning uncertain, its promise unfulfilled.

  "Yes" he answered confidently. "This child you've given us, there's a reason for it, I believe it so."

  Hearing this, a faint smile appeared on Grekka's face. She knew everything about her husband, she knew exactly when he was lying, and she was overjoyed to know that his husband truly believed that there was still hope. She closed her eyes, content with what she heard.

  "His name.." she said as she her consciousness drifted, "his name is Raruk."

  Borg felt her hand slowly lose it's grip, the fatigue and the blood loss from her bor now taking it's toll. Seeing this the healers quickly scrambled to attend to her, but Borg knew.

  "Grekka, my beloved" he said in a tender tone as he stood up and picked up their child. "Rest easy, for I shall take care of our sons."

  And that was how Grekka, cn-mother to the Warwulf cn, shield-maiden, and the st female Oruk, passed away.

  The funeral was prepared shortly after, as was tradition. A rge pyre was created in the name of the cn-mother, gold and precious stones decorated her coffin.

  The warriors of the Warwulf cn, cd in their battle-worn armor and crowned with wreaths of ash and stone, paid their respects by honoring Grekka's life in the only way they knew—through revelry and combat. But even as the sounds of shouting, ughter, and cshing steel filled the air, Borg felt only the coldness of reality settle deep in his chest.

  The child was the future, but what future would it be? The prophecy, the disappearance of the Oruk females, Grekka’s sacrifice—everything had led to this moment. A boy, not the daughter they had hoped for, the st ever to be born from their race.

  And so, as the night grew darker and the fmes of the pyre burned higher, Borg set his course toward the unknown, with Raruk—the st hope of the Oruks—firmly in his grasp. The future of their cn is yet to be written.