Knez opened his eyes to the wonderful sight of the rising sun, his view obstructed only by the cold lines of iron bars. He massaged his head gently, his fingers running along the scarred flesh on his forehead, where the arrow had penetrated.

  The early morning silence weighed heavy upon him. To his mind, the camp was not quiet but rather a deafening display of failures.

  He could hear the structural groan of the over-tensioned tent poles nearby; they were angled incorrectly, destined to snap in a heavy wind.

  He could see the handle of an axe held by a warrior five meters away, weakly fastened, a disaster waiting to happen.

  He took a good look at the camp site, it was directly positioned beside a huge mud road, with few trees for cover, a mistake that could end a tribe.

  The world was ridden with errors. Every detail led him closer to the conclusion that his kind were not just being hunted—but rather they were treading toward their own extinction through sheer incompetence.

  His eyes swept the cage. It wasn't just iron and bone; it was a terrible joke, if he hadn't already spent the early hours of the day mulling over it, he would have still thought it a test. The lashings were frayed and decaying. The lock mechanism was jammed with grit. He could escape; his mind whispered repeatedly.

  But then he was distracted by violent coughing from an old figure; in confinement with him where two orcs, an old male and a young female, both observed him with little interest or perhaps they were still half asleep, it was hard to tell from the look on their faces.

  The female sensing his gaze, sat up properly, her eye locking with his, she narrowed her brows, but still no name came to mind. "Who are you?" she rasped, voice smooth like running water.

  "Ta Knez, chief of Mujin tribe," he replied tiredly, not so sure, there'll be a tribe to return to.

  The old male lifted his head slightly, one of his tusks was missing, dry blood mapped his skin—coagulating in irregular patches. "You look too young to be a chief," the old orc grumbled, voice wheezing like a silent whisper.

  Knez met his gaze, with a slight delayed nod. "I became one when my father the chief and all the warriors of my tribe fell in a human raid. Leaving us younglings to scrape by. Someone had to lead".

  The old orc fell silent, exhaling weakly. "Apologies, chief. I am Hermeti,...... former chief of this tribe." He tilted his head toward the female. "And that is my daughter, Borte."

  Borte lowered her head slightly, "Honored to meet you".

  Across the way, in the opposite side, stood another cage. Inside sat three pale-skinned orcs. No, Knez took a closer look.

  These weren't orcs, they where humans, a child, a women and a man, or atleast that was what they should be called, but one would be forgiven for mistaking them for a pile of broken bones, gaunting and shivering, while tightly huddling together in a desperate protest against the early morning chill.

  But Knez was having non of it, humans he hated and that was the end of the conversation. Heat surged through his veins, knuckles whitening as he clenched his fist firmly, nails digging into his palms. But another ragged cough from the old orc yanked him back to reality, the sound reverberating through his head. He was in a cage too, bound to the same fate.

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  Having Knelt near the bars during his outburst, he eased back down, forcing out a deep breath. His gaze lingering on the humans—the child turned towards him as if sensing his gaze, her eyes where round and blue, and that was about the only thing that still looked health, her bonny face had an expression that should never be found on a child's face, something in him cooled a notch, but fragments of hostility remained in his demeanor.

  "What.. fate awaits us here?" he bluttered out, not necessarily addressing anyone. But the air around him grew heavy, the mood of Hermeti and his daughter darkened as their face became serious, no one responded.

  Knez noticed the shift but said nothing too, his mind was already preoccupied analysing everything his senses persived for better or for worst, but it didn't take long for him to clearly understand the reason for their grim expressions.

  A huge orc stopped in front of the cage, orc warriors where usually tall, standing 7-8 feet from head to toe and weighing 380 - 450 pounds, however this specimen in front of him was definately beyond 8 feet, at least by a few inches. He opened the cage and draged Knez out, with no words exchanged, his gaze shifted momentarily to Hermeti and Borte, before leading the young chief away in chains.

  They both stopped in front of a Dule tree, Knez looked around, a few more warriors where already there, and at the base of the tree laid a long whip, dry blood dotted the ground underneath, he groaned realizing the intention of the warriors.

  Wondering young orcs with potential where usually integrated into a new tribe through tests of endurance. He tried to resist, he wasn't interested, but they wheren't asking either, against six warriors he was powerlessly tied onto the tree, unable to move. "Where is your tribe, 'Chief'?" Grak the huge warrior asked him, Knez looked at him, saying nothing but the look on his face conveyed enough message to discourage any further questions, the warrior slowly bent down picking up the whip.

  Knez looked at the whip. He saw the fraying tip. He saw the way Grak stood—weight on his back leg, a slight hitch in his shoulder.

  "The whip is weighted incorrectly," Knez whispered, his voice cracking. "If you strike from that position, you'll injure yourself within ten blows. And the tree... the wood is rotting at the base. It won't hold the tension of my weight for too long."

  Silence fell. The warriors exchanged looks. This was an Insult to their head warrior, Grak snared " is this runt seeing spirits or mocking me".

  "The runt thinks he’s a Shaman," another warrior added.

  The first strike didn't just hurt. Knez’s mind analyzed the speed and the force. He felt his skin split at exactly the point his brain had predicted with the anticipated force, he cluched his teeth. The despair wasn't the pain—it was the predictability. He was trapped in a world where he could see mistakes, but was powerless to correct them.

  Crack. The whip groaned as it blurred back and forth on the twentieth strike, drawing blood on impact like a tasty beast

  Knez didn't scream yet. He was trying to find meaning in his suffering, 'how does this make sense, where is the meaning in all of this'. But by the thirtieth strike, he could no longer hold thoughts, the physical world began to blur into visions, leaving only the burning pain as the only consistent element in both worlds.

  Jamuka walked into the clearing, his "Chief’s Ank" draped over his shoulders like a trophy, head held high, some of the tribe members drawn by the commotion surrounded the tree.

  "Greatings everyone, i apologize for waking you today with the scent of blood" Jamuka rasped, "this young orc before you claiming to be the chief of a tribe, invaded our hold, attacked our hunters and injuring them. the heavens spoke through the shaman, demanding retribution and cleansing for the insolence. And today before your very eye, heavens will be done".

  Grak tried to whip him again but dislocated his shoulder, as the tree bent to the left, bearly standing.

  Knez, hang from the rotting tree, his body a map of raw red lines, a surge of something rose from within, pain, anger, no something more grim, hopelessness. Jamuka was a good leader by orc standards, but Knez could see the trijection of his rule. He was only leading them, just like most orc chiefs did, towards extinction and the tribe cheered for it.

  His mind was filled with anger as darkness rushed in.

  He didn't lose consciousness because of the pain. He lost it because the world was too broken to look at anymore.