She dreamt of warmth.

  Golden meadows rolled beneath her bare feet, soft and endless. The wind danced through her hair, turning it to strands of sunlight, and ughter—bright, unburdened, innocent—rippled through the air like music on a summer breeze.

  She ran, her small fingers brushing against wildflowers that reached up to her waist, petals kissing her skin like silk. Behind her, the joyful cries of her siblings echoed, and from an open window came her mother’s off-key humming, as comforting as a heartbeat.

  Then the sky darkened.

  A bell tolled in the distance—not the gentle chime of home, but the heavy cng of terror and despair, then the ughter was gone. The pained screams of people filled her ears, fire rose from the houses, bzing and violent, almost reaching the skies. Soldiers cshing, steel against steel.

  Her father’s voice echoed, calling for the knights—“Get them out!”

  Her mother, her siblings—dragged away by the enemy, their cries swallowed by the chaos.

  The ship waited on the eastern shore.

  Pursuers followed—shadows on the water, enemy sails slicing through the mist. Lightning tore the sky as they fled deeper into the sea. Then it struck—fast and merciless.

  She awoke with a jolt, her body slick with sweat, breath tearing through her throat in ragged gasps. Her skin, pale as porcein, trembled beneath the furs.

  The air was thick with the scent of earth, smoke, and animal musk. Beside the bed, a makeshift fire pit glowed dimly, casting flickers of orange and shadow across the room.

  She y wrapped in thick furs—warm, soft, almost gentle.

  Her head throbbed, thoughts scattered like broken shards of gss.

  "Where… am I?"

  She tried to sit, her vision swimming, each breath heavy with exhaustion. Her limbs ached as if she’d been dragged through storm and fire. She looked around, trying to find her bearing. The room looked somewhat like a barn, somepce to keep an animal, but strangely clean. The walls were stone, etched with runes unfamiliar to her.

  Then—the rge wooden door creaked.

  A gust of cold wind swept in, stirring the fire and the edge of her fur bnkets.

  A figure stepped through, and she froze.

  He resembled a man—almost—but not quite. Towering, broad-shouldered, his skin was a sun-kissed-brown, and his eyes… like molten stone, glowing faintly in the dark. His face was rough, his mouth marked by two curved canines that jutted out like small tusks. He wore a bck leather armour draped in fur, and at his side, a heavy axe rested, worn and battered.

  She shrank back, clutching the furs to her chin.

  The figure paused, head tilting as if curious. He studied her—not with hostility, but with caution. Then, he spoke—a deep, gravelly tone, thick with a nguage she didn’t recognize. Foreign. Primal. It rumbled through the room like distant thunder.

  He slowly raised one hand, palm open—a gesture of peace. In the other, he carried a wooden tray.

  The scent hit her hard—roasted unknown meat, strange but savory, and a bowl of steaming stew.

  She narrowed her eyes. A trick? Poison? But hunger gnawed at her, deep and vicious. When she st ate, she couldn't even tell.

  She snatched the tray, then, without thinking, devoured it—fingers over utensils, broth dripping down her wrist.

  Midway through, she froze, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

  How unbecoming. Just like an uncivilized savage.

  The creature spoke again, slower now, more deliberate.

  “Raruk,” he said, tapping his chest.

  Confused, as she had never heard of that word before, not in any of the nguages she knows.

  “Is that… your name?” she asked, mouth still half-full.

  He paused, eyes widening, seemingly in shock, then gave a subtle nod.

  She swallowed hard, the tray still in her p, her voice small. “You speak our tongue?”

  He stared, then gestured with his fingers, “little.”

  A lie.

  He understood far more than he let on. He could speak it—fluently, if he wished, but the truth was suspicious. Revealing too much too soon could prove dangerous not just for her, but also for himself.

  He tapped his chest again. “Raruk" then pointed at her. “You?”

  She hesitated, should she introduce herself to this strange.. creature? Should she keep silent? She racked her head trying to come up with something.

  Seeing this, the creature exhaled sharply through his nose and grunted, "Raruk," he said yet again, "you?" this time firmer and with more authority.

  "A-Aleana" she stammered, fearful as to what he might do to her. "My name's Aleana"

  “Ah-y-nah,” Raruk echoed, deliberately sounding like he was struggling, tasting each sylble like it was a foreign spice, yet something in his voice softened as he said it.

  She nodded once. Her name—spoken aloud—felt like a tether, something familiar, pulling her back into herself. For a moment, they regarded one another like normal humans, though not quite.

  Raruk set the tray aside with care and shifted his weight, lowering himself to one knee. Even so, he loomed over her, massive and solid, his silhouette etched in firelight and shadow. He said nothing—just watching her, not as one watched a threat, but as one regards a riddle whose meaning lies just beyond reach.

  Aleana’s heart pounded, loud in her ears. “What do you want from me?” she worryingly asked, barely expecting an answer.

  To her surprise, his brows furrowed, not with anger—but with thought.

  He gnced toward the fire, then pushed himself to his feet with a low grunt, his movements were heavy. Crossing the room, he rummaged through a leather pouch slung over the back of a chair, then returned, something csped carefully in his thick fingers.

  A rolled strip of animal hide, bound by string.

  He knelt once more and unwrapped it between them revealing a bnk canvas and charcoal, he then drew something on it, a map of sorts, if you could call it that. Land, water, jagged coastlines, then he pointed to a central mass.

  “Orkungthar,” he said with a low voice. Then, he traced a circle around it, a barrier of some kind. “Thunder Dome, no pass.”

  Aleana leaned in, eyes tracing the lines. “Orkungthar, is that the name of this nd? And the Thunder Dome, a barrier?”

  Raruk nodded.

  Then he gestured toward her, eyes narrowing in curiosity.

  “You. Where?”

  “You’re asking where I’m from?”

  Another nod. This time, he extended the charcoal stick "Mark. Where.”

  She hesitated, her fingers hovering over it. She did not know what he really wanted, but what choice does she have? She took the charcoal stick, smudging bck across her pale skin. Slowly, carefully, she surveyed the map, trying to gauge the pce she came from, then she marked a spot—beyond the Thunder Dome.

  The moment she finished, Raruk froze.

  His lips curled into something like a smile. Not cruel—more amazed. As if she’d confirmed something very important to him

  "I knew it!" He quietly thought to himself, "she came from outside the Thunder Dome, there are other nds outside the Thunder Dome!"

  He had long gazed westward of their territory, looking towards the horizon of the sea. He had always wondered, hoped even, that there was something else out there, something untouched by the rot ravaging their nd.

  Raruk leaned in, his massive form casting a deep shadow over the hide. He studied the spot with gleaming eyes, as if it was a treasure. His thumb brushed the edge, tracing the line with a tenderness that seemed out of pce on hands built for war.

  “There are others…” he whispered, the words slipping in his native tongue. Not meant for her, not meant for anyone but the fire and the stone.

  But Aleana saw it in his eyes—the flicker of something fragile and fierce.

  Hope.

  She drew closer, unable to stop herself. “What… what are you?”

  Her voice pulled him back. He turned his gaze on her, measuring.

  “Oruk,” he answered simply, the word rough and ancient, carved from the bones of the world itself. Then, more gently, “Rest. Safe here. Tomorrow… talk.”

  She wanted to press him. A thousand questions churned behind her eyes, rising like smoke from a fire too long smothered. But her body betrayed her—too weak, too worn. The furs pulled her down again like a tide, cradling her in their warmth.

  Raruk gave a final nod, then rose, folding the hide with reverent care and returning it to the pouch. His footsteps were a steady rhythm as he crossed to the door. There, he paused.

  He looked back at her one st time. Then the door groaned shut behind him, and Aleana was alone.

  She y still, watching the fire’s glow stretch across the stone walls. Her mind raced, tumbling through fragments of memory and meaning.

  Orkungthar. Thunder Dome. Oruk.

  Nothing made sense. And yet, she couldn't do anything about it, not yet at least.

  Unable to resist any longer, her consciousness drifted into a slow, silent, and dreamless sleep.

  Outside, the cold night bit harder than inside the Direwolf nursery. The wind howled low over the jagged hills like a wounded beast. Raruk stepped out into it without flinching, his breath fogging in the moonlight. He pulled his fur-lined cloak tighter, eyes narrowing as he entered the Great Hall.

  Inside, Boruk sat alone at the long stone table with his back to the fire pits, gorging on a rge roasted meat. Beside him rested his beast mount, a red Direwolf.

  “Brother!” Raruk called out in an ecstatic tone, “It woke up.”

  “What did?” his tone indifferent.

  "The creature, it's awake."

  "So, it lived huh?" Boruk answered nonchantly as he continued eating, "And? Have you found out what it is?"

  “I do not know yet, brother. But I know it can speak.”

  Boruk paused and gnced over his younger brother, raising his eye brow in suspicion. “How do you know it can speak? Did you speak with it? Can it understand our tongue?”

  Brushing over his brother’s question, Raruk hurriedly sat down beside him and opened up the animal hide. “It remembers little, but enough to confirm that it came from beyond the Thunder Dome.”

  Silence stretched between them. Then Boruk growled, “Impossible. None can cross the Thunder Dome.”

  “I thought so too,” Raruk said quietly, eyes on the moonlit peaks beyond the valley, "There's another thing... this creature, its a female."

  Boruk's eyes widened as he snapped upright. "Female, you said?! How do you know its a female?"

  Raruk leaned back and crossed his arms, "Did you not see her when we first picked her up, brother?" Then he gestured towards the etched drawings on the stone walls, pointing towards an image of the te cn-mother, Grekka. "She resembles our mother, her body, her form, her features."

  He then pulled out the map from his pouch and pointed at the mark Aleana made. “She marked this pce—on the other side, she didn’t hesitate, and we have never seen her kind, not anywhere here in Orkungthar, and not in any of our songs or sagas.”

  Boruk drew closer, looming over his brother, his heavy boots hitting the stone floor. “And you believe it? Just like that? What if it’s a trick?”

  “I don’t know,” Raruk admitted, his voice low, steady. “But she's not Oruk, nor is she a beast or spirit, she's real, she's the first ever female we've seen, not since our mother, and she's here.”

  Raruk met his brother’s stare, eyes as sharp as swords. “We cannot say for sure, but everything we know, may very well be wrong.”

  After a long pause, Boruk crossed his arm and sat back down again. “I trust you, brother, you know that, but-.”

  He hesitated before continuing, “I just cannot trust this... this thing, not until I meet it myself.”

  Raruk nodded once. “She's still resting, but as soon as she's ready, I'll bring her to you."

  Boruk said nothing more. The fire crackled behind them, casting long shadows against the stone walls. Raruk gathered the map and rolled it back up before pcing it inside the leather pouch.

  He stood, rising to his full height, the Great Hall surrounding him—wide, long, its ancient stone pilrs depicting the deeds of past war-chiefs. He then turned and left for his quarters, leaving Boruk behind gncing at his back.

  Step by step, Raruk crossed the length of the Great Hall, boots echoing in the silence. Flickering torches lit his way as he passed other rooms.

  He paused just behind a thick wooden door, the corridor beyond was narrow, more private.

  With a grunt, Raruk shoved it open and stepped inside.

  His chamber was not rge, but it was enough for him. A broad stone bed lined with hides and fur, a weapon rack along the far wall filled with axes, bdes, and shields. At the far corner, a basin of water reflected the dim torchlight, and beside it, a small window at on the wall allowing breaths of icy night air to slip through the slits.

  He unfastened his cloak, then draped it across a hook by the bed. The armor followed, unbuckled with practiced fingers and set aside in silence. Beneath it, he wore only a simple tunic, damp with sweat and snow.

  Raruk sat at the edge of the bed and exhaled slowly. He pulled the hide map from his pouch, unrolled it with care, and studied it again—his eyes fixed on the mark the human girl had drawn beyond the Thunder Dome.

  “Other nds...” he murmured to himself, the thought both exciting and intoxicating.

  "To think there are humans in this world as well."

  Having lived for twenty five years as an Oruk, seeing a human again for the first time and conversing with it, brought back memories long forgotten, memories of a time before he was Raruk. In this dying and desote world he has come to call home, Aleana was a reminder as to what else might be out there.

  But this wasn't important right now. Outside, the wind howled once more, rattling against the walls like an old beast scratching to be let in.

  Winter was fast approaching,

  Tomorrow he would find out more about this human.