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This was the wrong thing to say.

Dregor's eyes flared angrily. “The war didn’t take Throk. Vorgath did. And now,” he growled, stepping closer, his massive form casting a shadow that swallowed me whole, “I’m going to take you from him.”

My heart lurched in my chest. “Dregor, wait,” I gasped, trying to pull myself together, to think of something that would get through to him. “Killing me won’t—won’t bring Throk back. It won’t change what happened.”

His lips twisted into a snarl, and he slammed the axe into the ground beside me, the blade digging deep into the stone, sending shards flying. “You think I care about changing what happened? This isn’t about the past. This is about making Vorgath suffer the way I suffer!”

The venom in his voice was so sharp, I could almost feel it pierce through my skin. I tried to steady my breathing, my pulse racing.

“If this is about Vorgath,” I said, as calmly as I could manage, “then take it up with him. He’s the one you want. Not me.”

Dregor’s face twisted into a grim smile, his tusks gleaming menacingly in the firelight. “Oh, I will. Don’t worry. But not yet.” He leaned in closer, so close that I could feel the heat of his breath. “First, I’m going to watch him break. Just like I did.”

I flinched, bile rising in my throat. This wasn’t just about revenge. It was about torment, about dragging Vorgath into the same nightmare Dregor had been living in for years.

And I was the weapon he’d use to do it.

“You won’t get the satisfaction you’re looking for,” I forced out, my voice shaking. “Vorgath—he’s stronger than that.”

Dregor’s laugh was low and cruel. “We’ll see.”

Before I could respond, a movement caught my eye. The mimic, still wearing Elias's twisted face, had begun to change. Its form rippled and shifted, like water disturbed by a stone, and I watched in horror as it morphed into something new.The sickly pallor of its skin deepened to a rich green, its limbs thickening with muscle. The round, childish features of my son's face elongated, sharpening into a distinctly orcish visage.

Dregor's entire body went rigid. The firelight flickered wildly, casting jagged shadows over the creature as it completed its horrific metamorphosis. What now stood before Dregor was a nightmare vision of a young orc—broad, powerful, but wrong. Too sharp, too distorted, with eyes that gleamed hollow and soulless.

It was Throk. Or at least, the twisted version of him.

“Durak…” the mimic rasped, its voice lower now, more guttural. “Father.”

Dregor flinched at the sound of the word. His hands trembled, his breath caught in his throat, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the creature. His son, or at least the mockery of him, stood there, staring at him with cold, accusing eyes.

“You said you’d protect me...” the mimic continued, its tone soft but filled with a cruel edge. “But you didn’t.”

Dregor’s knuckles whitened around the handle of his axe. His chest heaved, and his eyes glistened with a grief that hadn’t dulled with time. “I… I tried, Throk. I tried to protect you.”

“You let Vorgath choose mercy.” The mimic spat the word like a curse. “And now I’m gone.”

I watched Dregor crumble, his knees almost buckling under the weight of his grief. His hands trembled, but his grip on the axe tightened. I could see the war raging inside him, a storm of fury and guilt that had been festering for years.

Then I realized something. Watching Dregor unravel under the weight of his own choices—the way his grief had twisted into rage, consuming him from the inside—it felt eerily familiar. It was a reflection of the darkness I had fought so hard to escape, the version of myself I could have become if I hadn’t let Vorgathinto my life. If I hadn’t made the choice to rebuild, to open my heart again instead of letting the pain harden me.

And that terrified me.

More than the fear of love. More than the pain of loss. The thought that I could have surrendered to despair, just like Dregor had, was the scariest thing of all.

The mimic’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “You let me die.”

Dregor’s face twisted into a mask of agony, his whole body trembling. “I have to… make it right,” he growled, though the words sounded hollow.

The mimic laughed, a cold, terrible sound. “You’re not doing this for me,durak. You’re doing this because you’re too cowardly to live with your failure.”

Dregor’s eyes flickered with something close to desperation. He was on the edge, teetering between falling into the abyss of his rage and letting go of the vengeance that had driven him for so long.

The mimic stepped closer, its voice soft and full of venom. “You’re just trying to run from your own guilt.”

Dregor’s hands shook violently, and for a moment, I thought he might drop his axe. His face contorted with the weight of everything he had lost—his son, his brotherhood, his sense of honor.

And then, with a roar of pure fury, he swung the axe.