Page 27 of Bound in Flames (The Savage Hearts #1)

Chapter 27

Cleo

T he sound of the wind howled softly through the narrow corridors of the mountain stronghold, a constant, distant whisper of the outside world. Inside, the walls seemed to pulse with the ancient heartbeat of the mountain itself.

After the intensity of learning to heal with Seer Arna, the weight of my new responsibilities hung heavily around my shoulders. I was stepping into a world where I would have to use that power in ways I hadn’t yet imagined.

Dex walked beside me silently, his presence reassuring, as we made our way through the winding corridors toward the heart of the stronghold. His hand brushed mine occasionally, sending a warm, steady pulse through my skin, even as the pressure of what lay ahead mounted with every step. His presence was a tether, keeping me anchored amidst the weight of expectation.

This was more than a simple fortress of stone and steel. The stronghold wasn’t just a shelter—it was the center of orc life, a place where their history and traditions lived on, even in exile. As we passed through the tunnels, I could see it in the way they moved, the way their culture had adapted to life within the mountain. Their resilience was woven into every stone and whispered in every passing glance.

I had spent so little time here, but walking beside my mate with the shadow of war still lingering in the distance, I had a chance to see more of who these people truly were. Their preparations were calculated; herbs for healing, stockpiling arrows, and forging new weapons and armor—each task carried out with quiet determination.

We entered a wide chamber illuminated by flickering torchlight, the large crystals embedded in the walls cast a soft, ethereal glow over the hall. Orcs bustled through the space, setting platters and filling the air with the rich scent of roasted meat and fragrant herbs. Laughter mixed with low voices in the dining hall, the warmth of community weaving through the air like an invisible thread, and I found myself smiling.

“They’re preparing for the harvest festival. Even in times of war, we honor the land and its cycles.” Dex’s voice was soft as he noticed the way my gaze roamed the chamber.

I noticed the way their eyes followed us, their whispers growing quieter as we passed. Some of them dipped their heads in respect when their Chieftain glanced their way, but when their eyes shifted to me, there was something else—a mixture of reverence and curiosity. They still weren’t sure what to make of me at their Chieftain’s side.

The long tables were lined with offerings, the walls adorned with intricate carvings and symbols painted in rich ochres and blacks. The orcs moved with purpose as they carried out the rituals that marked this sacred occasion. I took an empty space near the center of the hall, Dex by my side.

Seer Arna entered soon after us, her silver hair gleaming in the firelight, a staff held firmly in one hand. Her voice carried through the hall, low and resonant, as she began to speak in an ancient orcish tongue. I couldn’t understand the words, but each syllable was charged with an otherworldly power that prickled my skin.

Dex leaned closer, his voice a low murmur in my ear. “She’s calling on the ancestors, asking them to bless the harvest and guide the clan through the coming year.”

I nodded, my gaze fixed on the Seer. When her piercing eyes met mine, I felt a jolt, like she was looking through me, straight into my soul.

“Cleo,” she said, her voice carrying the weight of the ritual itself, “step forward.”

The blood drained from my face, and I glanced at Dex, searching his expression for reassurance. His golden eyes met mine, calm and steady, and he gave me a small nod. Swallowing hard, I stepped forward, the circle of bodies parting to let me through. Eyes burned into me, heavy with expectation.

“This is the time of renewal. A time to honor the land, the ancestors, and the bonds that tie us together as a clan. To swear fealty to the earth and to each other.” She held out a small ceremonial dagger, its blade curved and etched with runes not unlike the one on Dex’s hip.

“Each member of the clan offers a drop of their blood to the flames, a symbol of their connection to the earth and their loyalty to the Blackfoot. As the mate of our Chieftain, you are one of us now. Will you take the oath?”

The murmurs around me grew louder, a ripple of anticipation spreading through the hall. I glanced again at Dex, but his expression was unreadable, his gaze steady on mine. This was their culture. I couldn’t refuse, not when I had vowed to respect their traditions.

“I will.” I said, forcing my voice to remain steady as I took the dagger she held out. My fingers trembled when I wrapped them around the hilt. The blade was warm, almost alive, and the runes etched into its surface seemed to pulse under my touch.

“Just a few drops in the fire, dear.” she said kindly.

I stepped closer to the fire, and the heat brushed against my skin as the flames licked higher. My reflection wavered in the flames, distorted and flickering. Taking a deep breath, I pressed the blade to my palm. The sharp slice of the blade made me wine, and I tipped my hand to let the droplets fall into the fire. It fire hissed and crackled louder in response, the light shifting and twisting until the room around me blurred. The glow of the flames consumed everything until there was nothing but light. Heat pressed against my skin, and a voice echoed in my mind—deep and resonant, like the mountain itself was speaking to me.

Watch.

The light shifted, and suddenly, I was standing in a barren wasteland. The sky above was dark, thick with churning clouds that blotted out the sun. Shadows writhed around me, a sea of black tendrils that stretched out endlessly, suffocating everything in their path. And in the distance, I saw Dex leading the clan in battle, myself at his side holding a dagger.

We stood together, faces streaked with soot and sweat as we fought against the advancing Darkness. The shadows were relentless, swallowing everything in their path. I watched, helpless, as the tendrils wrapped around Dex, pulling him down. I watched as I reached down to grab his hand in desperation before we were both swallowed by the shadows. The orcs behind us screamed out in pain, their voices rising in a chorus of agony as the darkness consumed them next.

Several long seconds passed as I watched the shadows writhe and churn across the ground, before the vision seemed to slow to a halt.

I blinked, and I was watching it all over again—the same scene, the same pain. But this time, something was different. I watched my vision-self step forward, hands glowing with magic that pulsed bright. The tendrils of shadow recoiled, hissing, as the magic surged out of her, wrapping around the clan and shielding them from the darkness. Dex pushed the warriors behind him and backed away from the glow, leaving vision me alone to battle the shadows.

I burned as if I were feeling her channeling in my own body. My vision-self shrieked, her body glowing so brightly it was almost unbearable. Magic erupted from her, a wave of pure energy that disintegrated the shadows across the wasteland in an instant, but as the light dimmed, I saw her fall to her knees. Glowing veins turning white-hot, scorching and blistering her skin. She begged for help, for death, but the roar of the orcs celebrating their victory drowned out her pleas. I watched her burn until she curled on the ground, crumbling into ash, leaving nothing but scorched earth where she had stood.

You must choose.

I sucked in a gulp of air, stumbling back from the fire as the vision shattered around me. The dagger slipped from my hand, clattering to the stone floor, and I barely registered the sound as I fought to catch my breath. The room came rushing back into focus, the orcs watching me with wide, expectant eyes.

Dex was there in an instant, his hands a firm anchor as I swayed. His voice wrapped around me like a protective shield, his eyes searching into mine with an intensity that made my pulse stutter. “What did you see?”

I blinked up at him in shocked terror, the words caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat. The weight of the vision still clung to me, tendrils of fear curling deep into my chest.

His brow creased, and his grip tightened just enough to ground me. “Cleo! What was the vision?”

I shook my head, the memory of blinding pain and endless darkness still too real. “Not here.” My voice was barely audible, fear choking me.

Dex’s jaw flexed, the muscles ticking beneath his skin as his head turned to glare at Arna. A silent conversation passed between them before his focus was back onto me. When he spoke, his voice carried the kind of authority that brooked no argument. “Excuse us, Cleo needs rest.”

But as I held his gaze, the vision pulsed through me once more. The consuming light, the soul-deep agony, the terrifying emptiness that followed. And beneath it all, the voice that whispered again: You must choose .

Our echoed footsteps followed us down the corridor, and I focused on the sound, trying to ground myself. The vision still swirled in my mind, sharp and vivid, the searing pain and suffocating loneliness replaying like a cruel loop. Dex walked beside me, his hand brushing mine every so often as if to remind me he was there, but I could feel the weight of his gaze itching under my skin. He was waiting, giving me space, but I knew it wouldn’t last forever. I wasn’t ready to talk about what I’d seen. Not when I was still processing what I had seen.

We entered a larger chamber, the low murmur of voices and the soft glow of torches filled the space. Guards moved around us, some glancing our way before quickly averting their eyes and continuing on their rounds. I stiffened, wrapping my arms around my chilled body as the whispers grew quieter. The weight of their stares pressed against me, and I couldn’t help but wonder how much they knew. Had they already known about the ritual, or was it simply the lingering discomfort of a human standing at their Chieftain’s side?

“They’re still not used to seeing humans here,” Dex said softly, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, but there was a protective edge to it, as if he was trying to ease my discomfort. “Especially not one like you.”

I glanced up at him, forcing a small smile. “I’m going to pretend that was a compliment.”

His lips curved into a smirk and he nudged me playfully with his shoulder. “A shaman with such strong magic. The Seer’s words spread quickly about your affinity for healing, but they’re still wary having spent generations hearing stories of betrayal and war. It will take time for them to fully accept you.”

“And what if they don’t?” I asked before I could stop myself. The question hung in the air between us.

“They will. Because you’re more than just a shaman to them, Cleo. You’re my mate. And as long as I stand with you, they will too.”

His words were meant to reassure me, but the knot in my chest only tightened. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. The despair of the vision tainted everything, but I couldn’t tell him about it yet. We needed privacy.

Dex led me through another corridor, the air growing cooler as we descended into a quieter part of the stronghold. The sound of water echoed faintly, mingling with the steady drip of moisture from the stone walls. When we reached the end of the stairwell, Dex pushed open a heavy wooden door, revealing a vast, torchlit chamber.

“This is the Hall of Memory,” he said as he stepped inside. “It’s primarily a sanctuary for the clan’s most vulnerable in times of danger. The magic here wards off intruders and seals the doors from the inside.”

I hesitated in the doorway, the ancient magic that pressed down on me was too similar to the vision I’d just had. The distant stone columns were etched with runes I couldn’t decipher, and rows of shelves lined the walls, filled with scrolls and carved tablets. It was like stepping into a living magical archive, a place where the past lingered in every corner.

I followed behind Dex with hesitant steps. His fingers brushing the tablets as we made our way down the shelves. “Every orc clan has its own history, its own stories. Here, we keep the records of the Blackfoot clan—the stories of our ancestors, the battles we’ve fought, the lands we’ve lost.”

The detail was incredible, the orcs depicted in the tablets were proud and defiant, their faces marked with determination even in the face of overwhelming odds. My throat tightened as I traced the edge of one carving, its lines sharp against my fingertips.

Dex stopped in front of a larger tablet, his hand resting gently on its surface. The image showed a fierce battle, orc warriors locked in combat with shadowy figures that sent a chill of familiarity down my spine. “This was one of the first battles of the exile. The humans brought mages and knights to drive us from the forests. We fought for every inch of ground, but in the end, we were forced to retreat. Countless sacrificed their lives to buy time for the others to escape.”

My fingers trembled as I reached out to touch the edge of the carving. “They fought for their families,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

Dex nodded, his gaze distant as he looked at the tablet. “The clans were separated during the war. Some survived, but others…” His voice trailed off, and I felt the weight of his unspoken words.

“How many clans were lost?”

“We know of several that managed to escape, scattered across the Wild Lands. Two clans were run down as they tried to escape to the Marshlands, and three have fallen since then.” His jaw tightened, and his hand curled into a fist. “We’ve always fought to protect what’s ours. But now the balance has shifted. The darkness is spreading faster than ever before.”

The shadows. The vision. My pulse quickened, and I clenched my hands to stop them from shaking. I could still feel the heat of the fire that had scorched through me while I watched myself die. I wanted to tell Dex, to share what I’d seen, but fear held me back. What if he couldn’t protect me from it? What if it was inevitable? My fingers twisted together as I tried to slow my breathing. The memory of the vision felt like a thorn lodged in my chest, every breath catching on its edge. Speaking it would make it real, and I wasn’t sure I could bear that, already on the edge of a panic attack.

But Dex’s gaze didn’t waver. His presence wrapped around me like a shield. He bought his hand to cup my chin, tilting my face up. “Whatever you saw—whatever it was—I need to know. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry as I searched his eyes for some way out. But there wasn’t one. He wouldn’t let me carry this alone, no matter how much I wanted to protect him from it. I took a shaky breath, closing my eyes as I tried to find the words.

“I saw two versions of the vision, playing out in front of me like I was just a spectator,” I began, my voice trembling.

His brow furrowed, but he said nothing, letting me continue.

“The first, I saw the clan standing against the Darkness, forming a circle around the women and children. We stood side by side, bloody like we had been fighting. The Shadows kept coming and they consumed everything . They wrapped around you and pulled you in. I tried to hold on, but I wasn’t strong enough. The darkness swallowed us all. I could only watch as everyone screamed and begged for help.”

I paused to draw in deep breaths, my chest tightening as the memory of it surged back, the well of emotion constricting my throat. “There was nothing left, just a void, and it felt like it would swallow me too. The quietness of it was…” I trailed off, shaking my head.

His eyes were dark with fear, his hand dropping from my chin to grasp my hands instead. “And the second?”

I hesitated, the second vision flashing through my mind. It had been so vivid, so overwhelming, that even now, it felt like a part of me was still trapped in that moment, reliving the pain. “The second was different. The Darkness came, just like before. But this time, I stepped forward to meet it. My magic—it wasn’t just inside me anymore. It was everywhere, wrapping around the clan, shielding them.”

His gaze burned into mine, his expression haunted as he listened. “You mean us .”

Thick tears clouded my vision. “I fought back, and my magic destroyed the Darkness. It wiped it out completely, burned it away until there was nothing left-” My throat raw with emotion. Breathe, Cleo. I took a heavy breath, my chest heaving as I fought off the mounting panic.

“I saw myself glowing, burning from the inside out. The magic was too much and it turned on me. You shielded the clan from it, somehow you kept them safe as you watched me burn,” A tear slipped down my cheek, and I quickly wiped it away. “When the pain stopped and light faded, there was nothing left of me but ash.”

The silence that followed was thick. I couldn’t bring myself to look at Dex, couldn’t bear to see whatever emotion was written in his expression. But he didn’t let go of my hands. His thumbs stroked over my knuckles, reminding me that he was still there.

“Don’t be scared Cleo, we will find a way.” His voice was desperate, doing nothing to calm my racing thoughts.

I nodded as the truth of his words settled over me. “I don’t want to lose myself, Dex. But I don’t want to lose you, or this clan, either. What if… what if I can’t find another way?”

“There is always another way. I refuse to lose you when I have only just found you!”

I looked up at him, my eyes searching his for some kind of reassurance. “But what if the magic takes over, like it did in the vision? How can I stop it?”

He shook his head, his grip on my hands steady and unyielding. “Then I’ll be there to pull you back. Always. You won’t fight alone, Cleo. Not while I’m breathing. You pull on our bond and you hold on tight. That’s what mates are for.”

His words broke something inside me, a dam that had been holding back the weight of my fear and uncertainty. A sob slipped past my lips before I could stop it, and Dex pulled me into his arms without hesitation. His embrace was crushing, his hand cradled my head as he held me tight to his chest.

“I’m scared.” My voice was muffled against his chest.

“I know. Whatever comes, we’ll face it together.”

I clung to him, the warmth of his presence slowly easing the cold knot of fear and despair in my chest. His words, his touch, his unwavering belief in me. They were enough to help keep the anxiety at bay.

“Chieftain?”

We turned to see an older orc woman standing at the entrance to the hall, her silver hair braided and adorned with small beads. Her eyes flicked to me, then back to Dex, her expression unreadable.

“Seer Arna sent me. She asks that you and the shaman join her in the healer’s rooms. we have more injured.”

The air in the mountain stronghold carried a quiet stillness, a sense of anticipation before the inevitable storm of conflict. I had spent most of the day in the infirmary, tending to the sick and injured. The stronghold’s infirmary was carved into the stone like much of the fortress, but despite the unyielding rock walls, the room was alive with warmth. The scent of herbs mixed with the faint tang of wood smoke softened the space. Healers moved quietly between the injured warriors, the elderly, and the children. It was a place where strength and vulnerability coexisted.

At first, being surrounded by so many lives depending on my help had been overwhelming. But as the days had passed, something shifted. I found myself connecting with the orcs—not just as their shaman, but as someone learning their hopes, their fears, and their quiet moments of resilience. Their stories, their laughter, even their pain—every piece of it wove into something larger than myself. It felt like a family.

Standing at the bedside of a young warrior, I inhaled deeply, grounding myself as I called on my magic to heal. His face was pale, his breath was shallow, the deep gash on his leg festering despite the other healers’ best efforts.

I placed my hands over the wound and closed my eyes to reach for the threads of magic within me. By now, the sensation was becoming second nature, though it still resisted when I pulled on it. It was like weaving together strands of vitality, pulling them tight to mend what was broken. Green light glowed beneath my palms, flowing into the wound like water into parched earth.

The orc’s life force pulsed beneath my fingers, steady but weak, and I focused on feeding it, strengthening it. Slowly, I wove the magic into his torn muscles and damaged tissue, binding it with care and pushing out the corruption until the jagged edges softened. The would quickly closed, leaving smooth, unmarred skin.

The warrior sighed in relief, his breathing evening out as the pain ebbed away. His amber eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at me with a mixture of awe and gratitude. “Thank you, shaman.”

I offered a small, reassuring smile in return, grateful to be able to bring relief. “Rest now. You’ll be back on your feet soon.”

He nodded, the exhaustion pulling him back into a peaceful sleep. I stood, wiping the sweat from my brow, and glanced around the room. The firelight cast a soft glow across the infirmary, deepening the shadows and softening the hard lines of the stone. It felt like a place where the strength of the orc people was distilled—not just in their warriors, but in their mothers, their children, and their elders. Each of them a thread in a tapestry that had endured so much and refused to fray.

Moving from bed to bed, I continued my work, using the magic I was still learning to wield. With every life I touched, I felt myself forging deeper connections—not just as a healer, but as someone becoming a part of their story. Fathers, daughters, sisters, sons. Their lives not defined by the shadows gathering outside but by the moments of joy and resilience they carved out here, in the heart of the mountain.

An older woman with silver-threaded hair and sharp green eyes took my hand after I healed her aching joints, her grip surprisingly strong. “You’ve got the hands of a true healer, not just in your magic, but in your heart.”

Her words caught me off guard, and I blinked, warmth blooming in my chest. “I’m learning,” I said softly. “From all of you.”

The woman chuckled, her laughter full of life as she pat my hand. “A shaman who listens? That’s rare. Keep listening, girl—it’ll serve you well.”

I was beginning to understand that healing wasn’t just about channeling magic. Every orc I touched reminded me that this wasn’t just a duty. It was a bond, a quiet promise to do what I could for those who had already given so much.

A small tug at my sleeve pulled me from my thoughts. I turned to see a small face staring up at me, his golden eyes wide, black hair tousled. He couldn’t have been more than eight or nine given his size and budding tusks.

“Shaman,” he said softly, his voice filled with awe, “is it true you can talk to the earth?”

Smiling at him, I knelt down to his level. “In a way. I can feel the earth’s magic, and sometimes, I can help it grow.”

His eyes widened as he clutched to my arm with excitement. “Can you grow me some flowers?”

I chuckled, touched by his fascination. “Would you like to see?”

The boy nodded eagerly, his excitement infectious. I spotted a small plant on a nearby shelf. Bringing it to the boy, I summoned my magic. The green light flowed into the soil, and tiny flower buds emerged, unfurling in vibrant shades of purple and blue.

The boy hugged the pot tightly to his chest as though it held the entire world. “It’s beautiful!”

I smiled softly. “The earth’s magic is everywhere, you just have to listen for it.”

“Can I be a shaman too?”

I laughed, ruffling his hair. “Maybe one day. But for now, you’ve got other things to learn—like how to mind your mother.”

He grinned mischievously and ran back to his mother’s bedside with the flowerpot. Watching his excitement, I felt a quiet kind of hope take root in my chest.

By the time I reached the final bed, the infirmary had grown quieter. A young warrior lay there, his arm tightly bandaged. His body tense with pain, but he managed a faint smile when I approached.

“Shaman,” he greeted me with a tired nod.

I knelt beside him, unwrapping the bandage to reveal the raw, angry wound. “Let me take care of this,” I said gently, placing my hands over the injury.

The magic came easily now, a familiar rhythm that pulsed through my fingertips. I wove it carefully into the wound, pulling the threads of life together until the flesh knitted cleanly. The warrior let out a soft sigh, his muscles relaxing as the pain ebbed.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, pulling my hands away with a soft smile. “You’ll be back to training soon.”

He chuckled faintly. “Good. We have much to prepare for.”

The fires had burned low, casting flickering shadows across the beds. Exhaustion tugged at me, but it was the kind of exhaustion that came with finding my purpose. These orcs were becoming my people.