Page 5

V rok

“I'm disappointed in you, Vrok.”

Chief Daggir’s solemn gaze meets mine, and his voice carries the weight of judgment.

My jaw tightens as I stand before him in the dimly lit, abandoned hut that will serve as my prison. My hands are bound with chains, and the sharp bite of it cuts into my wrists. But the ache is nothing compared to the anger boiling in my chest.

“Disappointed in me?” I bite out, struggling to keep my tone even. “I’ve done nothing to warrant your disappointment, Daggir.”

For a moment, he is silent. The only sounds are the faint rustling of the wind outside and the shifting of the warriors who flank him—Draggar, Sorrin, Vrenner. We’ve trained together and fought beside each other. A long time ago, when we were very young kitlings, I thought of them as friends.

That was before everything changed, and before my father began to hunger for power.

Before he declared himself the tribe’s seer, an ancient title no one had claimed since long before our people fled to this planet after the Great Plague that stole our females. No one challenged him, not truly.

After that, he decided I had no time for friendships. Only training.

Everything changed again when whispers of suspicion began to follow him. His unexplained absences from the tribe, his open defiance of the chief, and his blatant hunger to be in charge all fed the rumors. That was when I learned what the other males in the tribe really thought of me.

In their eyes, I was guilty, too, and suspicion stuck to me like a second skin.

“You’ve done nothing to clear your name, either,” Daggir replies. His words are soft, but the edge in them slices deeper than any blade ever could. “Your father’s actions cast a long shadow. Many in the tribe believe you share his loyalties. What am I to think?”

“You’re to think that I’m not my father,” I snap, glaring at him. “I’ve earned my place in this tribe as a warrior. I’ve fought for it?—”

“And yet your father has not been seen all day. Where is Jaran?”

The words land like a punch to the gut.

Daggir watches me closely, waiting and measuring my reaction. I force my expression to remain impassive, but my hands clench involuntarily.

“Where is he, Vrok?” Draggar’s voice is low, but there’s no mistaking the edge beneath it. “Has he gone to them?”

I say nothing, because the truth is, I don’t know.

Daggir exhales deeply as if he has the weight of Laedirissae on his shoulders. The light from the Sister Moons casts deep shadows across his face, making him look older, more worn.

He meets my gaze, and I can’t look away no matter how much I want to. “The Pugj grow bolder by the day, and the Tussoll, once our allies, have joined with them. Trust is a fragile thing among our people. I cannot risk even the suspicion of betrayal. You should know that.”

I want to shout, to rip the chains from my wrists and tear down the walls of this hut. Instead, I stay rooted to the spot. My pride binds me as tightly as the chains around me.

“So, you lock me away? That’s your solution?” I demand.

Daggir doesn’t answer. Instead, he signals to the warriors beside him. Sorrin and Vrenner step forward, their faces set with grim determination. I don’t resist when they push me farther into the hut and add more chains, this time around my ankles, but I catch a flicker of hesitation in their eyes.

The door slams shut, the clang of it echoing in my ears. Then, they’re gone and I’m alone. Always alone. Despite my father and my place in the tribe.

The hut smells of dampness and stale air. A single small window lets in a faint trickle of moonslight, casting a pale line across the stone floor. The rest of the space is cloaked in shadows, thick and heavy, pressing in from every corner.

Perhaps, it’s fitting.

After all, many in the tribe believe I carry darkness inside my spirit. And tonight, I wonder if they might be right.

Sinking down onto the cold stone floor, I lean back against the rough wall and close my eyes, letting the darkness wrap around me. My wrists throb where the chains are tight on my skin, but the pain is nothing compared to the thoughts swirling through my mind.

My honor. My name. My place among my people. All of it is tainted by my father’s betrayal.

The thought of him stirs a bitter storm inside me. He wasn’t always the traitor they whisper about now. Once, he was a proud warrior, a male I admired. I still remember standing in front of him as a tiny kitling, gazing up in awe at his tall, formidable figure.

But somewhere along the way, something inside him soured.

He began speaking of the tribe’s failures, of how he was owed more.

Was destined for more. His bitterness grew, feeding on itself, warping his once-proud spirit into something sharp and hungry.

And he no longer spoke of honor as loyalty to the tribe, but loyalty to him .

Your first allegiance is to me, he told me more than once, his grip on my shoulder like the cold claws of an anuroi digging into my flesh.

Then, not long ago, he began to disappear for short periods of time.

I tried to ignore the doubts that grew inside me, but I couldn’t keep them at bay. So, I followed him, and what I saw that night has haunted me.

He stood deep in the jungle, cloaked in shadows, and speaking in low, urgent tones with the leader of the Pugj. There was no fight. No raised voice. My father didn’t even reach for his sword. Not when he was face to face with our enemy.

I didn’t want to believe the rumors. I still don’t want to believe them, but I know better.

And now, he’s gone again.

Not just for a short time. Not just slipping away under cover of night.

He’s been missing since before the sun rose, long before I stirred from sleep.

My father is not a male who wakes early anymore, yet his bed was cold when I went to check, and it had obviously not been slept in.

All day, I searched everywhere I could think of, but he was nowhere to be found.

And now, I’m caged in this hut, waiting.

My tribe— my family —has always been everything to me. I have fought beside them, bled beside them, protected them. And yet, when they look at me, they don’t see a warrior. They don’t see me.

They see Jaran’s son.

Maybe this is all that’s left for me.

No matter what I do, no matter how fiercely I fought for them, it hasn’t been enough, and it will never be enough. My father’s shadow stretches too far, swallowing everything in its path, including me. They will never see me as anything other than his son.

Fighting against my fate is pointless. Perhaps, this was always how it would end.

I lean my head back against the cold stone wall, exhaling slowly. The distant sounds of celebration drift through the night air—laughter, the steady beat of drums, the hum of voices woven together in camaraderie. Life continues as if I never existed, and maybe that’s how it should be.

I should be out there, standing among them. Instead, I sit here, alone and discarded like something broken and twisted beyond recognition.

Maybe they see something in me that I refuse to see in myself. A sickness. A rotting of the spirit that festers beneath my skin, twisting into something vile and irredeemable. I cannot see it, but they can. And they were right.

I am a traitor, and I deserve this prison.