In a place far away, far from the academy's walls, far from its marble corridors and lectures, there was a desert with no end.
It was not an ordinary desert. It was a desert of black sand, where the wind howled like hungry wolves, and where the sand moved like living creatures under the weight of endless sandstorms. The sun hid behind thick layers of dust, making daytime there feel like an eternal twilight. The black sand absorbed light instead of reflecting it, making the scene gloomy, desolate, as if the earth itself refused life.
In the middle of this desert, a man was walking.
He was tall, slender, wearing a tattered black cloak that covered his entire body, and a hood of the same fabric covered his head and face, leaving only a small opening for his eyes. His eyes were not ordinary – they were yellow, like those of a hungry hawk, gleaming in the darkness as if emitting a faint light from within.
The wind lashed at him, and the black sand swirled around him, but he did not stop. He did not slow his pace. He did not raise his hand to protect his face. He walked like one accustomed to these conditions, like one who had known this desert since birth. His steps were steady, confident, as if he knew exactly where he was heading.
Behind him, on the distant horizon, the remnants of an ancient city could be seen buried under the sand. Broken towers, collapsed walls, shattered statues staring at the sky with empty eyes. The man did not turn to look at them. He knew what was there. Perhaps he knew more than he should.
After hours of walking, something appeared on the horizon. It was not a hill, nor sand dunes. It was something made by human hands.
A hut of black stone.
The hut was small, low, almost disappearing between the black sand dunes. It had no windows, only a single door made of dark, ancient wood, decorated with strange drawings that resembled letters but were not. The drawings twisted strangely, as if telling a story, or perhaps a warning.
The man approached the door and raised his hand to knock, but he paused for a moment. He looked around, as if making sure he hadn't been followed. Then he knocked three spaced knocks.
Knock... knock... knock.
From inside the hut, a rustling sound was heard, then the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the door. The door opened slowly, revealing the face of an orc.
The orc was massive, his body like a mountain, his skin dark green tending toward black. His lower tusks protruded from his lower jaw, and his small red eyes stared at the man cautiously. He wore a worn leather armor, and in his hand was a short rusty sword. It was clear he didn't trust the man, but he also feared him.
The orc looked at the man, then gestured with his head toward the inside. The man entered without a word.
Inside the hut, the atmosphere was different. It was cooler, more humid, as if the stones retained the night's cold despite the day's heat. In the center, there was another orc sitting on a chair carved from black stone, his arms resting on the armrests, his eyes fixed on the arriving man. This orc was larger than the first, his tusks longer, and a deep scar ran from his forehead to his chin. His body was covered with old scars, a testament to many battles fought. His eyes were intelligent, sharp, watching every movement of the man.
In the corner of the hut, there was a third orc bound in chains. He was kneeling on the ground, his hands tied behind his back, and a heavy chain wrapped around his neck connected to an iron ring fixed in the ground. His body was covered in bruises and wounds, and his eyes stared at the entering man with fear and suspicion. His clothes were torn, and there were clear signs of torture on his body. Dried blood covered the corners of his mouth.
A heavy silence filled the place. It was not an ordinary silence, but a silence that weighed like lead, a silence choked with questions that had not yet been asked.
Then the bound orc spoke. His voice was rough, tired, but carried a tone of deep anger – the anger of a man betrayed by those closest to him.
"Is this the person you commanded?"
He looked at the orc sitting on the stone chair.
"Did you conspire with a human? Did you betray your own kind?"
His words came out with difficulty, as if each word cost him great effort. His eyes burned with accusation, and the chains made a faint sound whenever he tried to move.
The seated orc said nothing. He did not move a muscle. His eyes were fixed on the arriving man, as if waiting for something. He didn't even look at the bound orc. He ignored him completely, as if he no longer existed.
The man approached the bound orc. His steps were light, almost inaudible on the stone floor. He stopped before him and looked down at him. His yellow eyes met the bound orc's for a moment, then he turned to the seated orc and said in a calm, cold voice, like ice:
"Well done."
He didn't wait for a reply. The seated orc knew he was being praised, but his face did not change. He was like stone.