Of Blood And Shadows

Chapter Seven

ORAYON

Orayon was dreaming again. The same nightmare that had haunted him every night since he turned seventeen. The smell of burning wood filled his nostrils, and the sound of panicked screams echoed in his ears. He ran through the smoke, his hands trembling as he reached out—only to watch them slip through his fingers, like sand blown away by a violent wind. The faces of those he loved, twisted in terror. He couldn't save them. He couldn't save himself.

The fire swallowed everything.

He woke with a start, heart pounding, drenched in sweat. For a moment, he was disoriented, his breathing heavy as he blinked at the cold stone walls of his quarters. The room was dark, the only light seeping in from the sliver of dawn through the small window.

Sitting up, Orayon rubbed his face with both hands, trying to push the memories away, but they clung to him like a second skin.

There was no peace—not in his dreams, not in his waking hours.

He couldn't afford to be distracted today. Too much had already gone wrong with the breach. The kingdom was on edge, and the war wasn't waiting for anyone to gather their wits. He had work to do.

Orayon swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the cold stone floor chilling his bare feet. His thoughts shifted to the girl—Princess Ondina. He had seen her by the pond earlier, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability that was rare in this world. There was more to her than met the eye.

He rose from his cot, dressed quickly, and strapped on his armor. There were still reinforcements needed at the breach site, and that was only part of today's responsibilities. The war council had been abuzz with rumors of a planned attack—something to strike back at the witches. But Orayon had his doubts about the effectiveness of such a move. Still, the king's council was pressing forward, and Orayon had his orders.

He glanced at his reflection in the small mirror. Dark circles hung under his eyes. He had to pull himself together. He had no choice.

By the time he reached the palace for breakfast, the sun had risen fully, casting a golden hue over the kingdom. His arrival was met with nods from the guards stationed outside. Orayon took his seat at the long table, where the king, Ondina, and a few of the high-ranking officials were already seated.

It was silent. Uncomfortably silent.

Orayon kept his eyes on his plate, barely touching the food in front of him. He wasn't used to such awkward settings, especially when they involved the king's presence. The king's gaze, however, was firmly fixed on Ondina, watching her every move with a curiosity that made Orayon's skin crawl. If Ondina noticed, she didn't care.

Ondina was a puzzle. Orayon had felt it since their first encounter. Something about her didn't add up, though the scent of her blood, her very essence, screamed of royal lineage. He pushed his suspicions down, convincing himself that whatever lie she had told before didn't matter.

When she stood abruptly, leaving her barely touched meal behind, Orayon couldn't help but watch her leave. The silence that followed her departure was suffocating, but the king made no attempt to stop her. Instead, he smiled—a slow, knowing grin that only deepened Orayon's unease.

After a long, tense moment, the king turned to him. "Orayon, I want you to take Ondina to the village today. Check on the wounded, and make sure they are well taken care of."

Orayon frowned. "Ondina? To the village?"

"Yes," the king said, his tone final. "She needs to see what's at stake here. Besides, it will be good for morale if she's seen aiding the people. We need to show that she's part of this war—our savior." The king's smile widened, and Orayon felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

There was something more to the king's request, but Orayon wasn't about to question it. "Very well, Your Majesty," he replied, rising to leave.

"Oh, and Orayon," the king added as Orayon reached the door, "don't lose her."

The words, though delivered lightly, held a darker weight to them. Orayon nodded stiffly and left.

After checking in at the breach site, where the guards were reinforcing the broken barrier, Orayon found himself lost in thought. The breach had been sealed, but they all knew it was temporary. The witches wouldn't stop there, and he suspected the next attack would be more calculated, more deadly. He gave orders to his men, but his mind drifted.

Dasha was there, overseeing the soldiers. She was as efficient as ever, but when Orayon ordered a squad to the far side of the wall, Dasha hesitated, a flicker of defiance crossing her face.

"Wouldn't it be better to strengthen the central post first?" she suggested, her voice steady but firm.

Orayon clenched his jaw. It wasn't the first time Dasha had questioned his orders, and though he trusted her instincts, the small challenges were starting to wear on him. Everyone knew Dasha was stronger than him in many ways. Hell, many believed she should be leading the battalion instead of him. But Dasha didn't want that role. She never did.

"Do as I say," Orayon replied, his tone harder than intended.

For a moment, Dasha held his gaze, and then, with a nod, she turned and began directing the men. Orayon exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

Later, Orayon sent Dasha to fetch Ondina. He couldn't help but feel relieved that he didn't have to face her again right away. His head was still spinning from the king's strange behavior and the nightmares that clung to him like a shadow.

As he walked through the village, the sound of children playing and laughing echoed through the streets. For a moment, it was as if nothing terrible had happened the day before. A girl was playfully screaming at a boy who had taken something from her, half-laughing as she gave chase. The carefree scene should have brought Orayon a sense of peace, but instead, it triggered something in him

The screams—the blood—the smell of smoke. It all felt too real.

His heart began to race, his vision narrowing as the familiar panic rose in his chest. His breathing hitched, coming in short gasps as he stumbled, gripping the edge of a nearby stall for support. His world spun, the laughter of the children distorting into the horrifying echoes of his nightmare. The faces of those he couldn't save flashed before his eyes. His hands shook uncontrollably.

Breathe. Just breathe.

But he couldn't.

A hand gripped his shoulder, snapping him back to the present. He turned abruptly, his sword drawn in an instant.

"Hey! It's just me—calm the fuck down!" Ondina's sharp voice cut through the fog, her black eyes locked onto his with concern. "You looked like something was wrong. I was just checking to see if you were okay."

"Did I ask you to?" Orayon snapped, his voice harsher than he intended. His eyes narrowed at her, the residual panic still simmering just below the surface. Without waiting for her response, he stormed past her toward the village fountain, his hands still trembling. He needed to pull himself together.