"A Flame that Fades"

Chapter 7: A Little Bit of You

Azgar's POV

Four months. It's hard to believe it's already been that long. When Freya first came here, it wasn't anything like I expected. Hell, I didn't really know what to expect. She was an outsider, a hostage—someone from another world, really. The kind of person I should probably ignore and keep my distance from, because that's how things work in my world. But then... she's different, isn't she?

I never thought I needed kindness. Never really thought about it, to be honest. It wasn't something that seemed important—not in a life like mine. People come and go, and no one really cares about anyone else. You keep your head down, you survive. Simple. But then, she showed up.

I didn't realize how much I needed kindness, how much I missed it, until she started offering it—so easily, so freely. It's a strange feeling, honestly, like I'm seeing something for the first time. I didn't expect it to matter, but it does. Her patience, her understanding—it's like a steady warmth in the cold, a light that cuts through the fog. It doesn't just make things easier; it makes everything feel... different.

And care. The way she notices the small things. When I'm quiet for too long, when something's bothering me, she's there. She doesn't ask too many questions. She doesn't demand explanations. She just sees me. That's not something I'm used to. I didn't think I'd miss it, but now that it's here... I don't know how I ever went without it.

I've never had anyone do that for me before. Never had anyone care enough to see me for more than just the orc warrior, the brute. Never had anyone try to understand what makes me tick or why I do the things I do. And I'll admit it, it's unsettling, but also... nice.

These past few months have changed me, and I can't deny it. Not everything about Freya's presence is easy. It's a constant reminder of how I've lived most of my life—hardened, walled off. But it's also a reminder that there's more to life than just surviving. Maybe that's why, despite everything—the tension, the captivity, the unspoken barriers—I find myself wanting to be around her.

I can see it in her eyes, even when she tries to hide it: the uncertainty, the wariness. And I can't blame her for it. I know who I am, what I am. I know the reputation that precedes me, the way people see orcs like me. They don't see the nuance, the layers beneath the brute force, the strength that comes with being an orc. They only see the savage, the weapon, the monster. And I know that Freya's no different—not completely.

She's still growing used to me, to the way I move, the way I speak, the way I exist in this world. I can see the conflict in her—how she wants to trust, but that lingering fear... it's still there, buried just beneath the surface. It's not easy for her to push past that instinct, to unlearn the fear she's been taught. She's had a lifetime of reasons to be afraid of orcs. And even though I've done nothing but show her that I'm not like the stories, not like the ones she's heard, that fear still lingers in her.

It stings. It really does. When I lift my hand, when I make a gesture, when I reach out even with the smallest of intentions... she flinches. It's like a punch to the gut, and I have to swallow it down because I know she doesn't mean it. I know it's not personal. It's just the way she's been conditioned, the way she's been hurt by others before. But it doesn't make it any less painful.

It's a reminder of how far apart we still are, of the walls she's built up, even if she's starting to let some of them down around me.

I try not to let it get to me, but sometimes it's hard. I see the way she tenses when I get too close, when I move too fast. And I can't help but wonder how long it'll take before she starts to believe I'm not going to hurt her, before she starts to feel safe. I wish I could hurry it up, but I know that's not how it works. Trust doesn't just appear. It takes time.