Sitting by the window sill, Raneria watched as the calm waves lapped around the Harbor. She dreamed of reaching out and grabbing the cold water within her hands. Swimming and basking in the peaceful currents with no one to interrupt her ecstasy.

With the sun high in the sky, cool winds blowing from the ocean, and the ever-present smell of sea salt, she could almost see it happening. Whether she sailed on a ship or danced on the surface of the endless waters, it all came to her so vividly. It brought a long-forgotten emotion she dared not indulge. Joy, something she chose to hide within the deepest recesses of her soul with her innocence and naivety.

That was the fate of hostages, political or otherwise. And she, luck betraying her trust, was left with the worst of captures. Human highborn, nobles as they often called themselves. Barely more than pigs with three layers of white powder to hide their tanned skin and a wig. And how they loved the uselessly complicated cloth they’ve come to call lace. A hundred and one strings meant to be removed and tied back on every single time.

Her shoulders drooped, hands clenched at the billowing dress she was forced to wear. Tight and uncomfortable, worse than anything she could have worn. What was she meant to do if attacked, use her face to fight back? Or hope the endless numbers of strings would block an actual sword. The thought of it made her shiver, but she knew it was pointless to speculate.

She was valuable to the Humans as she was. A hostage to prevent the horde from overrunning their petty, inner squabble filled, inadequate kingdom. A kingdom built on their ancestral grounds. Orcs were not meant to wander the plains, they were destined to the mountains and forests and seas! The most exhilarating landscapes were meant for them to explore and conquer.

An old voice gasped, startling Raneria.

She swiveled in her seat to see what had happened. She found her only friend, an old hag that chose to follow her into the human lands. Her only friend in a coastal city filled with enemies.

Getting up, she felt the dress tighten around her waist but ignored it. She rushed to the old woman’s side and held her shaking hands.

“Grega? Grega? Are you okay?”

Grega’s eyes were wide open, green skin becoming a pale tint.

Raneria knew what that represented. She felt a cold dread down her body as she imagined what could possibly bring fear into the aged hag. The thing had lived long enough to remember the last giants and a time before the humans arrived. She had witnessed more than any other could dream of in a lifetime.

“He’s here,” Grega whispered, her voice hurt the ears but Raneria was used to it by now.

“Who's here, Grega? You’re scaring me.”

“One born in mana, soaked in blood. A sleeping dragon who wakes only to bring forth annihilation. Death walking among the living…Why is he here? What brings him to these lands?”

The hag began to babble incoherently after those cryptic words. Everything she said made little sense to Raneria, but she would be a fool to disregard them. Someone powerful enough to almost kill the old woman with presence alone is a person she hoped to never encounter.

Just as she was about to get back to her seat next to the window, Grega grabbed her arm. Her nails dug deep and grip stronger than any woman that old had the right to. It frightened Raneria, she had never seen the hag like this.

“Whatever happens, girl, do not stand in deaths path. It is merciless and uncaring. Indifferent to the lives of us mere mortals. And those humans, tell them to tread on careful grounds. If they antagonize him, we are destined to death.”

Her grip slacked as her eyes began to look far off. Raneria took that lull in the conversation to pull away and back to her spot. It hit her hard that the closest thing she had to a companion was an insane woman a hundred folds older than she was.

Sitting with a huff, she looked back out to the waters before the city of Petrous and its harbor. It was then she noticed what she had failed to see before. Ships, an entire fleet of unrecognizable vessels shaped like they were made to carve out mountains.

As they got closer, one stood out the most, a behemoth among the giants that followed. It was covered in ornate runes and reeked of mana that reached even where she sat. She assumed they were pirates because of the black banners and flags they carried, though she could not see enough details to be sure.

Once they were near enough, she could see the flags with certainty, but that only made her that much more confused. On the black flags were both a chimera and an orcish blade. A contradiction if she ever saw one. The blade represented free will in her culture, an indomitable will to be free.

But, from what she knew, the chimera, in the Beastkin Empire, represented overlords above all of their people. A deviance from freedom no self-respecting orc would ever allow. This very difference has caused multiple wars already and even a reason to enslave each other.

As much as she loved her race, as the princess of the second clan, it was her duty to admonish the unorcane acts of stripping the right to choose of another like the third clan had found itself indulged in. To steeply intertwined with their crimes they even began to enslave their own kin-any who found themselves without the backing of one of the three major clans.

That represented almost half of their population too.

Raneria shook her head, she had a habit of digressing down these spiraling paths. Grega always told her she lacked focus.

“Grega,” she called. “There’s a fleet coming towards the Harbor with a chimera and a blade as their flag.”

The hag jumped to her feet like she was in her teens. She ran towards the window, grabbing the bars the humans had set up so she wouldn’t escape and pressed her face on it. It was like she was trying to get a better look regardless of whether that actually helped any.

“Grega! What are you doing? Get away from the bars, they might think we are trying to escape again, forgetting we are up more than fifty stories up in a lonely tower forgotten by everyone.”

“He’s leashed! He is bound to another!” Grega shrieked. She swung away from the window and began to pace around the large and luxurious room impatiently.

After thinking for a while, she turned to stare at Raneria with a jerk of her head. Grega’s eyes burned holes into her, leaving her uncomfortable and feeling lacking and ashamed for some reason.

“Do you want to get away from the soft pink fleshed that hold you captive?”

Caught off guard, it took a few seconds for her to understand what Grega had just said.

“Well…?” Grega said impatiently.

“Y-yes. I want to get a way. I want my freedom and to return to my people.”

“You might not get to return, but you will have freedom. Just get me to him,” she pointed towards the fleet.

Raneria frowned. “Really?” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “Yea, let's fly right out of this tower and glide with the cloudchasers why don't we.”

Grega began to actually think deeply, taking Raneria’s stab like a serious suggestion. “That...is wise. We should leave without having to face any soft pink humans in the city. Let us go then.”

The old hag walked up to the bars. With a wave, they exploded outwards and down into the city. Greg stepped onto the opening like she was getting ready to jump out.

Raneria was left dumbstruck. “Wait! Wait! Hold it right there, Grega! Since when could you do that?!”

Grega looked back at her like she was stupid. Raised eyebrow and everything. “I’ve lived hundreds of years, do you think I was sitting on my bum like some foolish orc I know?”

Raneria winced at the effective jab. What was she supposed to say to that? All she could do was whisper.

“But why didn’t you help?”

Sighing with exasperation, the old woman turned back towards the window. “You want me to hold your hand with everything you do? How are you supposed to grow as an orc? You’d be nothing better than those highborn human idiots of this stupid city. Big walls with no brains. Now, are you coming or am I going by myself?”

“Alright, alright! I’ll come!”

Raneria jumped up from her seat and stood next to the old hag. She looked down but quickly took a step back. She felt dizzy just looking down.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Grega only grunted and waved her hands.

With a gust of wind and Raneria’s high pitched scream, they soared in the sky towards the cliffs to wait for the most opportune moment to get to the fleet without being shot down immediately.