Bor'gazak's Arc

Chapter 1 of 4

Bor'gazak planted his axe in the cracked earth and surveyed the ruins. Three stone walls still stood. Enough for a start. He'd claimed this forgotten patch of wasteland because no one else wanted it, and that suited him fine. Here he would rebuild what honor demanded—a clan worth the name. He dragged the heavy shield from his pack and drove it into the ground beside the entrance. The bleached boar skull stared out across the empty training yard, two crossed greatswords gleaming in the sun above it. Let anyone who came see what awaited them. This ground now belonged to warriors, not ghosts. He would fill it with orphans the world had cast aside, and those who survived his training would become the brothers his blood clan had failed to be. But first, the old ways demanded a marker. Bor'gazak hauled stones from the rubble and stacked them into a crude base. He bound the beast skulls he'd carried for three years with leather cord—wolf, bear, sand drake. Each kill had been clean. Each enemy had seen his eyes. He lashed them together into a towering column and planted it in the center of the pit. The totem cast a jagged shadow across the sand. His father's clan had torn down monuments like this when they stopped caring about honor. This one would stand. The first orphan arrived at sunset. A girl, maybe ten winters, with a knife wound still bleeding through her tunic. She stared at the skull-crowned entrance and didn't run. Bor'gazak pointed to the meal hut beside the training pit. "Eat. Sleep. Tomorrow we see if you're worth keeping." She nodded once and limped inside. One recruit. The beginning of something that wouldn't rot from within.