The unknown: orb world

chapter 5: the ones who moves first

The forest whispered"

Twisted trees loomed like ancient, horned sentinels. Among them stood a single, eerie monolith of wood—bark warped and gnarled, older than memory. Beneath its crooked shadow, Bjorn stood still, staring up at it as if it were watching him too.

> "If no one else will choose it… I will."

His hand reached out and pressed against its scarred surface. It was cold, coarse, and... familiar in a way nothing else in this world was.

From the shadows behind him, something shifted.

A low whisper carried on the wind:

> "There he is… let's begin."

---

Far from the cursed tree, in the prideful heart of the forest, tension flared like fire.

Lucius stood tall on a moss-covered stone, his regal frame lit by the fading sun. Around him, the Pride faction boiled with argument. Raised voices, clenched fists, seething glares.

> "We won't follow your orders anymore!" one member barked.

Lucius didn't flinch. He only looked down upon them, expression unreadable, eyes colder than the shade around him.

> "One king is enough," he said, voice smooth but final.

Two men pushed through the crowd. Their eyes burned not with obedience, but rebellion.

> "Then we'll build a new 'Pride' of our own," one snapped.

Lucius didn't respond.

But something inside the Pride faction cracked that day. And pride, once unshakable, began to fracture.

---

Elsewhere, deep within a shadowed tent, fire danced.

The Wrath leader sat hunched near the flame. His silhouette was broad and still, like a volcano before eruption. Around him, four underlings knelt in disciplined silence.

> "Bjorn… that cursed loner," the leader murmured, eyes reflecting firelight.

He raised a single finger, and the flame twisted unnaturally—as if anger itself obeyed him.

> "Test him," he said calmly. "See if he truly holds Wrath's fire."

None dared question. One man nodded slowly.

> "Understood."

---

Branches crackled. Leaves trembled. On a path not far from Bjorn, Aira walked alone.

Her arms were crossed, steps small and wary. Her head stayed low, like prey aware of the hunt.

Then they came—sliding from the trees like serpents. Lust faction.

> "Hey, little Sloth girl…" one cooed. His voice was thick with mockery.

She didn't answer. Her pace slowed.

Another stepped forward, yanking her hair sharply.

> "Slow girls need excitement."

Aira froze. Her heart pounded. Muscles locked.

But then something primal sparked behind her eyes.

She gripped a broken branch from the ground—sharp, jagged—and drove it backward.

A scream. Blood sprayed.

> "Shit!" one of them cursed as his comrade fell.

Aira bolted. Branches whipped her face. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Tears blurred her vision.

She dove behind a thick tree trunk, chest heaving. But her eyes—those had changed.

From fear… into fury.

> "Next time," she whispered, "I won't run."

---

The cursed glade was quiet again, save for the rhythmic snap of branches.

Bjorn worked silently, cutting lengths of wood. He was building something—something only he understood. Something no faction would help him survive.

A rustle behind him.

He didn't turn. He only tensed, eyes narrowing.

> "They came…"

Six men emerged from the woods—grim, armored in makeshift gear. Wrath emissaries.

> "Bjorn!" one called mockingly. "A gift from our leader!"

Bjorn said nothing. He dropped the knife he'd been using.

His fists clenched.

> "Come at me," he said lowly.

---

They obeyed.

The first blow struck his jaw. Blood sprayed—but he didn't flinch.

He moved like a storm. One man was hurled into a tree. Bones snapped. Another stabbed him in the side—Bjorn roared, grabbing the attacker's head and slamming it into his own. Skull met skull. Blood splashed across the undergrowth.

His eyes gleamed with something no longer human.

> "Pain... is fuel."

---

When it was over, the glade was soaked in red.

The bodies lay broken, twitching or still. Groans echoed. One of them crawled weakly, trying to flee.

Bjorn stomped down on his hand.

The man shrieked.

Bjorn's face was bathed in blood, but his voice came quietly, like an executioner's lullaby.

> "Tell your leader… it wasn't enough."

Far off, watching from her room, the old witch on a chair.

A smirk danced on her lips.

> "Now it's getting interesting."

---

To be continued…