It was a young night, and he didn’t have anything else to do, so in the time, he decided to spend the night at a bar. He wasn’t someone who drank a lot, quite the opposite, he had never tasted alcohol, because he was a minor, and no one had wanted to give it to him before.

But he was sixteen now.

And yet he still didn’t have any interest in drinking. He saw no benefit in doing so; maybe that was why. His way of thinking just wasn’t one to allow him to do things like this; it wasn’t one to let him do this so easily.

So in the end, he just found himself standing at the counter, with a glass of water in his hand, watching as the bartender worked with all his might.

“Do people really like alcohol that much around this place?” It was busier than most he had seen, and not to mention that they were going to be attacked in three days. It was so strange how they can he so happy.

The bartender chuckled as he heard him, which made Aether realize he had been talking out loud.

The beast human who stood before Aether was an old one.

Not weak, no. Time had bent his back only slightly, and silver had crept through the fur around his jaw, but there was still enough weight in his shoulders to make the younger guards stand straighter when he passed.

Aether watched the man with interest.

One of his ears had been torn nearly in half, and a scar crossed over his nose like a blade had once tried to split his face open.

He had to have been a fighter before this; there was no way for him to have gotten it, or at least, it would be boring if it were just another bar fight injury.

He looked at Aether for a long moment before speaking.

“You humans always ask the wrong question first.”

Aether rolled his eyes, resting his elbow against the counter and letting his cheek fall into his hand. “And what question should I ask?”

The beast-human continued to make drinks, not always looking at him, but continuing to talk to him.

“For you, shouldn’t being how many orcs will come be more important?”

His voice dropped lower.

“You’re rather what happened last time it happened?”

Aether’s eyes widened as he realized what he was implying: the cut on his ear, it must have been caused by an orc, meaning this wasn’t the first time they tried attacking the civilization, and the last time they did, they failed.

…

Aether said nothing, letting the man continue, and not batting an eye at anything around him.

The old warrior raised one clawed hand, pointing to a window with a view of the forest.

“When they march, you hear them before you see them. Branches snapping. Earth shaking. Breath like bulls in winter. Because of their green skin, they can camouflage better than you would expect. Plus, while goblins are quite stupid, Orcs, on the other hand, are highly intelligent.

He chuckled, even if what he was saying was in no way funny, or at least to Aether. This information could have helped a lot, and he acted like it was nothing.

“And then they step out, oh, and you would be terrified to see them, I remember just how many of us feel the first time we saw them.”

…

“Massive things, one of the bigger species of monsters in this forest. Green skin thick as bark, you needed a powerful blade to even cut through it, and then you got to the next layer. Muscles piled on muscles, like their bodies were carved only for war. If the skin was bad, then this was a lot worse.

Arms thicker than your waist. Necks like tree trunks. Some carry axes taller than men. Some carry nothing at all, because their hands are enough. If they grab hold of your head, they could crush your skull with one hand; that is just how frightening they are.

He tapped his own chest, with a big of disgust in his voice, almost like he had suddenly remembered a bad memory.

“And many wear trophies.”

Aether frowned. Way before the old beast told him what the trophy was, he had a good idea of what it could be.

The beast’s human eyes darkened.

“Fingers.”

He let the word sit there, almost as if he had talked for too long; those who have died and lost their fingers to the orcs would be forgotten. It was a terrifying thing to watch someone close to you die and witness their finger being cut off to be worn as a trophy.

“They cut them from those they kill and wrap them in a cord around their chests. Rows of them. Small fingers, thick fingers, claws, paws, even tusked hands from boar kin. They rattle when they run, almost like the screams of those they killed. They loved hearing the sound of their victims’ cries; it was the thing they loved most. Pain, dread, sorrow. It’s what they feast on.”

…

Aether stared toward the forest again before looking at his hands, specifically his fingers.

“Why fingers?”

The warrior gave a humorless laugh, but one that felt rather fake, almost to try to lighten up the mood, even if he knew it was useless.

“So the dead can keep counting how many failed, in their eyes it’s a pleasure to show around how many they have taken the life of… and it doesn’t matter who it is that they kill. They could be humans, elves, beast humans, and of any age, even children; they have no limit, no remorse. They truly are wicked.”

…

For a moment, only the wind moved.

Then the old beast human exhaled through his nose.

“We handled one attack before. Years ago.” He said, leaning close to Aether, as he laid down a small glass on the counter, and started playing with it.

His gaze drifted somewhere far away.

“They came at moonrise. Forty, maybe fifty, it was hard to count when you are fighting for your life. We thought that was all. We celebrated too early.”

His jaw tightened.

“The first line met them outside the gate. And what was left behind was a battlefield of shields and spears broken without any hope of winning. I saw one orc grab my captain by the head and throw him hard enough to break the man behind him, too. That was just how strong they were; that anything they throw becomes powerful enough to shatter every bone in your body and kill you on contact.”

He flexed his hand unconsciously.

“We won because they got greedy. They broke formation trying to chase the fleeing, wanting to collect more fingers; it was almost like they were rewarded the more fingers they collected. Our archers lit the oil trenches, and fire split their charge in two, making it a lot easier for us to handle them. True, it was still not easy, but the difference was obvious.”

He touched the scar on his nose.

“I killed one in the flames. And yet, even when burning alive, when its skin blackened and peeled off, it still tried to fight as if nothing had happened. It even smiled, almost as if the only thing he was at that moment was blood. The only thing guiding him was the desire to kill, to make others shed blood until the whole forest was drenched in a pool of blood.”

…

He stepped and leaned to Aether now.

“So listen carefully, Aether, that was your name, right? My memory has gotten quite bad recently.”

His eyes were sharp enough to cut.

“Since you’re going to have to fight alongside our army, keep this in mind: if one reaches you, do not trade strength with it. Do not lock weapons. Do not let pride make decisions.”

He pointed to the forest once more.

“Run. Cut tendons. Blind eyes. Bleed them slowly, never, and I mean never try fighting them head on, the only thing you can do is fight like a coward, hit and run. The moment you try to fight as one of its equals, you’re dead.”

Then he bared his teeth.

“Because if you fight an orc like a hero…”

…

“You will die like one.”

…

…

…

As the night ended, Aether left the bar, his mind full of thoughts.

Three days, that was how long they had to prepare for this. It made him wonder, had they done enough to fight these kinds of monsters, was he strong enough to even try to fight one? But at the same time, if he couldn’t, then how could he ever think that he would be able to help the Tides in their war?

It didn’t matter how strong the orcs were, and it didn’t matter if fighting them head-on would probably kill him.

He wasn’t going to run away like a coward.

Even if they cut his fingers off and wore them in front of him.

He was still going to fight.

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