Volk stared at the glowing notification in front of him, the words burning into his mind:

| All the elves are safe in the Orzaroth Realm. |

For a moment, he exhaled a sigh of relief, his tense muscles relaxing slightly. But then, an uneasy realization struck him like a bolt of lightning.

His breath caught in his throat, and his heart began to race.

“If they’re in the Orzaroth Realm… and the system was really telling me that…” he muttered, feeling a sudden chill, “Does that mean… we’re not?”

The enormity of the situation weighed down on him, his mind racing with questions. His hand tightened around the handle of his axe as his eyes scanned the dark, unfamiliar surroundings.

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The caverns that once felt like a battleground now seemed like the maw of a beast that had swallowed them whole.

Without warning, Volk turned toward the older generation of Dreadmaw Clan Orcs, his voice laced with confusion and desperation.

“Are we really in a new realm? Just like that? How did we even get here?”

The older Orcs exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting the flickering torchlight as if weighing whether to tell him the full truth.

One of them, a scarred and battle-worn Orc named Grurgan, finally stepped forward, his voice a gravelly rumble. “Aye, young Orc. We are in a new realm. This is how it’s always been, lad.”

Volk’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean ‘always been’?”

Grurgan grunted, looking around at the younger Orcs who had gathered, curious and equally unsettled by their current predicament.

He began speaking slowly, as though explaining to children.

“This catacomb… it’s not just a shelter, nor just some lair where beasts come to fight. No, this catacomb is a conduit—a portal to other realms. But not all catacombs are created equal.

“You see, depending on the catacomb’s level, it determines where we’ll end up. Low-level catacombs, like the one we’re in now, send us to lower-level realms.”

Another elder Orc, an ancient figure named Morulk, chimed in, his voice raspy from age.

“It’s true. Our ancestors once used catacombs to escape the Warlocks and the Dark Elven Witches, traveling between realms like the wind. But that was long ago. The warlocks and witches began hunting us down, trying to control the catacombs for their own purposes.”

Volk blinked, trying to comprehend the gravity of what they were saying. “So… we’re stuck here?”

Morulk’s sunken eyes gleamed in the dim light as he shook his head. “Not stuck. Trapped. Until we become strong enough or find another way out, we are bound to this catacomb.”

Volk’s mouth went dry. His mind reeled with the implications. “The Dark Elven Witch—Urza’lin—she went with the elves… with my wife! She took all the elves with her! What does that mean?”

A murmur rippled through the crowd of Orcs, the gravity of his words sinking in. Grurgan’s expression darkened as he stroked his chin.

“If she went with the elves, then that means they’ve been sent to a random realm—separate from us. I don’t know what realm but it’s absolutely another realm, and we… we’ve been sent to another.”

Volk clenched his fists, his muscles tensing with a sudden, overwhelming desire to find them. “Then we need to leave. We need to find them and bring them back.”

But before he could continue, a ripple of laughter broke through the gathered crowd of Orcs.

Gurhahahaah!

Garhahahhaha!

Grahahahaha!

It started low, with a few chuckles, but soon grew into full-blown belly laughs. Orcs from all clans—Dreadmaw, Bloodfang, Ironhide, and others—joined in, their deep voices echoing off the walls of the cavern.

Volk turned toward them, his expression filled with frustration and confusion. “What’s so funny?”

One of the Bloodfang Clan Orcs, a hulking brute with massive tusks, slapped his thigh, barely able to contain his amusement.

“You think it’s that simple? Just ‘find them’? Just walk out of here like it’s a stroll in the woods?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Another Orc, this one from the Ironhide Clan, chimed in, his voice booming. “You’re dreaming, young Orc! It’s not that easy to travel between realms, especially for Orcs like us!”

Volk glared at them, his rage boiling beneath the surface. “And what do you suggest we do? Stay here forever?”

Before anyone could answer, an older Dreadmaw Clan Orc, his skin weathered and his eyes filled with a strange wisdom, stepped forward.

This was Ghurn, one of the elders who had seen more battles than most Orcs could dream of. His voice was calm, yet carried the weight of authority.

“Young Orc,” Ghurn began, his gaze steady and unflinching, “you did well securing the crystal and saving us from that witch. You showed strength and wisdom beyond your years. But now, you must face reality.”

Volk’s jaw tightened. “And what reality is that?”

Ghurn’s expression softened, almost sympathetic. “We are no longer the Orcs we once were. We’ve been changed, transformed by this catacomb and this realm. We’re now considered catacomb monsters.”

Volk’s eyes widened in disbelief. “catacomb monsters? What does that even mean?”

Ghurn let out a deep sigh, looking around at the other Orcs.

“It means that we are bound to this catacomb, just like any other creature born within it. We are part of the ecosystem now. Our only hope is to grow stronger, to kill enough of the aboriginals in this realm, and maybe, just maybe, we will be accepted by the realm the catacomb was sent to and we’ll find a way out.”

Volk’s hands trembled with barely contained rage. “So that’s it? We just fight and kill until we’re strong enough to leave?”

The elder Orc smiled grimly. “That’s all. That’s the way of the catacomb. It’s a brutal world, but it’s the only way forward.”

The other Orcs, younger and older alike, began to laugh again, their deep, guttural voices filling the cavern.

Some slapped their knees, others slapped each other on the back, all finding humor in the absurdity of their situation.

One of the younger Orcs from the Ironhide Clan, his face still fresh with the fire of battle, grinned at Volk. “You think you’re special because you killed a few elves and a witch? We’ve all been fighting since we were whelps. This is just another realm, another battlefield. Get used to it.”

Volk’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the sea of grinning faces around him.

Despite their words, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeper was at play.

He knew their laughter was just a defense against the hopelessness that threatened to consume their minds.

And yet, deep down, Volk knew he couldn’t give in to despair.

He had to find a way to reach his wife and the others.

The thought of Solluha’r trapped in some random realm, possibly in danger, gnawed at his very soul. He would not let this be the end.

As the laughter died down, Volk stood taller, his eyes burning with desire to get out.

“Laugh all you want,” he said, his voice low and steady. “But I’m not giving up. I’m going to find them. I’m going to find my wife, and I’m going to bring her back.”

The cavern fell silent, the echoes of the Orcs’ laughter fading into the darkness.

They all stared at Volk, some with amusement, others with curiosity.

Ghurn chuckled softly, stepping forward and placing a hand on Volk’s shoulder.

“Aye, lad. I’ve seen that look before. You’re not the first Orc to face impossible odds… but maybe, just maybe, you’ll be the one to break them,” and then he would laugh out loud again, “hahahahaha!”

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