The awakening ceremony ended swiftly after the Chieftain's declaration. The young warriors were dismissed to prepare for the night's festivities. A night of passion and revelry, a night to celebrate their new status as warriors.
It was not just a simple celebration.
Due to the awakening, their bodies were overloaded with unrefined mana. If left unchecked, this excess energy could cause them to overheat, leading to fever, delirium, and in severe cases, spontaneous combustion—a messy and undignified end for a newly forged warrior.
The village had a solution for this. A tradition as old as their settlement within the mountain.
The coupling.
A physical act that, for their kind, was more than just procreation or pleasure. It was a transfer, a balancing of energies. The females, having already matured and learned to control their own mana, could absorb the chaotic energy of the newly awakened males.
Through the intimacy of the act, they provided an outlet, a safe channel for the raging power to be grounded and refined. It was a symbiotic ritual, essential for the young warriors' survival and for the community's stability.
The pleasure was also another factor.
As a race, Orcs care about two things.
Strength and mating. It is in their blood. Their instinct. Their entire existence revolves around these two concepts.
As for the newly awakened warriors, their bodies are at their peak, their senses heightened, their hormones raging. The need to mate is a primal urge, a fire that burns hotter than any other.
Valkar, however, had other plans. He did not join the other young orcs as they boasted and bragged about their new strength and their plans for the night. Instead, he slipped away from the crowd and made his way to the far side of the cavern, to a smaller, more secluded cluster of huts.
The path narrowed between the rough-hewn stone walls, the torchlight from the main cavern fading behind him. Valkar's amber eyes adjusted quickly to the dimmer glow of the scattered crystal lamps, their pale light reflecting off the jagged walls that marked this quieter section of their mountain home. Here, the celebrations sounded distant, muffled—more like the rumble of a far-off rockslide than the raucous chaos he'd left behind.
It was a relief, after the intensity of the awakening, the constant hum of attention. He needed a moment, just a brief one, to be alone, to breathe. To collect himself before the night ahead.
The awakening had changed something fundamental inside him, like his blood had turned to molten iron. Every step felt too light, every breath too sharp. His skin prickled with an energy that demanded release.
But not like the others would. Not in some frenzied coupling with whichever female happened to catch his eye in the breeding halls.
He was different.
Valkar rounded the corner and stopped before a hut smaller than most, its entrance covered by a tattered hide curtain. Smoke trickled from a gap in the stones above, carrying the scent of roasting meat and something else—herbs, bitter and medicinal.
He pushed the curtain aside without announcing himself.
Inside, an older, more mature female orc sat cross-legged by a low fire, grinding something in a stone mortar. Her skin had deepened to a rich forest green with age, and scars crisscrossed her thick arms like a map of old battles. She didn't look up.
"Wondered when you'd show, cub."
Her voice was deep, her tone even, as if she'd been expecting him.
Valkar's nostrils flared. The room smelled like her. Like home.
"Valkar is no cub," he said, stepping forward. "Valkar is a warrior orc now!"
"Hehe." She let out a soft, amused grunt. "Valkar will always be a cub."
Valkar's jaw tightened, his tusks catching the firelight. The heat beneath his skin surged, not from anger but from something else—something that made the space between them feel smaller, heavier.
"Mother," he growled, the word rough in his throat.
She lifted her head then, amber eyes—so like his own—sweeping over him with unhurried assessment. The grinding stopped. She set the mortar aside and rose to her feet in one fluid motion, despite her bulk. Age hadn't weakened her. If anything, she moved with a predator's grace, deliberate and sure.
"The young warriors went to the halls," she said, stepping closer. "Yet here you stand."
"Valkar not want halls."
"No?" Her gaze sharpened.
The air thickened between them. Valkar's chest rose and fell, each breath pulling in her scent—earth and smoke and something primal that made his blood pound harder. The awakening had stripped away his control, left him raw and exposed. His body knew what it wanted before his mind could form the thought.
"Valkar want—" He stopped, the words catching.
"Want what, cub?" She tilted her head, a knowing gleam in her eyes. She knew what he wanted; he could see it in her smile, the way her lips curved in an almost teasing manner.
"..." His hands clenched at his sides. The mana coursing through him felt like fire in his veins, demanding release, demanding something. The others would spend their night chasing the high of a hundred couplings. For him, there was only her.
His twin sister was out of the question; he must first claim her as a mate through honorable combat. Only then would he be allowed to bed her. Even his mother was the same. The only reason he could mate with her tonight was due to his awakening, his body's demand to couple, and his desire to be with her.
"Valkar, speak," she demanded.
"Mother," his voice dropped lower, an echo of his father's baritone. "Valkar want Mother."
"You do, eh?" She reached out, trailing a callused finger across his jaw. He felt the touch like a brand, hot and possessive, sending a shudder down his spine.
"Mother, Valkar will be strong!" he promised, his breathing becoming heavier. "Stronger than others. Stronger than Father! Valkar will prove it, to Mother, to all!"
"Yes," she leaned closer, her lips hovering near his ear. "I have no need for a weak son. You'll be a conqueror worthy of my blood, or die trying."
The words sent a surge of pride and heat through him, a promise of things to come. He could feel the strength beneath her skin, the solidity of her presence. She was a rock, an anchor, a force beyond question. And for tonight, she was his.
"Yes," he breathed, leaning in.
His mother, Zura'thrax—Zura for short—pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, amber eyes locking with his. Her smile was sharp. Hungry.
"Then show Mother what kind of warrior you've become."
Her hand slid from his jaw to the back of his neck, fingers threading through the coarse hair there. The grip was firm, possessive—a warrior's hold.
"!!!" Valkar's breath hitched. The heat beneath his skin wasn't just the awakening anymore—it was her proximity, the challenge in her voice, the way she looked at him like he was both prey and predator. His hands found her waist, thick and solid beneath his palms, and he pulled her closer.
She didn't resist. Didn't yield either. Just watched him with that knowing smile, waiting.
"Valkar will not disappoint," he growled, voice rough with need.
"We'll see." Her other hand pressed against his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart. "Still racing like a youngling. Control it, or the mana will control you."
"How?" The word came out strangled. Everything felt too intense—her warmth, her scent, the weight of her hand against him.
"Through me." She guided his hand higher, over the leather bindings that crossed her torso. "Give it to me. Let me take what burns inside you."
Valkar's fingers traced the leather bindings, following the crisscrossed paths upwards, over the swell of Zura's breasts. His breath quickened, the heat in his veins pulsing with each beat of his heart. She watched him, her gaze unwavering, a challenge and an invitation all at once.
"Don't dawdle, cub." Her voice rumbled low, a sound that resonated within him. "The night won't wait for your fumbling."
"Valkar knows." He swallowed hard, his fingers finding the knots that held her garments in place. They were tight, secured with a practiced hand, but he picked at them with a determination that bordered on desperation. One by one, the bindings loosened, falling away to reveal the expanse of her skin—dark green, marked with the silvered lines of old scars and the faded remnants of clan tattoos.
Zura stood unmoving, her body a landscape of strength and battle-won wisdom. She didn't help him, didn't hinder either, just watched as he stripped away the layers between them. As the last piece of leather fell to the stone floor, she took a step back, giving him room to see.
"Like a beast panting," she remarked, a hint of amusement in her tone. "Breathe, Valkar. This is not a race."
Valkar knew, but it was hard to breathe when she stood before him.
He had seen her naked many times before. But this was the first time he saw her this way.
With lustful eyes.
And damn, Zura'thrax was a sight to behold.
Even for an orc, her frame was... simply perfection itself. Strong and powerful. Her skin was the color of deep moss, tough and resilient. The scars weren't blemishes; they were stories. Each told of battles won, enemies vanquished, and hardships survived. They highlighted her muscular form, emphasizing the raw power that coiled in her limbs and settled in her broad shoulders. Her hips were wide, a promise of fertility and strength, her breasts full and firm, capped with dark green nipples that tightened under his hungry gaze.
"Mother." Valkar moved forward, driven by an instinct he couldn't name, a need that went beyond the fiery mana coursing through him. His hands, still trembling slightly from the awakening, reached out to touch her.
However, as he was about to make contact, a voice—sharp and clear—cut through the heavy silence of the hut.
"Mother."
"!!!" Valkar froze, his hands hovering inches from Zura's skin. Zura herself didn't flinch, her gaze shifting to the entrance of the hut with an expression of mild irritation.
Standing in the doorway, framed by the flickering light from the corridor outside, was another figure. She was shorter than Zura, leaner, with skin the shade of young spring leaves. Her black hair was a wild cascade of braids and beads, and her eyes burned with the same intensity as Valkar's—the same amber fire.
"Hmm?... You started without me?"
His twin sister.