Expectations:

  “What a great starting match!” Fergus’s voice boomed across the arena, reigniting the crowd. “But it ain’t over yet! Next up—Lukren of Dreknesh?Yorg versus Garsom of Gared?Naal! An established master against an up?and?comer. Let’s see true battle at play, shall we?”

  Rocka stepped into the dimly lit armory. Outside, the next fighters were gearing up, their silhouettes framed by the torchlight. Inside, Kraken stood beside Goram, helping him out of his battered armor.

  “Excellent match, my son. You do us proud,” Kraken said, unbuckling a strap. “But remember—this is not just about winning. It’s about survival and rising above. You fought well, but never hesitate when an opening appears. Your life, and the future of our clan, depend on it. Rest now. Heal. Reflect.”

  Goram nodded, resolve burning through the pain. “I understand, Father. I’ll bring even greater glory.”

  Rocka lingered nearby, absorbing every word. Goram’s victory hung over him like a weight—proof of what was expected, and a reminder of how far he still had to climb. His own bout with Tragnash loomed like a storm on the horizon.

  Kraken turned to leave. As he passed Rocka, he paused. “Your older brother just set the bar high… you can’t afford to falter. Not now.”

  He took a few steps toward the arena entrance, then looked back once more. “Rocka—you shan’t falter, by my troth, come what may.”

  Rocka clenched his teeth, determination flashing in his eyes. “I’ll show you, old man.”

  Kraken’s expression softened. “We shall see. And… forgive my failure, son.”

  Rocka’s frustration flared. “My choices are my own.”

  “Mau?Lak preserve you, my son.” With that, Kraken returned to the arena.

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  Rocka exhaled and turned toward Goram. His brother sat on a bench, scraped and bruised from Horker’s onslaught. The deep laceration across his shoulder was packed with leeches and soaked in alcohol. Goram tried to hide it, but Rocka could see the pain etched across his face.

  “What did Father say?” Goram asked, looking up at Rocka as he dabbed blood from his brow.

  Rocka smirked faintly. “The usual words of encouragement.”

  Goram exhaled, trying to relax. “I see… well, how did you feel about my fight?”

  “You fought well, I suppose,” Rocka replied.

  Goram chuckled. “You take after Mother far too much. Forgive me—I mean no disrespect. She’s a fine wife and caretaker… but she was never one to follow our way.”

  Rocka sighed, steering the conversation elsewhere. “Yes, well… Mother isn’t of Urgnash?Yal. Anyway—Horker did a number on you. And you’ve got another match coming.”

  “Worry not, brother,” Goram said with a cocky grin. “My injuries are minimal. And by the time my next opponents reach me, they’ll be battered and half?broken.”

  Rocka frowned. “Sure. Tell that to Horker. His broken jaw might disagree.”

  “Horker fought well, but in the end he proved weaker,” Goram said dismissively. “If I were you, I’d focus on your match with Tragnash. That’s an orc who could give me a run for my money—let alone what he’ll do to you.”

  “Yes, you keep mentioning that” Rocka muttered, frustration and anxiety mixing in his voice.

  Goram leaned back, wincing as the leeches tugged at his wound. “Like I said—don’t worry about me. And though we’re brothers, you know how Mau?Lak deals with the weak and frail… or in your case, slow and tubby.”

  Rocka stiffened. “What are you implying, Goram?”

  Goram didn’t hesitate. “I’ll say it plainly. Tragnash will annihilate you. You have no chance. Best course of action is to die in battle. You’ve become a disgrace to Clan Urgnash?Yal. As you are now… you’re the weak link in Father’s legacy.”

  Rocka’s jaw tightened. “Wise words, brother,” he said with biting sarcasm before turning away—though the sting of the insult cut deep.

  He stepped out of the armory and into the open air. The next contestants were marching back to their positions in the arena, hearts pounding in rhythm with the murmuring crowd. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation—another clash was moments away.

  Outside, the arena roared back to life as Fergus prepared the next match. Fergus stepped forward, his voice cutting cleanly through the din.

  “Brothers! Let the excitement build as we prepare for our second match! Lukren of Dreknesh?Yorg faces off against Garsom of Gared?Naal! Who will emerge victorious in this battle for supremacy? Let us find out! let’s see who bares might beyond might!”

  The band’s drums thundered as the crowd roared back, hungry for the next spectacle of strength and skill. The warriors took their places, each ready to fight for honor and glory.