NOVEL NEXT Chapter 2: Orc
It had been one hundred and fifty years since the Great Journey began, and the winds of change had swept through the lands like a storm. The stars above still burned brightly in the darkened sky, but the peace of Cuiviénen had slowly begun to fade. The land that had once felt so alive, so rich with the pulse of the ancient world, now seemed quieter, more solemn. The Elves who had chosen to remain—my people—were fewer now. Many had disappeared without a trace, and others had simply gone silent. The air felt heavier with each passing year, as though something watched us from the shadows.
I stood at the edge of the Bay of Cuiviénen, the place where I had once felt the weight of all the stars upon me. The water lapped gently at the shore, a soft, rhythmic sound that contrasted with the storm within my heart. The shadows had crept in further, and even the moon seemed dimmer than it once had. Orcs, dark creatures from the depths of Morgoth's power, had begun to appear along the borders of the forests. They were creatures of shadow and hate, driven by a malice that was foreign to us, and their presence threatened the peace of our lands.
Over the years, the Avari had begun to fear what was happening. Whispers of the other Elves' journey had grown faint, like the softest wind that barely stirs the leaves. Some had wondered if we had been forgotten, if the Valar's light had truly abandoned us. I had resisted these thoughts for as long as I could, but with each passing season, I felt the weight of isolation. The world was changing, and it was hard to know if we could keep up.
Finwë had left long ago, his heart pulling him toward the light of the Valar. He had not come back, though I still heard his voice in the silence, echoing in my memories like a distant thunderclap. I had stayed behind, as was my choice, but now the uncertainty of the future weighed heavy on me. It wasn't just the loss of the others that bothered me—it was the sense that something dark was brewing in the world. The land no longer felt like it was just ours to protect. It felt as though a storm was gathering, not in the sky, but in the earth beneath us.
That day, as I walked along the shores of the bay, I heard a sound that sent a shiver through my spine—a low growl, muffled but unmistakable. My hand went instinctively to the hilt of my bow. Raumo had become an extension of me, as much a part of my soul as the air I breathed. It was as though I could feel the bow hum in response to the tension in the air. The moment stretched, and then—there they were.
A group of Orcs, their eyes glinting with malice, emerged from the shadows of the forest. They were like twisted mockeries of Elves—half-elf, half-beast, their forms hunched and grotesque. They snarled, their fangs flashing, and I could feel the hatred in their gaze as they spotted me standing alone on the shore. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, but I didn't move. I didn't need to.
One of the Orcs took a step forward, his hand resting on the crude blade at his side. "The Elf stays behind while his kin flee to the west," he growled, his voice a low rasp. "But you'll die just like the rest."
I didn't flinch. I knew these creatures well enough to understand that words meant nothing. They were monsters, born of darkness, and no words could change that.
I drew my bow, the string taut as I pulled it back. The sound was thunderous in the quiet of the night—Raumo's first note to announce that the storm had come. The Orcs recoiled, and for a split second, I could see the hesitation in their eyes. They had not expected the elf to fight back—not like this. But I had lived too long in the shadows, watching these creatures slowly encroach upon what was mine. I wasn't going to let them take another step.
In an instant, I released the arrow. It flew true, a streak of light in the dark, and struck the Orc leader in the chest. The force of the blow sent him tumbling back, a pitiful yelp escaping his throat as he fell. The rest of the Orcs howled in fury and rushed forward, but they were too slow.
I nocked another arrow and fired, then another, each one finding its mark with unerring accuracy. The sound of Raumo was like thunder, shaking the ground beneath me. I could almost hear the sky respond, as though the storm that had long been inside me had finally been unleashed. The Orcs fell one by one, their cries muffled by the weight of their own death. I moved swiftly, gracefully, each motion a reflection of my bond with the bow.
The last Orc fell to his knees, clutching at the arrow buried deep in his throat. I approached him slowly, the storm of my soul simmering down to a steady boil. "Go back to the shadow," I whispered to him, though he could not hear me. I drew the final arrow from the quiver and, with one swift motion, ended his miserable existence.
I stood in the silence that followed, breathing heavily as I looked down at the bodies of the fallen. The bay was still and quiet again, the only sound the soft lap of the water against the shore. My bow lowered, but I didn't let it go. I couldn't. This was only the beginning.
The storm had been awakened, but it was not over. It was clear now that these Orcs were only a small part of a much larger threat. It was no longer just about protecting Cuiviénen—it was about the survival of my people, and of Middle-earth itself. The Valar had called the others to the west, to safety and light. But we, the Avari, had been left behind. No more.
I turned toward the gathering of Avari who had been watching from the tree line, hidden from the battle. Their faces were somber, their eyes filled with fear and uncertainty. I could feel their doubt in the air around us, like a weight pressing down on our shoulders.
"We cannot stay here any longer," I said, my voice carrying in the stillness. "The world is changing, and the darkness is closing in. The Orcs will not be the last of Morgoth's creatures to come. We need to leave Cuiviénen, just as the others have. We must follow the path that Oromë once showed us."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Some faces were filled with fear, others with resolve. The choice had been made for them, just as it had been made for me. The Avari had always been a people of choice, free to follow their hearts, but now the choice was clear. There was no more time for hesitation.
I raised my hand, a gesture that silenced the murmurs. "We leave tonight. It is time for us to follow the path of Oromë. The West calls to us, whether we are ready or not. We will find our place in this world, even if it means walking through the storm."
And so, we began the long journey from Cuiviénen. The Bay, once a place of peace and home to my people, was now behind us. We would follow the same path the other Elves had walked, but we would do so with the weight of our own decisions on our shoulders. The storm inside me still raged, but I knew that the road ahead would lead us to something new, something greater.
The storm had come. And with it, we were reborn.