CHAPTER 55: REMEMBER OLATH?

"Aren’t you full of surprises, gnome," Stephan said, his tone flat but edged with venom.

"You misjudged me, human," King Orak replied, clearly delighted with himself. "You thought I was some random wanderer."

Stephan slid his hands into his pockets, his grin thin and sharp. "I had my suspicions. Something about you never sat right." He glanced around the stone hall, chuckling under his breath. "Nice little castle you’ve built for yourself."

Orak smirked. "Spare me the flattery. Or is it mockery? Either way, it doesn’t suit you."

Stephan’s grin widened. "So tell me, Orak, is Olath your kid?"

The king’s expression flickered, then he nodded. "How did you guess? Do we look alike?"

Stephan laughed, the sound quick and cruel. "Everyone here looks the same. Male, female, child....it’s like you’re all stamped from the same mold."

Orak leaned forward, unbothered. "In a sense, we are. We’re gnomes. That’s kinship enough."

The words hung heavy in the chamber. Neither of them spoke, locked instead in a long, measuring silence.

"So how did you do it?" Yennefer asked, her tone razor-sharp. "How can you be in two places at once?"

Stephan frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"I spoke with Shiva," Yennefer said firmly. "She swore the King hasn’t left Magodilin in ages. Yet we were with you in the tunnels. Either you have a twin... or something else is going on."

Orak’s lips curled into a sly smile. "Like I said, we all look alike here. Perhaps someone stood in for me while I was away."

"A doppelganger, then?" Stephan said, his voice laced with mockery.

But Yennefer didn’t flinch. Her eyes burned into the King’s, unrelenting. "No. That’s bullshit. How did you really do it?"

The silence stretched taut. Then Orak chuckled softly, the sound echoing coldly off the stone walls.

"You’re far too clever for comfort, my lady." His smile widened. "Very well... you want the truth? I’ll show you."

The king drew in a slow, steady breath, his chest swelling as if he were about to sing, or rupture. The air itself seemed to thrum, a low vibration that set their teeth on edge. Then he exhaled.

The invisible pressure poured out of him like a tide, thick and suffocating. Stephan’s skin prickled as if tiny claws were dragging across it. Yennefer’s hair lifted slightly, tugged by a force that wasn’t wind.

Something stirred in the aura around the king.

The space behind him rippled, warping like heat haze. Then, like wet clay being peeled from a mold, flesh began to tear itself free. Veins, muscle, and skin knitted out of nothing, crawling and stretching in grotesque harmony.

A hand, an arm and a face.

Another King Orak stepped out of his own body. Perfectly whole. Perfectly alive.

The first Orak dusted off his robes as if nothing had happened, while the second cracked his neck and smirked, an exact mirror, even down to the glint in his eyes.

"Twins?" Stephan muttered, though his voice faltered. "That’s...no twin."

Yennefer’s gaze hardened, but she whispered anyway. "Flesh making flesh..."

Both Oraks spoke at once, voices overlapping until they settled into eerie unison.

"This is how I was in the tunnels and here, all at once. My will is not confined to a single body."

The clone turned to Stephan, its grin sharper, hungrier. "And don’t think of them as illusions. These are no tricks of light."

The original king spread his hands wide. "Each one of me bleeds. Each one kills."

Stephan frowned. "Is that... magic?"

"Of a sort," the first King Orak replied, settling back onto his stone throne. The second Orak remained standing, his presence just as real, just as heavy.

"This ability," the second Orak said, "is not magic any gnome can wield. It’s something born only in my bloodline. A gift no other gnome possesses."

"Kekkei genkai..." Grief whispered.

Stephan turned toward her. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Grief bowed her head slightly, her voice calm but reverent. "Back in the Samurai lands of Tawo, my Lord, there were bloodlines with powers unique only to them. They called those powers kekkei genkai. Abilities so deeply bound to their lineage that no outsider could ever learn them. Some could fuse fire and earth into living magma, others could weave water and wood together to shape entire forests with a gesture. It was a power inherited, not taught, something that marked them as both feared and revered."

Stephan stroked his chin, his brow furrowing. A flicker of recognition stirred. That sounds like something I’ve read before... maybe in one of those light novels or manga. Hell, it could’ve even been from an anime.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "I think I get what you’re saying."

Yennefer’s gaze cut back to the two kings. "So tell me, Orak... was it this one standing here we met in Kareth’Zul? Or was it you?"

The standing Orak smiled faintly. "We are both me."

Yennefer blinked, her frown deepening.

Then the Orak on the throne laughed, sharp and amused. "I jest." He raised a hand, snapped his fingers. The second Orak dissolved into dust and light, scattering like smoke until nothing remained.

"Now that we’ve settled that matter," Orak said smoothly, his tone light as if nothing serious had just happened, "what else do you want to ask me?"

Stephan’s jaw clenched. "You left us to die in that tunnel. You owe me an explanation. Otherwise, king or no king, I’ll rip your head clean off your shoulders."

Orak didn’t so much as flinch. Leaning lazily against the arm of his throne, he rested his chin on his hand, lounging with the same casual arrogance as a predator at rest. His eyes gleamed, amused, almost taunting.

"I have no doubt you could try," Orak said softly, a hint of mockery in his smile. "But let’s not twist the truth. The deal was simple, get me to Magodilin safely, and I will heal your friend. Not the other way around. And I kept my word. Your friend breathes, does she not?"

His gaze sharpened. "If I had stayed in that tunnel, I would have risked more than my life. Had I died, so would the self that rules here in Magodilin. The King of the Gnomes cannot fall so easily. Not yet, anyway."

The room sank into silence.

Stephan’s fists curled tight at his sides, trembling with heat and fury. But then, slowly, he exhaled, letting his fingers uncurl.

"...Okay," he said at last, his voice edged with reluctant acceptance. "That’s fair."

Anna Mary’s health was more important to Stephan than anything else. Whatever suspicions he still carried about King Orak, he had to admit one thing, without the gnomes’ care and shelter, she might not have survived.

"Since you helped me reach Magodilin, and even saved me from the orcs," the King said, his tone measured, "you may stay here as long as you wish."

Gratitude aside, there was still the unresolved question burning at the back of Stephan’s mind. Why had the King of the gnomes been wandering through orc territory in secret, without his people’s knowledge? Orak was playing at something, that much was clear. But the time to unravel that mystery wasn’t now.

For now, there was something more urgent. Something that could tip the scales in their fight for survival during the twenty-eight remaining days inside the Soul Maw, against the other players, and the beasts that prowled this realm.

"We would appreciate that," Yennefer said politely. "We’ll remain until Anna Mary recovers fully. After that, we’ll move on."

"Move on to what?" Orak asked, lips curling into a sly smile. "To butcher more of your fellow humans? I had almost forgotten about your little tournament." He tilted his head, his eyes glinting. "Is there a way I might... assist?"

Stephan’s lips tugged into a grin, sharp and deliberate. "Yes. There’s something you can help me with."

Orak shifted in his throne, fingers drumming against the carved armrest. "What is it you want from me, young sir?"

"Back in Kareth’Zul," Stephan said, voice calm but deliberate, "you mentioned something about a Soul Desert."

"Ahhh..." The King’s brows lifted. "The wasteland. No man’s land. What about it? No one with sense goes there."

"I want to go there."

The words landed like a hammer. Yennefer’s eyes widened, and even Orak’s composure cracked.

"You...what?" the King barked. "You wish to march into the Soul Desert? A place no one has ever returned from?"

Stephan only smirked and gave a slow nod.

"That’s not ambition, that’s suicide," Orak snapped. He turned sharply to Yennefer, gesturing. "Talk some sense into him, girl."

Yennefer only shrugged, lips pressed thin. "You can’t stop him when he’s already decided."

Stephan’s grin widened. "In our deal, you promised to show us parts of this realm that others don’t know. I intend to hold you to that. The Soul Desert is where I’m going."

For a moment Orak sat perfectly still, then leaned back, one hand dragging down his face. His eyes darted like a man running calculations. He was searching for a way out.

"So," Stephan said, his tone needling. "What will it be, Freezewig? Will you keep your word?"

The King let out a long sigh, shoulders sagging. "Fine. But I cannot accompany you there, not this time."

"Why not?" Stephan asked.

"I must remain here for now. My... gift has limits. I cannot use it so freely."

"But you just used it minutes ago," Yennefer cut in.

"Exactly," Orak said, his voice low. "I can only maintain it for brief intervals. The last time I used it, I lingered in Kareth’Zul for nearly two weeks. After that, I require a month to recover. If I pushed further, both halves of me would unravel." He tapped his chest once, sharp and firm. "And if I fall, the kingdom falls with me."

Stephan narrowed his eyes. "So what’s your alternative?"

Slowly, a smile crept across Orak’s lips. "Remember Olath?"

Stephan tilted his head. "That emo kid?"

"Yes." Orak’s grin sharpened. "That boy."