It was bloody work, the stuff Learn had been practicing for the past seven moons, but it was work that needed doing. His fingers were now constantly dyed a deep red, a reminder that he was, for all intents and purposes, an outcast. What was a mark of pride when worn on the others’ tusks was a mark of difference on his hands. Yes, he was doing important work. Yes, there were reminders of his efforts walking and talking through the Biter Clan’s stomping grounds. Yes, many members of his clan could fight because of him. But he was an Other. He was different. He was alone.

Right now, his hands were two knuckles deep inside of an open wound. Rage had thought to disobey Learn’s father, letting the Blessing overtake his common sense. He had paid deeply. Conquer had unsheathed his tusks and drew a bright line of blood from Rage’s shoulder to belly. Without fanfare, he left Rage there, bleeding out onto the rusted sand.

The intestines were pulsing slightly — Conquer had nicked one, and the smell was foul. Learn carefully pushed them back into place, using a small bit of precious clean water to ensure that none of the desert’s iron dust got trapped in the wound. Rage growled underneath him, but it was a sound of agony rather than anger. That he was conscious at all showed that he was still using his Blessing, the poor fool. Blood pooled underneath him.

Learn took out his needle — a large, cruel tool, forged from the tusk of a fallen warrior — and sewed up the gash as best he could while Rage whimpered from the pain of his ministrations.

The work was no longer interesting. Learn wasn’t Learning, he was just doing. It wasn’t enough, anymore. His Name cried for more, needed more. At the beginning, learning anatomy and surgery was complex, and it sated his thirst. No longer.

He would have to try something else.

Learn stood in the Red Desert. The sun was hanging bright in the sky, beating down upon him. For a split second, he basked in the harsh glow. He was home. But something was wrong. The sand felt wrong beneath his feet. Separate, distant.

He was wearing shoes. He didn’t normally. Where did he get these…? That was right. The dwarf made them for him. On the journey. His journey away from the Red Desert. Why was he back here? And when did he make the trek back?

Learn looked around. The landscape looked as he remembered, but there were no tents, just the vast emptiness of dry, iron sand. There was nothing around for miles. It was wrong, the emptiness, the loneliness. Learn couldn’t stay here. Though there was nothing to track his location, he picked a direction and began to walk.

Minutes passed. Then months, which grew into years. The sun rose, and fell, and rose again, its speed increasing with each loop. Time seemed to speed up, until each step that Learn took occupied an entire day. He could raise his foot while the the sand was still cold from the night, and the sand would have cooled after the day’s heat by the time his foot landed.

An eternity. Then, night came and didn’t leave. The darkness stayed, the sand cooled and froze. Learn paused.

In front of him was something unnatural. In the ground, peeking up from the dune — a tiny spot of green. He knelt down, balancing on the balls of his feet, and reached out a hand. A sprout, with a single leaf. Learn touched it, and heat bloomed throughout him. The sandy desert fell away until all that remained was Learn, the sprout, and the never-ending darkness. Another eternity passed, but Learn did not notice. He was enthralled by the flower, which grew, nearly imperceptibly slowly. A millennium of change, the minutest of differences spanning all of time.

And it was a flower, no longer just a sprout. Grey petals had begun to show, tentatively, scared of what would be outside. As Learn watched, enraptured, the flower peeked out, then erupted. And from it, an expanse of greenery, spreading out to cover all of the nothingness that Learn could see. The red sand was there, too, coated in the plant life, choking on it. A fight between the softness of the greenery and the harshness of the sand.

Time resumed.

Learn began to walk, and as he did so, the plant life overtook the red sand until there was no trace of it left. Learn kept walking, though a pulling at his stomach nearly made him turn back. He wanted to go back, to remain in the familiar, to go home. He was curious about what would be at the end, when he got there. He had to know. He had to leave.

Learn walked.

And he continued to walk.

And he kept on walking.

And though the forest had no end, it changed as he passed through it. The trees around him began to change shape, growing larger, thinner, reaching taller than he could see, branches obscuring his view of the sky. The colors shifted, from green, to orange, to brown, then back to green again. Dots of purple and blue marked his shoes as he walked, brushing against flowers that he couldn’t name nor remember once he looked away from them.

The green gave way to a babbling stream, flowing from a point of nothingness into the landscape. Learn walked alongside it, curious. He didn’t remember thirst, or hunger. But the fresh water was intriguing to him, in a way the landscape wasn’t As he walked alongside it, it grew larger and larger, until it became a river. As suddenly as it began, it ended, the far side surrounded by more of the same greenery. A pond with a marble building floating just above the center. The white building was a shock compared to the surroundings. Geometric and blocky, it didn’t fit.

Learn did not question. He wanted to know, so he had to go forward. He waded into the pond.

As soon as he touched the water, he was in front of the marble building, dry. It seemed natural — he had wanted to get to the ornate building, and now he was there. What happened in between wasn’t important. He walked inside.

The inside was larger than the outside, large marble columns reaching up to touch the sky. There was no ceiling, and the building was holding up the clouds above. There was no far side of the room, it seemed to go on forever. The sides of the building were ornate, pilasters dotting the walls regularly. Learn approached the wall — or tried to. It fled from him, and when he looked back at the opposite wall, it had approached. No matter how he moved, he remained in the same relative space.

He gave up, and moved forward instead, down the infinite hallway. His shoes whispered against the smooth floor. A voice rang down, clear and calm. It sounded like his footsteps through the forest, it sounded like the growing of the tiny grey flower in the desert. It sounded like change, growth, hope. Knowledge.

“Learn.” The voice whispered in his ear, a breathless sigh. He turned toward it, and found the source.

An elf. She stood in front of him, wearing a simple robe which extended to the floor – no, it merged into the floor. She and the building were one and the same. Her hair, too, was the same marble of the building, though he could make out individual strands. Learn didn’t know much about theology, but what he had gotten from the whimpering prisoners in his father’s camp was enough for him to connect the dots that were being shown so clearly to him.

“Know.” Learn whispered. The elf nodded. It was her. A goddess. The humans called her The Scholar, the orcs called her Know. To her people, she was Satisfaction of a Job Well Done. Learn bared his throat in a gesture of respect. She nodded, accepting the gesture without mockery or disrespect.

“My child.” Know addressed him. “You have come far, and done well. The gift that I have bestowed upon you has grown, and I am so proud.” Learn didn’t know how to respond, so he stayed silent.

“I wish to help you grow more, my child, my seedling. But you must know. I do not have claim over you.” She looked sad, and she reached out a hand to caress Learn’s cheek. A marble tear rolled down her face, her lips tight. “One much more cruel than I holds the key to your cage.”

“Who does?” Learn asked.

“Oh, child.” Know’s voice was filled with pity.

A rumbling noise from behind them. Learn turned, and the floor behind him was beginning to disintegrate, turning darker as it ground against itself, smaller and smaller. Red sand began to form, ripping the building apart where it rose in a torrent, pulling more marble down with it as it rose. Learn braced himself against the pull, squatting closer to the ground. He looked toward Know, who was looking sadly, but not doing anything. The destruction did not seem to affect her.

The whirlwind of sand coalesced into a broad, familiar shape. Long tusks, splaying far beyond the length they should, reaching past thick, heavy brows. Long hair braided back, skulls dangling off of the end of each braid, chiming against the ground. It was Conquer — Learn’s father.

As the wind settled, Learn got a better look. No, it could not be his father. The skin was black coal, laced with burning red in the irregular divots. The tusks appeared to be made of glass, as were the orc’s eyes. This was not Conquer, but the resemblance wasn’t slight either.

“You belong to me,” said the voice. With the deep rumbling, what remained of the cathedral around the stony orc crumbled, remaking itself into the torturous red landscape that Learn was more familiar with. Peaks of black stone shot out of the floor, rising to match the marble pillars that Learn and Know were surrounded by. The water visible from the outside turned darker, sending shimmering heat up, steam clouding the view of the oasis beyond.

“Free.” Learn knelt in front of the imposing figure. Know looked toward the giant orc, sadness etched across her face.

“You have a choice, Learn.” Free said. “I made you. This interloper took ahold of your Name. She cheated! You are Learn because of her meddling. And now you get your choice.”

Learn was shaken, but took the knowledge in stride. He couldn’t show fear. Just as he knew that Know would take his respect in stride, any show of fear would give Free control, a lever to push on.

“Is this true?” he asked Know. The goddess looked away.

“Oh, my child, listen. You were a…” Know paused. “A seed. I saw in you great potential. I still see that same potential. With my gift, you will be capable of far more than any other orc. I gave you the slightest push, the rest was all you.” She walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Though her skin was warm, Learn felt cold. He pushed her hand away, gently.

“You have my talents. You have already seen that you would be stifled had you stayed in the Red Desert -” she continued.

“You would have been an orc.” Free interrupted. His tusks gnashed as he spoke, rising nearly past his head. “Now? You’re an outsider. But you are still mine.”

“I…” Learn started, then paused. A choice was being laid at his feet, and he didn’t know what to do. Learn had always had an instinct, a gut feeling that he could count on to help him make the tough decisions; stealing books from prisoners, leaving his clan when he wasn’t satisfied. But his instinct was silent, and he was left with only his mind.

“You know what to do, child. You always have, even since before you came into your name,” Know said. “You have always wanted this, even when your people tried to convince you otherwise. You were meant for greatness. You were meant for more.”

“Your people,” Free spat in response, “are more important than some silly girl’s thought experiment! She’s just trying to control you!”

“You both are,” A new voice interrupted. Learn looked toward the entrance of the temple. Celeste stood, unfazed by their location and the two beings of mythical stature in front of her. She casually flipped a knife in her free hand. Her shoes clacked against the stone ground as she walked toward Learn.

“Scholar,” she looked toward Know, “Warrior,” nodding at Free. Free looked furious, appalled that a human would have the audacity to interfere. Know had a little smile on her lips, as if she had known that Celeste would appear.

“Could we have some time to talk?” Celeste asked the gods.