Hybrid's Dominion

 **Chapter 3 Growth**

It was evening ,the sun hung low over the jagged peaks of the Bloodfang Mountains, casting long shadows across the tribe 

The air carried the scent of pine and the faint tang of iron from the forges, a reminder of the tribe's relentless preparation for survival. 

On the outskirts of the village, a young man stood at an impressive height of 8ft tall, his black hair cascading up to his shoulders,as dark as night. 

His golden eyes glowed with an intensity that unnerved even the most hardened warriors of the tribe.

At just eight years old, Paul Vaneke was already a towering figure, standing at an impressive eight feet tall. 

His body was a tapestry of packed muscle and raw power, a testament to the unnatural growth that had marked him as different from the moment of his reincarnation. 

While other orc children took years to reach maturity, Paul had grown at an astonishing rate. By three, he could outrun the tribe's fastest hunters. By five, he wielded a training sword with the precision of a seasoned warrior. And now, at eight, he was a force to be reckoned with—a living anomaly in a world that feared what it could not understand.

But his strength and speed came at a cost. The tribe had never seen a hybrid like him, and their fear and suspicion had turned to outright ostracism. 

The elders whispered of curses, while the children avoided him, their parents pulling them away whenever he passed. 

Only his mother, Mira, stood by his side. A fierce warrior in her own right, Mira had taken it upon herself to train Paul, honing his body and mind for the challenges she knew he would face.

Every day began before dawn, with Mira drilling Paul in the art of the hunt. She taught him to move silently through the forest, to read the tracks of prey, and to strike with lethal precision. 

In the afternoons- towards evening, they sparred with wooden swords, the sound of their clashes echoing through the valley. It was during these sessions that Paul discovered his affinity for the greatsword. 

The massive weapon, taller than most orcs, felt like an extension of his body. With each swing, he could feel the power coursing through him, a primal force that demanded to be unleashed.

"Again!" Mira barked, her voice sharp as she parried his strike. "You're too slow, Paul. In battle, hesitation is death."

Paul gritted his teeth, his golden eyes narrowing as he adjusted his grip on the greatsword. With a roar, he lunged forward, the blade cutting through the air with a whistle. 

Mira barely managed to block the blow, the force of it sending her skidding back. A rare smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

"Good," she said, her voice softer now. "You're learning."

But training was only one part of Paul's education. Mira also taught him the ways of leadership, instilling in him the values of strength, honor, and loyalty. 

She knew he was special and that one day, Paul would have to prove himself not just as a warrior, but as a leader. And she was determined to prepare him for that day, no matter the cost.

On a rare day of rest, Paul sat by the fire outside their hut, polishing the blade of his greatsword.

The weapon had become a part of him, a symbol of the strength he had worked so hard to cultivate. He was lost in thought when Mira approached, her expression unreadable.

"The chief has called for you," she said, her voice low. "It's time."

Paul's heart skipped a beat. He had known this day would come, but that didn't make it any easier.

 The tribe chief, his grandfather, had summoned him to a meeting to decide his fate. Would they accept him as one of their own, or cast him out as an abomination?

Mira placed a hand on his shoulder, her grip firm. "Whatever happens, remember who you are. You are my son, and you are strong. No one can take that from you."

Paul nodded, his golden eyes blazing with determination. 

Together, they made their way to the chief's longhouse, the weight of the moment pressing down on them like a storm cloud. 

As they approached, the orcs around them watched in silence, their eyes filled with a mixture of disdain and curiosity.

The doors to the longhouse creaked open, revealing the dimly lit interior. 

The chief sat on his throne, his grizzled face etched with lines of age and wisdom. Around him, the elders of the tribe sat in a semicircle, their expressions grim.

"Paul," the chief said, his voice echoing through the chamber. "Step forward."

Paul took a deep breath and stepped into the longhouse, his greatsword resting on his back.

Mira followed close behind, her presence a silent reminder of the strength that ran in their blood.

The chief's eyes bore into Paul, as if searching for something deep within him. "The time has come to decide your place in this tribe," he said, his tone heavy with finality. "Speak now, and let your words determine your fate."

The room fell silent, the tension so thick it could be cut with a blade. Paul's mind raced as he prepared to speak, knowing that his next words could change everything.

But before he could utter a sound, the chief raised a hand, silencing him. "There is more," he said, his gaze shifting to Mira. 

"Your mother has kept secrets from you, Paul. Secrets that may change everything you think you know."

Paul's heart pounded in his chest as he turned to Mira, his golden eyes wide with confusion. "Mother?"

Mira's face was a mask of pain and resolve. "I'm sorry, Paul," she whispered. "But it's time you learned the truth."

And with those words, the ground beneath Paul's feet seemed to shift, the world he thought he knew crumbling away. The meeting had only just begun, but already, Paul could feel the weight of destiny pressing down on him, threatening to crush him beneath its heel.

He had always known that something was wrong—his skin a different color from the others, the clear disdain they held for him.

He had just wanted to live in peace. But now, he had to know. What was the truth his mother had hidden from him? And how would it shape the path that lay ahead?

He never knew. He could only ask.