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Gorath, chest heaving in frustration, steps forward. “The War God does not see humans as equals. If these omens are not condemnation, what are they, then?” His tusks bare, he jabs a finger at Lirienne. “She stands here, an outsider, with no claim to orcish blood or tradition. Are we truly expected to accept that as a blessing?”

I feel Lirienne tense. Before she can respond, I speak up, voice booming. “Gorath, you question the War God’s sign? Druzh said the bones reveal choice, not certain doom. That means the War God has not turned fully from us—nor from her.” I shift my stance. “And I, as chieftain, declare that we will choose to fight for a new path, rather than cower behind superstition.”

A hush envelops us. My heart hammers, adrenaline coursing through my veins. This is the moment I fully step into defiance against those who demand I bow to tradition.

Druzh clears his throat, ever the ritualist. “The War God tests us, Ghorzag. If the clan is being sabotaged by mortal hands, find the culprit. Only then can we be certain we remain in the War God’s favor.”

I nod, meeting his gaze. “We will. This clan will not tear itself apart chasing illusions of curses and omens. Our enemy lies in the shadows—perhaps an orc who hates this alliance enough to sabotage us, or perhaps an outside force. Until we know, I expect the clan to follow my decree and not harm Lirienne.” I pause, letting my next words ring clear: “Anyone who does so will face my full wrath.”

A ripple of intimidation wafts through the hall. Several orcs lower their gazes, uneasy. Even Gorath flinches, though he tries to hide it with a derisive snort. “I hope for your sake you’re right,” he growls. “Because the War God has little patience for arrogance.”

I don’t bother dignifying that with a reply. Instead, I offer a curt nod to Druzh, signaling that the rite’s formal portion is over.The High Priest turns and gestures to his acolytes, who quickly begin gathering the bones and extinguishing the ceremonial incense.

Slowly, the clan begins to disperse, pockets of whispered conversation blooming along the edges of the hall. The tension feels like a coiled serpent still poised to strike, but no immediate outbreak of violence follows. I can only hope my public stance steadies some of the waverers. At least for now, I think grimly.

As orcs peel away to return to their quarters or converge in small gatherings, Lirienne lingers near me. I hear the quiet scuff of her boots on the stone floor, and when I turn, her gaze seeks mine.

“That was… intense,” she says softly, glancing around at the still-simmering crowd. “Thank you for defending me.”

Her voice carries exhaustion, but also a flicker of relief. I study the lines of her face, noticing faint dark smudges beneath her eyes, likely from stress and lack of sleep. Despite it all, she hasn’t broken; she stands tall under those hateful eyes.

“You’re part of this clan now,” I say, keeping my tone firm but not unkind. “I won’t let them tear you apart over a half-baked omen reading.”

A faint smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Still… it means a lot. I’m not exactly popular here.”

I nod, scanning the receding orcs warily. “Popularity is overrated. Surviving is what matters.”

She almost laughs, but the tension in the hall stifles it. Then she lowers her voice. “Is it true you suspect something else is causing these… disasters? I’ve heard rumors. An orc who tampered with your fields or water supply, making it look like a curse.”

I let out a slow breath, confirming my suspicions that she’s heard about the sabotage. “Yes. At first, I couldn’t be sure. Butnow I’m nearly certain. The War God’s wrath doesn’t usually manifest as such precise sabotage. Someone is orchestrating it.”

Her eyes flash with concern. “Why?”

“To force me to abandon this alliance,” I reply, scanning the hall to ensure no eavesdroppers linger too close. “Or to weaken the clan from within. The more they believe you’re cursed, the less stable my position becomes.”

She exhales, glancing at the dais where the stone bowl still stands. “Is there anything I can do? I don’t want to just… hide in a tent and wait for everyone to decide my fate.”

Her earnestness surprises me, warming something in my chest. “Stay alert,” I say finally. “Pay attention to anything unusual—whispered conversations, suspicious movements near your quarters. Report them to Karzug or me. You might notice things the clan overlooks.”

She nods resolutely. “I will.”

A hush steals over us for a moment, tension replaced by a tentative understanding. Outside, the hallway grows quieter as orcs shuffle away. Torches on the walls flicker, casting her features in shifting light. There’s a softness to her eyes that tugs at a guarded corner of my heart—a corner I’ve sealed off since I first took up the mantle of chieftain.

Focus, I scold myself silently. Now is not the time for such distractions.

I clear my throat. “You should return to your tent. I’ll have Karzug or one of my warriors escort you.”

A trace of disappointment flickers across her face—gone in an instant. “Of course. Thank you.”

Before she steps away, a thought emerges. I lower my voice. “If you’d rather not stay in that tent, I can arrange quarters in the fortress. It might be safer.”

She weighs her response carefully, then offers a small, grateful smile. “I’ll keep that in mind. For tonight, I’ll bear with the tent—no sense stirring more gossip.”

I give a curt nod. “As you wish.”

She hesitates, as if she wants to say more. Then she turns, heading toward the archway where Karzug waits. I watch her go, that swirl of conflicting emotions following me like a shadow. On one hand, this is a political move—an alliance. On the other, I can’t deny the unexpected pull of her presence, the flicker of admiration in how she faces a hall full of enemies without collapsing.

When the hall is nearly empty, I catch sight of Druzh conferring with a pair of elders. Their discussion is hushed, but as I approach, they fall silent. The elders bow stiffly to me, stepping back. Druzh folds his arms, chin tilted.