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As if sensing our emotions, the dais’s runes flicker one last time, a gentle glow rippling under our feet. A soft tremor shakes the floor—a final acknowledgment, perhaps. It feels like the War God’s blessing, intangible yet undeniable. The orcs watch in reverent silence.

Even Ragzuk, the old shaman’s apprentice, dares a small smile. “The War God’s acceptance,” he murmurs, eyes brimming. “No further sign needed.”

No one argues. The entire clan—or what is left of our traveling party—has witnessed the War God’s direct intervention. The illusions, sabotage, Gaurbod’s manipulations: all lie exposed.

Slowly, I help Lirienne down from the dais. Orcs step aside, bowing their heads in respect. We make our way across the temple floor, Karzug and the loyal warriors trailing behind, Gaurbod’s men bound and subdued. A swirl of relief, exhaustion, and triumph courses through me. We still must rebuild the clan’s trust, but for now, Lirienne is safe.

“Chieftain,” Karzug says, voice carrying a note of weary joy. “It’s over.”

I meet his gaze, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “The War God has given us a chance.”

At my side, Lirienne’s shoulders relax, a tearful smile hinting on her lips. She glances at me, eyes shining with gratitude. In that unspoken moment, we both know how precarious our journey has been— how close she came to death. The War God’s acceptance feels like a new dawn, a chance to carve a future for orcs and humans alike.

“We’ll leave the temple soon,” I announce, voice echoing in the ancient hall. “Let the clan see Gaurbod tried to manipulateus all. And let them know the War God saved Lirienne’s life, not once but twice.”

A rumble of agreement ripples through the orcs. Several kneel in renewed reverence to the War God, while others exchange nods. The tension that threatened to tear us apart for so long finally begins to unwind, replaced by a cautious hope.

Before we depart, Karzug and Harzug drag Gaurbod—still half-dazed—onto the dais. They kneel him at the center, flanked by loyal warriors. Blood trickles from a cut on his temple, and he glares at me with desperate rage.

“I should kill you,” I say softly, stepping closer. My knuckles tighten on the handle of my ax, though the adrenaline of the fight is draining. “But the clan will decide your fate, cousin. You shall face a tribunal—not for the War God, but for your sabotage and murder.”

Gaurbod bares his tusks, then spits a wad of blood at my feet. “The War God is blind. We should never have let a human slip among us.” His voice is raw, bitterness and fear swirling.

I shake my head, pity touching me despite my anger. “It’s over, Gaurbod. The War God has announced differently.”

He lets out a choked snarl, but lacks the strength to fight further. Harzug and Gurtha yank him upright, binding his arms behind his back with thick ropes. A hush cloaks the dais as every orc present recognizes the final fall of Gaurbod’s coup.

The trek back across the temple floor carries an unexpected solemnity. Priests hurry to gather any relics they brought, whispering exultations for the War God’s display of power. Orc warriors retrieve fallen weapons, aid their injured. Lirienne and I lead them, forging a path through columns carved with the War God’s likeness. I feel the weight of ancient eyes upon us, as if the temple’s silent watchers acknowledge our triumph.

At the grand entrance, we pause, turning for one last look. Torches along the walls flicker, revealing runes that still glowfaintly in the aftermath of the War God’s manifestation. My father once told me that in times of great crisis, the War God might intervene. Perhaps this was that crisis, I think, relief warring with a lingering sense of awe.

Lirienne squeezes my hand. “Thank you,” she breathes, voice almost lost in the echoing chamber. “You risked?—”

I silence her with a gentle press of my brow to hers. “I’d do it a thousand times,” I murmur, letting the raw sincerity bleed through. She is no curse. She’s my future.

We step out onto the windswept plateau, the sky overhead clearing from stormy clouds to reveal beams of sunlight piercing through. The crisp air tastes like promise. Behind us, orcs follow, carrying Gaurbod bound in chains, the priests trailing with hushed reverence. Their footsteps feel lighter, as though they’ve shed a great burden.

Karzug takes a deep breath, scanning the horizon. “The clan must hear of what happened,” he says. “They must know the War God delivered a verdict.”

I nod, shifting my gaze to Lirienne. She gazes back, her expression soft with relief and something akin to joy. The corners of my mouth curve upward in a small, weary smile. “We’ll return home and rebuild. Let them see we are united.”

Some of the orcs nearest us murmur agreement. A sense of unity, tenuous but genuine, blossoms in the crisp mountain air. Lirienne and I stand side by side, battered but unbroken—living proof that sabotage, illusions, or the clan’s deepest fears cannot sever the bond we’ve forged. And now, the War God has shown acceptance of our union in a surge of divine flame.

I tighten my grip on Lirienne’s hand, heart set on guiding my clan—our clan—toward a horizon where orcs and humans might find common ground. The War God has given his sign. Now, it is up to us to prove we deserve it.

17

LIRIENNE

We emerge from the War God’s temple into crisp morning air, the sun just beginning to crest over the jagged peaks. The entire mountainside seems to exhale with us, as if relieved that the harrowing night is finally over. My heart still throbs with echoes of fear and elation that pounded through me only hours ago.

Standing near the temple’s towering archway, I glance behind at the ancient carvings—a silent testament to the cosmic power we have just witnessed. My knees feel unsteady as the magnitude sinks in: a swirl of orcish chanting, Gaurbod’s enraged accusations, Ghorzag offering his own life in my stead, and finally the War God’s flaming pillar that saves us both. Even now, my mind struggles to piece it all together.He saved us. The War God… truly intervened.

Ghorzag’s strong presence at my side keeps me anchored in reality. He has an arm wrapped around my waist, as though still guarding me from an invisible threat. The orcish warriors step out onto the stone ledge, battered from the confrontation but alive and—if the awe in their eyes is any sign—irrevocably changed by what they witnessed.

A hush clings to the mountaintop plateau. Some orcs rub at their eyes, as though trying to banish the remnants of flames dancing on the temple’s runes. Others exhale shuddering breaths, exchanging looks of mingled relief and reverence. The priests—headed by Drahn, their oldest member—move forward in a solemn line, crimson robes flapping in the chill wind.

Drahn lifts his carved staff, bone charms clacking. His cheeks are damp with tears, whether from awe or exhaustion or both. “By the War God’s own hand,” he says, voice trembling with significance, “we have witnessed the sign of acceptance. Let all here bear witness: The War God approves of this union.”