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A small group of warriors approaches Ghorzag and me, led by a weathered orc woman with braided silver hair. She inclines her head—not exactly a bow, but a gesture of respect. “Chieftain,” she says. Then, more hesitantly, her gaze flicks to me. “Human bride.”

I inhale, bracing for an insult, but she surprises me by speaking calmly. “We… we saw the War God’s sign. If he spares you, we have no right to call you cursed.” Her tone is rough, eyes darting as though unsure how to proceed. “We’re… sorry for the suspicion.”

My shoulders relax, warmth flooding my chest. “You’re forgiven,” I manage, forcing a small smile. “I understand your fear. But I never meant to bring calamity.”

She gives a slow nod, turning away. The warriors with her murmur amongst themselves, but no hateful glares or mutteredcurses follow. They’re truly letting this go, I think, tears pricking my eyes. Finally.

At the edge of camp, Gaurbod remains chained to a sturdy post, guarded by two grim-faced warriors. He watches the interactions with smoldering resentment, but exhaustion and a bandaged head wound keep him from struggling. A pang of pity mingled with anger roils in me, thinking how close he came to killing me. He’ll face the clan’s justice soon enough.

Ghorzag’s jaw tightens whenever he glances Gaurbod’s way. He’s still your cousin, I remind myself, and that personal betrayal must sting. But Ghorzag’s role as chieftain demands he bring Gaurbod back in chains rather than take vengeance here and now.

Night falls softly, the final shadows of day stretching across the valley. Orcs sit around scattered fires, speaking in subdued tones. The priests huddle together, likely planning how to announce the War God’s new verdict to the clan upon return. I sit with Ghorzag near one of these fires, a pot of stew simmering in the embers. The entire scene feels surreal—a calm after a storm that nearly destroyed us.

As stars emerge overhead, I catch sight of Karzug and Harzug discussing travel routes for the next day. We’ll likely reach the fortress by tomorrow’s dusk if we maintain a steady pace. My stomach lurches with an odd mix of nerves and excitement. Returning to face the clan, but this time with the War God’s favor—and the traitor unmasked.

Ghorzag watches me quietly. In the firelight, his green skin glows with a bronze cast, highlighting the rugged contours of his face, the swirl of old tattoos across his arms. I shift closer, drawn by his warmth. He extends an arm, allowing me to nestle against his side. Our eyes meet, a soft hush enveloping us.

“Thank you,” I whisper, voice wavering with the weight of everything unsaid. “For believing me, for—” My throat closes on the memory of him throwing down his ax at the temple.

His arm tightens around my shoulders. “You’re worth any price,” he says simply, a heartfelt confession in each word. “We wouldn’t have survived half this journey if not for your courage.”

Heat flushes my cheeks, and tears sting the corners of my eyes. “I only did what I could. You risked so much more, Ghorzag. For me. For the clan.”

He presses his brow to mine, a gesture that has become intimately familiar. “And I’d do it again,” he murmurs, his voice low and tender. “We’ll lead them together—no more illusions, no more sabotage. The War God’s sign proved we are meant to stand side by side.”

My heart thuds.Side by side.The future that once felt impossible now stretches before me, no longer a bleak labyrinth of hostilities. Orc watchers eye us across the fire, some with faint curiosity, others with subdued acceptance. Romance is rarely a subject in orcish life overshadowed by war, but Ghorzag’s unwavering devotion leaves me breathless.

Smiling, I lean into him. Yes, I think. We’ll face it all together.

Morning comes with a gentle golden glow. The ominous clouds that once clung to these mountains are gone, revealing a sky of dazzling blue. Orcs rouse early, packing gear and quenching the dying embers of last night’s fires. Ghorzag and Karzug confer about the final leg of our journey home, while I help distribute rations from our dwindling supplies.

Ragzuk sidles up beside me, staff tapping the rocky ground. “You look happier, Lirienne,” he notes, voice crackling with age. “Peace suits you.”

I flush, offering him a genuine grin. “I never thought I’d see acceptance after all that’s happened. But the War God’s temple… it changed everything.”

He nods, eyes reflecting the morning light. “The clan needed a sign. Now that you have it, I suspect we’ll all think twice before doubting the War God’s verdict. Gaurbod’s sabotage claimed too many lives, but at least it ends here.”

A pang strikes my heart. Rakan’s death, the orchard floods, the illusions. “It won’t be easy,” I say softly. “Some wounds run deep. But I’ll do what I can to help them heal.”

His lips curve into a thoughtful smile. “You already are. Orcs respect courage, and you’ve proven yours.”

By midday, we are winding down familiar paths, the jagged mountain ridges behind us. Each step further from the temple feels like shedding another layer of gloom. Gaurbod’s sullen presence in chains behind the caravan is a silent reminder of how close we came to ruin.

We break for lunch by a small, crystal-clear stream. Some orcs fish briefly, others repair torn leathers. I kneel by the water to wash my face, letting the coolness chase away lingering fatigue. Ghorzag approaches, crouching at my side, a faint grin tugging his lips.

“Refreshing?” he teases, lightly splashing water over his hands.

I smile, tucking a damp lock of hair behind my ear. “Feels like I’m washing away nightmares.”

He nods, eyes flickering with empathy. “We’ll carry those memories, but they won’t define us.” Then, more quietly, “Thank you for not losing faith. Even when the clan’s hatred soared.”

I place a wet palm on his forearm. “I had faith in you,” I say simply. The truth rings between us like a quiet vow.

As we travel, the last remnants of dark cloud formations drift apart overhead, yielding a sunlit sky. Orc warriors pause to crane their necks, marveling at the warmth spilling down. More than one comments that the false omens—storms, illusions, sabotage—have finally dissipated.

I glimpse Drahn, the lead priest, raising his staff to the heavens as if to confirm the War God’s shift in temperament. A hush of gratitude ripples through the group. No illusions, no sabotage. It’s almost peaceful.

For the first time, the orcs around me speak with something closer to normalcy: passing waterskins, discussing how best to rebuild the orchard once we get home, or replant seeds in the flooded fields. Their distrustful stares have softened, replaced by cautious acceptance.