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A hush envelops the hall as Karzug leads Gaurbod forward, shackles rattling.

Orc warriors flank him, weapons in hand.

The elders form a semicircle, joined by key advisors like Harzug, who represent the clan’s martial leadership, and Drahn, symbolizing the priests’ approval.

Lirienne stands to my right, posture tense but resolute.

“Clan of Stormborn,” I call, voice resounding. “You know why we are gathered. Hear the charges against Gaurbod: sabotage of clan resources, orchestrating illusions and false omens, murder of Rakan, attempted murder of the chieftain’s bride, and defiling the War God’s temple with bloodshed.”

A ripple of anger and grief threads through the crowd. Orc mothers recall Rakan’s youth, fathers clench jaws at the orchard’s memory, warriors hiss at illusions that nearly cost them their sanity.

“What say you, Gaurbod?” I ask, though I suspect any response drips with venom.

He lifts his chin, sullen. “I acted for the clan’s future,” he mutters, half under his breath. “That human—” His gaze skitters to Lirienne, “—disgraces our blood.”

The crowd bristles, a few spitting insults. Harzug steps forward threateningly, but I raise a hand. “Enough,” I say, glaring. “You stand condemned by the War God’s sign. You cannot twist this further.”

Silence thickens. The orc elders exchange glances, each awaiting my decision.

I exhale, mind racing with the weight of this moment.

If I simply order him executed, it might be swift, but might leave a wound in the clan’s heart.

He is my cousin. Exile might risk his returning for revenge. No easy answer.

At length, I turn to the elders. “We honor tradition,” I say, scanning their faces. “For sabotage this severe, the penalty is either the sword or banishment.”

An elder with braided grey hair steps forward. “Execution is standard for orcs who betray their own,” she says quietly, voice trembling. “But Gaurbod is your blood, Chieftain. Does that weigh on your judgment?”

A lump forms in my throat. Lirienne’s hand finds mine, a gentle squeeze. I steele myself. I must choose not as Gaurbod’s cousin, but as the clan’s chieftain.

“He spilled orc blood— Rakan’s,” I say, voice hoarse. “He nearly destroyed us. Family ties do not absolve murder. The clan must see justice done.”

A heavy hush follows, the gravity of my words sinking in. Gaurbod’s face twists, but he offers no defense. The elder who spoke closes her eyes, nodding grimly. “Then we abide by the old ways.”

“Yes,” I affirm, heart heavy. “Execution.”

A collective inhale ripples through the hall, some orcs pressing fists to chests in solemn acceptance. A few lower their heads, acknowledging the severity. This is how it must be, I remind myself. The sabotage was too great, the cost in lives irreparable. If he lives, the clan may never heal.

Gaurbod laughs bitterly, hollow. “So be it, cousin,” he spits. “Enjoy your half-breed future.”

Blood pounds in my ears, but I keep composure. “Take him to the courtyard,” I order, voice stiff. “It will be swift. The entire clan shall bear witness to the end of his treachery.”

Karzug and the guards seize Gaurbod’s arms. He doesn’t resist, possibly resigned or too battered in spirit to fight. The crowd parts in uneasy silence as we descend from the dais. My heart hammers, but I lead them, forging a path through anxious onlookers.

The orange glow of dusk fills the courtyard, long shadows stretching across the stone.

Orc watchers join the throng, murmuring as they realize the clan’s final verdict.

Lirienne sticks close, her expression pained.

I feel a pang of guilt for the familial tie that forces my hand, but the clan demands justice beyond sentiment.

We form a ring in the courtyard’s center, the same place we first returned with Gaurbod in chains. A hush falls as Gaurbod is forced to his knees, arms locked behind his back. Karzug and Harzug stand to either side, swords drawn, silent sentinels.

I inhale, stepping forward. The entire clan, or those who live within these walls, press closer. Tension radiates, some orcs fidgeting, others stoically awaiting the blow. Gaurbod’s gaze flickers, a shadow of fear on his face. He knows there is no escape.

“Gaurbod Stormborn,” I pronounce, letting my voice ring out. “For sabotage, illusions, the murder of Rakan, attempts on Lirienne’s life, and betrayal of the War God’s trust, you are sentenced to death.”

He sneers, battered pride flaring. “You were always too soft, Ghorzag. The War God?—”

“The War God spared Lirienne and struck down your betrayal,” I interrupt, anger cresting. “Your lies end now.”

Ragzuk approaches, staff tapping softly, eyes lowered in a final prayer. Orc tradition dictates a chance for last words, but Gaurbod only glares, silent. Ragzuk murmurs a brief incantation, calling on the War God to witness the clan’s justice.

“Proceed,” I say, voice taut.

Karzug gives a short nod, stepping behind Gaurbod with sword in hand. The hush is absolute, every orc holding breath. Lirienne presses a trembling hand to her mouth, though she makes no protest. She understands this is our law.

With a single, swift motion, Karzug swings the blade. Steel flashes in the dying sunlight, the blow landing clean. Gaurbod’s body crumples to the stones. The entire courtyard seems to exhale, tension unraveling into stunned finality.

For a moment, none speak. Then, as if on cue, watchers sag with relief, some letting out pained groans. A chunk of sorrow presses on me—I lose a cousin, but it is his own doing. My father’s line was tarnished by Gaurbod’s ambition, and now it ends on these stones.

I swallow hard, turning to face the clan. “It’s done,” I declare, voice echoing. “The conspirator who nearly destroyed us has paid with his life. Let our clan be united once more, trusting the War God’s sign and each other.”

A wave of agreement, weapons clashing on armor. Some orcs close their eyes in relief and sorrow, but none challenges the verdict. A few approach me, heads bowed, apologizing for mistrusting my leadership or Lirienne. I accept their words with weary acknowledgment— the clan needs unity, not grudges.

Drahn, the lead priest, steps forward. “Chieftain Ghorzag,” he says, voice trembling with earnest devotion. “We stand behind you. Let this day mark the end of sabotage and the birth of a new era.”

A faint, grateful smile tugs at my lips.

At last, the clan acknowledges me fully— free of Gaurbod’s manipulations.

I exhale, scanning the courtyard where orcs murmur, comforting each other, or praising the War God’s guidance.

This is the hardest test of my leadership.

Now, the War God himself vindicates our cause.

Lirienne catches my eye. She stands beside Karzug, her expression touched by sorrow at Gaurbod’s body but also a certain peace.

We survive illusions, sabotage, and near-mutiny.

She’s free from suspicion forever. She offers me a small nod, as if to say, I’m here, and so are you. My chest warms with gratitude.

As dusk settles into true night, orcs light torches around the courtyard, forming pockets of light against the gloom.

Despite the somber finality of Gaurbod’s execution, the tension that once plagued us feels lifted— replaced by a cautious optimism for the future.

Some orcs even embrace each other, sharing tearful stories of illusions or sabotage they endured.

“Gather again in the great hall,” I announce. “We’ll feast tomorrow, not tonight— tonight we rest, bury our dead, honor Rakan’s memory, and reaffirm our loyalty to each other.” A subdued murmur of agreement follows.

I turn to Harzug. “Clear Gaurbod’s remains with respect to tradition,” I instruct, voice low. Even traitors in orc tradition deserve a certain ritual in death, albeit stripped of honors. Harzug nods, leading a few warriors to handle the grim task.

Karzug approaches, wiping his blade on a rag. His eyes shine with relief. “It’s over, Chieftain,” he says softly. “Truly over.”

I give him a weary grin. “We’ll have to rebuild, quell any lingering hostility. But yes. The sabotage is ended, and the War God’s sign stands.” My gaze drifts to Lirienne again, heart swelling. She’s truly part of this clan now.

That night, the fortress feels both subdued and serene.

Orcs light braziers in the great hall, offering silent prayers for the lost. Some huddle around small fires in the courtyard, mourning Rakan, reminiscing about simpler times.

Yet in every conversation, I hear mention of Lirienne’s vindication, of Gaurbod’s betrayal, of the War God’s undeniable sign. Rumors can no longer brand her a curse.

In the flickering glow, I navigate the main hall, checking on wounded warriors. They nod at me, no trace of suspicion in their stares. The burden of fear has lifted. Now, we face a future unclouded by illusions or sabotage.

At the far side, I find Lirienne speaking softly with a few orc women, likely recounting how she used her healing knowledge. The older orcs listen intently, not sneering, but impressed. How we’ve changed in so short a time.

“Chieftain,” one woman addresses me, turning from Lirienne. “We’re telling her about how we plan to replant the orchard. Some seeds might still be salvaged. With her knowledge of herbs, maybe she can advise us.”

Surprise ripples through me. They want her input? They who once spat at her feet? A grin tugs my lips. “I’m sure she’s more than willing. Her knowledge saved many of us on the pilgrimage.”

Lirienne’s cheeks color, a modest smile forming. The orc women nod, exchanging ideas about soil and water. My chest grows warm at the sight of genuine collaboration. This is the orc-human unity I once dreamed of, now made real by the War God’s testament.

Later, Drahn and a circle of priests catch me near the arched corridor leading to my quarters. They bow, staff ornaments clattering. “Chieftain Ghorzag,” Drahn says, voice solemn, “we request permission to hold a ceremony in Lirienne’s honor— to officially welcome her under the War God’s aegis.”

My brows lift. “A ceremony?”

Drahn nods. “Yes. She endured so much suspicion. We, the priests, wish to publicly declare her accepted in the clan’s spiritual sphere, ensuring no one questions her place again.”

A thrill of gratitude surges. “I’d be honored,” I reply. “Speak with her about the details. Let it be a day of celebration, not fear.”

He smiles, relief etched in his features. “May the War God guide us.” The priests depart, staff taps echoing on stone, already discussing how to prepare a ritual that might merge orcish traditions and allow Lirienne to partake.

At last, I slip into the private council chamber— the seat of my authority as chieftain.

The large stone throne at the far end stands empty, runic inscriptions winding across its rough surface.

Once, I felt burdened by that seat, a reminder of my father’s flawed legacy, but now I see it differently.

The War God’s verdict overshadows our past failings.

Lirienne follows me inside, hesitant. The torchlight reveals the worn tapestries along the walls, each telling of old battles. A hush fills the chamber, the guards outside giving us space. I move to the stone throne, placing a hand on its armrest.

Finally, she’s standing in front of me. I beckon her to come closer, “Lirienne.”

She takes small hesitant steps toward me, and I meet her halfway. I capture her in my arms to her surprise. A beautiful smile blooms on her lips as she asks, “What is it, Ghorzag? What’s on your mind?”

I hold her tighter, feeling every part and inch of her. In a shaky, nervous voice, I ask her, “Will you be my mate, Lirienne? In every sense of the word. Not because you’re my human bride, but because you want to be?”

Lirienne’s eyes open a fraction wider, and she nods. “Yes, Ghorzag,” she replies breathlessly.

“My mate,” I pronounce, full of love and hope for the future. Then, I kiss her, sealing not just our lips but our hearts and future together.