Page 96 of Till Orc Do Us Part

Just dark denim, worn boots, a black henley rolled to the elbows. The pin Jamie gave me rests over my heart.

I feel its weight more keenly tonight than steel ever could.

Locals pass me in eddies of movement—vendors hawking final wares, families weaving beneath the banners, couples leaning close against the breeze.

Some glance my way.

A few nod. Cautious respect.

One elderly woman presses a small sprig of lavender into my hand as she passes. “For luck,” she says, eyes bright with salt and memory.

I nod, throat thick. “Thank you.”

But not all looks are kind.

An older man near the railing mutters beneath his breath: “Strange times, when orcs build what men could not.”

I let the words pass like wind through reeds.

I will earn my place here with deeds, not arguments.

The rooftop exhibit waits above the central hall.

Liara’s vision.

My execution.

A gallery of her murals—new and old—woven with the framed pages of Jamie’s story. The tale that captured this town’s stubborn, scarred heart.

I should be there, unveiling it.

Instead, I stand below, tethered by something heavier than pride.

By doubt.

Ilyaana’s voice echoes from another life:“You will stand alone for this choice.”

I do not mind solitude.

But tonight... I feel it.

Liara catches my eye across the square—arms streaked with paint, dress wild with color. She lifts a brow, mouth quirking.

You coming?

I offer no answer.

Above me, children’s voices spill through the open windows—gasps of wonder, bright laughter.

Jamie’s voice rises clear:

"And this page shows where the Green Giant fixes the sea—see? And then Mama says it’s brave to try, even when you’re scared!"

The words land sharp beneath my ribs.

I step deeper into shadow.

And then—she arrives.