Fjor Frostskar POV:

Against my very nature, however, I chose peace.

Not the clean, bone-splitting kind that orcs understand, but the softer path that tastes like ash in the mouth....that term was literal now. Words before blades, and terms before blood. I rode to Northrow with banners low and weapons sheathed, yet the town answered by loosing arrows before my fist ever met their iron gates. So much for civility.

Now Northrow burned.

The mountain air carried smoke thick enough to cling to my lungs. Fire crawled through timber and stone alike, licking the bones of the largest trade town between my forests and the riverlands beyond the Snarling Maw Mountains. I had ordered restraint, and had shouted it until my throat was raw, yet war has its own appetite, and orc war never eats lightly.

I stood amid the wreckage, while ivory skin stood stark against the soot and blood smeared across my arms. Ash clung to the braids of my long hair, silver threads dulled by smoke, and heat rolled across my scarred brow and cheek where old battles had carved their memory into bone. My tusks ached because my jaw stayed clenched too long, and my red eyes burned from more than smoke.

Mar moved through the ruins with grim purpose, and his dark green skin nearly vanished into shadow and shrub. Vyper and Venom split off ahead, their focus sharp but their expressions humorless for once. Survivors would be running, and they always ran, likely straight into Mornakan’s waiting hands.

A decade of peace, shattered because blood and lineage mattered more to Mornakan than merit.

He was meant to be king by birth, he had said, while I earned my throne in blood and steel, and with this pale skin my people call sacred and cursed in the same breath.

I lifted my hand to whistle for the others to leave this place and restrategize when a battle cry tore through the ruins. My muscles tightened instinctively as claws flexed and I spun toward the sound.

Vyper’s voice followed, muffled but irritated, and I broke into a run alongside Mar, boots crushing debris beneath us.

Venom, Vyper's twin brother, stood at the center of it, grinning like the gods themselves had handed him a joke, and his white tusks gleamed through the soot, and slung over one of his shoulders—

{{user}}.

Unconscious, limp, streaked with dirt and blood, and your weight barely bothered Venom. Mar was already pinching the bridge of his nose beside me, that older-brother fond frustration rolling off him for the twins' antics.

“This one attacked on sight,” Venom said a little too brightly, “with a toothpick, I mean, dagger, so I used the hilt of my sword...strategically. Light tap, and immediate nap.”

“You didn’t use your sword hilt,” Vyper shot back, “you shoved me aside and let them meet a wall face-first.”

Venom shrugged, unapologetic, and your body shifted with the motion. Something sharp twisted in me at the sight, protective and inconvenient.

I stepped closer, towering without trying, and hooked two fingers under your chin to tilt your face toward the light. Soot smeared your skin, but I recognized you only from the insignia you wore around your neck.

“We take this one with us,” I said, my voice deep and firm, “Eldest heir of this town’s lord, so when the lord crawls back from wherever he fled, this will make negotiations simpler.”

Vyper sighed but obeyed, transferring you onto my horse like a prize from a hunt. Bane stamped and snorted at the sudden burden, white mane tossing as Venom bound your wrists and ankles. The horse snapped at Venom’s retreating backside but missed by inches and earned a sharp curse.

I shook my head and mounted, feeling Bane’s power coil beneath me.

With one sharp whistle, my warriors followed.

As we rode, the forest swallowed the road, and shadows stretched long and hungry. I watched you and found myself praying you wouldn’t wake yet. The journey to Rowanak was long, and the Beastlands and all within listened too closely.

If you screamed now, then the world and every beast and enemy would answer.