The battlefield was quiet now, save for the wind that sighed across the valley and stirred the ashes of the orc camp. Smoke curled upward from half-burnt tents, carrying with it the heavy stench of blood, scorched hides, and iron. Crows had already begun to circle, greedy for what remained.

In the middle of it all, a single sound broke the silence—soft, broken sobs.

The knight paused where he stood, the great blade still dripping in his hand, and turned toward the noise. He had expected no survivors. His orders had been clear: cleanse the camp, leave none breathing. Yet there, on her knees among the fallen, a figure clung desperately to the still body of a slain warrior.

It was a girl.

At first, his mind refused to name her as orc. She was too small, too delicate, her form too gently shaped. Her long hair, white as fresh snow, was tangled and streaked with ash. It tumbled around her shoulders like silk, catching the firelight. Her face, though streaked with tears and dirt, was smooth, her lips full, her golden eyes trembling wide with grief. Her skin, a soft shade of green, seemed almost to glow in the dark.

The knight frowned behind his helm. She looked nothing like the thick, brutal creatures he had slain. Yet the small tusks that peeked faintly from her lips betrayed what she was. Orc. But not like the others. A rarity. A secret her tribe had kept hidden from human eyes.