The campfire crackled softly as the evening settled into a peaceful hush. Soldiers gathered in small groups around the flames, eating, laughing, and sharing stories of the day's events. The scent of hearty stew wafted through the air as JoJo, the camp's cook, bustled about, handing out bowls to the hungry men and women.
"Here you go, boy! Enjoy!" JoJo said cheerfully, sliding another bowl into the waiting hands of a soldier.
"Thanks, JoJo!" the soldier called back, echoing the gratitude heard all around the camp.
Kieran sat apart from the others, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed, his metal arm glinting faintly in the firelight. His emerald eyes scanned the lively scene, though he made no move to join in. He wasn't much for camaraderie, especially after the earlier tension with Seraphina and Calvin.
The sound of approaching footsteps snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned slightly, his sharp senses already recognizing the light, deliberate gait. It was Seraphina.
"Great," he muttered under his breath.
She approached with her usual air of calm determination, a bowl of steaming stew in her hands. Stopping a few feet away, she held it out to him.
"Here," she said simply.
Kieran glanced at the bowl but didn't reach for it. "I don't want it," he grumbled, looking away.
As if on cue, his stomach betrayed him with a loud, rumbling growl.
Seraphina raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a knowing smirk. "Really?" she said dryly.
Before he could respond, she stepped forward and lightly punched him on the side of his head.
"OW! You crazy bitch!" Kieran snapped, glaring at her as he rubbed his head.
"Just take the damn food," she said firmly, thrusting the bowl into his hands.
Grumbling under his breath, Kieran grabbed the stew and the spoon, muttering something unintelligible as he began to eat.
Seraphina crossed her arms, watching him with an amused expression. "When you're done with... whatever you're doing, Calvin has a gift for you," she said.
Kieran paused mid-bite, frowning. "For me? Why?"
"I don't know," she replied, shrugging. "Why don't you go ask him yourself?"
With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Kieran to stew—both literally and figuratively.
He watched her retreating figure, then glanced down at the half-empty bowl in his hands. A small, begrudging smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth before he buried it under another spoonful of stew. As Kieran finished his food, he set the bowl aside and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Rising from his spot, he glanced toward JoJo, who was bustling about, handing out more bowls to hungry soldiers.
"Thanks for the food," Kieran said gruffly, his tone softer than usual.
JoJo looked up with a wide grin. "You're very welcome, Kieran. Stay strong out there."
With a nod, Kieran made his way toward Calvin's tent. The flap of the canvas rustled as he entered, and the scent of parchment and lantern oil greeted him. Inside, Calvin stood at the head of a large table, his hand resting on a map spread across it. Around him were three men, their postures tense but attentive as they studied the markings on the map.
Calvin's head lifted as Kieran stepped inside, and a warm smile crossed his face. "Ah, Kieran, welcome," he said, gesturing for him to come closer.
Kieran stepped forward, his boots crunching softly on the dirt floor. His eyes flicked over the trio at the table before settling on Calvin. "Seraphina said you wanted to see me," he said, his tone steady but tinged with curiosity.
Calvin nodded, folding his arms. "I did, but first, introductions. Gentlemen, this is Kieran. And Kieran, meet your potential allies in this effort."
The three men turned to face Kieran fully, their gazes sharp with scrutiny. Kieran held their stares without flinching, his imposing presence filling the room.
The first man stepped forward, his dark brown hair tied back into a short ponytail, his angular face marked with a faint scar across his jawline. He wore a well-worn breastplate and had the look of someone who'd seen more battles than he cared to remember.
"I'm Loris," he said, his voice deep and measured. "Captain of the Eastern Division. I've heard about you. You're the Orc who doesn't care about orders but still gets results."
Kieran let out a dry chuckle. "Orders don't mean much when survival's on the line," he said. "But I don't go looking for trouble. Trouble usually finds me."
The second man, a wiry figure with piercing green eyes and a mop of sandy blonde hair, leaned against the table. His leather armor was adorned with tools and pouches, marking him as some kind of scout or ranger.
"Name's Garven," he said, his tone lighter than Loris's but still wary. "I work as a tracker and reconnaissance expert. They say you're trying to show the world that Orcs can be something more than brutes."
Kieran's jaw tightened slightly. "Not trying—doing," he said firmly. "I've fought alongside humans, elves, and dwarves. I bleed the same as anyone else. The only difference is, I've got more scars to show for it."
The third man, a stout figure with a bald head and a thick black beard, crossed his arms. His plate armor bore the sigil of the Protectors, and a massive warhammer rested against the table beside him.
"Barrick," he said simply, his voice a gravelly rumble. "I'm the heavy hitter. Calvin says you're good in a fight. I hope you're as tough as you look."
Kieran smirked faintly. "Stick around, and you'll see. I didn't survive this long by hiding behind walls."
Calvin raised a hand, cutting through the tension with a commanding presence. "Now that introductions are out of the way, Kieran, I wanted them to hear directly from you. Tell them why you're here, and what drives you. They need to know who they're standing with."
Kieran hesitated for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he searched for the right words. Finally, he spoke, his voice low but filled with conviction.
"I didn't join this group to make friends or to prove something to myself," he began, his gaze moving between the three men. "I joined because I'm tired of the way Orcs are seen—tired of people thinking we're just mindless beasts who only know how to destroy. I want to show that we can stand for something more. That we can be protectors, just like any of you."
Loris raised an eyebrow. "And you think one Orc can change centuries of prejudice?"
Kieran met his gaze, unflinching. "I think one Orc can start a fight worth finishing," he said. "And if that means breaking every demon, mage, or fool who stands in my way, so be it."
Garven let out a low whistle. "Well, you've got guts, I'll give you that."
Barrick nodded approvingly. "Sounds like you've got the fire for this fight. I'll take that over empty words any day."
Calvin clapped his hands together, a satisfied smile on his face. "Good. Now that we're all on the same page, let's get to work."
The group turned back to the map, the room filled with a renewed sense of purpose. Kieran, though still wary, felt a flicker of something unfamiliar—a tentative sense of belonging.
Kieran raised an eyebrow, his arms crossed as he glanced at Calvin. "Wait, Seraphina said you had a gift for me? I hope she wasn't lying."
Calvin chuckled, stepping toward the back of the tent where a large chest sat, almost forgotten in the shadows. "Oh, right. I did have something for you. I think you'll find it... fitting."
He grasped the heavy chest by its handles, sliding it across the floor toward Kieran. The sound of the metal scraping against the ground drew everyone's attention in the room. Calvin gestured for Kieran to open it.
Kieran knelt, undoing the thick iron latches and pushing the lid upward. As the chest creaked open, his eyes widened at the contents—a set of armor and a massive, intimidating sword.
The armor was an intricate mix of craftsmanship and raw strength. The chest plate was forged from a dark, almost obsidian-like metal that gleamed faintly in the lantern light. It was angular and robust, with reinforced plates over the vital areas. The centerpiece of the chest bore an embossed design of a snarling wolf, its jaws open wide as if ready to devour its enemies.
The pauldrons were broad, with sharp edges that flared outward, resembling the jagged ridges of mountain peaks. Etched into the surface of each were intricate patterns of flames licking upward, symbolizing unyielding resolve.
The gauntlets were sleek but powerful, their fingers reinforced with segmented plates to allow flexibility without sacrificing protection. Spiked knuckles added a brutal edge to the design, suggesting they could double as weapons in close combat.
The greaves and boots mirrored the chest plate's dark metallic theme, with engraved runes running down the sides, their meaning lost to time but emanating an air of ancient power. The armor's edges were lined with faint streaks of crimson, as if the metal itself had been dipped in blood. A long, tattered black cape was folded beneath the armor, completing its grim, warlike aesthetic.
Resting atop the armor was a colossal greatsword, nearly as tall as Kieran himself. Its blade was broad and slightly curved, forged from an unusual alloy that shimmered between steel and shadow. The edge was razor-sharp, with faint serrations near the hilt to tear through armor.
The crossguard was shaped like a pair of outstretched wings, symbolizing freedom and strength. Its grip was wrapped in dark leather, worn but firm, ensuring a steady hold even in the heat of battle. The pommel was shaped like a wolf's head, its emerald eyes gleaming faintly, mirroring the armor's design.
The sword radiated an air of raw destruction, heavy and unwieldy to anyone untrained. But in Kieran's hands, it felt as if it had been made for him alone—a weapon that could cleave through not just steel, but the resolve of his enemies.
Calvin clapped his hands together, his commanding presence drawing everyone's attention. "Alright, now that introductions are out of the way, and Kieran has his new gear, let's get down to business."
Kieran stood, hefting the greatsword onto his back and adjusting the armor's weight on his shoulders. He glanced around the room, his gaze meeting Calvin's. "What's the plan?"
Calvin stepped back toward the map spread across the table, his expression turning serious. "We need to discuss our next move against the mages."
The air in the tent grew heavy with anticipation as the group gathered around, their focus solely on Calvin. The faint sound of the campfires crackling outside mingled with the distant murmur of soldiers preparing for what was to come.