The sky that evening burned red, like embers in a giant forge. Copper light danced along the edges of spears and swords, glinting with the tension of the moment. A thin haze of dust swirled around the feet of the orc soldiers, casting long shadows across the hardened earth of the Bloodfang clan's camp.
Kenji stood at the center of the main field, his chest rising and falling with restrained breath, his sharp eyes locked onto a lone figure standing tall atop the offering stone: Grommash, the clan's tyrant, the great warlord who had ruled with an iron fist for more than two decades.
Before him knelt a dozen humans — old, young, men and women — their hands bound. They were slaves, taken during raids across human territories, now deemed useless due to wounds, age, or broken spirits.
"This is a burden!" Grommash growled, his voice thundering like a storm across the sky. "They can no longer lift a sword, cannot farm, and are not worth feeding! Burdens must be cast away."
Roars erupted from most of the orc warriors, a frenzy fueled by bloodlust. But not all joined in. Among them, some faces showed hesitation. Some lowered their gazes, some exchanged glances, and others stood in silence, as if waiting for something.
That was when Kenji stepped forward.
His frame was lean compared to the orcs, but no less resolute. Though half-human by blood, his spirit burned fiercer than any full-blooded orc. He placed himself between Grommash and the slaves, drawing a dagger from his waist.
"Enough!" he shouted. His voice rang clear and bold, echoing between the stone walls and leather tents. "Orcs are not beasts. We can be more than raiders and killers!"
A ripple of silence spread like an earthquake. The warriors froze. Even Grommash turned with a glare sharp as a spear.
"And who do you think you are, half-blood?" Grommash hissed. "A child born of rape and betrayal?"
Kenji stood firm. "I am the voice of hearts long silenced. You all know this is wrong! We torment the weak not because we are strong, but because we are afraid. Afraid of change. Afraid of becoming something better."
His gaze swept over the warriors. He pointed toward an elder orc named Gurgal, whom he had once saved from a bear attack. "Gurgal, you know I speak the truth. You saw how the humans healed your wounds, didn't you?"
Gurgal said nothing, but his grip on his axe weakened.
Kenji walked toward the captives and helped an old woman to her feet. He untied her hands and declared, "If you call them burdens, then I will carry that burden with them!"
Grommash snorted and raised his axe high. "Traitor. You deserve to die."
But before he could strike, a voice rose from the ranks of orcs — low, yet firm. "I stand with Kenji."
All heads turned. The speaker was Drogar, a young warrior close to Kenji. He stepped into the center and drove his sword into the ground in a gesture of defiance against the tyrant.
Then, one by one, others followed. Of the hundred-plus warriors present, nearly a third — over thirty fighters — moved forward and stood by Kenji's side. They weren't only young soldiers, but also elders, and even two of the unit captains.
Grommash roared in fury. "You've all been poisoned! Our clan was built on blood and fire! There is no place for softness here!"
"No," Kenji replied quietly but resolutely. "Our clan was built on unity. But you've ruled us through fear. Today, we choose hope."
Tension snapped like a drawn bowstring. Grommash lunged forward, his axe swinging down toward Kenji's head. But Kenji was ready. He sidestepped swiftly, his dagger flashing to slice into Grommash's arm. Black blood splattered onto the ground.
A brief, brutal battle erupted. Kenji couldn't match Grommash's raw strength, but he had speed, cunning, and something Grommash lacked — support.
Drogar and the two captains moved to shield Kenji, forcing Grommash to fight outnumbered. Three against one, he quickly found himself overwhelmed. Bloodied and breathless, the warlord finally dropped to one knee.
Kenji approached, his dagger still dripping. He could have ended Grommash then and there, but he held back.
"You're free to go. But this clan is no longer yours," Kenji said.
The orcs stood in silence, then slowly began to nod. There were no cheers of victory, no mocking jeers. Only a heavy stillness born from the weight of a great change.
Grommash spat blood into the dust and rose slowly. "You think this is over? The world does not forgive the weak."
"The world will change — if we're the ones to change it," Kenji answered.
And with that, Grommash turned and walked alone into the northern wilds. He was never seen again... at least, not for a long time.
The days that followed were filled with challenge. Kenji, now regarded as a leader by a third of the clan, had to face the reality that not all orcs embraced his vision. But he was not alone. The freed slaves chose to stay, helping to build a new settlement founded not on violence, but cooperation.
Under skies that now seemed brighter, orcs and humans began to plant gardens, repair homes, and even opened a small school beneath a great tree at the heart of the camp.
Though conflict lingered — and Grommash's loyalists still roamed the outer lands — Kenji knew something had begun. The embers of liberation had been lit, and the fire of change would not die easily.
At night, as the campfires burned and children — both human and young orcs — sat together listening to stories, Kenji looked up at the stars. He knew the road ahead would be long and winding. But for the first time in his life, he no longer walked it alone.
"This is not the end," he thought. "This is the beginning of everything."