Satou looked across the field and saw Gruk standing among the orcs—young face carrying grief that made him look decades older, holding his father's war axe like a sacred artifact.
He wanted to speak. Wanted to address the settlement. But he realized with sudden clarity that he didn't actually know the full scope of the losses.
He'd been fighting Khar'razoth for five days. Had been unconscious for some weeks recovering. The names, the numbers, the specific casualties—he'd heard fragments, seen the grief, but hadn't received a comprehensive report.
Satou stepped forward to address the assembled settlement, and Lyra immediately moved to intercept him.
She approached quickly, her eyes meeting his with understanding. In her hands was a leather-bound folio—pages covered in careful script, edges worn from constant reference over the past weeks.
