"Thurni, Mazrah, and Zhora," she said quietly. "My sisters in all but blood. We grew up together, trained together, chose the Calling of Danger together."
"Calling of Danger?" I prompted gently.
"A warrior's right," she explained, her voice taking on the formal tone of someone reciting sacred tradition. "When the tribe faces hardship, young warriors may choose to seek honor through perilous quests. To prove their worth through blood and sacrifice. To strengthen the whole through the courage of the few."
So it's not just random stupidity, I realized. It's a formal cultural institution that channels young warrior energy into beneficial risk-taking for the tribe.
"Tell me about them," I said. "Your sisters."
Nulka's eyes grew distant as she remembered. "Thurni is my closest friend since childhood. Emerald skin, wild hair, always ready for a fight or a laugh. She could pick a fight with her own shadow and somehow win."
She took another spoonful of ramen, her hands trembling slightly. "Mazrah was our teacher. Battle-scarred veteran with tribal markings marking her victories. Stoic as stone, sent to guide us young ones through proper warrior ways."
"And Zhora?" I asked when she paused.
"Mother's personal guard," Nulka whispered with obvious respect. "Red hair like flame, bloodborn hunter with seven generations of lineage marks. She was sent to... watch over me. To ensure the chieftess's daughter didn't do anything too foolish."
Present tense, I noted with growing hope. She's talking about them like they're still alive.
"You didn't see them die," I said carefully. "Which means there's a chance..."
"They sacrificed themselves so I could escape with intelligence about the Guardian," Nulka interrupted, her voice thick with guilt. "Threw themselves at a creature they couldn't possibly defeat, bought me time with their blood. I should have stayed. I should have died with them. That's the warrior code, better death than retreat."
"But you had information that could save your tribe," I pointed out. "Strategic intelligence about the Guardian's capabilities, its location, its patterns. That knowledge is worth more than four dead warriors, no matter how heroic their sacrifice."
She looked at me with surprise, as if she hadn't expected practical military analysis from someone she still thought of as just another pink-skin. "How you know such things? You speak like warrior, but not move like one."
Careful, I warned myself. Can't reveal too much about Earth military thinking or gaming strategy.
"I've studied warfare," I said simply. "And I know that intelligence wins more battles than courage. Your sisters didn't die for nothing, they died to give your people a chance to survive whatever threat this Guardian represents."
"The Ice-Wind Guardian," she said finally. "That's what we called it. A big creature made of wood and stone with bright glowing parts. It used ice magic and wind magic together. It was beautiful but scary, like watching a big storm turn into something that wanted to hurt us."
"It moved really fast for something so big. It could freeze you solid with ice and wind, then break you apart right after. The ground turned to ice wherever it walked. And when it made spinning winds all around itself..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "We couldn't hit it at all."
Definitely more dangerous than the basic Ruin Guard I fought, I realized, making mental notes about capabilities and weaknesses. Ice and wind combination suggests vulnerability to fire magic, but that level of power would require more than basic pyraflux manipulation.
"How many people in your settlement?" I asked, shifting to immediate practical concerns.
"One hundred and twenty," Nulka said, then corrected herself. "One hundred and sixteen, if my sisters truly dead. All female, all fight to live in world that sees us as things to kill or take."
An entire tribe of warrior women, desperate and isolated, I thought, the tactical possibilities beginning to unfold in my mind. Exactly the kind of situation that could benefit from a mysterious pink-skin with unusual knowledge and strange abilities.
"Your chieftess," I said. "Tell me about her."
"Vrasha the Strong," Nulka said, and there was pride in her voice now. "My mother. Strongest orc in many generations, carries weight of our people on shoulders that never bend. She leads from front in every fight, shares last food when none left, takes night watch when others too tired."
Her expression grew troubled. "But even she cannot make food from empty air or make water flow from dry streams. The Calling of Danger was only hope, find new things, new places, new ways to live before cold season kills us all."
Starving settlement. Desperate leadership. Increasing monster attacks. I catalogued the information with growing certainty that this alliance could work to my advantage. And now they have a chieftess's daughter bound by magical oath to a mysterious stranger with healing abilities and infinite food supplies.
"She warned me," Nulka continued quietly. "Said I was too young, too quick to fight, too want to prove myself. But the Calling of Danger gives every warrior the right to choose their own path to honor. I chose... badly."
"You chose to try to save your people," I corrected. "The execution might have been flawed, but the motivation was sound. And you're not dead yet, which means you still have a chance to complete your mission."
She looked at me with those golden eyes that seemed to see more than I was comfortable revealing. "You speak of things that matter to you, pink-skin. What's your mission? What makes a strange healer with impossible food help a dying orc?"
Survival, I thought. Building power bases. Preparing for eventual revenge against sadistic-level psychopaths. Learning to navigate this world without getting myself killed again.
But what I said was, "I told you already. I need allies, not enemies. Your people are struggling, and I have resources that could help. That seems like the foundation for mutually beneficial cooperation."
It wasn't entirely a lie, but it wasn't the complete truth either. Nulka seemed to sense the layers I wasn't revealing, but she didn't press the issue.
"The binding we share," she said instead. "Kor'thak Zinaar makes connections deeper than simple words. I can feel... something from you. Strength that runs deeper than what shows. Secrets that shape your thoughts. Pain that drives your choices."
Magical soul-bonding includes emotional awareness, I realized with growing unease. Great. Just what I needed, psychic intimacy with someone I'm manipulating for survival purposes.
"We all carry secrets," I said carefully. "The question is whether those secrets help or hurt the people around us."
She studied me for another long moment, then nodded slowly. "Truth. And I sense yours, whatever they be, do not wish harm to me or mine. That is enough, for now."
For now, I noted the qualifier. She's not completely naive, despite her youth. I'll need to be careful about maintaining the balance between helpful ally and mysterious benefactor.
Nulka finished the last of her ramen and stood, testing her newly healed body with obvious satisfaction. The transformation was remarkable, from dying refugee to vibrant warrior in the span of a single meal and one very complicated kiss.
"We should move toward the settlement," she said. "The journey takes two days, and Mother will want to hear about the Guardian right away." She paused, her expression growing troubled. "But first... I need to go back to where we fought it. If my sisters are dead, I have to bring something of theirs home. They deserve a proper warrior's burial."
My stomach dropped at the thought. "Back to where you fought that thing? What if it's still there?"
"It might be," she admitted quietly. "But I can't return home empty-handed if they're truly gone. It's... it's our way."
Great, I thought with growing dread. My first alliance and she wants to walk straight back into the jaws of death. Though the chances of that Guardian still being in the exact same spot have to be slim... right?
Two days to prepare my approach, assuming we survive whatever's left at that battlefield, I thought, shouldering my makeshift pack. Two days to figure out how to present myself to an entire tribe of desperate warrior women without revealing too much about my origins or capabilities.
And two days to decide how much I'm willing to manipulate these people for my own survival.
As we began walking toward whatever passed for orcish civilization, with a detour through a potential death trap, I caught Nulka glancing at me with an expression that mixed gratitude, curiosity, and something that looked suspiciously like hunger for more of whatever we'd shared during the healing process.
One more complication to manage, I thought grimly. Because apparently saving someone's life through magical blood transfer creates mystical craving along with gratitude.
Still, it could be worse. At least now I have food, a guide, and a potential base of operations that doesn't involve immediate torture and death.
Assuming we don't get killed retrieving warrior tokens from a battlefield that might still have an ancient death machine wandering around.
Progress, of a sort.