Dawn dripped into the cottage through thin wooden slats, dust motes catching in pale sunlight like suspended stars. Elira's golden eyes opened to Micah's calm chest rising and falling. His serenity felt impossible here, yet she lingered a heartbeat, savoring the fragile quiet. A knock shattered the peace. Maris entered, tray of steaming coffee in hand. Steam curled toward the ceiling, mingling with the earthy scent of straw and wood. Her gaze swept over Elira's blood-streaked dress, noting every tensed muscle.
"You'll need money," Maris said. "Chores pay small sums. Follow me."
Elira inclined her head, voice low. "I understand."
She moved through the morning hauling firewood, scrubbing floors, fetching water. Each movement precise, economical, yet her senses stretched outward like thin threads into the forest. Every twig snap, every rustling leaf, every distant birdcall passed through her awareness. Villagers whispered behind closed doors. "Last night again… the forest…" "The Empire sends no soldiers…" "Treasure and danger… it's cursed." Elira absorbed their murmurs, committing the details to instinct. Later, she fed Micah the milk she had earned, his tiny fingers clinging to the bottle. Blue eyes blinked slowly, almost a lullaby of normalcy.
A tremor ran through the floor beneath her boots. Leaves shivered as the wind shifted, and a shadow thickened at the forest edge. The orc emerged—massive, coiled muscles under green skin, tusks jagged, eyes blazing with predatory intelligence. Every step sent ripples through the soil, snapping twigs, scattering birds. The scent of sweat, earth, and raw muscle filled the air.
Elira stiffened. Micah… The orc swung a branch of its own, sending debris flying toward the cottage. Instinctively, her hands rose, and Orscu flared—a faint, shimmering energy that wrapped over her and the cradle. The branch hit with a resonant thud, sparks of energy flickering. Micah murmured in sleep, flinching slightly.
The orc lunged. Air shivered, leaves whirled, and Elira ducked, Orscu humming along her arms, vibrating through every sinew. Its massive fist slammed the ground near her, gravel ricocheting across the floorboards. Micro-vibrations traveled through her toes, warning her of the next strike. She pivoted, flicking a barrel into the orc's path. Wood splinters flew, resin sharp in the air. The orc stumbled, recovering with a guttural growl.
Debris glanced off her shield, sparks flying. Small cuts formed on her arms. Pain sharpened her focus. Orscu rippled around Micah, expanding instinctively. Tiny hairs stood on end; the air hummed faintly with protective energy. The orc lunged again; tusks snapped inches from her face. Air displaced, a rush of fetid breath brushing her skin. She rolled beneath it, Orscu absorbing the impacts along her back and shoulders.
Elira's mind raced with fragmented thoughts. If I die here… Micah… Maika… everything… Her hands twitched, tracing arcs of energy in instinctive defense. Every strike she blocked, every step she pivoted, Orscu pulsed with subtle, almost conscious precision, wrapping around her limbs and torso like a living thing.
The orc swung a massive arm. She stepped into momentum, shield absorbing the force, sending a reverberation through her bones. A splinter grazed her cheek; the metallic tang of blood filled her mouth. Orscu flared, tiny sparks of energy lacing across her skin. She shoved off the wall, rolling into a controlled flip, and landed crouched, muscles coiled.
Another swing. Another charge. Elira's eyes flicked to Micah, safe but vulnerable. Protective instinct surged, Orscu spreading outward, forming a second layer of energy around the cradle. Dust and splintered wood filled the air. Each exhale came ragged, her chest burning. Her muscles ached, but she forced herself to move, to adapt, to survive.
The orc's tusks grazed her shoulder. Pain flared, white-hot. She countered with an elbow to its torso, pivoted, and struck at its knee, sending it off balance. Orscu pulsed like liquid steel, responding to her thoughts faster than she could consciously direct. Every micro-adjustment—balance, footing, shield orientation—happened instinctively, instinct refined through sheer necessity.
The final strike came with a roar. Elira launched herself forward, Orscu coiling around her in a blinding shimmer. Energy hummed violently along her arms, chest, and back as she met the orc's brute force head-on. Bones slammed, muscles screamed, and the orc toppled backward, staggering, defeated.
Elira collapsed to her knees, breath ragged, every muscle trembling. Blood dripped from small cuts across her body, and sweat slicked her hair to her skin. Orscu lingered faintly, a protective glow wrapping around her and Micah. He stirred, murmuring, safe in her arms.
Villagers peeked cautiously from the edges of the forest and cottages, awe and fear mixing in their eyes. Maris stepped forward, voice quiet. "Are you all right?"
Elira's lips parted in a hoarse whisper. "Safe… for now."
Beyond the village, the forest loomed, shadows whispering of treasures, dangers, and monsters yet unseen. And within her, Orscu pulsed faintly, a spark of latent potential she had barely begun to understand. The day ended bloodied, exhausted, victorious—but the fight, and everything that waited beyond, was far from over.