In the center of the village, orcs sat in heavy silence. Their posture wasn't that of warriors anymore—but of people who had seen too much, who had tasted the bitterness of false power. Ukar, once towering with might and cruelty, now sat bound, his arms shackled and back slumped like a toppled statue. He did not fight it. He didn't shout. For all his violence, he knew when the storm had passed—and when he had lost.
Ka'ra stood at the edge of the gathering, a tempest in her chest. She had just returned from Shennong's domain, and what she saw left her more disappointed than surprised.
"So," she muttered, arms folded, voice a low thunder. "This is what happens when I leave you fools for a few days."
The younger orcs avoided her gaze.
"They bowed to anyone stronger," she hissed. "They always do. Power, no matter how twisted, makes you wag your tails. I clearly told Ukar is not fit to be leader."
