Darius, a leopard-orc, steps out of his suit and pants, checks his watch, and quickens his pace.
He starts speed walking toward the train station.
He works at a news agency in the city but lives in a nearby town.
The rent in the city is too damn expensive.
While walking, he notices a zebra-orc happily chatting with a lion-orc.
From their relaxed stance and friendly behaviour, he knows they were born after the Great Totem appeared—the one that slaughtered all the totems in this region over eighty years ago.
Before that, orc races feasted on each other.
Now they share cities, towns, even rooms.
He once heard the absurd tale of a snake-orc marrying a mongoose-orc.
Enemies for generations now living together in harmony.
He exhales in relief when he reaches the platform just seconds before the train arrives.
It screeches to a halt, and he steps into one of the cabins.
His shoulders drop when he sees every seat taken.
Standing by the door, he reflects on the changes in their lives.
In the tribe, he might never have known who his mate was, or whether any children were his.
Now, an orc can only have one permanent, legal mate—and must register it with the government.
Once, he would have hunted beasts and magic beasts to feed his family.
Now, he sits behind a desk, writing.
He sometimes misses the thrill and freedom of the hunt.
But he also remembers that every hunt was a gamble, that the prey could hunt them in return.
And in those days, tribes fought each other—especially the weaker ones, desperate to survive.
There were also no modern facilities like this train.
Before, to cross the distance from his hometown to the city—a trip that now takes a couple of hours by train—it would have taken days, with multiple fights along the way.
Now, if you wake up in time and reach the station before the train arrives, you can be in the city before midday.
The train finally reaches the city, and he steps down in line with the others.
He walks out of the station and hails a taxi.
The ride takes him to his office.
He greets people with a smile as he enters the building.
At his desk, he begins reading reports from field reporters and informants.
He organises them for tomorrow's publication.
By noon, one report makes him frown.
A sheep-orc family has been murdered—and their flesh eaten.
At lunch, everyone in the office talks about it.
Some conclude the murderer was born after the Great Totem's arrival, while others think it might be someone older.
He suspects the killer is young—born after the change.
Any orc born before it knows the totem's power.
If the totem wished, they could be found instantly.
The killer has the guts to defy the rules because the totem has stepped back, and the orc races have learned to govern themselves—yet they still remember what the totem can do.
So, the old orcs born before the change would never dare break the rules in a place ruled by a totem.
The new generation, having never witnessed the totem's power, has no fear—so they dare to break the law.
At that moment, a young sheep-orc bursts into the mess hall, huffing and puffing.
Every eye turns to him.
The young sheep-orc says, "The murderer struck again—this time in the city."
Shock ripples through the room.
Security in the city is far tighter than in towns or villages.
How did they dare?
Whispers fill the air at the audacity of the killer.
The young sheep-orc says, "There's more."
What more could the murderer possibly have done?
"They murdered a family of four deer-orcs," the young one says.
The room falls silent—so quiet that the sound of every heartbeat can be felt.
The totem now protects all orc races, but before, he was the totem of a tribe of deer-orcs.
Even today, deer-orcs are held in high regard.
Many hold important positions in the government.
The young sheep-orc adds, "And that family was from one of the original lineages… the kind that can trace their bloodline back to the Dream Tribe."
----
A wolf-orc stands with his head bowed toward a rhino-orc.
The rhino-orc, mayor of the city, stares at his police chief with cold eyes.
"Luca, three hours have passed since the murder—so why have I not heard news of the murderer's death?"
Luca meets the mayor's angry gaze.
He knows the anger is not for him but for the killer.
The murderer could have chosen any orc family, yet he targeted a deer-orc family—and not just any, but one from the original lineage.
They were marginal, without the awakened power of their heritage, but still carried the bloodline.
One day, their descendants might have awakened that power.
This is not the first murderer in the city's history, but past killers knew the red line and never crossed it.
This one not only crossed it—he erased it.
"I deployed even the blood hound-orcs," Luca says, "but they could not sniff out the murderer's scent."
"I don't care how," the mayor says. "I want the murderer dead, and quickly—before the Dream Court sends someone. You know our positions won't be guaranteed if they come."
"This isn't our fault," Luca frowns. "The Dream Court shouldn't remove us. Things aren't like before—our races now hold tremendous influence in the government."
The Dream Kingdom is a dual government, ruled by a parliament of all races, but the Dream Court holds enormous sway, serving the totem and controlling all shamans.
The mayor shakes his head.
"You've heard about the Dream World?"
Luca nods with pride. "My younger sister is a shaman. I've heard from her."
"The Dream Court left governance to the parliament," the mayor says, "because they turned all their attention to the Dream World—and it's said the Great Shaman now has the strength of a Divine King warrior."
Luca studies the cabin in silence, his eyes narrowing at the faint light leaking from a single window.
The forest looms behind it, dense and dark, a perfect place for a murderer to vanish without a trace.
The blood-hound orc points at the door, nostrils flaring as he inhales again.
Luca signals his men to spread out, circling the cabin so no one can escape.
A jackal-orc creeps toward the back, bow ready.
Another wolf-orc rests his paw on the hilt of his curved blade, tense and waiting.
The bloodhound orc whispers, "The smell is fresh… not more than an hour old."
Luca grunts—close enough to catch him if they move fast.
He raises his hand, then slams it down.
The front door bursts open under a heavy kick, wood splintering as his men rush inside.
The cabin is dim, lit only by a small oil lamp on a table.
A tiger-orc sits there, sharpening a dagger with slow, deliberate strokes, his amber eyes calm.
He doesn't flinch at the intrusion, just glances up and says in a low voice, "You're making a mistake."
Luca steps forward, teeth bared, "That depends… on what you've been doing these past few hours."
The tiger-orc's gaze shifts, just for a heartbeat, toward the forest outside the back door.
Luca notices.
His voice turns cold, "Seal the forest paths. If he runs, he dies."
The tiger-orc smiles faintly, "You think I'm the one you're looking for?"
Luca growls, "I don't think. I smell blood."
The tiger-orc's smile fades.
The tiger-orc's amber eyes flare with sudden madness, and he launches himself at Luca with a feral snarl.
Luca meets him head-on, steel clashing against claw, but each blow rattles his bones, the tiger-orc's strength overwhelming.
He grits his teeth, trying to counter, but the beast moves like a blur, forcing him back step by step.
A sharp command from Luca's side is followed by the crack of rune guns, blue-etched bullets tearing into the tiger-orc's side.
The shots land, but instead of falling, the tiger-orc roars, a deep, earth-shaking bellow that makes the cabin walls tremble.
A red, seething energy bursts from his body, and his muscles swell grotesquely, skin stretching as his frame twists into a monstrous abomination.
With a single, devastating punch, he hurls Luca across the clearing, smashing him into the trunk of a towering tree.
Before Luca can recover, the beast turns on the rest of the orc police, tearing through them with claws and teeth, scattering bodies and breaking steel.
Luca forces himself up, raises his rune gun, and fires again, the flash drawing the monster's burning gaze.
"Run!" he roars to the survivors, his voice ragged.
The tiger-orc crouches low, then leaps toward him in a blur of red and muscle.
Luca fires point-blank, but the bullets vanish into the beast's hide as if swallowed by darkness.
He shuts his eyes, bracing for death, but instead of pain, he hears a roar—different this time, strained and furious.
When he opens them, the tiger-orc is hanging midair, thrashing wildly, bound in silver-shining chains that coil tight around his limbs.
The chains shimmer as they tighten, leading back to a tall figure stepping from the forest's shadow—a deer-orc with sleek purple hide and luminous, otherworldly eyes.
A Dream Deer-orc.