"I am the heir of this village of ogres."
That's the first thought I whisper to myself every morning, even before my eyes fully open, before the sun rises over the hills, before the morning mist lifts from the valley.
It wasn't just pride. It was destiny.
I am my father's son—the next in line to lead this village, to carry our bloodline, our pride, and our strength into the future. This land, these people, this legacy... all of it would one day rest on my shoulders.
And I welcomed it.
Because I was strong. Because I had to be strong.
"Again!" barked the sharp, gravelly voice of the oldest warrior in the village.
I gritted my teeth as my training blade was knocked from my grip, the cold wood clattering to the dirt.
"Hmph. Your footing's off again. You charge like a wild boar, not a warrior."
The old ogre crossed his arms as I retrieved the blade.
An old sword ogre—our village's war master, blade veteran, and living fossil—had been training warriors since before I was born. His body was weathered, but his eyes were sharper than any sword. And his strikes?
I still have bruises reminding me how strong he was.
He trained me without restraint. Because I was the heir. And heirs don't get coddled.
"Again," he said with a grunt, turning his back. "If you want to call yourself the future chief, you better stop swinging like some half-starved goblin."
I swore I'd beat him one day.
Not out of resentment, but because that's how I'd know I was ready.
After training, I usually met with my sister near the southern edge of the village. She was always curious—too curious. Always poking at things she shouldn't, always sneaking past guards, always running off to places where even hunters stepped carefully.
We'd wander together after training. Through the fields where the farmers toiled, past the forges where weapons were shaped, through the tall trees at the village outskirts.
I liked those moments. Not just because she was my sister, but because I liked showing her what I saw: a village that thrived. A people who were strong. A legacy that was unshakable.
Even with the rumors—the ones the elders murmured in low voices around fire pits—that Veldora, the guardian of the forest, had vanished… I wasn't afraid.
What would change?
We didn't rely on some dragon to protect us. We were ogres. The fiercest warriors in the Jura Forest. Let the weak fret and hide.
I told myself we'd survive anything.
That's why I laughed when she tugged on my sleeve that day.
"I saw something strange," she said. "On the far hill, near the ridge. A huge black wolf. Just standing there. Watching the village."
"So?" I said with a shrug. "Wolves watch. That's what they do."
"This one didn't blink," she said quietly. "Didn't move. It just stared. Like it was studying us."
I paused for a second. Then gave her a crooked grin and ruffled her hair.
"If it wants to know how strong we are, let it. Maybe it'll learn not to mess with us."
She frowned, but didn't argue.
Maybe she should have.
Because that night, the silence came.
No wind. No insects. No birds. Just a stillness so complete, it was like the forest itself had stopped breathing.
And then…
Screams.
They burst from the eastern side first. Then from the north. Then the west. No horns. No warning. Just fire—rolling, choking, blinding fire—and shadows that moved like beasts unleashed.
Orcs. But not normal. Not like the scattered ones that sometimes dared our borders.
These were twisted. Corrupted. Their eyes glowed unnaturally. Their bodies surged with strength beyond reason. And worst of all… they devoured.
I raced to the center of the village, shouting for the warriors, shouting for my father, shouting for my sister.
I found the old sword ogre first—his blade already coated in blood, his expression carved from stone. He moved like the wind, cutting down enemies two, three at a time. I'd never seen him fight seriously before.
Now I understood why the elders called him "unbreakable."
I saw villagers fall. Friends I grew up with. Faces I knew, swallowed by flames and torn apart by savages.
I found my sister near the edge of a collapsed hut, eyes wide, limbs shaking. I pulled her free, blood on my hands, unsure if it was hers or mine.
We didn't have time to regroup. There was no plan, no warning.
We were being overrun.
Everything I believed in—our walls, our warriors, our legacy—burned before my eyes.
I held my sister tight as I watched the only home I'd ever known turn to ash and ruin.
And for the first time in my life…
I realized I wasn't strong enough.
The screams had quieted—not because they stopped, but because they were being snuffed out.
Then came the footsteps.
Heavy. Rhythmic. The ground trembled with each one.
I turned, sword trembling in my hand, and saw it.
An orc—but not like the others. Taller than any I had seen, its swollen frame wrapped in crude black iron plates that looked fused into its flesh. Its face was partially covered by a jagged helm, but the tusks curling from its mouth marked it as something worse than the rest.
A general.
It stopped in front of me, exhaling smoke from its nostrils like a beast forged in fire. My instincts screamed to run, but I stepped forward instead, planting myself between it and my sister.
"This is our land..." I growled, raising my blade with both hands. "You're not taking it."
The orc raised a massive cleaver—half axe, half slab of metal—and swung.
I met it with everything I had.
Steel clashed, and in an instant, I was thrown.
My body crashed into the mud, pain blooming across my side, my fingers numb from the impact. My sword was gone—torn from my grip like a toy.
I tried to move, to get up, but my limbs wouldn't listen. My body had reached its limit.
And as I lay there, half-conscious, I saw the beast turn.
It marched toward her—toward my sister—its blood-soaked cleaver dragging behind it.
She stared up at it, frozen. No sword. No shield. No way out.
My lips parted to scream.
But the sound that came was not mine.
It was a scream of wind.
A figure spun down from the smoke-choked sky, cloaked in firelight and falling embers.
The orc paused—too late.
A flash of steel sliced through the air, cleaving through the thick iron armor like paper.
In a single strike, the orc's body split from shoulder to hip, black blood spraying across the ground as it let out a strangled cry and collapsed with a crash that shook the dirt.
Standing above its corpse was a woman.
Clad in a strange suit I didn't recognize, she stood calm amid the flames. Her face was hidden behind a mask shaped like a fox, eyes unreadable, but I could feel the heat radiating from her body.
She didn't speak. She didn't turn.
She simply walked past the corpse and toward my sister—still crouched, eyes wide with terror.
And then she knelt, gently placing a hand on the girl's head.
I tried to call out. To ask who she was.
But darkness swallowed me whole before the words could leave my mouth.