Zuhra's voice pulled me back from my wandering thoughts, something about gathering my belongings.
"I appreciate it," I said, then winced. "Though I should warn you—the sum total of my possessions amounts to one medical bag, and I'd really prefer to keep that close to Ardin."
"Of course," Ruka said, his tone understanding.
I looked down at myself, suddenly hyperaware that I was still wearing yesterday's clothes—my sweatshirt decorated with an artistic pattern of dirt smudges and Ardin's blood from the surgery. No spare clothes, no toothbrush, nothing. I was basically a disaster in human form.
Zuhra's face lit up. "Do not worry. Many humans have chosen to make their home among us. I can gather what you need—clothes, personal items, whatever makes you comfortable."
"Really? How many humans live here?" The question tumbled out before I could stop it. Though now that I'd seen the village, I could understand the appeal.
The air here didn't taste like exhaust fumes and anxiety. People actually knew their neighbors' names. Everything felt purposeful, built to endure rather than to squeeze maximum profit from minimum investment. There was something profoundly seductive about a place where you could actually see the fruits of your labor, where relationships weren't just networking opportunities, where life moved at a human pace instead of being dictated by algorithm-driven productivity metrics and the relentless scroll of social media.
What would it be like to just... stay?
The thought ambushed me, and I shoved it away before it could take root.
"Several families," Ruka said. "They prefer our way of life to what they left behind in your world."
I stared at him, genuinely surprised. "I wouldn't have expected you to allow that. Given, you know, everything humans have done..."
Something shifted in Ruka's expression, a softening around his eyes. "Not all humans are the same, just as not all Orcs are the same. Those who come seeking a different path are welcome, provided they respect our ways and honor the land."
"What makes them want to stay?" I asked, fascinated despite myself.
"Many reasons," he said, his voice taking on a thoughtful quality. "Some flee the chaos of your cities. Others crave a simpler existence, one not shackled to your technology and endless consumption."
"Like homesteaders," I said, the pieces clicking together. "Subsistence living. People who want to get back to basics."
"Yes," Ruka nodded, and I could have sworn he looked pleased. "They live in harmony with the land, not against it. They take only what they need and give back what they can. It is a partnership, not a conquest."
The conviction in his words made my chest tighten. How different would the world be if more people thought that way? If we saw ourselves as part of the ecosystem instead of its masters?
We left the communal hall and stepped back into the village proper. Ruka paused to speak with several males who'd been waiting near the entrance, his deep voice issuing directions for an upcoming hunt. I hung back, watching the easy deference the other Orcs showed him—not fear, but genuine respect.
The midday sun had burned off the morning mist, and for the first time, I could really see the settlement spread out before me.
I'd expected something primitive. Rough. Maybe even squalid, if I was being honest with myself. Instead, the village looked like it had been lifted from some fantasy architect's fever dream. Sturdy timber buildings rose from the earth as if they'd grown there, their logs fitted together with such precision I couldn't spot the seams. Stone foundations anchored eachstructure, and the thatched roofs were so perfectly layered they looked almost geometric.
Gardens exploded with life beside nearly every home—not the sad, struggling plots I'd attempted at my cabin, but lush, thriving beds of vegetables and herbs that practically hummed with vitality. Chickens scratched contentedly in well-built coops. Somewhere nearby, a goat's bleat echoed off the surrounding trees.
Everything was clean. Organized. Purposeful.
"Your village is beautiful," I said, and the words felt inadequate.
Ruka glanced at me, and something warm flickered behind those golden eyes. "We build to last. To honor the land that sustains us."
As we walked deeper into the settlement, I became hyperaware of the attention tracking our movement. Work paused. Conversations died mid-sentence. Heads turned.
They weren't looking at Ruka.
A female hanging laundry on a line between two posts stared at me with open curiosity, her hands frozen mid-reach. Two children who'd been mock-battling with wooden swords stopped mid-swing, their mouths falling open.
And then there were the males.
The first one I noticed was massive even by Orc standards, his dark hair woven into intricate braids that fell past his shoulders. He'd been repairing a fence, but when he looked up and saw me, his entire body went still. Then, deliberately, he brought his fist to his chest and thumped it twice.
The sound resonated like a drum.