The night was still dark, but the bonfire in the center of the field burned brightly, casting an orange glow on the faces of the orcs and humans gathered around it. In the middle of the circle, Kenji stood tall, the Dar'Kuur Axe planted into the ground beside him.
The flames licked the sky. Behind Kenji stood the line of orcs who had followed him since the beginning of the uprising: Urgha the Weaponsmith, Tharak the Guardian, and even Mira—the young human girl once taken captive, now a bridge between races.
All were silent. Only the crackle of burning wood and the whisper of the night wind could be heard.
"My brothers," Kenji raised his voice—firm and clear, cutting through the darkness. "We have witnessed the end of Grommash's era. But more than that—we have witnessed the end of something deeper. We have seen the end of the fear that has long bound us."
He looked around. Eyes met his—some hopeful, others uncertain. But all were listening.
"We are no longer the Broken Blood Clan."
There was a murmur, like a faint breeze. That name had been passed down for generations, tightly woven into their identity. A name soaked in blood, war, and hatred.
Kenji continued, "That name is a legacy of wounds. A legacy of cruelty. But today... we choose a new legacy."
He drew a breath, then gripped the handle of the Dar'Kuur Axe. With one strong motion, he pulled it from the earth and raised it high.
"From this night on, we are the Grimfang Clan. Fangs that not only bite... but also protect."
From the back row, a lone shout rose. Then another followed. Soon, the orcs began pounding their chests—not as a gesture of dominance, but as a vow—that they accepted this change.
The new name echoed from mouth to mouth, seeping into hearts that were just beginning to learn hope.
Grimfang.
The next day, the change began—not with battle, but with hoes and spades.
Kenji walked to a fertile valley long ignored, dismissed as "weak land." With him came a group of orcs and humans carrying simple tools: shovels, wooden hoes, and rope.
"This is where we build our fields," Kenji said, pointing to the earth where water trickled from a crack in the rocks.
"Orcs do not plant," said Dragh, an old orc, his voice gravelly. "We hunt. We take."
Kenji turned to him, offering a thin smile. "And how many of our children have starved during winter because the hunt failed?"
Dragh fell silent. He looked at his young son standing beside Kenji, holding a shovel with small but determined hands.
"This isn't about abandoning who we are," Kenji continued. "It's about surviving. We learn from the past, not chain ourselves to it."
And that day, for the first time, the land once trampled by raiders... was tilled.
They dug trenches for irrigation. They planted barley, wild corn, and forest vegetables taught by Mira and other humans. Even the most stubborn orcs grew curious, because Kenji didn't merely command—he worked in the mud beside them. He dug. He lifted stones. He didn't sit on a throne, but stood among the sweat of his people.
Not all welcomed the change.
At night, near an old cave, a group of orcs gathered. Rorg, a former lieutenant of Grommash who had escaped the fiery bridge battle, slammed his fist against a rock.
"We're being turned into farmers!" he growled. "By a half-human orc!"
"You saw him defeat Grommash," one of his followers said.
"But with tricks! Not with honor!"
Some nodded, but hesitated. They saw the reality: full bellies, laughing children, even clean water running through the camp for the first time.
Rorg planned a rebellion. But Kenji knew—hearts couldn't be changed with force. So before conflict erupted, he invited Rorg and his allies to the Round Table—the new council for clan leaders.
"Speak," Kenji said. "Not kill. If you disagree, say it here. Challenge me, but also face the truth that our people are living better."
Rorg sat, sneering. But when Mira read the harvest trial reports, when Tharak showed graphs of population growth and reduced orc-on-orc violence—even Rorg began to waver.
Finally, he said, "I don't like your ways. But I can't deny the results."
Kenji looked him in the eye. "I don't need to be liked. But I need you to understand that our strength today doesn't come from fear... but from unity."
Months passed. The fields flourished. Granaries were built. Children learned to read and count from Mira and a few other humans willing to share knowledge.
Kenji established the Grimfang Code—a basic law agreed upon by the entire clan: no killing without cause, fair distribution of harvest, and protection for the weak.
At the gate of the settlement, words were carved:
"We are the fangs that bite the darkness, but also the tongue that welcomes the light."
A single sentence that would become the Grimfang motto.
That night, as the bonfire was lit once more to celebrate the start of the second planting season, Kenji sat beside Mira.
"I used to think change could only come through blood," Kenji said.
Mira smiled gently. "And now?"
"Now I know... blood only opens the way. But the root of change is the courage to build afterward."
He looked out at the camp—wooden houses, fields in the distance, children laughing. Not luxury. But life. And that was the true victory.
Mira looked to the sky. "Do you think this will last?"
"No," Kenji answered honestly. "There will always be challenges. From outside. From within. From ourselves. But as long as we remember who we are... we can face them all."
And that night, the fire at the heart of Grimfang burned not just for light... but as witness that, for the first time in history, an orc clan chose to become something more.