The midday sky shone serenely as a procession of horses entered the northern reaches of the Grimfang Valley. Dry dust billowed as five riders clad in silver armor, followed by a lavish carriage bearing the golden lion crest of the Kingdom of Avanor, halted before the great wooden gate guarded by orcs.
"Diplomats from the south," muttered Tharak, the chief gatekeeper. "They come with smiles… and perhaps hidden blades."
At that moment, Kenji was seated in the newly built open meeting hall — a thatched-roof structure supported by stone pillars. He glanced at the sky before turning toward the sound of approaching footsteps. The human envoys, dressed in fine garments with clean faces, stood in stark contrast to the rough, earth-stained world of the orcs.
Their leader, a man in his forties with a sharp nose and cold blue eyes, gave a respectful bow. His golden robe shimmered in the light.
"Your Excellency," he said in a soft, well-trained voice. "I am Ser Dravian Elseren, official envoy of King Thalmar of Avanor. We come not bearing war, but a message of peace."
Kenji rose from his simple throne — a stone chair he had carved himself — and returned the bow with a polite nod. He wore no crown, only a leather headband. But his gaze held a quiet authority that made Ser Dravian subtly adjust his breath.
"Welcome to Grimfang," Kenji said, his voice calm but testing. "We are no kingdom. Just a clan trying to live with dignity."
Dravian smiled warmly. "Which is exactly what impressed us. Many ears have heard of the changes here. Orcs farming, trading, even… building schools? The world is changing, and we wish to be part of that change."
His words were sweet — too sweet. Like honey poured over a dagger.
Kenji responded with a faint smile. "And those who wish to be part of something… often wish to steer it."
Dravian chuckled. "Only trade, of course. King Thalmar wishes to propose a trade agreement. We can supply fabrics, metals, medicines… and purchase your harvests. Wild barley from the north, they say, has an... exotic flavor."
Kenji glanced at his advisor, Urgha, who stood silently behind him. No words were exchanged, but from the glint in his eyes, Urgha understood: Kenji wasn't buying it.
That night, inside a small stone hut that served as their secret meeting chamber, Kenji spoke with his closest advisors: Urgha, Tharak, and Mira.
"He's not lying," said Mira. "But he's not telling the full truth either."
"His movements are flawless," Urgha murmured. "Like military training. Even when sipping soup, he calculated the angle of his spoon."
"People like that don't come just to trade," Kenji concluded. He stared into the small fire in the center of the room, deep in thought. "I smell… a trap."
"Hidden war?" asked Tharak.
"Not yet. But a threat? Yes."
The next day, a modest feast was held. Orcs and humans sat at a long table fashioned from a fallen giant tree. Roasted meats, boiled roots, and forest-fermented drinks were served. Ser Dravian sat beside Kenji.
"We've also heard," Dravian said as he bit into a slice of meat, "that some orc clans in the east disapprove of Grimfang's reforms. They feel tradition is being tainted. Are they… a threat?"
Kenji turned immediately.
"Is that a question… or a warning?"
Dravian laughed lightly. "Just idle conversation. Of course, we hope the Grimfang clan remains stable. Trade only thrives with… order."
Mira glanced at Kenji, as if to say: He's gathering intel. Possibly probing for weaknesses.
Kenji took a sip of his drink, then looked the diplomat in the eye. "Our order is not built on fear. It's built on choice. That is our strength — not our weakness."
Dravian nodded slowly. But his eyes didn't smile like his lips did. There was something else there — a cold calculation he couldn't quite hide.
On the third night, Kenji summoned Mira to his study. A map lay atop the stone table — marking the Grimfang valley, the eastern mountains, and the southern border toward Avanor.
"Dravian never mentioned the new border fortress built two months ago," Kenji said, pointing at a red mark on the map. "But I know about it from our scouts."
Mira nodded. "I got reports too. They're building a garrison. They say it's for 'protecting trade routes,' but… it's large enough to house five hundred troops."
Kenji drew a deep breath. "Anyone who accepts peace too quickly… may be coming to start a war."
He gripped the handle of his axe — not to fight, but to remember who he was. An orc… forced to learn how to read human intentions, not just their language.
The next morning, Kenji invited Ser Dravian for a walk through the fields and settlements. He made sure to pass by places that showed harmony: human and orc children learning together, farmland worked by both races, and camp guards with minimal weaponry.
"This," Kenji said, "isn't a performance. We're not crafting an image, Ser Dravian. We're building a future."
Dravian smiled, though he couldn't quite hide a flicker of discomfort.
"I believe that," he said. "But the world isn't always as sweet as ideals."
Kenji turned to him. "Then let us be the exception."
When it came time to part ways, Ser Dravian handed over a scroll of trade agreements — official-looking, complete with Avanor's golden seal. Kenji received it — but did not sign.
"I'll consider it," he said. "Once I'm sure… you came bearing intentions, not nets."
Dravian bowed, still smiling. But before mounting his horse, he whispered:
"The world is no place for the naïve, Kenji of Grimfang. You're building something beautiful… be careful it doesn't burn when you're not watching."
Kenji stared at him, sharp and unwavering. "And the world is also no place for those who hide fire behind smiles. You may return with your report. But tell your king this: Grimfang no longer bows. Not to swords… and not to honey laced with poison."
After the envoy departed, Kenji stood at the gate.
Urgha approached. "Should we prepare for war?"
Kenji shook his head.
"We prepare… to truly live. And that means guarding this dream with eyes wide open. Even if the enemy comes smiling."
And that evening sky, though calm, carried something unfamiliar. Because diplomacy… is sometimes poisoned. And the deadliest venom isn't poured into food — but into trust.