1. Chapter One
Chapter One
Vraag
I pull into the Sunshine Valley Elementary parking lot forty-five minutes before my administrative meeting. The notebook in my jacket pocket has a new entry from this morning: “School buses are yellow for visibility. Not a war machine. Do not salute.” Mistake logged. Correction applied.
I gather my packed lunch and regulation non-lethal equipment and step out into the early morning air. Preparation prevents mistakes. Mistakes invite fear.
“Give humans time to adjust to your presence,” my trainers said. “Don’t surprise them.”
As if my existence isn’t surprise enough.
On my second loop past the east building, I catch the scent before I see him. Another orc, maintenance uniform, crouched over a drainage grate near the faculty entrance. He looks up, clocks my uniform, and nods once.
“StoneWatch.” Not a question. A greeting.
“Grulk.” I recognize him from the compound gatherings. HammerFall clan, well-regarded.
He gestures at my uniform with his chin. “First day?”
“Yes.”
He returns to his work. “I’m maintenance. They don’t notice me. You, they’ll notice.”
He says it without bitterness. Just fact. I file it away and continue my rounds.
The school is smaller than I expected, a single-story building spread across two connected wings around a central playground.
The administrative offices sit near the main entrance, while the kindergarten classrooms occupy the quieter east hallway, furthest from the cafeteria and gymnasium.
A mural of children holding hands wraps around the front entrance in bright, looping colors.
One painted child has green skin and small tusks.
Progress, however incremental.
Principal Winters meets me at the administrative entrance, her professional smile only slightly strained.
She is compact, mid-fifties, with close-cropped silver hair and the posture of someone who has learned to take up space efficiently in rooms built for larger authority.
Her eyes assess and file in a single pass.
A strategist, I note. One who has already decided whether I am manageable.
To her credit, she extends her hand without hesitation.
“Mr. Vraag. Right on time. No, actually you’re early.” She doesn’t flinch when my massive hand engulfs hers. Another point in her favor.
“Thank you for the opportunity, Principal Winters.” I keep my voice low and measured, the way I’ve practiced.
“After those incidents of vandalism last semester, the board finally approved additional security. I’d hoped to have you in place before school started, but here we are, the first week of October.
Bureaucracy has its own timeline.” She gestures for me to follow her through the quiet morning hallways.
“The children’s safety is our priority.”
“Protection is sacred,” I agree, the formal words slipping out before I can stop them.
Principal Winters glances at me with curious eyes. “Is that… an orc saying?”
“A StoneWatch clan teaching.” I clear my throat, remembering the integration counselor’s advice to avoid cultural references that might seem alarming. “It means… what it says.”
She nods, continuing her tour. “Most of your duties will involve perimeter checks, visitor screening, and general presence during arrival, recess, and dismissal times. We have cameras at all entrances, but nothing beats having alert eyes on the ground.”
I absorb the information, mentally mapping exit routes, vulnerable access points, and defensive positions. Then force myself to reframe. This isn’t a military operation. These are small humans learning their numbers and colors.
“Last semester, someone tampered with a kindergarten classroom window,” Principal Winters says quietly. “Nothing was taken, but the incident unsettled Ms. Walker, the teacher assigned to that room. That classroom is just down this hall.”
She lowers her voice further. “Between us, the board approved this position specifically because of that incident. While you’ll monitor the entire campus, I’d like you to pay special attention to that classroom.
” She gestures toward the east side of the building.
“That hallway backs up to the service road and sits furthest from the main office sightlines. Not only was it the site of the attempted break-in, but its location makes it harder to monitor, and kindergartners are our most vulnerable students. Perhaps you could make it your home base between perimeter checks?”
I nod, understanding the assignment. “Understood. I’ll make it a priority.”
“Yes, exactly,” Principal Winters seems relieved by my response. “Just… try to be unobtrusive. We don’t want to frighten the children or make Ms. Walker feel singled out.”
We approach a door decorated with colorful handprints and glittering stars.
Through the small window, I see a cozy room centered around a large, carpeted area.
Bookshelves line the far wall beneath tall windows overlooking the playground, surrounding a reading nook designed to look like a tree.
Low tables fill the center of the room while brightly colored bins in lime green, electric blue, hot pink, and sunshine yellow sit neatly labeled along the perimeter.
Various activity stations are set up in the middle of the room.
No children have arrived yet.
A human woman moves between the tables, setting out small containers of art supplies. Her movements are quick but purposeful, dark hair pulled back in a practical style. Even from this distance, I can see the tension in her shoulders.
“The children will begin arriving in about twenty minutes,” Principal Winters says. “Would you like me to introduce you to Ms. Walker now?”
I nod, suddenly aware of how my uniform collar digs into my neck. I discreetly loosen my tie as Principal Winters knocks lightly on the classroom door.
The woman turns, and I feel an unexpected jolt as our gazes meet through the glass. She’s small, even by human standards. But there’s something in her posture, a protective alertness I recognize from my own nature. StoneWatch clan. We don’t learn it. We’re born with it.
Principal Winters opens the door. “Ms. Walker? I’d like you to meet our new security specialist, Mr. Vraag.”
She approaches with the careful neutrality humans often adopt when meeting orcs for the first time. Not quite fear, but a studied caution that masks their true reactions.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she says, extending her hand. Her voice is warm despite her reserve. “I’m Riona Walker. Thank you for being here.”
Her hand disappears completely in mine as we shake. I’m acutely aware of how easily I could crush her fingers, and I moderate my grip with practiced precision.
She leans slightly closer as she listens to Principal Winters' introduction. I register the faint scent of something floral and immediately discard the observation.
Too close. The thought arrives with unexpected force.
Her scent fills my senses, and I'm suddenly exceedingly aware of how small she is, how easily I could span her waist with my hands.
A protective instinct surges through me—sharp, unbidden, not professional at all.
I take a step back and file the reaction under things to examine later.
“The honor is mine,” I reply, the formal phrase slipping out before I can reach for more casual human terms.
A flicker of surprise crosses her face. Then she studies me more closely.
“Mr. Vraag comes highly recommended,” Principal Winters interjects. “He’ll be monitoring the grounds throughout the day and maintaining a presence during arrival and dismissal times.”
Riona nods, her eyes still on me. “The children might have questions. They’re naturally curious.”
“I have given it some thought,” I assure her, thinking of my notebook filled with child-appropriate explanations for everything from my skin color to my tusks. “I will not frighten them.”
Something in my earnest promise seems to soften her expression. I make a mental note for my next notebook entry: Individual humans vary more than expected. Riona Walker exhibits alertness without fear.
“Children are often more accepting than we give them credit for,” she says. “Just be yourself.” Her smile curves gently. “Or… the version of yourself you feel most comfortable sharing.”
Principal Winters checks her watch. “I should get back to the office before the morning rush. Ms. Walker, I’ll leave you to finish preparing. Mr. Vraag, feel free to begin your perimeter check. The first buses arrive soon.”
After the principal departs, an awkward silence fills the space between us. I search for appropriate small talk, but come up empty. My integration training didn’t cover conversing with kindergarten teachers.
“Have you worked with children before?” Riona asks, saving me from the silence.
“No,” I admit. “But in my clan, all younglings are protected by the community. It is… was… our highest calling.”
Her eyebrows rise slightly at my use of past tense. “You must miss your home.”
The observation catches me off guard. Most humans don’t acknowledge that orcs lost anything in the Emergence. Only what we gained.
“We adapt,” I say simply. Then, because something in her expression invites honesty, I add, “But yes. Sometimes.”
She nods as if she understands, though how could she? Humans didn’t have their entire world replaced overnight.
“Well,” she says, turning back to her classroom preparations, “I should finish setting up. The children will be excited to meet you.”
“Excited?” I can’t keep the doubt from my voice.
This time her smile reaches her eyes. “Trust me, Mr. Vraag. A seven-foot orc in their classroom will be the highlight of their week. Especially if you let them ask about your tusks.”
Despite myself, I feel the corner of my mouth twitch upward. “They are not fully grown. Among my clan, these would be considered… modest.”
A hint of color appears in her cheeks. “I’ll, um, keep that in mind,” she says, quickly turning back to her supplies.
As I step out to begin my perimeter check along the east fence, a strange lightness fills my chest. My first two human interactions of the day, and I haven’t accidentally frightened anyone. Perhaps this assignment will work out after all.
Outside, I survey the schoolyard with professional attention to detail.
The fence line is intact but scalable. Playground equipment creates multiple concealment points.
The maintenance shed and side fence behind the kindergarten playground create a blind corner not visible from the administrative windows.
The delivery entrance isn’t visible from the main office.
I make notes for improvements even as I recognize the balance required. This is a school, not a fortress. The children need to feel safe, not imprisoned.
That night, I eat standing at the kitchen counter and then sit at my desk for the nightly documentation I've kept since the Emergence.
Most entries are observations: human customs catalogued, mistakes logged and corrected.
But tonight, my hand moves differently, tracing the outline of the school's east wall from memory, the slope of the playground, the angle of the classroom windows.
The sketch takes shape before I fully intend it. I close the notebook and set it aside.
Habit, I tell myself. Mapping new territory. Nothing more.