Chapter Four #2
“They said their home is failing,” Caleb went on. “Not just food. Not just game. The ground itself. The stone that used to hold heat is turning cold. They said they wouldn’t survive the winter. Their springs are drying up. Something is siphoning energy from the land.”
“The northern orcs need help too.”
“They do. They weren’t looking for conquest, just a place to breathe long enough to figure out what’s been done to them.”
“And the clans we already have?” I asked.
Caleb’s expression shifted into something cautious.
“They met them,” he said. “Out there. On the ridge, and they didn’t draw weapons. They recognized markings on the northerners, old clan sigils, and ancient weapons. There was forehead pressing, language I didn’t understand, and a quiet agreement.”
The Wilds seemed to lean closer.
I glanced at my dad and back at Caleb, having no idea what that meant, but it seemed like a good thing.
“So, they like each other?”
“Or will at least tolerate one another,” Caleb said, nodding.
Despite everything, a quiet laugh escaped me.
“They did this on their own. Remarkable.” My dad’s skepticism faltered just slightly. “Orcs are known for keeping to their kind. The ones in the swamp like the swamp. The ones in the caves like the caves and so on…”
“How’d they know about Stonewick?” I asked. I felt my chest tighten, waiting.
Caleb smiled. “They said word reached them from travelers and magical strays. The orcs heard there’s a town that is offering help to big and small.”
Hope ran through me. If they heard that meant somehow the story, our offer, was moving faster than the Priestess could choke it.
Stonewick wasn’t just a refuge by accident anymore. It was becoming known as one by choice. Relief washed through me so abruptly that I had to blink against it to hold back tears because something had gone right. Kindness had moved faster than fear.
Because welcome had spread without my permission, without my planning, without the Academy making a decree.
It was simply… happening.
“That has to make her furious,” I murmured before I could stop myself.
Caleb’s mouth tightened. “Good.”
Nova would have said it was risky to say such things aloud. That attention could be attracted.
But my mother’s gaze lifted to mine, and something in it wasn’t only fear anymore. It was an old, quiet spark of defiance.
“She always hated it when people chose differently than she expected,” my mother said softly.
“So, what now?” I asked, knowing I couldn’t pretend to understand it all.
“We just keep doing what we’re doing. We don’t let impatience turn to panic. We don’t let fear turn to policy.” Caleb glanced at my dad and back at me. “We take time to listen.”
“And we stay ready,” my dad added. “Because I don’t think the Priestess is going to like being outpaced.”
My birthmark pulsed once, as if agreeing.
For a brief spell, the Wilds felt quieter, not because danger had left, but because something steadier had arrived alongside it.
My parents exchanged a look, the kind married people share when they’ve already had the same thought.
“We should go into town,” my dad said. “If there are more mouths, we make sure the kitchens are prepared. We make sure Luna has what she needs, including yarn supplies to make blankets, gloves, hats. We—” He stopped, then looked at me. “We do something useful.”
My mother nodded, still pale but resolved. “We can help.”
The word help sounded different coming from her now. There was no hint of guilt or avoidance now, only action.
“Go,” I said, and meant it. “I’ll go back to the Academy. The students—”
“The goblin,” Caleb supplied, deadpan.
“Yes,” I said, unable to help the smile. “The goblin. He’ll start a revolution if he’s left unsupervised.”
“I’m sure everything is going well inside.” Caleb’s expression softened. “Twobble’s fine. Stella’s there. Skonk too.”
“That’s what worries me,” I muttered, and Caleb snorted.
My parents started down the alley toward town, shoulders squared, moving with purpose like people who’d decided the past could wait because the present needed hands.
I watched them for a few seconds longer than I meant to before I turned back toward the Academy.
The doors stood open, as if the building had been listening and approved.
For the first time in what felt like days, my breath came easier.
But that hope didn’t last long.
A noise pinged through the air, not the usual sounds of students laughing or Twobble declaring a pastry emergency.
This was a scuffle.
Boots or claws scraping stone followed by a sharp, offended bark. Possibly someone hissing,
“You cannot just—”
I froze.
Caleb, who had followed me halfway up the path before turning back toward the perimeter, heard it too. His head snapped toward the steps.
“That’s not orientation,” he muttered.
We both moved at the same time.
A witch with braids half undone stood nose to nose with a medium-sized orc who looked equally outraged and equally determined not to swing anything.
Between them was one of Caleb’s wolves, and he wasn’t in human form.
He’d fully shifted and was a complete wolf.
Silver-brown coat bristling, tail stiff, ears pinned back in deep irritation.
They were bickering.
Not fighting.
Not attacking.
Bickering.
“We weren’t storming anything,” the orc said, voice deep but controlled. “We came to understand why the wolves circle closer each night.”
The witch bristled. “Because you’re pressing inward.”
“We’re standing where we were placed,” he shot back. “It’s the ground that feels different.”
The wolf barked once, sharp and irritated, not at either of them, but at the tension itself.
Twobble hurried down the steps with both hands raised, clipboard tucked awkwardly under his armpit so he didn’t drop it. Cindy sat on his shoulder, surveying the situation. Or at least that was what I chose to believe.
“No one is pressing. No one is circling. Everyone is simply… overlapping in a spirited fashion. We’re all in this together,” Twobble told them.
I reached the steps and cleared my throat.
“Enough. That’s enough.” My voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be, but it settled over them sufficiently to stop things.
The wolf’s ears flicked toward me immediately, and the orc’s posture shifted to a little less defensive.
The witch flushed and stepped back, as if remembering she was supposed to be learning conflict resolution, not modeling escalation.
Obviously, an orc on the steps of the Academy was startling to a midlife witch. Even in the magical world, most magical creatures stayed hidden. It had been key to their survival for centuries.
“What happened?” I asked.
The wolf shifted partially, enough that his words came clearer.
“We’ve been patrolling. Now that there are orcs and witches returning, the air has shifted.”
The orc nodded once. “Our scouts say the same, but of witches and shifters.”
A few witches lingered near the doorway, whispering softly. They didn’t seem frightened, just unsure.
The Academy hummed faintly beneath my boots. It felt like it wanted to see me during the conflict resolution.
“First of all, has anyone been harmed?” I asked.
“No.” They all answered, glancing at one another.
“Has anyone threatened to cross into violence?” My brows lifted instinctively.
Everyone shook their heads.
“Good because this isn’t about witches, shifters, and orcs. This is the Priestess’s hopes and dreams right here on the Academy steps. She can’t wait for us all to divide and shatter. It weakens us, making us more malleable in her hands. I’ve seen it done with my own family.”
The wolf’s gaze slid toward the trees. “The Wilds don’t feel settled.”
“They haven’t for days,” the orc said quietly.
“We’re all standing closer than we used to,” I said gently. “That’s bound to feel strange. The Wilds are learning the new ways as well.”
The witch cleared her throat. “The orcs are warriors.”
“Aren’t we all?” the wolf asked bluntly.
The orc’s mouth twitched despite himself.
Twobble nodded vigorously. “Yes. Passionate discourse. Very healthy. Almost scholarly.”
“You all are reacting to the same thing,” I said. “Pressure.”
Nobody argued.
“Something is moving,” the wolf admitted. “We feel it in the roots.”
“Our elders feel it in the stone,” the orc added.
“Then we don’t bicker on the steps,” I said softly. “We compare notes privately and understand that unity will make us stronger. We all want the same thing here. We want to feel safe and live where we choose. That’s not what the Priestess wants.”
The wolf’s shoulders loosened. The orc uncrossed his arms.
A few of the witches exchanged glances, and Twobble scribbled something dramatically on his parchment.
I met Caleb’s eyes. He’d come up beside me without a sound and gave the smallest nod.
“We need to align,” I said. “But first, we have to set aside our differences.”
The wolf studied the orc for a long second. Then, grudgingly, “We’ll expand patrol together tonight.”
The orc inclined his head. “Agreed.”
I nodded and let out a deep breath.
The wolf still looked like he’d rather chew bark than agree with an orc, and the orc stood like the ground might betray him at any moment, but nobody had drawn blood.
And lately, that counted as progress.
A breeze slipped through the courtyard, carrying the scent of moss and woodsmoke. Somewhere inside the Academy, laughter rang out, followed by Stella telling someone not to stir a potion with a fork unless they wanted to lose their eyebrows.
Twobble sighed happily. “This place has everything. Snacks. Peril. It’s very well-rounded.”
I almost laughed.
Almost.
Because beyond the steps, the Wilds felt restless.
I watched the wolf’s ears flick toward town, and the orc lift his chin toward the same fall skies.
The ground pulsed faintly beneath my boots as the Academy answered with a deeper hum.
Something was coming, but it wouldn’t be loud and crashing. It would arrive quietly, intentionally, and slip into our way of life if we weren’t watching.
And that change from the Priestess would be scarier than anything.