Page 31 of Protective Pucking Orc

“That’s Mama’s hands,” the little girl announced confidently, pointing at my sketchbook with her brown crayon. “You’re a good draw-er.”

I didn’t look up, because yes, my pencil skimmed across the paper, picking out the curve of Sofia’s fingers where they rested on top of the blanket. “So are you.”

“Yep! I’m a genius.”

My lips twitched at her confidence, and I realized how ridiculously proud I was to be able to help build this little girl’s confidence, even just a little.

After lunch—soup for me and Sofia, a sandwich for me and Rosa—I saw the little one yawning, and suggested a nap.

She planted her hands on her hips, stomped her foot, and glared up at me. “I’m not a baby who needs naps!” But when I suggested she sit next to her mother on the couch, she went willingly. She curled up against Sofia, her small body warm and heavy, her dark head tucked under her mother’s chin, a picture of battered innocence framed by the snow falling outside the big window behind them.

Sofia’s arm came up automatically, cradling her. “You need a nap, mija.”

Rosa shook her head, but her eyelids were already drooping. “No. I want a story.”

Sofia opened her mouth to argue, but Rosa cut her off. “From Dak, not you, Mama.”

Sofia’s lips twitched. “Oh?”

Rosa nodded, her voice already slurring. “Yep. An orc story.”

I exhaled. “I don’t have any children’s books.”

“Then tell us one,” Sofia said softly.

I hesitated. The stories of my world weren’t meant for human ears. They were raw, violent sometimes—the way survival often was. But Rosa was already half-asleep, her breathing slowing, and Sofia’s gaze was warm, expectant.

I sat in the armchair beside the couch, stretching my legs out in front of me.

“Alright,” I said. “I’ll tell you the story of Veth’kar the Storm-Bringer.”

Rosa snuggled closer to her mother. “Is he a good guy?”

I almost smiled. “He is now.”

And I began.

“Long ago, before the first snows fell on the peaks, before the rivers carved their paths through the stone, the world was dark.”

Rosa’s breathing was already evening out, but Sofia’s eyes were open, watching me, her bruises even darker.

“There was no fire. No light. Only cold, and hunger, and the howling of the wind through the bones of the earth.”

I kept my voice low, letting it rumble like the storms in the mountains.

“But the gods listened. And one among them—Veth’kar, the youngest, the most reckless—decided to steal fire from the sky.”

Rosa murmured something, her fingers curling into Sofia’s shirt.

“He climbed the highest peak, where the air was thin and the stars burned like embers. And he reached—” I stretched my arm out, my claws flexing “—and he took the lightning in his hands.”

Sofia’s breath hitched.

“It burned him. It changed him. His skin turned to stone where the fire touched him. His eyes became storms. But he carried the flame down the mountain, and he gave it to the people.”

I lowered my voice.

“And that is why, when the winds howl and the thunder shakes the earth, we say Veth’kar walks among us again.”