Kala's expression shifts. Not agreement, but consideration.
"You think your love story humanizes us?"
"I think my love story makes us real. Not symbols or threats or exotic additions. Just people who fall in love and screw up and fight for what matters."
Another silence. Longer this time.
Finally, Kala nods slowly. "You've thought about this."
"I've thought about nothing else for weeks."
"And you believe this approach serves the community? Not just your personal happiness?"
I choose my words carefully. "I believe hiding serves no one. We've tried making ourselves invisible, palatable, unthreatening. It hasn't worked. Maybe it's time to try being undeniably present instead. Loving loudly. Living fully. Claiming space not as a gift but as a right."
Brekka makes a rough sound, might be approval. "You sound like your grandmother. She said almost exactly that when she demanded the right to own property."
"Did it work?"
"Eventually. After years of fighting and more setbacks than victories." She locks eyes with me. "You ready for that? Years of being scrutinized, criticized, used as proof of whatever argument humans want to make?"
"No," I admit. "But I'm doing it anyway."
The elders exchange glances. Some silent communication passes between them.
Then Kala stands, which signals decision made.
"We won't stop you. But we also won't protect you from the consequences. If this visibility you're choosing brings backlash on the community, you'll own it."
"I understand."
"And if your human love decides you're too much trouble, too publicly complicated, you come home to us. Not as failure. As orc."
The words crack something in me. "Thank you, elder."
"Don't thank us yet. We haven't decided if you're brave or foolish."
"Can't it be both?"
Greth laughs, short bark of sound. "It's definitely both."
The council disperses. Some leave quickly, others linger. Mara's grandmother approaches, takes my hand in both of hers.
"Your grandmother would be proud," she says quietly. "And terrified. Same as I am."
"I'll try not to screw this up too badly."
"You'll screw it up." She squeezes my fingers. "Everyone does. The question is whether you keep fighting after."
I carry those words with me back through brightening streets. The hearing's in three hours. I need to shower, change, prepare.
But first I detour through the market district, where Darius said he'd be setting up early.
I find him arranging display tables outside the community center. Photos of orc cultural events, testimonials from human business owners, demographic data showing economic contributions.
"How'd it go?" he asks without looking up.
"They didn't disown me."
