Oblivious to the danger beyond the village, the feast raged on.
Bonfires crackled, their flames stretching toward the sky like writhing fingers.
The scent of roasted meat, thick smoke, and spiced ale filled the air.
Trolls bellowed in drunken joy, slamming their fists against the ground, laughing, roaring.
The duel between Sylas and Bruz had ignited the entire village, the energy electric, alive.
And at the center of it all was Sylas.
Basking in the attention, a half-grin curling on his lips as trolls clapped him on the back, shoving food and drink into his hands.
But inside the chief's hut, the mood was different.
Heavy. Serious.
Chief Orgrun sat cross-legged on a massive fur pelt, his weathered face shadowed by the flickering firelight.
His golden eyes, sharp with wisdom, were fixed on something unseen.
The deep lines across Chief Orgrun's forehead, the heavy bags beneath his amber eyes—each mark told a story.
Battles fought. Lives lost.
The crushing weight of leadership settled upon his broad shoulders like an unshakable burden.
Across from him, Talia stood, arms folded, her brows drawn together in deep thought.
Outside, another roar of laughter erupted from the trolls, shaking the very walls of the hut.
Orgrun smirked.
"Sounds like they're enjoying themselves," he mused, his deep voice rumbling.
"Must be the new one."
Talia exhaled sharply through her nose.
"Who else?"
A heavy silence settled between them.
Talia didn't speak for a while, her expression unreadable.
Then, finally, she muttered,
"He's dangerous, Chief."
Orgrun's brow lifted slightly, a flicker of amusement and curiosity in his aged eyes.
"Oh? Weren't you the one who introduced him as the Chosen One?"
Talia exhaled, shaking her head. "I was... but I can't help but rethink the whole thing."
She shifted her weight, her gaze darkening.
"His views lean toward violence and war." Her voice was low, but firm. "And I've seen him fight, Chief. He enjoys it. The thrill. The chaos. The blood. He fights like a beast unleashed."
Orgrun's expression remained unreadable, but his fingers drummed against his knee.
"I've heard the rumors," he rumbled. "He beat Gunther… who was supposed to be stronger than him."
His voice carried no surprise—only intrigue.
"And he would have killed him if we didn't intervene."
Talia's words were sharp, cutting through the firelit room.
Orgrun barely blinked. "Just like any other troll would if they were being attacked." His voice was calm, measured.
Talia's jaw tightened. "You know what I mean, Chief," she snapped. "He is violent."
Orgrun arched a bushy brow. "And so are we all." He leaned back slightly, eyes gleaming in the dim light. "We just hide it so well."
Talia opened her mouth to argue but hesitated. Her fists clenched at her sides.
Then, quieter this time, she said, "Even if he is the Chosen One… his views are twisted. He doesn't think like us. He doesn't want peace." Her voice was strained like she hated to admit it. "If we let him have his way, we'll return to the old ways—war, bloodshed, endless fighting."
Orgrun studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
Then, with a slow exhale, he reached for the carved wooden totem beside him, running his rough fingers over its worn edges.
The relic was old—older than even the elders—etched with the symbols of their ancestors.
It had witnessed generations of warriors rise and fall and had been passed down through blood and battle.
"The prophecy wouldn't lie," he said finally, his voice low and firm. "And if that troll is the one it speaks of… there's nothing you can do to change it."
Talia scoffed, arms still folded tight across her chest. "A prophecy is just words, Orgrun. Words carved into stone long before our time. And words can be wrong."
Orgrun's gaze flicked up, amused.
"That sounds like something Gunther would say."
Talia clicked her teeth in annoyance, jaw tightening.
Orgrun chuckled, shaking his head. "That is where we differ, my child. The prophecy has always been a light in the dark—a source of hope for those who lead." His amber eyes gleamed in the firelight. "It has never steered us wrong before."
Talia bit the inside of her cheek, the sharp sting grounding her frustration. She exhaled, steadying herself, but the heat in her voice remained.
"Then explain this to me—how is he supposed to save us when all he seems to care about is strength?" Her fingers curled into fists. "He doesn't just want to survive, Orgrun. He wants to dominate. To win. And what happens when someone like that is faced with something they can't conquer?"
Silence.
The fire pit in the center of the hut crackled, casting flickering shadows across the walls.
Embers rose, drifting lazily toward the ceiling.
Across from her, Orgrun studied her, his weathered face unreadable.
Finally, he sighed, setting the totem down with a quiet thud.
"None of us can predict the future," he said, his voice low, steady. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps he will bring ruin."
Then, softer—"Or perhaps he will be the force that saves us from it."
Talia opened her mouth—then shut it, her teeth grinding together.
He always did this.
Always spoke like time itself would reveal the answers, like destiny would shape itself around faith alone.
But faith wasn't enough.
Not for her.
She needed certainty.
Orgrun exhaled, a slow, measured sigh.
Then, in a voice distant yet firm, he murmured, "Regardless, it is no longer my decision to make."
Talia's brows furrowed. A flicker of unease curled in her stomach.
"What do you mean by that?"
Orgrun leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.
"I'm getting old, Talia." His voice was softer now, lower, carrying the weight of years. "My bones ache. My wounds take longer to heal. My strength fades with each passing moon."
He met her gaze, his amber eyes steady, unshaken.
"Soon, the burden of leadership will fall to you."
Talia stiffened.
Her chest tightened. Her pulse pounded in her ears.
She had always feared this moment.
"You will lead this clan, and it will be your hand that steers us forward."
Orgrun voice was firm but not unkind.
"And that direction… is yours to choose."
Talia swallowed, her throat dry as the weight of his words settled over her shoulders.
She had always...