“Elysian, this is my grandmother—Matriarch Thaldruna of Clan Draekthar,” Kaerthlyn announced, her voice brimming with a mixture of pride and reverence. She gestured casually to the ancient troll as though introducing a simple family member. “Grandmother, this is Elysian Ironheart, son of the ruler of Ironspire.”

  Thaldruna’s lips curved faintly, the smile etched in countless creases and weathered lines that mapped the years of her long life. Her gaze lingered on him, warm yet probing, the kind that seemed to peel back every layer of pretense he could muster.

  Elysian swallowed hard. Standing before her felt like standing at the base of a mountain—its roots immovable, its summit unattainable. He was little more than a fleeting shadow, dwarfed by her presence.

  The massive troll beside Thaldruna growled something in their language, his tone stern but oddly familial. His scolding carried the cadence of an uncle chastising a niece, rather than a warrior reprimanding a subordinate. Kaerthlyn, however, merely snorted and crossed her arms, her defiance clear.

  ‘Of course. She’s the granddaughter of the Matriarch. She probably gets away with a lot.’

  Thaldruna’s gaze flickered back toward Elysian, as if noting his drifting focus. “Throrak,” she said, her voice carrying the softness and warmth of everyone’s beloved grandmother, “speak in the human tongue so that the boy here may understand.”

  Elysian’s eyes widened at her words. “You… you know our language?”

  The Matriarch’s lips curved into a faint smile, but she said nothing more to him, turning her attention back to the other troll.

  ‘Of course she knows it. She’s lived long enough to learn more languages than any scholar in this continent could dream of. She probably speaks tongues from dead empires and forgotten lands.’

  Throrak muttered another guttural phrase in their language before sighing and switching to the human tongue. “Why should we regard this human?” he growled, his disdain thick enough to cut. “His kind knows nothing of honor or integrity. They squander their brief lives on greed, destruction, and death.”

  ‘Well, he’s not wrong. We are a shameless, greedy race, and wherever we go, we bring chaos. I can’t even argue with him. Hell, there are plenty of humans I really hate, too. Ones I really want to kill.’

  Elysian kept his face neutral, meeting Throrak’s glare with quiet restraint. The tension in the air thickened, but the Matriarch’s calm presence loomed over it all, steady and unshakable, preventing any unwanted violence, mostly on Throrak’s part.

  ‘Well, if there’s any reason to be grateful for this terrifying old monster, it’s that she’s keeping me safe from another terrifying monster. Some things never change. When faced with something that could turn you to mush, just find a bigger stick—or a bigger, scarier protector.’

  “Well, I can’t argue with that,” Thaldruna said suddenly, her voice full of playfulness and humor, the complete opposite of her old appearance. She paused, her eyes clouding as though a torrent of ancient memories threatened to surface. Her faint smile wavered, tinged with a fleeting melancholy that deepened the coldness of her gaze. After a moment, she turned her attention back to Elysian, her expression sharpening into something unreadable. “In my long life, I have never seen a race with such a relentless drive for destruction. Humans, in their short, pitiful lives, seem determined to drag everyone else with them into their doom.”

  ‘Well, if they’re here to drag humanity through the mud, I’ll gladly help shove it in. Loyalty to my kind? Please. We’re selfish, shameless, and downright irredeemable b*stards.’

  Elysian suddenly laughed, a sharp bark that drew every eye to him. The weight of their collective attention froze him for a heartbeat, but he recovered swiftly, hiding his rattled nerves behind an easy smirk.

  ‘It’s all in the act. And if anyone can sell a performance, it’s me.’

  “Good sir and merciful Matriarch,” Elysian began, his tone mockingly deferential, “I agree with every word you’ve said. Humans truly are a despicable race. Vermins. Humans are vermins,” he said loudly for everyone to hear. “They are scurrying about doing more harm than good…”

  Throrak’s snort cut through Elysian’s words. “Aren’t you human?” he demanded, his lip twisting as he added something insulting in their language. Switching back to the human tongue, he growled, “By your own admission, that makes you nothing more than a despicable vermin then.”

  Laughter rippled everywhere, low and cruel. Most of it came from the back, where a group of wildermen—humans who lived in Grimwold in different tribes—chuckled in good humor at Elysian’s expense. Their amusement burned like a brand, but Elysian didn’t flinch. Panic would have been easy, but it wasn’t in his nature. Instead, he played to his strengths—wit and insolence.

  “Oh, you have a good point,” Elysian said, his voice sharp and pointed as he gestured toward the laughing wildermen. “Aren’t they human, too? Tell me, brave Throrak, did you have just insulted your own companions?”

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  The laughter sputtered and died. The wildermen’s smiles twisted into scowls, their amusement evaporating as quickly as it had come. Even Throrak’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as Elysian’s words sank in.

  Elysian smirked as he let the tension stretch. “Well,” he added, feigning an air of thoughtful innocence, “perhaps they’re not really allies after all. Just… convenient tools, maybe? Or something less flattering?”

  The Wildermen bristled, muttering among themselves, while Throrak’s glower deepened, his expression teetering on the edge of murderous. Elysian basked in the fleeting satisfaction of turning their jabs against them. But as the weight of their hostility bore down on him, triumph quickly soured into worry.

  ‘Yup, me and my stupid mouth. If I die here, I’ve no one to blame but myself and my endless foolishness.’

  Elysian sighed heavily, shaking his head as his gaze dropped to the ground, acutely aware of the dangerous stares drilling into him. The silence buzzed with tension, an oppressive storm waiting to break.

  “Give the boy a break,” the Matriarch’s voice cut through, swaying with that same playful mirth, as though this entire exchange was no more than a trifle to her. Perhaps it was. To someone who had witnessed untold millenia, the petty grievances of mortals likely carried little weight. “You’re already old, Throrak. Why waste your energy bullying a child?”

  “I don’t, Old One,” Throrak began, only to falter under the arch of Thaldruna’s brow. He coughed awkwardly, a faint flush creeping beneath his leather skin. “What I meant was… I was teaching him a lesson. A lesson in manners, so he knows how to behave in our lands and among those far above his position.”

  “Hmm, you might have a point,” Thaldruna mused, inclining her head slightly before turning her gaze back to Elysian. Her eyes roved over him, sharp and discerning, yet laced with a warmth that unsettled him more than outright malice. A wry smile spread across her weathered features. “Now that I’ve taken a closer look at this boy, it’s clear he’s brimming with mischief and shamelessness.”

  Heat flooded Elysian’s cheeks as if he were a child chastised by a beloved grandmother. The chuckles that rippled from those who understood human tongue only deepened his embarrassment.

  ‘Well, she’s not wrong. But why does it sting more when she says it?’

  “But,” Thaldruna continued, her voice softening with a touch of humor, “it seems he’s already aware of where he falls short. Isn’t that right, child? You know your flaws and will strive to mend them.”

  Elysian’s eyes widened at the opening she offered, an unexpected lifeline in the midst of circling dangers. “Of course, Old One,” he blurted, nodding vigorously. “I’ve seen the error of my ways and will endeavor to correct them.”

  Pivoting toward Throrak, who still loomed with a growl simmering in his throat, Elysian clasped his hands in mock supplication. “Oh, brave Throrak,” he intoned, his tone dripping with exaggerated humility. “I beg forgiveness for any rudeness or vulgarity I’ve shown. I am but an uncivilized savage, still fumbling to learn the ways of this great and noble world. I hope for your understanding and magnanimous mercy.”

  Throrak’s scowl deepened, the ridges of his brow casting sharp shadows over his fierce eyes. Even Thaldruna’s smile widened, her amusement sharp and gleaming. “Save that hollow apology for yourself, human,” Throrak growled, his voice low and rough as grinding stones, spitting the last word like an insult. “I don’t want to hear it.” His gaze slid to the Matriarch, his tone shifting to something more formal, yet edged with frustration. “Old One, why is a rootless child here? What gives him the right to stand in your great presence?”

  ‘Rootless?’

  Thaldruna tilted her head, her silvered mane cascading like molten light over her shoulders as she considered his words. Her ancient gaze, layered with secrets, flickered briefly to Elysian before her lips curved into a knowing smile. “He is a personal guest of mine,” she said softly, her words ringing like the chime of a great bell, “and of Clan Draekthar.”

  The silence that followed was absolute. The air itself seemed to freeze, heavy with unspoken implications. Elysian blinked, confused by the sudden change. The trolls and half-trolls around him, so brimming with aggression moments ago, had stilled, their faces locked in expressions of shock and—was that disbelief?

  ‘Why the hell are they acting like that? Sure, being the guest of someone powerful is a big deal, but this? This is overkill. Must be because I’m human. Damn racists.’

  The eerie silence stretched, thick and oppressive, broken only when Thaldruna chuckled softly. The sound rippled through the crowd like the first crack of ice underfoot, a reminder of her dominion.

  Throrak cleared his throat awkwardly, his massive frame shifting. When he turned back to Elysian, the hatred and contempt that had burned so plainly in his gaze earlier had dimmed. Though his dislike remained—a simmering ember instead of a roaring flame, there was now something else—a shadow of respect—grudging and reluctant, but unmistakable. His expression carried a faint tenor of curiosity, as if he were reevaluating the child standing before him.

  Elysian’s sharp eyes caught similar shifts among the others. Trolls, half-trolls, hobgoblins, and even the Wildermen who had jeered at him earlier were now looking at him differently. Their gazes held a wariness he didn’t like, as though he’d sprouted claws or whispered forbidden knowledge. He swallowed hard, the weight of their stares pressing against his skin like a thousand cold needles. The only one who seemed entirely unaffected was Kaerthlyn, her expression as nonchalant as ever, though he swore her eyes gleamed with amusement.

  ‘What in the gods’ names did she just say? It wasn’t that simple, was it? I thought it was just…but this…’

  A flicker of realization sparked in him. Whatever the Matriarch had declared, it carried far more weight than he’d anticipated. He didn’t know the why or the how of it—only that it had shifted the very ground he stood on.

  Elysian clenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe evenly.

  ‘Well, whatever it is, I’ll take it. If it keeps them from throwing me off this platform or skewering me on the spot, I’m not complaining.’

  Thaldruna’s knowing smile lingered as if she had plucked the thought directly from his mind. If she noticed his discomfort—and she surely did—she gave no sign. Instead, her ancient eyes sparkled, her amusement a silent promise of something that might come.

  Throrak’s eyes flicked back to the Matriarch, his expression tightening with reluctance. “Old One,” he began, his voice steady but measured, “I know I had already declined Clan Draekthar’s invitation to the festival tonight.” He paused, his gaze sliding briefly to Elysian, as though weighing an unspoken thought. “But it seems I will need to reconsider. I accept the invitation after all. I ask for the clan’s understanding regarding this... sudden change of plans.”

  Thaldruna’s laughter rang out, warm and genuine. Her delight seemed to fill the space, softening even the sharpest glances from the others. “It will be a great honor for Clan Draekthar to host and receive the leader of Clan Gulthram.”

  Throrak inclined his head respectfully before turning back to Elysian. He lingered for a heartbeat longer, his towering form casting an imposing shadow over the boy. His frown returned—a flicker of distaste and, perhaps, something unspoken—before he turned sharply on his heel and strode away without another word, his heavy footfalls echoing against the wooden platform.

  Elysian exhaled, tension draining from his shoulders as the oppressive presence of the massive troll faded.

  ‘Well, that could have gone worse.’

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