The feast still raged around me—mugs clashing, voices booming, the scent of charred meat thick in the air—but I wasn't eating anymore.
I had an audience now.
A dozen troll children sat cross-legged in the dirt, their massive eyes gleaming in the firelight, completely locked onto me.
I grinned. Hooked them already.
My voice rose and fell, carrying through the night like a spell.
"…And then, the mighty Troll King raised his war axe—an axe so powerful it split the very sky! And from the heavens, fire rained down, hotter than the sun itself, crashing onto the demon's army!"
I stretched my arms wide for effect, and the children gasped, their breath hitching in awe.
One of them—a scrawny little thing with a crooked tusk—leaned forward, practically vibrating with excitement.
"No way!" he blurted out. "Did he kill the Demon King?"
I grinned, fighting the urge to laugh.
These kids had been wary of me at first, watching me like I was some kind of wild beast.
But now they were hanging onto my every word, leaning in, wide-eyed, their tusks peeking out as they waited for more.
And it wasn't just them.
A few adult trolls had gathered nearby, pretending not to listen.
Some nursed their drinks, others stood with arms crossed, their gazes flicking toward me when they thought I wouldn't notice.
Among them was Zephra, her expression unreadable, lips slightly parted as if caught between skepticism and curiosity.
But what caught my attention most?
Talia.
She stood a few feet away, arms locked over her chest, her sharp eyes fixed on me. She hadn't interrupted. Hadn't said a word. But I could feel her staring.
Judging. Measuring.
Still, she hadn't walked away.
And that meant she was listening.
I turned my attention back to the kids, dragging out the moment, letting the tension build.
Then, I spread my hands with a grin. "Well…"
I was about to continue.
But I got interrupted.
"That is a story for another night."
Talia's voice cut through the air like a blade.
She stepped forward, at last, her presence commanding.
Immediately, a chorus of complaints erupted from the troll kids.
"Aww, come on!"
"You can't stop there!"
"Just one more part!"
One of the smaller ones even clutched my arm, looking up at me with wide, pleading eyes.
But there was nothing I could do.
Talia unmoved declared her tone firm.
"The feast is over. Everyone, go get some rest."
Groans filled the air, some trolls dragging their feet as they shuffled away, but no one dared argue.
Not with her.
The trolls, even the youngest, knew better than to defy their future chieftess.
They grumbled, dragging their feet, but they obeyed.
I had heard from Zephra that Talia was the chief's daughter, and now it made sense.
No wonder Gunther had listened to her orders without protest.
One by one, the trolls filed toward their huts.
Some glanced at me on their way out—curious, uncertain.
Then there was Zephra.
She lingered for a moment, hesitating just long enough to meet my eyes.
Then, with a small nod, she murmured, "Goodnight, Sylas."
I raised a hand in a casual wave and she left, walking past Talia.
And that's when I saw it.
Talia's expression barely changed, but I spotted her lips twitch.
Now, I didn't know what that was about, but I could tell—something about the situation irritated her.
And for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why.
"A word," she said, her tone cool and unreadable.
I arched a brow but didn't argue.
"Alright."
As I turned to follow her, a small tug at my wrist stopped me.
One of the troll kids—wide-eyed and hopeful—looked up at me.
"Will you tell us the rest of the story tomorrow?"
I chuckled and ruffled his messy hair. "Of course."
The kid grinned, bouncing on his feet before running off to catch up with his friends.
I was lying though.
By tomorrow, I planned to be long gone.
I couldn't stay here.
As we walked, I let out a sharp whistle.
A rustling sound came from the trees above.
Then—thump!
A small blur of fur dropped from the branches and landed squarely on my shoulder.
Drakon, my ever-hungry little lemur, clung to me with his tiny hands—one of which still clutched a massive chunk of meat.
I narrowed my eyes. "Seriously?"
I hadn't seen him since before my duel with Bruz, and judging by the grease on his paws, I could guess where he'd been.
Drakon blinked at me lazily, then stuffed another bite into his mouth—completely unbothered.
A bite, by the way, that was twice his head.
I gasped. "How can your mouth even contain that?!"
I swear, this little menace could probably out-eat me if given the chance.
"You're lucky I like you," I muttered, flicking his tiny nose.
Drakon let out a high-pitched chirp, then nuzzled into my neck like he hadn't just inhaled half a feast's worth of food.
I felt eyes on me.
Talia was watching again, her arms crossed, her expression caught somewhere between stunned and amused.
"You really managed to tame him quickly," she said, tilting her head. "Lemurs aren't exactly easy to control."
I shrugged. "Guess he knows I'm special."
She snorted. "I thought you didn't believe you were the chosen one?"
"I don't," I said smoothly. "But that doesn't change the fact that I am, indeed, one of a kind."
I flashed a smug grin.
Talia shook her head, unimpressed. "Arrogant—" she started, but then—just for a moment—she smirked.
It was small, almost unintentional. Like she'd forgotten who she was talking to.
But just as quickly, her expression hardened again, the easy moment vanishing.
Then she continued walking.
And I followed.
"You've adapted quickly," she admitted her voice even. "The others have taken to you. Even Zephra."
Right.
I stretched my arms. "Too bad I'll be gone by morning."
She hesitated. Just for a second.
Then, softly—almost too softly—she said:
"Stay."
I stiffened.
It wasn't just the words—it was the way she said them.
Like a plea. A desperate one.
"Trolls should be together," she pressed, stepping closer. "And you belong here more than you realize."
I let out a slow breath through my nose. "Because I'm the chosen one."
"No." Her gaze locked onto mine, firm, unwavering. "Because you are a troll."
I almost laughed. Almost.
"Let's not fool ourselves, Talia," I said, tilting my head. "Staying means being constantly pressured to accept my so-called destiny. To follow your rules, your customs. To be something I'm not."
"You can learn."
I snorted. "Learn to be a pushover?"