Elysian scowled, staring into the murky green concoction. “What the hell is in this?” He swirled the liquid, watching the way it clung to the sides of the cup. “I’ve never tasted anything this bitter in my life.”

  Thaldruna hummed. “You’re still young.” Her tone had lost its earlier levity, dipping into something distant. “I’m sure you’ll encounter far worse.” The boy almost shot back a retort—something about how fate had already made sure of that—but the shift in her expression stopped him. Melancholy. Brief—fleeting. Then gone, as if it had never been there. Her gaze flicked back to his drink. “That is a special brew of mine. Rare herbs. Other ingredients you won’t find outside Kor’Morul.”

  Elysian raised a brow. “You’re not trying to poison me, are you?”

  Thaldruna snorted. “Do I need to?”

  The noble sighed, swirling the liquid again. “I don’t care how rare or expensive it is—I’m not drinking something that tastes like death.”

  Thaldruna leaned forward, considering him with open amusement. “Are you sure? It’s highly nutritious. Would aid in your growth.” She exhaled, as if truly evaluating his worth. “I did notice you’re rather short—for a rootless.”

  Elysian twitched.

  The Matriarch smiled. “Well,” she sighed, lounging back as if the topic bored her, “since you’re my guest, I won’t force you. Halda can bring you something else.” A pause, calculated. “Perhaps milk.”

  Silence.

  Elysian’s grip tightened around the cup, his gaze locked onto the liquid, studying it, expression unreadable. “I’m still young.” His voice was calm. Not combative. Not irritated like it usually was when his height came into discussion. Just… thoughtful. “There’s still time to grow.”

  Thaldruna raised a brow.

  He lifted the cup slightly, examining the brew once more before meeting her gaze. “It would be discourteous to reject what my host has given.” His tone was steady. “Why don’t we continue?”

  Thaldruna eyed him, unreadable. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you to have a bad experience in my home.” She glanced at her own drink, took a slow sip. “Halda can bring something more familiar to you.”

  Elysian met her gaze—then, without breaking eye contact, tipped the cup back and downed the entire thing in one go.

  The bitterness hit like a punch to the throat. His face twisted, contorting in something truly ugly—but only for a second. He forced it down, every last drop, swallowing as if it were some rare elixir instead of whatever vile brew she had given him.

  Thaldruna’s brows lifted, eyes widening. Genuine surprise. “I thought you didn’t like it.”

  “You thought wrong.” He smirked, smug, triumphant.

  She let out a breath—almost a laugh. “You do realize I was joking about its effects, don’t you?”

  Elysian’s grin faltered.

  Thaldruna leaned forward, smirking now. “It won’t actually make you taller. No concoction can.”

  His expression shattered. Then, gagging, he lurched forward as if he could somehow purge the drink from his system.

  Thaldruna howled. Her laughter was raw, full-bodied, shaking her shoulders as she leaned back in her seat, completely delighted at the sight of him suffering. Elysian glared, wiping his mouth. By the time her laughter faded and he’d regained some dignity, the mood had shifted.

  “What do you really want?” His tone was flat, but the atmosphere had became more relaxed—comfortable even. “You’re clearly not going to kill me and take my soulforged.”

  “That’s a good question.” Thaldruna’s amusement cooled into something sharper. “I want you to protect my granddaughter’s life, ensuring her safety.” Elysian stiffened. “I want you to enter the trial,” she continued, voice even. “And help her earn the mark for completing it.” A pause. “In that order.”

  His gut turned. “You’re sending your thralgar back into that trial?” His voice rose in disbelief. “Didn’t you just lose the ones you sent? And now you’re even sending Kaerthlyn?”

  Thaldruna fell silent. For the first time, she hesitated. Then—a slow, heavy exhale. “Yes.” The word was quiet—weighted. “It must be done, however dangerous.” She paused. When she spoke again, something in her voice cracked. “I have no choice. This time, I must send my granddaugther. My hands are tied. I cannot protect her like before.”

  Elysian stared at her. A dozen questions crashed into him at once. He forced his thoughts into order. “Why?” His voice was softer now. “Why send them again? Wouldn’t it be better for you or another powerful troll to complete the trial instead?”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Thaldruna exhaled, gaze heavy. “If I could, I would.” The words weren’t defiant. They weren’t even bitter. Just… resigned. “But there is an age limit.” She met his eyes. “Seventeen. That is the rule. Only the young may enter.”

  “Why must you do the trial?” Elysian asked, studying her. The request gnawed at him. “Go on, then. Tell me. If it’s just tradition—that’s a poor excuse to send more to their deaths.”

  Thaldruna’s expression darkened. “No, it’s not. We are not fools, nor slaves to tradition at the cost of our own people.” She hesitated. Then, quieter—reluctant: “It’s to strengthen the seal.” She exhaled sharply, the weight of those words pressing into the space between them. “If we fail…” Another pause, deeper now. “Not only will Kor’Morul be in danger, but so will your cities. Your empires. The entire *Creation*.”

  Elysian stilled. The silence that followed felt heavy. A weight pressing against his ribs, suffocating in its implications.

  ‘Is she telling the truth? If she is… then I don’t have a choice, do I?’

  His throat tightened. But still—he forced himself to speak. “How can I even trust your words?” His voice was quieter now, edged with something sharper. “You could be saying anything to get me involved in something that isn’t my problem.” His gaze hardened. “Besides, I do trust you’ll resolve it without me. Powerful people like you,” his lips curled in something almost mocking, “must have planned for every possibility. You always do. So why should I put myself in danger?”

  Thaldruna held his gaze. “You’re right.” Her tone was even. Unshaken. “One way or another, we will solve this.” Her voice dropped. “Even if it costs mountains of corpses.” A long pause, then—softer, “And you are also right that you don’t have to endanger yourself.”

  Elysian swallowed. The air between them shifted.

  “But let me ask you this.” She smiled, sharp as a blade. “Why should I keep the forces from tearing down your fortress?”

  The breath punched from his lungs. Elysian stiffened. His blood ran hot. His hands curled into fists before he could stop himself, a low growl slipping through his teeth.

  Thaldruna only grinned. It had been her plan to get this reaction. “Ungrateful, are we?” she mused, tilting her head. “I could have left you to die. Taken your soulforged after you perished, without the repercussions of the abyssal god behind you.” Her smile turned colder. “Instead, I saved your life. I saved your people.” Her gaze pinned him. “Is this how you repay me?”

  Elysian gritted his teeth.

  ‘She’s right. Sybil had pointed it out, too.’

  Elysian didn’t trust powerful, ancient beings. Their help was never simple. There were always layers, hidden costs buried beneath pretty words. But in the end…

  ‘Favors must be repaid. And I owed her—a lot.’

  Elysian suddenly laughed. It came quick, almost startled—then he grinned, leaning back. “Why so serious? I was just asking. You wouldn’t want the man you saved to be an idiot, would you?” His eyes glinted. “Someone stupid enough to do whatever he's told without even asking the right questions?”

  Thaldruna didn’t react. Her expression remained unreadable, her gaze heavy, watchful.

  Elysian let out another laugh—this one quieter, more awkward. “I know you don’t.” He tilted his head, studying her. “I can see it in your eyes.” His smile lingered, but the weight in his stare told her he meant it. “So don’t worry. I’m not ungrateful. I always return a favor. And then some.”

  For the first time, the Matriarch smiled. A slow, knowing curve of her lips. She nodded, the sharpness in her gaze easing—replaced by something else. That distant, almost maternal mask she wore when she wished to be approachable. “My judgment was right,” she murmured. “I was not wrong about you.” She lifted her cup, took a measured sip. “But in the end, only the result matters.” Her eyes flicked to his, sharpening again. “Even if you agree… if my granddaughter dies in the trial, then I will have wasted my time on a useless brat.” She held his gaze. “And I hate wasting my time.”

  Elysian swallowed hard. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Don’t worry.” His voice was steady. “My actions—and the result—will prove my worth.” He took a breath. Then, his words more firmer. “I won’t make you regret saving my life. Consider it done.”

  The realization hit him half a second too late.

  ‘A promise. A dangerous one. Sh*t. Why the hell did I say that? What if I fail? No. Failure isn’t an option from the beginning. If I fail, I die. If I fail, Grimwatch fell. Which means… I have nothing to lose by talking big. If I pull this off, I’d be in a far stronger position. I’d have leverage in whatever negotiations comes next. And more than that… I’d leave a damn good impression on this powerful old troll.’

  “Good.” Thaldruna took another sip, watching him over the rim of her cup. “I like the spirit,” she mused. “I hope, for your sake… you fulfill every word of it.”

  “Of course,” Elysian muttered. It should have sounded confident. It didn’t. His laugh faltered as he caught the glint in the Matriarch’s eyes—a silent promise that her expectations were not to be taken lightly.

  By the time Elysian left, the festival was already in full swing. The journey back was a mess. Without Halda guiding him, with the sun sinking behind the tree, the paths of Vel?n Kralvek twisted into a labyrinth. Worse still, most of the trolls and thralgar had already gathered at the festival, leaving the roads nearly empty. The few stragglers he encountered either ignored him outright or didn’t understand a word he said. He got turned around twice. By the time he stumbled back into the heart of the settlement, the sky was dark, and the festival had long since begun.

  The first thing he saw was the crowd. A massive gathering of trolls, thralgar and wilderman packed around the largest platform in the clan grounds. And at the center—a fight.

  Elysian froze, pulse kicking up as he took in the scene.

  ‘What the hell is happening?’

  He edged closer, scanning the mass of bodies. When he tried asking a thralgar nearby, he was ignored. Another barely spared him a glance before shaking his head—unable to understand him.

  ‘Great.’

  So Elysian stood, forced to watch from a distance. Luckily, he had a vantage point—an elevated rise, giving him just enough height to see past the crowd. The platform, though far, was still visible to his sharpened sight.

  Two groups of thralgar. The same two from earlier—the ones who had nearly come to blows. And at the center, one of them lay on the ground, pinned beneath another’s boot. The standing thralgar was saying something—mocking. His voice carrying over the din, directed at the opposing group.

  Elysian’s breath stopped. The one who stood up—the one who responded—Sybil. His stomach dropped.

  ‘What the hell is that idiot doing?’

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