The forest breathed a long, eerie silence, broken only by the crackling of leaves beneath the kneeling Beastman. Alaric stood still, posture composed but alert, his senses sharp. The rush of awakened power still simmered within him, a strange yet stabilizing presence.
He watched the hulking creature before him—the one who had attacked without hesitation, eyes feral and purpose-driven.
Racism? That was Alaric's first thought. It wouldn't be the first time someone had hated what they didn't understand. His new form wasn't exactly standard, after all. Pointed ears. Compact build. Beast-like features in a body far from human. Was it because he didn't look like them?
But something about the Beastman's approach had felt too tactical. Too precise.
No slurs. No threats. Just cold, silent aggression—aimed with intention, not hatred.
Alaric stored the thought away.
Interrogate, don't assume.
He stepped closer, gaze steady. "You struck without warning," he said calmly. "Why?"
The Beastman's shoulders rose and fell. His breath was steady now, though there was tension behind his every word. "Because you're a Halfling."
Alaric didn't flinch, though the term dug into his spine like a needle.
"I've heard the word," he lied smoothly. "Didn't know it warranted assault on sight."
"You're not just a Halfling," the creature growled. "You're a human-blooded one. And you were unbound. Untethered. I couldn't take that risk."
Alaric didn't blink. He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. "Explain."
The Beastman's lip curled—not in anger, but caution. Still, he answered.
"Humans are the apex of ambition. Fast to rise, fast to burn. But when their blood mixes with another race... the result is rarely weak. It's dangerous. You're walking potential."
Alaric said nothing. He kept his expression unreadable, his stance relaxed but coiled. Keep him talking. Control the conversation. Never reveal weakness.
"You weren't attacking me," Alaric said, voice low. "You were trying to claim me."
The Beastman stiffened. "A Faith Lock. A spiritual bond. I would have subdued you, marked you as my subordinate. That's how unclaimed Halflings are usually handled. Before someone less... honorable finds them."
"And your method was an ambush?"
"It was efficient."
Alaric circled slowly, eyes sharp. "You said unbound Halflings are dangerous. How many of us are there?"
The Beastman hesitated.
"Not many. Most don't survive the change. The few who do... they're hunted. Coveted."
"For their power."
"For what they could become."
Alaric stopped walking. "And you?"
The Beastman looked up. "Rhogar. Warlord of the Hollowtooth."
"I didn't ask for your title," Alaric said coldly. "I asked what you are."
Rhogar's jaw clenched. "A soldier. A survivor. One who's lost to a Halfling before."
Alaric's gaze narrowed.
"You're afraid of us."
"I'm afraid of what's untrained. Undisciplined. Uncontrolled."
Alaric crouched, bringing his face closer to Rhogar's.
"You tried to leash me."
"I tried to protect you," Rhogar snarled. "You think being free in this world is safer than being bound to strength?"
"That's a convenient justification for subjugation."
Rhogar said nothing.
Alaric stood and stepped back.
"You speak of danger. Of gods. Of power," Alaric said, his voice now steady, almost commanding. "Tell me more. About this world. About the gods who rule it."
Rhogar blinked. His posture shifted—not submission, but caution. The air between them grew still.
"You don't know," he said slowly, testing.
"I know enough," Alaric replied sharply, cutting the thread. "And now, you will fill in the rest."
In a place far beyond the reach of mortal senses—beyond even the boundaries of Auron itself—an unseen domain pulsed with soft, celestial light. Vast and shimmering like the surface of a calm sea, the space rippled as two beings emerged from the folds of the void.
One appeared first, robed in fractal shadows and refracted colours, ever-shifting and hard to comprehend—a presence that exuded timeless authority. The other soon followed, his form sharper, bolder, and paradoxically split: half radiant gold, half tempered steel. He was the god of Pride and Humility—twin forces housed within a single, divine entity.
"You did it," said the first being, voice a smooth echo. "You sent one of yours as a halfling."
The god of Pride and Humility remained silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "He needed to understand both sides of himself—what better form to carry the contradiction?"
"You take a risk. Halflings are not only rare... they are unstable."
"They are potential," the god replied. "The perfect vessel for balance—or destruction."
The unseen god drifted forward. "Auron is not forgiving, especially now. The humans have consolidated too much. Their dominance is secured by trade, war, and ideology. Even the divine cannot change that lightly."
The god of Pride and Humility nodded. "Precisely. Which is why that kid must tread carefully. The humans protect halflings only when they walk the edge with discipline. A halfling that falters... becomes a monster."
"And if he doesn't falter?"
"Then he becomes a force this world has never known."
The other being's aura dimmed for a moment, thoughtful. "You risk awakening the prophecy."
The god of Pride and Humility smirked faintly. "Let the others worry about prophecy. I concern myself with purpose."
A pause.
"Still... you know what lies beneath the veil of balance. The monster hiding inside the miracle."
The twin-aspect god turned away, gaze stretching back toward Auron. "So does he. That's what makes him worthy."
Then, without another word, both gods vanished, leaving the space calm once more—yet something unspoken lingered. The quiet understanding that a halfling's greatest strength could also become the catalyst for the unraveling of empires.
The gods watched. The game had begun.