The orc kingdom had never been this lively in decades. The news of a human prince earning the favor of their king—and even taming the poison dragon—spread like wildfire. For many, it was an omen of change. For others, it was a threat to the old ways.
But for Min Khant Thu Ya, it was just the beginning.
He stood now before the Hall of Kings, an ancient structure carved into the mountainside. Ornate totems lined the pathway—each depicting great orcish chieftains of the past, their tusks curved like crescent moons, their eyes made from polished obsidian. Their presence seemed to watch his every step.
"Are you nervous?" Aren asked beside him, his armor polished, his sword sheathed but within reach.
Min Khant gave a faint smirk. "A little. But I'm more curious than anything."
Behind them, Barbarekan trudged along, still wary of the entire situation. "You better be more than curious," he muttered. "You're about to be introduced to the orc nobility. They eat suspicion for breakfast."
The doors to the Hall creaked open, revealing a vast chamber filled with warriors, clan leaders, and advisors, all seated in a wide arc. At the center sat King Brogar Ironfang, his massive form draped in ceremonial bones and fur, with a stone scepter resting beside his throne.
The air thickened instantly.
A hush fell over the hall as the human prince stepped forward.
Min Khant knelt on one knee, as was the custom in the orc court when greeting a king. "Your Majesty, I come before you with honor, as an ally, not as a ruler nor conqueror."
King Brogar's deep voice echoed like rolling thunder. "Rise, Prince of the South. You have returned with peace in your heart and strength in your hands. That much, we have seen."
Min Khant stood.
Brogar's gaze lingered on him, measuring. Testing. "You uncovered the poison at the source. You healed our sacred spring. And you formed a pact with the Serpent of Shadows. For that, you will be rewarded."
A slow murmur spread through the chamber.
One of the elder orcs, his beard braided with copper rings, stepped forward. "But he is a human. How do we know he will not one day turn against us, like so many others before him?"
Before Min Khant could speak, a voice interrupted from above.
"I vouch for him."
A tall orc female descended the stone steps—Amara, the daughter of the king, clad in dark leather armor, her long blade sheathed at her hip. She moved with grace and confidence.
"He treated me with respect when others looked down on me," she said, her golden eyes scanning the room. "He earned the trust of the wyrm. If that's not enough, perhaps you fear the truth he represents."
The room grew quiet again.
Brogar chuckled. "You always were good with words, daughter."
He then looked at Min Khant again. "We offer you the Mark of Bloodfire, a symbol of alliance and trust between your kind and ours. Wear it with honor—or don't wear it at all."
Two guards stepped forward, holding a silver pendant shaped like a fang with a red gem embedded at its center. Min Khant bowed again and accepted the gift.
"I'll wear it proudly," he said, slipping the chain around his neck.
From that moment, he wasn't just a guest anymore.
He was a blood-sworn ally of the orc kingdom.
Later that evening, the feast began. Tables were set in the open courtyard beneath the stars, roasted boars spinning on spitfires, barrels of fermented root wine opened, and chants of old war songs filling the night air.
Min Khant sat beside Aren and Barbarekan, the dragon now in its human form nearby, sipping calmly from a wooden cup.
"You've really made a name for yourself, Prince," Aren said, raising his cup.
"Don't forget, I had help," Min Khant replied, glancing at him with a grin.
Barbarekan grunted. "Yeah, from fools who didn't know better."
They laughed.
But the moment of peace was brief.
A messenger approached the table. He was a young orc, panting from a long run. "Your Highness… there's something you should see."
Min Khant's smile faded.
He stood and followed the messenger into a smaller chamber, where a stone map of the region was laid out.
On the map were new marks—scouts had reported strange movements in the east. Dark clouds. Sightings of corrupted beasts. Villages abandoned overnight.
"It's spreading," the messenger whispered. "The poison wasn't just in the spring."
Min Khant's fingers tightened over the table's edge. "It's part of something larger..."
Aren had followed behind. "The curse?"
"No," Min Khant said, eyes narrowing. "Something worse. I remember now—this wasn't just an environmental problem in the novel. It was foreshadowing the return of one of the old villains. Something sealed beneath the roots of the World Tree."
He could feel the pieces starting to fall into place.
"It's too soon for him to appear," Min Khant muttered. "But if the poison's spreading now, the seal must be weakening."
Barbarekan leaned against the doorframe. "You gonna tell us what 'he' means?"
Min Khant took a breath.
"There's a name... they called him The Rotborn Sovereign. He was sealed during the ancient wars, buried beneath the roots of the World Tree. His power seeps through poisoned ground and corrupted beasts. And in the novel, his awakening marked the beginning of the second arc—the point where kingdoms started falling."
Aren frowned. "And you're saying he's waking up earlier than he should?"
"Exactly."
They all fell silent.
Then Min Khant straightened, his expression resolved.
"Tomorrow, we ride east."
Meanwhile…
In a dark forest far from the orc lands, under a sky choked with ash, a cloaked figure knelt beside a pool of black water.
From the depths of the pond, a voice echoed—not with sound, but with something colder.
"It has begun."
The figure smiled, a wicked grin stretching beneath the shadow of their hood.
"Soon, the Tree will wither. And the prince... he'll learn that even fate can be rewritten."
The water bubbled.
Something beneath the surface moved.
Waiting.
To be continued...