Talia had always known this day would come.
She had trained for it, fought for it, spent years preparing for the moment she would take the mantle of leadership.
But now?
Now that Orgrun had spoken the words aloud, now that the truth sat heavy on her shoulders like a beast pressing down on her back—she felt it. The weight. The suffocating responsibility.
Her fingers curled into fists.
Her voice was steady, but there was an edge to it when she finally spoke.
"Even if I choose to keep him away from us? You would still let me lead?"
Orgrun didn't hesitate.
"Your decisions, the choices you make once you are leader—" he exhaled, his gaze steady. "They will be yours alone. Not mine."
Talia clicked her teeth in frustration.
Orgrun had a knack for giving her the most irritating answers.
Orgrun then let out a slow, heavy sigh.
"But I will say this—" his voice was calm, but there was something behind it. A warning. "You will need all the help you can get."
Talia frowned. "I don't—"
"Especially," Orgrun interrupted, his voice dropping to a near growl.
Then he said slowly.
"Because of the dwarf."
A chill crawled down Talia's spine.
She knew exactly who he meant.
Bodrek.
The Troll Slayer.
His name was a shadow that loomed over their kind—like a whispered curse.
A dwarf adventurer who had carved his legend in troll blood, haunting their lands like a relentless storm.
Dozens of Trolls had fallen to his axe.
And he never stopped.
He didn't kill for coin.
He didn't kill for glory.
He killed because he loved it.
There was a rumor—one that sent shivers down the spine of even the fiercest warriors.
Bodrek had once wiped out an entire troll village on his own.
No survivors. No mercy. Just ruin.
It was that massacre that earned him his infamous title.
And now… he was rumored to be near their region.
Orgrun's voice was low, almost distant.
"There's no doubt you'll run into him sooner rather than later. And in that moment, you'll need all the help you can get."
Talia clenched her fists. Her nails dug into her palms.
"Sooner rather than later?" she echoed, a tightness gripping her chest.
If Orgrun was saying this, then it was going to happen.
Because Orgrun wasn't just the chief.
He was also the clan's shaman.
His visions had saved them more times than she could count.
The thought of clashing with the dwarve sent a ripple of unease through Talia.
Her people were strong. Fierce. Battle-tested.
But the troll slayer was relentless. Cunning. Merciless in war.
Orgrun's voice pulled her from her thoughts, his tone gentle but firm.
"That is why I say this again. Try to convince him. With his strength, he could be a powerful asset."
Talia's breath hitched. Her jaw tightened.
"Convince Sylas?" she repeated.
After everything he had said? After everything she had seen?
She doubted she could change his mind.
Orgrun nodded, his amber eyes steady.
"He may not think like us. He may not share your vision of peace. But if he can be turned—if he can fight alongside us instead of against us—he may be the weapon we need."
Talia's stomach twisted, and a storm of emotions raged inside her.
She hated this.
Hated that Orgrun, the chief, the shaman, and her mentor, seemed to place more faith in a half-feral outsider than in his own people.
Hated that, despite everything, he still saw Sylas as their best hope—even when the brute's ideals clashed with everything they stood for.
And yet…
She knew he wasn't wrong.
If Bodrek was truly near, if the infamous Troll Slayer was coming for them, they would need every advantage they could get.
Even if that advantage came in the form of a wild, battle-hungry warrior who saw bloodshed as a sport.
Orgrun slowly rose to his feet, his joints popping with the motion.
His expression softened, but his voice held firm.
"Please, my daughter," he murmured, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Try."
Talia froze.
She rarely heard Orgrun call her daughter.
It was something he reserved for moments that truly mattered—when he wanted her to feel the weight of his words.
And this moment was no different.
Before she could fully process it, Orgrun spoke again, his voice even but firm.
"And if you're feeling generous—if you truly want to confirm whether he is the Chosen One—then give him the Doom Axe."
Talia's head snapped toward him, eyes sharp with disbelief.
"The Doom Axe?!" she repeated, her voice rising.
That wasn't just some weapon.
It was a sacred relic, a blade of legend.
A weapon only the strongest of their kind had ever wielded.
She squared her shoulders, her jaw tightening.
"You know we can't just hand that weapon to anyone."
Orgrun didn't flinch.
"Aren't you just afraid he'll be able to wield it?"
Talia's fingers twitched.
Her heart pounded.
She wanted to say no—to act like that wasn't her fear.
But it was.
She exhaled sharply through her nose.
"I am," she admitted. "I'm afraid of what he'd do with it."
Orgrun's voice was soft but firm. "Talia…"
"Don't be absurd, Father." She clenched her fists. "That weapon can't be given to just anyone."
Her words were sharp, leaving no room for argument.
Whether Sylas was worthy or not, she would never let him near the Doom Axe.
She refused.
Without another word, she turned on her heel and strode toward the hut's entrance.
She pushed the heavy fur curtain aside, and the night air crashed into her like a wave—cool, crisp, and filled with the scent of roasted meat and burning wood.
The feast outside was still in full swing.
Trolls laughed, voices booming as they drank and shoved each other playfully, their massive hands slapping backs loud enough to be heard over the crackling bonfire.
And there, at the center of it all, sat Sylas.
A grin split his face as if he belonged—like he had always been part of their clan.
Talia's sharp gaze flicked behind her, back to the dimly lit hut where her father sat in silence.
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
Then, without hesitation, she marched forward.
Towards him.