Elysian pushed himself upright too quickly, and his legs buckled beneath him. A sharp jolt of pain shot through his limbs as his knees gave out, threatening to send him crashing back to the ground. Before he could fall, Kaerthlyn’s hand shot out, catching him with surprising ease.

Her grip was firm but steady, like a rope holding a precarious climber. For all her wiry frame, she had the reflexes—and strength—of someone far beyond her years. Of course, she did. Troll blood ran in her veins, and for her, keeping him upright was probably no harder than swatting a fly.

"Thank you," Elysian muttered. She grinned in response, a flash of teeth that made her seem both amused and triumphant.

Leaning on her arm, Elysian slowly steadied himself, testing the weight on his legs. “How long was I out?” he asked, his voice rough, as though the words were wading through days of disuse.

Kaerthlyn cocked her head, considering. “Three… yeah, three days,” she said with a shrug.

“Three days?” His voice rose, and his head snapped toward his injuries.

His leg and arm—the ones that had been severed—were whole again. Faint traces of scars, pink and fresh, ran along where his arm and leg had regrown. He swallowed hard, feeling the muscles beneath them flex as though they'd never been torn apart.

‘No… Now that I think about it, with injuries like mine, three days is unbelievably fast. Trolls really are in a league of their own.’

“Something wrong?” Kaerthlyn’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, her sharp eyes narrowing at his expression.

“No, no, everything’s fine.” Elysian forced an awkward smile, hiding his discomfort. “I’m just… impressed. The way you healed me, with how bad my injuries were—it’s amazing. You clearly know what you’re doing.”

Kaerthlyn’s grin widened, her chest puffing with pride. “Of course! When it comes to healing, no one can compare to us.”

‘Not entirely true. There are a few who might rival them in raw potency. But efficiency coupled with effectiveness? Trolls are unmatched.’

“You’re absolutely right,” Elysian said aloud, eager to keep her in good spirits. “No one beats trolls at healing.”

Her grin grew wider, and she gave him a slow nod. Then, she turned to Brodhar, muttering something in their tongue—a low, guttural rhythm that Elysian couldn’t decipher. Brodhar nodded in agreement and stepped forward.

The massive troll loomed over him, shadow swallowing shadow, before he reached out with a hand large enough to crush him.

“Hey, wait!” Elysian took a hasty step back, his heart hammering against his ribs. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Stay still,” Kaerthlyn said, her grin turning mischievous. “Stone will carry you.”

“What? No, I’m fine—”

Brodhar’s fingers wrapped around him before he could finish. Elysian let out a strangled shout, his voice breaking into a hoarse, ungraceful scream as he was lifted off his feet.

‘F*ck, f*ck, f*ck!’

Kaerthlyn’s laughter rang out, sharp and mocking, as Brodhar settled Elysian on his palm like he was placing a delicate bird. The warmth of the troll’s breath brushed against him, making his skin crawl.

The panic ebbed, but his face was pale as he realized just how close he was to the giant now—close enough to hear the rumble of each exhale.

“Why are you squealing like a whelp?” Kaerthlyn teased, her laughter still ringing in the air.

Elysian cleared his throat, his cheeks burning as he tried to recover his composure. “Just… surprised,” he muttered, voice thick with embarrassment.

Kaerthlyn chuckled, shaking her head as if Elysian’s earlier panic amused her endlessly. “Let’s go.”

He felt a strange mix of apprehension and wonder as they stepped out of the dim chamber. The air shifted immediately, cooler and thick with the earthy scent of moss and stone.

Elysian’s breath caught at the sheer scale of the space that greeted him. They were in an enormous, jagged chasm carved deep into the earth—a massive tear in the bedrock that seemed to split the mountain itself. Golden rays of sunlight slanted down from above, illuminating the intricate layers of this subterranean haven. Though the light reached them, it only barely pierced the depths below. When Elysian leaned slightly over the edge of their stone path, he couldn’t see the bottom—only a yawning void that swallowed the light and breathed darkness.

The trolls’ home wasn’t a cave; it was something far grander. High above them, the floors of this hollowed-out chasm rose in uneven layers, each wide enough to hold sprawling settlements. Even the one they stood on—the fourth tier down—felt vast enough to hold a human city. The scale wasn’t built for men but for beings who could crush men beneath their feet.

Rock walls encased the space, alive with textures and growths. Mosses, glowing fungi, and massive vines clung to every surface, weaving their way across stone like veins. Small flowers—small by troll standards, though each was larger than Elysian’s head—bloomed in bursts of color, while bioluminescent algae painted the jagged edges of the rock with faint, ghostly hues. Insects flitted between these blooms, some buzzing with a low drone, others trailing soft trails of light like living embers.

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At the chasm’s heart stood the tree.

Elysian could hardly believe his eyes. The colossal tree towered from the bottom of the chasm, its roots so vast they formed bridges across lower tiers, its trunk gnarled and ancient, rising with quiet majesty. It stretched all the way to the second layer above, where its thick branches merged with the rock walls. There were no leaves on some of the branches to soften its stark silhouette, but the bark pulsed faintly with an inner glow, as if the tree itself was alive with primordial energy.

‘The trolls have built their world around that tree. How such a thing exists?’

Bridges of wood and woven vine stretched from one side of the chasm to the other, connecting the tree’s branches to the stone dwellings carved into the walls. Elysian realized the chamber they’d just exited was one of many. The rock face was riddled with similar rooms, their entrances large and rounded, blending into the stone as if grown there rather than chiseled by hand.

Farther up, suspended platforms dangled from the branches of the tree, some cradling small structures shaped like nests, others swaying gently under the weight of trolls passing across. One enormous branch, thicker than any building Elysian had ever seen, extended toward the left. At its end, he could make out the faint outline of a grand structure—perhaps a gathering hall or temple—where trolls moved in and out like ants entering a hive.

The air hummed with life. From somewhere in the depths of the chasm came the faint roar of cascading water. Elysian couldn’t see it, but he imagined a hidden waterfall feeding the mossy streams that trickled through the rocky terrain. Above, sunlight shifted and danced, catching on motes of dust and creating halos of golden light around the trolls who moved across the bridges.

Everywhere he looked, life thrived. It wasn’t the life he knew—civilized and carefully ordered—but wild, ancient, and untamed. This was a world untouched by human hands, a sanctuary that felt both sacred and perilous.

Elysian’s gaze lingered on the tree, its vastness making the trolls themselves seem small in comparison. Even Kaerthlyn and Brodhar, towering over him, were dwarfed by its immense girth and the intricate network of life it supported.

“This place…” Elysian murmured, more to himself than to Kaerthlyn. “It’s incredible.”

Kaerthlyn grinned, a mixture of pride and reverence flashing in her sharp features. “Velûn Kralvek. It’s home.”

Her words hung in the air as Brodhar led the way, his heavy steps reverberating against the stone, carrying them deeper into this living, breathing world.

‘Velûn Kralvek.’

Elysian sat in awed silence, his gaze sweeping over the staggering vista of the trolls' sanctuary. He struggled to reconcile what he saw with the world he thought he knew. True, in both his lives—before and after his rebirth—he had witnessed wonders that defied mortal comprehension. He had walked the lush courts of the eastern continent, where silken banners shimmered beneath sun-drenched skies and imperial palaces towered like the dreams of gods. He had stood on the edge of golden deserts, where sprawling cities rose like mirages, their spires piercing the heavens. He had even wandered the frostbitten expanse further to the south, where ancient fortresses lay buried in ice, whispering secrets of forgotten kings.

But here, deep in the heart of Grimwold, he found himself as spellbound as the first time he had glimpsed those marvels.

‘This place is something else entirely.’

Velûn Kralvek, the trolls' sacred haven, was a symphony of primal grandeur and ancient artistry.

Unlike the meticulous splendor of eastern palaces, whose beauty felt curated and, at times, suffocatingly perfect, the allure of this place was raw and untamed. The troll sanctuary thrived on a kind of harmony only time and isolation could foster. The stonework of their dwellings—seamlessly integrated into the living rock walls—bore carvings so intricate they seemed to hum with ancient power. Bridges of twisted roots and braided vines spanned yawning chasms, exuding a natural elegance that human hands could never replicate.

This wasn’t mere architecture; it was a living, breathing entity. Each surface seemed to tell a story etched by hands long gone but preserved with reverence. The trolls had not tamed nature—they had become one with it.

‘Of course, Grimwold would have something like this. Why should I be surprised? This forest predates humanity itself, a place of primal creativity untouched by mortal hands. An ancient civilization, shrouded and undisturbed, crafting such splendor.’

And yet, no amount of reasoning could dull the wonder he felt. It struck him with the force of a blade—the beauty here wasn’t static like the marble halls of kings. It lived, it breathed, it grew. It surrounded him with a quiet majesty that demanded not reverence, but awe.

“Magnificent,” Elysian whispered, the word escaping before he could stop it.

It wasn’t the opulent decadence of human nobility that left him speechless. This beauty was wild and eternal, carved by time and nature in ways humanity could only imitate poorly. The air itself seemed alive with an energy that prickled at his skin, filling him with a sense of smallness he had rarely felt before.

As they ascended to the higher floors, Elysian's eyes roamed over the bustling activity of the sanctuary. The first thing he noticed—and quietly appreciated—was that Brodhar stood taller than most of the trolls they passed. Though the others were still towering giants by human standards, Brodhar’s sheer size and presence were an anomaly. Knowing he wouldn’t have to deal with more trolls of Brodhar’s intimidating stature was an unexpected relief.

Still, it didn’t mean the others were any less imposing. Each troll exuded strength, their movements deliberate and powerful. They dwarfed any humans easily, their forms blending seamlessly with the ancient sanctuary around them.

The second thing that struck Elysian was how sparse the population seemed. In a space as vast and monumental as this, he had expected crowds akin to the throngs that filled the streets of Ironspire. But here, only a few hundred trolls moved about their tasks, scattered across the immense terraces and bridges. Even factoring in the figures he spotted on the opposite side of the chasm, the number was surprisingly small.

It made sense, he realized. Trolls lived far longer than humans, but their numbers grew far slower. Each one of them, perhaps, was as significant as a hundred humans in their society.

As they continued upward, Elysian caught sight of others who were clearly not trolls. Hobgoblins skulked in shadowy corners, their wiry frames contrasting sharply with the trolls’ bulk. Humans mingled as well, though they bore little resemblance to the polished nobles and citizens of his homeland. These men were rugged and wild, their clothing adorned with bones, leather, and tribal markings that spoke of a deep connection to the forest.

‘Tribesmen. Could they be part of the Grimwold clans? Wasn’t Osric’s father once among their kind?’

“Can anyone just… walk into this place?” Elysian asked, directing the question toward Kaerthlyn, who walked ahead of Brodhar with an easy confidence.

She glanced back, her expression thoughtful. “Not usually,” she admitted. “But today’s an exception. There’s a council meeting—important forces of Kor’Morul have gathered. They’ve brought a few of their tribes and clans, some to trade, others to settle disputes or discuss alliances.”

Her words sent a jolt through Elysian. His mind raced as pieces began to fall into place.

‘Grimwold’s leaders are meeting today? That must be the meeting she mentioned earlier. I initially thought that this was just a gathering of troll tribes but it seems I’m mistaken. This is a large gathering that involves the major powers of the Great Forest itself.’

A chill crept down his spine. The memory of an attack on Grimwatch rose unbidden, sharp and vivid in his mind. His instincts screamed a warning, the kind that had saved his life countless times before.