Elysian’s eyes widened, surprise flickering into unease as a foreboding thought took root. “Is this somehow connected to Grimwatch?” he whispered, his chest tightening, heart pounding with sudden urgency. A vision of his companions, of the soldiers standing resolute against an unknown fate, surged to the forefront of his mind.

“Did you say something?” Kaerthlyn’s sharp gaze snapped to him, catching the faint tremor in his expression. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you alright?”

‘What do I do? Ask her outright? Demand answers about Grimwatch’s fate—or if they’re in danger? No…’

Elysian drew in a shallow breath, closing his eyes as he fought to steady the rising tide of panic. When they reopened, the anxious storm behind them was gone, replaced with a smile, smooth as glass. “I’m fine,” he said lightly, his voice betraying nothing. “I’m just… awestruck. Velûn Kralvek is magnificent. Truly unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

Kaerthlyn chuckled, her pride unmistakable as she glanced around at the deep chasm and towering tree. “Of course it is,” she said, her tone both boasting and reverent. “You’ve only seen a fraction of its majesty.”

Elysian nodded faintly, though her words slipped past him. His thoughts were elsewhere, tangled and dark, caught on the threads of uncertainty.

‘I can’t just blurt out my concerns. It would be suicide. If they suspect my connection to Grimwatch, if they saved me for leverage…

No, that makes no sense. If they wanted Grimwatch to surrender, they wouldn’t need me. Brodhar alone could destroy it. The soldiers couldn’t stand a chance—not against him, not against these trolls. Even with my father, my brother, and Ironspire’s full might…’

The mere thought of facing these trolls with the other denizens of Grimwold, sent a cold shiver through Elysian’s spine. He exhaled sharply, dread coiling in his chest.

‘We wouldn’t stand a chance. We’d be wiped out—utterly exterminated.’

The weight of his spiraling thoughts pressed against his mind.

‘No. Think clearly. Plan carefully. Don’t give yourself away.’

“Are you even listening?” Kaerthlyn’s voice snapped through the haze. Her frown deepened, sharp and unyielding.

Elysian jolted, his pallor betraying him before he managed a sheepish laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, keeping his tone with just enough embarrassment. “My thoughts are scattered—I mean, can you blame me? I thought I was dead, and now I’m here. It’s… a lot to process.”

Kaerthlyn’s frown softened into something resembling patience, as her smile quickly returned to where it was.

Seeing the opportunity, Elysian shifted the conversation, careful to keep her engaged and distracted. “By the way,” he began, tilting his head with feigned curiosity, “Velûn Kralvek—it’s a striking name. Does it mean something? I’ve always heard that Grimwold names carry deep, ancient meanings. It must reflect the history and culture woven into this place, evolving since the dawn of time itself.”

Kaerthlyn’s expression brightened, a flicker of pride flashing in her eyes. “It does,” she said, her tone rich with the weight of her people’s long, enduring history.

Elysian waited, watching as her gaze lingered on the towering tree with a reverence that stilled her boundless energy. “Velûn Kralvek,” she murmured, the words rolling off her tongue like a hymn. “It means—Throne of the Rooted King.”

The name caught Elysian off guard. He hadn’t expected something so... stark. A dozen questions stirred in his mind, but Kaerthlyn remained silent, her focus distant, as though the meaning of the name carried her somewhere far from him. The shift in her mood was palpable—a melancholic reverence that spoke of something deeper than a mere title.

‘Should I ask?’

Elysian hesitated. There was a weight to her silence, a sense that this name carried secrets he might be better off not prying into. Yet curiosity, sharp and insistent, gnawed at his restraint. Finally, he gave in.

“Throne of the Rooted King?” he repeated softly, his voice careful, testing the words.

Kaerthlyn turned her gaze back to him, a small smile breaking the solemnity of her face. “Yes,” she said, “the Throne of the Rooted King. The name evokes the great tree as the heart of our sanctuary, a sovereign presence that embodies our bond to life and the earth itself.”

Elysian raised an eyebrow.

‘That can’t be all. There’s more to it—there has to be.’

Kaerthlyn noticed the flicker of doubt on his face and let out a chuckle, light but tinged with something bittersweet. “There’s a legend tied to its name,” she admitted, the faintest trace of mischief returning to her tone. “A tale of sacrifice—of how one of our greatest ancestors gave everything to protect us all. But it’s not a story for now.”

Elysian felt a pang of disappointment but hid it behind a polite smile.

Kaerthlyn continued, “If you’re still here when the festival comes, you’ll see. We tell the story then, through song and flame. You’d learn more from that than from my clumsy words.”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

‘Festival?’

His curiosity flared again, but he nodded, keeping his expression neutral. “If I’m still here by then, I’d be honored to witness such a tale,” he replied smoothly.

Kaerthlyn hummed in acknowledgment, her focus already shifting as they ascended to another floor.

As Elysian followed, his thoughts snagged on the trolls they passed—or rather, those like Kaerthlyn. He’d assumed her heritage was rare, a curiosity, but the more he looked, the more faces he saw with the same distinct blend of features. Half-trolls. There weren’t just a handful of them—there were thousands. The realization hit him like cold water.

‘So many.’

It unsettled him in a way he couldn’t quite define, the implications spinning in directions he wasn’t prepared to follow.

‘What else have I gotten wrong about this place? And...

How the hell did that happen?’

Elysian grimaced, shoving the thought aside as quickly as it surfaced. The mechanics of trolls and humans producing offspring was a mental rabbit hole he absolutely did not want to dive into. The sheer disparity in size alone was enough to make his brain explode. The very notion was bizarre, almost alien—a curiosity that could only be born of a place as otherworldly as Grimwold.

But it wasn’t just the half-trolls that filled this level of the sanctuary. As his eyes roamed the bustling floor, he caught sight of other races: wildermen with their bony trophies on the neck and wrist, hobgoblins bartering with guttural clicks, their sharp faces gleaming in the light filtering through the tree’s canopy.

The floor itself was a marvel. It wasn’t so much a single platform as a labyrinth of sprawling branches and massive, vine-bound bridges connecting to the central tree. The pathways were impossibly wide, designed to accommodate the trolls’ massive frames. From here, Elysian could fully appreciate the scale of Velûn Kralvek. Up close, the sheer magnitude of it stole his breath—a living colossus, ancient and sublime.

“What’s happening?” Elysian asked, turning to Brodhar as the enormous troll bent to lower him gently to the ground.

“We’re here,” Kaerthlyn said, motioning him to follow her with an easy smile. “Let Stone enjoy some time with his friends. It’s been a while since he’s caught up with the others.”

“Okay,” Elysian murmured, his eyes trailing Brodhar as the troll lumbered toward a gathering of his kin near the edge of the platform.

His breath hitched at the sight of them. If Brodhar was intimidating, the others were utterly monstrous. Some of them even towered over him, their immense bodies radiating raw power. Their movements were deliberate, unhurried, as if the very weight of their existence demanded reverence. Some bore scars that seemed like stories etched into their flesh; others wielded weapons that looked more like pieces of the earth itself—jagged, primal, and deadly.

‘Yup. This place is every bit as dangerous as I thought. My previous assumption that Brodhar is a rarity among the trolls was just proven incorrect. There are more like him.

Sigh. Maybe more.’

Elysian followed Kaerthlyn without protest as she led him across one of the massive branches extending toward the tree. The air was alive with activity.

Everywhere he looked, there were people—or creatures—engaged in their business. Merchants peddled wares that ranged from the familiar to the fantastical: leathers as supple as silk, gemstones that shimmered like bottled starlight, bones carved into talismans humming faintly with power. Cages lined with runes, holding animals that defied description—some with feathers like molten gold, others with too many eyes or limbs. Exotic plants hung in bundles, their colors vibrant, their scents heady and intoxicating.

Elysian’s gaze darted from one sight to another, his initial tension melting into awe. Each step revealed something new, something that felt plucked from the edges of imagination.

‘This place… It’s not just dangerous—it’s really incredible.’

As they neared the giant tree, where the crowd thickened and energy buzzed in the air, Elysian noticed a subtle shift in Kaerthlyn’s gait. Her steps quickened, each one heavier, more deliberate, as if bracing for something.

Elysian frowned, his gaze darting to her face. The easygoing lightness she always carried had vanished, replaced by a sharp edge of irritation tightening her jaw.

‘Is there a problem?’

Elysian’s instincts flared, caution overtaking curiosity. It was a natural reaction given their surroundings—powerful figures loomed at every turn, each one a potential threat. And Kaerthlyn, who had been all smiles and playful banter until now, suddenly radiated tension. That kind of change had to mean trouble.

Following her gaze, Elysian spotted a group waiting ahead on the platform near the great tree. Half-trolls. Their leader stood a head taller than Kaerthlyn, his body a tapestry of muscles and scars that screamed brute strength. The others flanked him, their postures loose but exuding the confidence of a pack.

Kaerthlyn didn’t slow. If anything, her scowl deepened, her focus locking on the group as though she were preparing for a charge. Elysian kept close but maintained enough distance to observe.

As she closed the gap, stopping just shy of a few meters from them, the leader smirked, tossing out a remark that made the others break into laughter. His voice was low, gravelly, dripping with mockery.

Kaerthlyn snapped back with a retort, her words sharp enough to cut. Her growl followed—a deep, guttural sound that made the air feel heavier. She squared her shoulders, feet planted firmly, every inch of her body radiating a readiness to fight.

The group reacted only with amusement. The leader chuckled, a low rumble that spread to the others. They didn’t move, their relaxed stances making it clear they didn’t see her as a real threat.

Elysian remained silent, his eyes narrowing as he studied the exchange. Kaerthlyn’s confidence was unshaken, but the tension coiled between them like a rubber ready to snap. He could feel the weight of it pressing against his skin.

‘Great. More drama.’

For now, Elysian stayed back, careful not to draw attention to himself. If this was about to escalate—and it clearly was—he had no intention of becoming collateral damage. But, as usual, trouble had other plans.

The leader of the group abruptly stopped laughing, his focus shifting sharply. His head tilted as his eyes locked on Elysian, the smirk melting into something far less friendly.

Elysian felt the blood drain from his face. He swallowed hard, instinctively tilting his head away and stepping slightly behind Kaerthlyn, trying to shrink out of sight.

‘Don’t notice me. Don’t notice me.’

The effort was wasted. The brute raised a thick, scarred hand and pointed directly at him, barking something at Kaerthlyn in their guttural tongue.

Kaerthlyn turned, her eyes flicking to Elysian with a glint of consideration—too much consideration. Her lips curled into a mischievous smile, and a soft chuckle escaped her. She said something in return, her tone lilting and playful, before laughing outright.

The leader’s expression darkened. He scowled, his frown cutting deep as Kaerthlyn casually stepped aside, leaving Elysian directly in his line of sight.

‘Sh*t, I don’t like this. She’s f*cking involving me in her problem.’

Elysian’s stomach tightened as he looked from the brute to Kaerthlyn, his voice hushed but urgent. “Hey, what did you just say to him?”

Kaerthlyn turned to him with a wide, toothy grin, her tone annoyingly light. “Oh, nothing much.” She shrugged as though this wasn’t the worst possible situation. “Just told him you could beat his ass so hard, he’d cry and wet himself.”

Elysian froze, the words hitting like a punch to the gut.

The brute cracked his knuckles. His grin, sharp and predatory, promised nothing good.

‘F*ck. I’m f*cked.’