Chapter 32: The Warning

Oblivious to the danger lurking beyond the village, the feast raged on without a care in the world.

Bonfires crackled across the settlement, their flames stretching toward the night sky like writhing fingers, while the rich scent of roasted meat, thick smoke, and spiced ale drifted through the air.

Goblins bellowed in drunken celebration, slamming their feet against the ground as booming laughter and triumphant roars echoed from every corner of the village.

Sylas’s duel with Bruz had set the entire settlement ablaze with excitement, filling the night with an almost tangible energy.

At the heart of it all stood Sylas, basking in the attention with a half grin on his face as goblins crowded around him, clapping him on the back, pressing mugs into his hands, and piling his arms with food as they celebrated their newest champion.

Inside the chief’s hut, however, the atmosphere couldn’t have been more different.

The air was heavy with tension, and a serious silence hung over the room.

Chief Orgrun sat cross-legged atop a massive fur pelt, his weathered face bathed in the flickering glow of the fire as his sharp golden eyes remained fixed on something only he could see.

Deep lines creased his forehead, and heavy bags hung beneath his amber eyes, each one a silent reminder of battles fought, comrades lost, and the relentless burden of leading an entire tribe.

Leadership weighed on his broad shoulders like an invisible mountain, one he had carried for so long that even his posture seemed shaped by it.

Across from him, Talia stood with her arms folded tightly across her chest, her brows knitted together in thought as she watched the old chief in silence.

Outside the hut, another explosion of laughter echoed through the camp, loud enough to make the wooden walls tremble, a stark contrast to the heavy silence hanging between them.

Orgrun smirked, the corners of his weathered mouth curling upward as another distant roar echoed through the forest.

"Sounds like they’re celebrating someone," he mused, his deep voice rumbling through the quiet. "I wonder who."

Talia let out a slow breath through her nose, sounding more tired than amused:

"Who else but him?"

Silence settled between them after that, heavy enough to drown out even the distant sounds of celebration.

Talia remained quiet for several long moments, her expression impossible to read as she stared into the distance. When she finally spoke again, her voice was lower, carrying a seriousness that hadn’t been there before.

"He’s dangerous, Chief."

One of Orgrun’s brows rose slightly, a flicker of amusement mixed with curiosity appearing in his aged eyes.

"Oh?" he said. "Weren’t you the one who introduced him as the Chosen One?"

Talia let out a slow breath and shook her head:

"I was... but I can’t help rethinking the whole thing."

She shifted her weight, her gaze growing darker as memories of the battle resurfaced.

"His views lean toward violence and war," she said quietly, though there wasn’t a hint of uncertainty in her voice. "And I’ve seen him fight, Chief. He enjoys it. The thrill. The chaos. The blood."

She paused briefly before adding, "He fights like a beast that’s finally been unleashed."

Orgrun’s expression didn’t change, though his thick fingers began drumming lightly against his knee, the only sign that he was giving her words serious thought.

"I’ve heard the rumors," he rumbled. "He defeated Gunther... even though Gunther was supposed to be stronger."

There was no disbelief in his voice, only quiet curiosity.

"And he would’ve killed him if we hadn’t stepped in."

Orgrun barely blinked. "Just like any other goblin would if they were being attacked," he replied, his voice calm and measured, as though her concerns were the most natural thing in the world.

Talia’s jaw tightened.

"You know what I mean, Chief," she shot back, frustration creeping into her voice. "He is violent."

A bushy brow rose on Orgrun’s face before he leaned back slightly, his eyes glinting in the dim firelight.

"And so are we all," he said. "We’ve simply become better at hiding it."

Talia opened her mouth to argue, but the words caught in her throat.

Her fists slowly clenched at her sides as she wrestled with her thoughts, and when she finally spoke again, her voice had lost its sharpness, replaced by reluctant concern.

"Even if he is the Chosen One... his views are twisted. He doesn’t think like us. He doesn’t want peace." She swallowed before continuing. "If we let him have his way, we’ll return to the old ways. War. Bloodshed. Endless fighting."

Orgrun didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he studied her in silence for a long moment, his weathered face revealing nothing of what he was thinking.

At last, he let out a slow breath and reached for the carved wooden totem resting beside him, his rough fingers tracing its worn edges as though searching for an answer hidden within the old wood.

The relic in Orgrun’s hands was ancient, older than even the eldest goblins still living.

Its weathered surface was covered in faded symbols carved by their ancestors, markings that had endured countless generations as warriors rose, fell, and faded into history.

Passed down through blood and battle, it was more than a simple totem. It was a piece of their people’s legacy.

His rough fingers continued tracing the worn carvings before he finally broke the silence.

"The prophecy wouldn’t lie," he said, his voice low but unwavering. "And if that goblin is the one it speaks of... there’s nothing you can do to change it."

Talia let out a scoff, keeping her arms tightly folded across her chest.

"A prophecy is just words, Orgrun. Words carved into stone long before our time."

She shook her head. "And words can be wrong."

Orgrun lifted his eyes from the relic, a hint of amusement creeping onto his face.

"That sounds like something Gunther would say."

Talia clicked her teeth in annoyance, her jaw tightening as irritation flashed across her face.

The old chief simply chuckled and shook his head.

"That is where we differ, my child. The prophecy has always been a light in the dark, a source of hope for those chosen to lead our people."

His amber eyes reflected the dancing firelight as he gently rested a hand on the ancient totem. "It has never steered us wrong before."

Talia bit the inside of her cheek, the sharp sting doing little to cool the frustration building inside her. She drew in a slow breath, trying to steady herself, but when she spoke again, the fire had not left her voice.

"Then explain this to me. How is he supposed to save us when all he seems to care about is strength?"

Her fingers slowly curled into tight fists at her sides. "He doesn’t just want to survive, Orgrun. He wants to dominate. To win."

She held his gaze without wavering. "And what happens when someone like that is finally faced with something he can’t conquer?"

The question lingered in the room, and for a...