Chapter 33: The Successor

The question lingered in the room, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Orgrun studied Talia without a word, his weathered face revealing nothing of what was running through his mind.

After a long moment, he let out a quiet sigh and carefully set the ancient totem beside him with a muted thud.

"None of us can predict the future," he said at last, his voice low and steady. "Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps he will bring ruin."

He paused, his gaze lingering on the dancing flames before speaking again, this time more softly.

"Or perhaps he will be the force that saves us from it."

Talia opened her mouth, ready with another argument, but the words never came.

She snapped it shut again, her teeth grinding together in frustration.

He always did this.

Whenever they disagreed, Orgrun spoke as though time itself would answer every question, as though destiny would quietly shape the future while everyone else simply waited and believed.

But faith had never been enough for her.

She wanted certainty.

She needed it.

Orgrun let out another slow, measured sigh, his eyes lingering on the flames before he spoke again. "Regardless," he murmured, his voice sounding both distant and resolute, "it is no longer my decision to make."

Talia’s brows drew together, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach.

"What do you mean by that?"

The old chief leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as the firelight danced across his weathered face.

"I’m getting old, Talia," he said, his voice softer now, carrying the weight of countless years. "My bones ache. My wounds take longer to heal. And with every passing moon... I can feel my strength slipping away."

Orgrun met her gaze without wavering, his amber eyes calm and steady despite the storm brewing inside her.

"Soon, the burden of leadership will fall to you."

The words struck harder than she expected.

Talia stiffened, her chest tightening as her pulse thundered in her ears.

She had always known this moment would come, yet that knowledge had never made the thought any less frightening.

"You will lead this clan," Orgrun continued, his voice firm but carrying the quiet kindness of a father speaking to his child, "and it will be your hand that steers us forward."

He let the words settle before adding:

"And that direction... is yours to choose."

Talia swallowed, her throat suddenly dry as the full weight of his words settled across her shoulders like an invisible burden.

She had always known this day was waiting for her.

She had spent years preparing for this moment.

She had trained harder than anyone, fought for the right to stand at the front, and carried herself with the discipline expected of the one who would eventually inherit the mantle of leadership.

But now?

Now that Orgrun had spoken those words aloud, now that the reality of what lay ahead had settled over her like an enormous weight, she could finally feel it. The responsibility. The pressure. It pressed down on her shoulders like a beast refusing to let her stand tall.

Her fingers slowly curled into fists.

When she finally spoke, her voice remained steady, but there was a sharp edge beneath the calm.

"Even if I choose to keep him away from us?" she asked, never taking her eyes off him. "You would still let me lead?"

Orgrun didn’t hesitate.

"Your decisions... the choices you make once you become leader," he said, pausing only long enough to let out a slow breath, "will be yours alone. Not mine."

Talia clicked her teeth in frustration.

Orgrun had always possessed an infuriating talent for answering difficult questions without ever truly answering them, leaving her with nothing to argue against and everything to think about.

The old chief let out a slow, weary sigh before his expression turned serious.

"But I will say this..." he began, his voice calm, though there was an unmistakable warning beneath it. "You will need all the help you can get."

Talia frowned, already shaking her head. "I don’t..."

"Especially," Orgrun cut in, his voice dropping into a low growl that instantly silenced her.

He held her gaze for a long moment before speaking the next words with deliberate slowness.

"Because of the dwarf."

A cold chill crawled down Talia’s spine.

She knew exactly who he meant.

Bodrek, the Goblin Slayer.

His name hung over their kind like a shadow, spoken in hushed voices as though it were a curse that might answer if uttered too loudly.

A dwarf adventurer who had carved his legend in goblin blood, he haunted their lands like a relentless storm, leaving nothing but death in his wake.

Dozens of goblins had fallen beneath his axe, and the number only continued to grow because Bodrek never stopped.

He didn’t hunt them for coin, nor did he seek glory or fame. Those were merely byproducts of his crusade.

He killed because he loved it.

There was a rumor, one that sent shivers down the spine of even the fiercest warriors whenever it was whispered around a campfire.

They said Bodrek had once wiped out an entire goblin village by himself, leaving nothing behind but smoldering ruins and lifeless bodies.

That single massacre had earned him the infamous title he carried to this day, a name feared across the wilds by every tribe that had heard the story.

And now... word had spread that Bodrek was somewhere near their region.

Orgrun’s voice broke the silence, low and distant, as though he were speaking of an unavoidable storm already gathering on the horizon.

"There’s no doubt you’ll run into him sooner rather than later," he said. "And when that moment comes, you’ll need all the help you can get."

Talia’s hands slowly curled into fists until her nails bit into her palms. A knot tightened in her chest as she stared at the old chief.

"Sooner rather than later?" she echoed quietly, unable to hide the unease creeping into her voice.

If Orgrun was...