Nowhere to Run

Grog and his men had Oreon surrounded, joined by a stranger dressed in Order robes. She kept her awkward smile fixed as she stared at him.

"Humans always stumble into the most obvious traps. A bleeding heart is usually a death sentence for your kind." She shrugged, never looking away from Oreon's piercing gaze. "You know..." she mused, tapping one slender finger against her chin. "When they told me about the boy who helped the princesses escape the fortress, I expected someone more... impressive." Her nose wrinkled in disgust. "Instead, I find a boy who doesn't look appetizing at all—just an ordinary kid sticking his nose where it never belonged."

Oreon clenched his teeth, his gaze shifting from Grog and his crew to the corrupted elf blocking his path. "So, Grog," he said without looking away from her. "This is who you really are, huh? All that talk about losing your town to the Order, and yet you tuck your tail and run to them when things don't go your way." A low growl slipped from his throat. "What's even worse, you sold us out." He shot an angry glance over his shoulder. Grog and his men stood there wearing smug grins. "Do you have any idea how much danger you've put this entire town in?!"

Grog gave a low, rumbling laugh and folded his thick arms across his barrel chest. "Danger?" He tilted his head back, looking down at Oreon. "Boy, you were the only danger this town ever faced. The moment you strolled in with those two knife-ears, you put a target on every man, woman, and child here!"

"They had nothing to do with this," Oreon said under his breath. "You just couldn't bear the humiliation from yesterday at the docks." He rubbed his temple. "What happened after we left? Did these people approach you and promise you something?" His voice sharpened. "How stupid can you—Argh." He turned back to the elf woman in front of him. "You have no idea what you've done... Grr. Idiot."

Grog's smug expression faltered for an instant. Something flickered in his eyes—guilt? No. Wounded, festering pride. He uncrossed his arms and stepped forward, as if eager to justify himself.

"Stupid?!" Grog barked, stomping closer. "What's stupid is thinking you could march into my town, humiliate me before my own people, then hide behind two elven wenches and play the hero!" He jabbed a finger at Oreon. "The Order came to me, yes. They promised not to burn Haven Crest to the ground for sheltering fugitives." His voice sank as a cruel grin split his beard. "All I had to do was hand over one stupid kid and his pointy-eared pets."

Some of Grog's men shifted their weight, with their hands positioned on their weapons, such as clubs and tarnished swords. They formed a loose semicircle behind Oreon, blocking any escape.

The robed elf watched them with a sly smile. Then a soft, melodic laugh slipped from her lips, cutting through their argument.

"Oh, don't be too hard on the pig," she said, the insult sweet but deliberate as she kept her eyes on Oreon. "He only did what humans do best—betray their own to save themselves. It's practically instinct." Her gaze sharpened as it shifted to Grog and his men. "However, he should mind his tongue if he wants to keep his head. Don't forget, vermin—I'm an elf too, and I won't tolerate disrespect from a human."

The mood shifted. The elf woman's words made Grog's men trade uneasy glances, their confidence wavering. Grog stiffened, his jaw working around a retort he dared not voice. His cheeks reddened—whether from anger or embarrassment was impossible to tell—but he stayed silent. Swallowing hard, he stepped back and lowered his gaze to the cobblestones.

"At least he's smart enough to know when to shut up." With a bitter thought, Oreon gave a final glance back, then directed his attention to the woman in front of him.

The elven woman seemed pleased by Grog's silence. Her smile widened as she turned back to Oreon. "Now then," she said lightly, as if they were chatting over tea. "Shall we discuss what truly matters?"

"I'd rather not." Oreon snapped back. "Instead, how about you tell me what you did to Silas?" Oreon demanded.

The Elven woman's smile didn't waver. If anything, it widened further.

"Oh, making demands now? If you want to save him, you'll hear me out first, boy." She purred and stepped closer. "You've caused quite a commotion. You spirited two elven princesses out of one of the Order's most heavily fortified strongholds. Worse, you took something that wasn't yours—something worth more than both princesses combined." Grinning, she circled Oreon while keeping her distance. "Tell me, do you know what it is?"

As she circled him, Oreon kept his gaze locked on her, muscles tense and feet shifting to keep her in sight.

"Oh, come on, you're going to stand there like you don't know." She added, still circling him.

Oreon clenched his jaw and kept his eyes on her, refusing to answer or play along with her manipulation.

"The silent treatment, huh?" The corrupted elf clutched her chest in mock heartbreak. "How dreadfully boring." She stopped circling and faced him again. "Very well. Let's see if this gets you talking. Do you remember the elf who pursued you after you escaped with the princesses?" She tapped her chin, pretending to search for the name. "What was it again? Ah—Rot. You remember him, don't you?"

Oreon didn't flinch. Of course he remembered. How could he forget the corrupted dark elf who had hunted them through the forest and nearly killed them all with his power of decay.

"I'll take that as a yes," the woman continued, her smile unwavering. "He was... how should I put it? A colleague. We served the Order and received its blessing together." She paused to let that sink in. "He wasn't especially bright—madness without substance, you might say—but he was useful."

"Hard to forget someone who tried to melt my skin off," Oreon replied coldly, never taking his eyes off the threat before him. "What's your point?"

The elven woman laughed, a genuine chuckle escaping her lips. "Melt your skin off? Oh, that sounds like Rot." She wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of her eye. "He always did lack... creativity." Her amusement vanished, replaced by a cold stare. "The point is, that useless fool failed to retrieve something from you—and I don't mean the two elves the Order brought to their knees. The Dragon shard. Where is it, human?"

The mention of the Dragon Shard weighed heavily on the air. Even Grog's men shifted uneasily, trading confused glances. Clearly, they hadn't known the true stakes of their involvement.

Meanwhile, Oreon's expression remained stoic, but his mind raced. "The Dragon shard! Dammit! Of course, that's what they want!

"Dragon shard?" Oreon repeated, his tone flat and intentionally unimpressed. "Don't know what you're talking about."

The corrupted elf studied his defensive stance, tilting her head lazily. "No, playing dumb won't help you—especially if you want to save that old human you care so much about." She licked her lips as Oreon's eyes narrowed. "Tell me, boy..." She took a slow step closer. "Do you even know what you're carrying? What the shard truly is? The power it holds... the destruction it could unleash?"

Oreon stood his ground. "I know enough to keep it away from people like you."

"People like me?" She gave a cold, hollow laugh that echoed across the empty square. "Child, you have no idea what I am—what any of us are." She gestured toward herself. "The Order's blessings open our eyes to truths you could never comprehend."

"As I said, I know enough." Oreon kept his gaze fixed on the elf. "And your friend already told us what the Order plans to do with the shard—spill blood wherever you go. A mass purification. The Divine Season." His glare hardened. "I won't let that happen. Not while I'm still breathing."

"Oh, so you do know!" she exclaimed, her voice edged with danger. "You're only repeating the foolish ramblings of a man who couldn't keep his mouth shut. Good thing he's dead—he's far less troublesome that way." She chuckled. "But tell me, boy. What do you plan to do about it? Even if you grasp the slightest meaning behind the Divine Season, you're still just one scrawny human—a speck before divinity. What makes you think someone as insignificant as you can stand against the Order?"

Oreon clenched his fists. Her words weighed on him, but he held his ground, feeling Grog's armed men watching from behind.

"You're right," Oreon said quietly.

The elven woman's brows lifted in genuine surprise, then her smile widened as if victory were already hers.

"I'm just one person," he continued. "One human. No divine blessing, no army, no kingdom." He met her gaze without wavering. "But that 'fool' you're so glad is dead had every advantage you just boasted about, and he still couldn't stop me." A sly smirk crossed his face. "I broke into your fortress, freed your prisoners, and stole something precious to the Order—all by myself. Maybe a speck isn't as insignificant as you think."

The silence that followed was deafening.

The corrupted elf's smile didn't disappear, but something shifted behind her eyes. A flicker-brief, almost imperceptible—of reassessment. Her finger tapped idly against her chin.

"Hmm." She studied him as one might examine an insect that had dared to bite her. "Brave words from a boy with nowhere to run." Tilting her head, she narrowed her violet-tinged eyes. "But bravery without power is simply... suicide." She snapped her fingers.

Grog's men tensed, gripping their weapons tighter. Two of them stepped forward, flanking Oreon on either side. "Now try to get your way out of this," she added as Grog's men began to close in.

Oreon drew his twin daggers in a flash. His mind raced as he measured the distance, counted his enemies, and searched for an opening.

"Great, I'm surrounded." Oreon thought to himself. "But Grog isn't really the threat here; it's whoever this is..." Oreon continued to think. "She's nothing like Rot, no... She's... She's worse." Oreon thought as he continued to choose to keep his eyes locked on the corrupted dark elf in front of him.

The elf tilted her head, watching him with mild amusement. "You're thinking," she said. "Calculating. Weighing your options. I can almost hear the gears turning in that little head of yours." She folded her arms, leaving one hand visible, her nails sharp enough to tear across someone's face.

"Let me spare that human brain of yours the strain." She raised one slender finger. "Option one: fight. Admirable, but pointless. I'll have you on your knees before you can blink." A second finger followed. "Option two: run. Equally pointless. I'm faster than I look, and..." She gestured at the men surrounding him. "You're hardly in a position for a sprint." She lifted a third finger. "Your final option—" Her smile widened. "Make this easy and hand over the shard."

Oreon held his stance, eyes locked on her. Before he could move, her expression hardened. "On second thought, I've changed my mind." She pointed at him, her face cold and unreadable. "You have no options. Kill him and bring me the shard."

Grog's men hesitated for a heartbeat, then charged with blades drawn. Oreon pivoted, his daggers flashing as he parried the first attack—a clumsy overhead swing from one of the thugs. Steel rang against steel, echoing across the square.

"Tch—" Oreon grunted as one of the men aimed the sharp end of his blade at his throat.