Grog and his men, along with an unfamiliar individual in Order clothing, had Oreon surrounded. She kept her ill-fitting smile in place while continuing to gaze at Oreon.
"Humans, always falling into obvious traps, a bleeding heart is normally a death sentence for your kind." Her shoulders rose in a shrug, her eyes unmoving from Oreon's piercing gaze. "You know..." She mused, one slender finger tapping against her chin. "When they told me about the boy who helped the princesses escape the fortress, I was expecting to see someone more...impressive." Her nose wrinkled with distaste. "Instead, here I am looking at someone who doesn't look appetizing at all. Just a run-of-the-mill kid, sticking his nose in business where it never belonged."
With gritted teeth, Oreon's eyes shifted from Grog and his crew to the corrupted elf directly in his path. "So, Grog," Oreon spoke without taking his eyes off the elf. "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." Oreon slightly growled. "And not only that, you sold us out." He quickly glanced behind him in anger, glaring at Grog, who stood there with his men, all wearing smug looks on their faces. "Don't you know the danger you put everyone in this town in?!"
Grog let out a low, rumbling laugh, his thick arms crossed over his barrel chest. "Danger?" He cocked his head back a bit, as if to look down on Oreon. "Boy, the only danger this town was ever in was because of you. You painted a targer on every man, woman, and child here the moment you waltzed in with those two knife-ears!"
"They had nothing to do with this." Oreon breathed. "You just couldn't bare the embarrassment you endured yesterday at the docks." Oreon fired back. "So, what happened? These guys approached you or something after we left? Promised you something?" Oreon continued, rubbing his temple slightly. "Geez, how stupid can you—Argh." He turned his head back toward the elf woman in front of him. "You really don't know what the hell you just did...Grr...Idiot."
Grog's smug expression faltered for just a moment—a flicker of something behind his eyes. Guilt? No, pride. Wounded, festering pride. His arms uncrossed as he took a step forward as if to justify his reasons.
"Stupid?!" Grog barked, taking another heavy step forward. "I'll tell you what's stupid, boy—thinking you could walk into my town, humiliate me in front of my people, and then hide behind two Elven wenches like some kind of hero!" He jabbed a thick finger in Oreon's direction. "The Order came to me, yeah. A guarantee that Haven Crest wouldn't be razed to the ground for harboring fugitives!" His voice dropped, a cruel grin splitting his bearded face. "All I had to do was hand over one stupid kid and his pointy-eared pets."
Some of Grog's men moved their weight, with their hands positioned on their weapons, such as clubs and tarnished swords. They positioned themselves in a loose semicircle behind Oreon, blocking any means of escape.
The robed Elven woman observed the interaction with a cunning smile. Before she spoke, she emitted a quiet, tuneful laugh that interrupted their conversation.
"Oh, don't be too hard on the pig," she said, her insult sounding sweet but very deliberate as she continued to stare at Oreon. "He did exactly what humans do best—sell out their own to save their own skin. It's practically instinct for your kind...However," She sent a slight glare towards Grog and his men. "I would suggest that he watch his vocabulary if he doesn't want his head to roll off his shoulders. Don't forget, Vermin, I am an elf too, and I won't tolerate disrespect from a human."
The atmosphere changed. The Elven woman's words caused Grog's men to exchange worried looks, their self-assurance faltering slightly. Grog himself stiffened, his jaw working as if chewing on a retort he didn't dare spit out. His cheeks turned red, and whether this was a sign of anger or embarrassment couldn't be determined, but he stayed quiet. He swallowed hard and took a half-step back, his eyes dropping to the cobblestones beneath his boots.
"At least he's smart enough to know when to shut up." With a bitter thought, Oreon gave a final, quick glance back, then directed his attention to the woman in front of him.
The Elven woman seemed satisfied with Grog's silence, her lips curling upward as she turned her full attention back to Oreon. "Now then," She continued, her voice lifting as though they were having a pleasant conversation over tea. "Let's discuss what really matters, shall we?"
"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—almost as if she was amused.
"Oh, making demands, are we? But, if you want to save him, I insist you hear what I have to say first, boy." She purred, taking a step closer towards him. "You see, you've caused quite the commotion, child. Two royal elf prisoners—spirited away from one of the most heavily fortified strongholds the Order has ever constructed. Not only that, but you also took something that didn't belong to you. Something worth more than those two princesses put together." She grinned as she began to circle Oreon, but still kept her distance from him. "I wonder, do you know what that might be?"
As she paced around him, Oreon's eyes remained fixed on her, his muscles taut and his feet subtly shifting to ensure she was always within his sight.
"Oh, come on, you're going to stand there like you don't know." She added, still circling him.
Oreon's jaw clenched, and he continued to watch her closely. He stayed quiet, refusing to engage in her manipulative tactics.
"The silent treatment, huh?" "The corrupted elf said, clutching her chest as if heartbroken. "How dreadfully boring." She stopped circling, coming to rest directly in front of him again. "Very well, let's see if this can get a few words out of you." She added. "Do you remember the elf that pursued you once you escaped with the princesses?" She placed a finger on her chin as if she were trying to think of the name. "Oh, what was his name? What was his name? Oh, Rot. You remember him, don't you?" She inquired.
Oreon didn't waver at the probing. Of course, he remembered. How could he forget? The corrupted dark elf who'd hunted them through the forest, whose power of decay had nearly killed them all. The one Sylvanie had been forced to put down.
"I'll take that as a yes," The woman continued, her smile never leaving. "He was...how should I put this? A colleague of mine. We served the Order together, underwent the blessing together." She paused, letting the words sink in. "He wasn't particularly bright, mind you. All crazy, with no substance, you know, that sort of thing. However, he was useful."
Once again, she began her circuit around Oreon, her boots making almost no noise on the cobblestone path. Grog and his men held their positions, their blades glinting in the sunlight as they stood there, ready to attack when given the order.
"Kind of hard to forget someone who tried to melt your skin off?" Oreon replied harshly, still keeping his attention focused on the real threat of his situation.
The Elven woman let out a genuine laugh at that, a slight chuckle that escaped her lips. "Melt your skin off! Oh, that does sound like Rot." She said, wiping a nonexistent tear from the corner of her eye. "He always did lack...substance." Her amusement faded as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a colder look. "However, I'm not here to mince words about that fool. The Dragon shard, human, where is it?"
The air seemed to grow heavier at the mention of the Dragon Shard. Even Grog's men shifted uncomfortably, a few exchanging confused glances—clearly, they hadn't been told the full scope of what they'd gotten themselves involved in.
Meanwhile, Oreon's expression remained stoic, but internally, his mind was racing. "TheDragon 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 observed his defensive posture with a languid tilt of her head. "Nu-uh, playing dumb won't get you anywhere, especially if you want to save that old human you obviously care so much about." She licked her lips a bit as Oreon's eyes narrowed into slits. "Tell me, boy..." With a slow, measured step, she advanced. "Do you even know what you're holding? What is that shard truly is?" She continued. "The power it holds...the destruction it could unleash in the wrong hands?"
"Oreon stood his ground. "I know enough to keep it away from people like you."
"People like me?" She laughed—a cold, hollow sound that echoed through the empty square. "Child, you have no idea what I am. What any of us are." She gestured vaguely toward herself. "The blessings the Order gives us. It opens your eyes to truths you couldn't begin to comprehend."
"As I said before, I know enough." Oreon kept his eyes locked on the elf in front of him. "Plus, your little friend already told us what the Order plans to do with the shard. Spilling blood wherever you go, calling it purification. The divine season." Oreon glared at the corrupted elf. "I won't let that happen, not while I'm still breathing." He sneered.
"Oh, so you do know!" She exclaimed dangerously. "Well, you know whatever foolish ramblings that fool fed you because he couldn't keep his mouth shut. It's a good thing he's dead; he's less of a nuisance that way." She chuckled a bit. "But tell me, boy. What do you plan to do about it? Even if you know the smallest implication of what the 'Divine Season' means, then you know one scrawny little human is nothing but a speck in the grand scheme of divinity. What could you standing as a lowly human possibly mean to the Order?"
Oreon clenched his fists at his sides. Her words weighed heavily on him, yet he stood firm. He could feel the eyes of Grog's men boring into his back, their weapons ready.
"You're right," Oreon said quietly.
The Elven woman's eyebrows rose slightly, genuinely surprised by the admission. Her smile grew wider, as if she had already won.
"I'm just one person," he continued. "One human. No divine blessing. No army. No kingdom." He lifted his gaze to meet hers directly, unwavering. "But that 'fool' you're so glad is dead? He couldn't stop me either. And he had every advantage you're bragging about right now." He gave her a sly smirk. "I broke into your fortress. Freed your prisoners. And stole something of worth to the Order. One measly human. So, maybe being 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 hummed softly, studying him like one might study an insect that had just bitten them. "Brave words from a boy surrounded with nowhere to run." She tilted her head, her violet-tinged eyes narrowing. "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 from either side. "Now try to get your way out of this." She added as Grog's men began to close in.
Oreon quickly pulled out his duel daggers from their holsters. His mind was racing, calculating distances, counting enemies, searching for any opening.
"Great, I'm surrounded." Oreon thought to himself. "Grog isn't really the threat here, but 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, studying him a bit. "You're thinking." She observed. "Calculating. Weighing your options." She stood there, slightly amused. "I can practically hear the gears turning in that little head of yours." She gently crossed her arms, showcasing one hand, her nails looking sharp enough to claw someone's face off.
"Let me save you the trouble of overloading that brain of yours." She held up one slender finger. "Option one—you fight. Admirable, but futile. I'll have you on your knees before you can blink." A second finger rose. "Option two—you run. Also, futile. I'm faster than I look, and... well." She gestured vaguely at the men surrounding them. "You're not exactly in an ideal position for a sprint." A third finger joined the others. "And your third and final option—" She smiled. "You simply make this easier for yourself and hand over the shard."
Oreon kept his stance, still keeping his eyes on her, but before he could do anything, her expression changed. "On second thought, I changed my mind." She looked at him with a stone-cold face. "You don't have any options," She pointed at him. "Kill him and bring me the shard." She ordered.
Grog's men hesitated for only a heartbeat before surging forward, blades drawn. Oreon quickly pivoted, his daggers flashing as he deflected the first strike—a clumsy overhead swing from one of the thugs. Steel collided with steel, the sound echoing throughout the square.
"Tch—" Oreon grunted, as one of the men aimed the sharp end of his blade at his throat.
Meanwhile, arriving at the docks, Celestia and Sylvanie stopped at the entrance of the docks, rushing to the aid of Gretta and the people of the town. Yet, upon their arrival, everything appeared... ordinary. Everything appeared normal—no knights, no Order, nothing out of the norm.
"Celestia..." Sylvanie looked around, her head on a swivel, but to her dismay, she couldn't help but question what she was seeing. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but that oversized oaf told us the Order was here. right?"
Celestia's eyes swept across the docks methodically. Fishermen mended their nets. Merchants haggled over crates. Children chased each other between stacked barrels, their laughter mixing in with the rest of the crowd. Everything was...peaceful.
"He did," Celestia replied quietly. Fingers curled at her side as she looked around. "But nothing seems out of place. Everything is the same as it was the day before."
"So, where's all the screaming? The chaos, nothing is blown to bits, and everything looks intact." Sylvanie pointed towards a crowd of humans shopping at the stalls. "Look, either the humans are acting like nothing is going on, or I must be missing something." She crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at the normal sight in front of them. "I don't like this Celestia."
"I agree." Celestia kept her eyes forward. "This hardly matches what that man told us. He even said that woman...Gretta was holding off the Order." She placed a finger on her chin. "But instead, we find—"
"HEY! OVER HERE!" Gretta's voice could be heard as the two sisters quickly perked their heads up in her direction, only to see Gretta waving towards them at her stall.
The sisters exchanged a wary glance before cautiously approaching the stall. Gretta stood there, wiping her hands on a cloth she was holding, looking as if nothing unusual had happened at all.
"Didn't think I would see you two again so soon!" Gretta called out, breaking into a warm smile. "Thought you two would be trying to stay away from the crowd." A rough chuckle escaped her throat for a moment before she calmed down, noticing that they were short of one person. "What happened to the boy? Did he get himself into trouble again?" She asked, not knowing what was going on.
The sisters looked at each other again before Sylvanie turned her gaze towards Gretta. "Fishing woman!" Sylvanie exclaimed, slamming her hands on the counter. "That fat oaf said you were out fighting the Order. What's going on?" Sylvanie spoke bluntly.
Gretta blinked, her smile faltering as confusion etched itself across her face. She looked between the two sisters, then down at Sylvanie's hands on her counter, then back up again. "Fighting the—" Gretta let out a bewildered laugh. "Girl, do I look like I've been fighting anyone?" She gestured at herself and the fresh fish laid out on ice, nets hanging from hooks, everything in its usual place. "People here have been busy all morning, setting up and getting ready for the afternoon rush." She said, crossing her arms at the dark elf.
Celestia's eyes narrowed slightly at Gretta's answer, mostly out of concern. "Ms. Gretta, do forgive us, but Grog burst into the tavern today, hysterical, saying that the Order was in the town and that you were holding them off at the docks," Celestia explained.
Gretta's expression shifted, confusion now evident on her features. "Grog said...what now?" Her response came with a serious look on her face. "That man came to you and told you I was fighting the Order? Here? At the docks?"
"That's what I just said, fishing woman, "Sylvanie replied impatiently. "He came barging in, sweating like a damn Ogre, screaming about the Order attacking and you holding them off. So, where are they? What the hell is going on?"
Gretta's expression darkened. The warmth that had been in her eyes moments ago evaporated quickly as she slowly set down the cloth she'd been using to wipe her hands and lean forward on the counter, keeping her voice low. "Girls, listen to me. I don't know what's going on. "Gretta began. "But I haven't seen Grog all day. Not once. And the Order hasn't set foot anywhere near these docks." Her eyes flicked between the two sisters. "If that man came to you with that story..."
She didn't finish that sentence. She didn't need to.
Sylvanie's eyes flashed with realization as she gritted her teeth. "That lying sack of—"
"It was a trap." Celestia's voice cut through, steady but tight. Her eyes widened as the pieces clicked together. "He separated us from Oreon on purpose."
"The boy..." Gretta's face paled. "Where is he now?"
"He went to check on that old man tailor who stitches clothes," Sylvanie responded. "That fat lummox barged into the tavern saying that he was attacked—"
" — So Oreon went to check on Mr. Silas. Grog said that you were here doing what you could against the Order and then volunteered to help Oreon." Celestia finished the explanation.
Gretta gritted her teeth as she gripped the edge of her counter. "That bastard." Gretta hissed. The woman who had been all smiles and warmth moments ago now looked like she was ready to tear someone apart with her bare hands. "Grog's been a lot of things—a drunk, a fool, a damn coward—but I never thought he'd sell someone out." She slammed her fist against the wooden counter, rattling the fist that lay out on ice. A few nearby merchants glanced over with startled expressions before quickly minding their own business. "And Silas...If they've gotten to Silas too—"
Sylvanie, having heard enough, pushed herself away from the counter. "Screw this, I'm going to go find that idiot human."
"Sylvanie, wait." Before Sylvanie could walk more than two steps, Celestia reached out and seized her arm.
"Wait!" Sylvanie yanked her arm, but Celestia's grip held firm. "What the hell are we waiting for?! The Order is here, and that stupid, fat coward is with that idiot human. We can't afford to wait!"
"Sylvanie, I know," Celestia replied, her voice rising slightly. "But think for a second, Sylvanie. They separated us deliberately. Split us apart for a reason. We can't just rush and not expect something waiting for us as well."
The dark elf let out an irritated grunt, but she stopped pulling. Her jaw clenched as she processed her sister's words, the gears in her head turning despite every instinct screaming at her to run.
"If we rush in blindly, we could be walking into exactly what they want," Celestia continued, "If Grog was misleading us, then clearly, he didn't come up with this plan alone. We're going, but we have to be smart." She let go of her sister's wrist. "All we know is that the Order may be here, and if they are, we don't know who we're up against."
Sylvanie just stared at her sister for a moment, her brain working, turning its gears before she exhaled sharply through her nose, forcing herself to calm down. "Fine," She spat, though the word came out like it physically pained her. "We'll be smart about it." She crossed her arms and looked away. "But the second I see that fat bastard, I'm putting a curse on him that'll make his grandchildren ugly...If he even needs help to make that possible."
Gretta, despite the gravity of the situation, let out a short bark of laughter at Sylvanie's comment before quickly sobering. She reached beneath her counter and pulled out a weathered hatchet—clearly not for gutting fish. The blade was nicked and worn, but sharp enough to do damage.
"I'm coming with you, Gretta said flatly, leaving no room for argument.
Sylvanie placed her arms on her hips as she sized up Gretta and her weapon. "You stay here." She spoke flatly. "No offense, fishing woman, but if the Order is here, then they're going to be supped up with their blessed weapons; that hatchet of yours won't mean a thing out there, and it's only going to get you killed."
"Sylvanie's right." Celestia turned to Gretta. "We do appreciate the offer, but you should leave the fighting to us, however..." Celestia paused, her eyes meeting Gretta's. "There is something you can do that would help us greatly."
Gretta's grip on the hatchet tightened. The older woman clearly didn't like being told to stay behind, but she wasn't a fool either. She'd seen what blessed weapons could do. She'd seen what the Order left behind when they were done with a place.
"Alright, what do you need?" Gretta inquired reluctantly, placing the hatchet on the counter with a loud thud.
"If the Order truly is here, then the people at these docks are in danger whether they know it or not," Celestia said, her voice calm but urgent. "You know this town. You know these people. They trust you." She gestured toward the bustling marketplace behind them—the fisherman, the merchants, the children still laughing and playing with each other, some with their mothers, completely unaware of the storm that was brewing. "Get them somewhere safe. Quietly. Don't cause a panic but get them moving. If things go wrong—"
"—When things go wrong." Sylvanie corrected bluntly.
Celestia shot her sister a brief look before continuing. "If things escalate, the Order won't care about collateral damage. In fact, they'll probably guise it as another reason to purify another town. These people need to be out of harm's way."
Gretta stared at Celestia for a long moment, her face unreadable. Then, slowly, she nodded. Her eyes still showed frustration, but determination started to grow.
"I can do that," Gretta said firmly. She pulled her apron off and tossed it onto the counter beside the hatchet. Beneath it, she wore a sturdy leather vest, practical and worn from years of hard labor. "There are cellars beneath the old warehouse at the far end of the docks. Thick stone walls, only two ways in or out. If I can get people without raising too many questions, I can have most of them tucked away within the hour."
"You'll have less than that," Sylvanie said, scanning the crowd. "If the Order is already here, then they're not going to wait around for us to get organized."
Gretta's jaw set. "Then I'll work fast." She turned and began moving, but stopped a few steps, looking back over her shoulder. Her eyes found Celestia first, then Sylvanie. "You two bring that boy back alive, you hear me?" She voiced her concern, almost begging for assurance, which was met with both Celestia and Sylvanie nodding their heads in unison. "Oh, and take the back trail behind my stall. It'll lead you straight to the square, so you don't have to take the main road. It's a straight shot to Silas's shop and Meara's tavern."
Gretta didn't wait for a response. She turned on her heel and marched toward the nearest group of fishermen, already speaking in low, urgent tones. Within seconds, the men's casual demeanor shifted—subtle nods, quick glances exchanged, nets quietly set down. Gretta was good at this. She knew how to move people without making a scene.
Celestia watched her for just a moment longer before turning to Sylvanie. "Let's go."
The two sisters slipped behind Gretta's stall, finding the narrow trail she'd mentioned—a dirt path squeezed between the wooden fences and the backs of storage sheds, but the path was wide enough for a few people, as the two didn't waste time and began running towards the direction of the Town Square.
--Back to Oreon—
"Gah!" One of Grog's men screamed as Oreon had kicked him, sending his body crashing through a pile of crates.
"Hey!" With a shout, another fighter attempted to strike Oreon's daggers with his worn sword. Oreon, however, effortlessly parried the blow and then shoved the man with his shoulder. The fighter tumbled to the ground, joining the other man whom Oreon had already defeated.
Oreon's breathing remained controlled, not even putting in effort as he looked at the remaining men Grog had. "Grog, this is stupid," The other three men ran at Oreon, all attempting to attack simultaneously. Oreon easily evaded the first attacker's downward strike, then grabbed his arm and flung him into the second, knocking them both down. A third assailant tried to stab Oreon in the back; however, Oreon merely looked back, sidestepped, and tripped the man, causing him to fall face-first into the ground. "See what I mean?"
Grog stood at the edge of the square, his massive frame trembling—though whether from fear or anticipation was hard to tell. Sweat poured down his ruddy face in rivulets, soaking into his already-stained tunic. His eyes darted between his fallen men and Oreon, who stood in the center of the chaos, barely winded, daggers held loosely at his sides like he'd been doing nothing more strenuous than swatting flies.
"G-get up. Get up, you useless sacks of shit!" Grog bellowed at his men, his voice cracking a bit as he pointed at Oreon. "There's one of him! ONE!"
The man, Oreon, had tripped previously groaned into the dirt, spitting out a mouthful of gravel. He made no effort to stand. One of the two who'd been knocked into each other was clutching his ribs, wheezing. The one who'd been launched through the crates hadn't moved at all—unconscious or simply unwilling to get back up.
"Grr—You're all useless! Why can't any of you do anything right! You're absolutely us—"
"A pathetic waste of time." The corrupted dark elf interrupted, her head shaking slowly in disappointment with her arms still crossed. "And this is why garbage will always be that. Garbage." She said, giving Oreon a small smile, which he countered with a scowl. "You know," She began, examining her nails now. "When the fat one assured us, he could handle this part, I had my doubts." She tilted her head, letting her gaze fall on Grog with contempt. "But I thought, surely, even a pack of mongrel dogs can bring down a single deer if there are enough of them." A soft, mocking laugh escaped her lips. "I was wrong. It seems I overestimated the dogs."
"Sh—Shut your mouth!" Grog snapped but suddenly regretted his outburst as he took a step backward when the elf's eyes snapped to him. Her gaze immediately dissolved his rage, leaving him feeling like a tiny, defenseless puppy. "Y—you said you'd handle the hard part. You said all I had to do was—"
"Separate them. Yes." The elf shifted her stare back to Oreon, but still speaking to Grog, as if looking at him would imply that they were equals. "And you still barely managed to do that. However, it was still the only useful thing you managed today, and even that required a performance so clumsy I'm amazed those two elven girls didn't see through it immediately." Then, she looked at him again, her face breaking into a wide smile, revealing her sharp teeth slightly. "Such vermin like you were only a temporary means to an end, which means when I raze this town, you'll have to go with it!" An eerie laughter followed as Grog and his men's eyes widened in fear. "The Order doesn't forgive those who assisted in harboring fugitives!"
Grog's face went from red to white in an instant. His jowls quivered as the words sank in, his small eyes darting around like a concerned animal searching for an exit that didn't exist.
"W-what?! That wasn't—that wasn't the deal!" Grog sputtered, stumbling backward. His massive frame knocked into a barrel behind him, nearly toppling him over. "You said—You promised me coin! A safe way out of here! You said if I gave you the boy and the elves, I'd be—"
"I said what I needed to say to make you useful," the dark elf replied, her smile never faltering. "Congratulations. You were useful. Briefly." She waved her hand dismissively. "Now you're not—which means." She quickly vanished in a blink of an eye, and reappeared right above Grog, her nails now longer, sharper as her hand was coming down towards his face. "It's time for you to die…" She grinned wickedly.
Grog could only stare up in horror as the corrupted dark elf came swooping down, her clawed hand ready to carve him into shreds. "No—No—NO! Please somebody! AAAHHH!" Grog shrieked as he crossed his arms to shield himself from his impending doom.
"CLANG!"
The sound of flesh tearing never came. Instead, one of Oreon's daggers intercepted the dark elf's clawed hand, with Oreon standing between them with the other dagger pointing at her throat. This time, his demeanor was colder than what he gave Grog, completely focused on the dark elf in front of him.
He collapsed and scuttled backward like a scared crab, unable to speak, only staring in silence.
The dark elf stared, slightly surprised by the sudden interference, but that only made her smile widen. "Oh—?" She purred; her clawed fingers still pressed against the flat of Oreon's dagger. She didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned into it, letting the blade hover merely inches from her throat, as if daring him to push it forward. "You're protecting him? The man who sold you out?" She teased him, yet remained somewhat fascinated. "The man who led you here. Who was going to just give you away to the Order without a second thought?"
Oreon tightened his jaw. He didn't answer.
"How fascinating," She whispered, tilting her head as she studied his face with curiosity. "You know what he did. You know how much of a spineless coward he is. And yet here you stand, shielding him with those little blades of yours." She let out a breathy laugh. "Tell me something, boy. Is this what you humans call a hero complex? Jumping into the jaws of danger without a shred of consideration for yourself?"
"Back. Off." Oreon's voice was low, barely above a growl. His stance didn't waver, both daggers steadily despite the tension coiling through every muscle of his body.
With a dark giggle, the dark elf calmly pushed away from Oreon's dagger, casually performing a backflip as she landed a few feet away from Oreon. "Oh, I do like you?" She said, placing a clawed hand over her chest. "Most humans would have let the fat one die. Ran away to save their own skin. But now you—" She began to slowly pace around Oreon, now fully ignoring Grog and his men. "You—You're different, aren't you? I can see it." She said, locking eyes with Oreon. "That stare…" She giggled. "There's something in those eyes of yours. Something that doesn't belong in a creature with such a short lifespan…Such a waste for your kind."
Oreon pivoted with her, keeping his body between her and Grog. Behind him, Grog was hyperventilating, his massive chest heaving as tears streamed down his cheeks.
"From now on, it's just you and me." Oreon pointed his dagger towards her, declaring that she was his fight now. "And you're going to tell me what you did with Silas." He gritted his teeth, brown eyes narrowing at her.