Ruok stepped out of the orc canteen and into the open air.
The noise behind him—laughter, chewing, the dull clatter of plates—faded quickly as he walked. The smell of roasted meat still clung to his clothes, mixing with the damp scent of mud and iron that never really left this place.
He didn't look back.
To the west.
His feet moved in that direction almost on their own.
"If I want this to work…" he muttered under his breath, eyes fixed ahead, "I need to understand what Mephyst is really doing."
A pause.
"And for that… I need to get close."
Closer than anyone should.
He scratched the back of his head.
"…Great plan. Not dangerous at all."
The camp changed as he moved farther.
The ground became less muddy. The tents more organized. The noise quieter—not gone, just… controlled.
Then the smell hit him.
Herbs.
Clean, sharp.
Mixed with blood.
Ruok slowed his steps.
"…Yeah. Definitely not orc territory anymore."
Then elves appeared to his sight.
They moved differently.
Even the wounded.
Some walked with bandages wrapped neatly around their arms, backs straight despite injury. Others wore long cloaks, unharmed, their movements light and measured.
No shouting.
No chaos.
Just quiet efficiency. And emotionless.
Ruok glanced around.
Then stared.
"…Okay," he whispered. "They really are unfair to others. Thank god, I got few of them."
Silver hair. Gold hair. Smooth skin. Sharp features. Every single one of them looked like they had stepped out of some noble painting.
Men.
Women.
Didn't matter.
All beautiful.
All with those pointed ears that made them look just different enough to feel distant.
Ruok scratched his cheek.
"…And here I am."
A shadow fell in front of him.
He looked up.
An elf stood there, eyes narrowed slightly.
"Why is a half-blood wandering within this camp?" the elf asked, voice calm but edged with clear disdain.
Ruok blinked once.
Then smiled awkwardly.
"Oh—uh, sorry. I think I got lost," he said. "I was actually heading toward the demon camp."
The elf's frown deepened.
"And why would you seek such a place?"
Ruok hesitated.
His mind spun.
Fast.
Too fast.
Think.
Think.
"I… wanted to ask Lord Mephyst for food," he said.
A weak excuse.
He knew it.
The elf scoffed.
"Humans," he muttered. "Such pitiful creatures. I fail to comprehend why Lord Aeltharion chose to align himself with your kind."
Ruok shrugged lightly.
"I've got elf blood too, you know."
That made it worse.
The elf's expression hardened.
"No one of our kind would accept a half-blood as kin," he said coldly. "You are the result of weakness. A stain born from the sins of elves."
Ruok stared at him for a second.
Then shrugged again.
"Yeah, I get that a lot."
The elf gestured sharply. "Move along. Your presence is unpleasant."
Ruok stepped past him.
Then paused.
Turned slightly.
"Oh, by the way," he said casually, "next time, try getting off that high horse."
The elf stiffened.
"The higher you are," Ruok added, smiling faintly, "the more it hurts when you fall."
He didn't wait for a reply.
Just walked.
A few tents later, Ruok slowed.
No one was watching closely.
Good.
He reached out and casually grabbed a cloak hanging off a wooden bench.
Simple.
Quick.
He threw it over his shoulders and adjusted the hood.
"…Much better," he muttered.
Now he just looked like a slightly suspicious elf.
Progress.
Then—
A sound.
A shriek.
High-pitched, sharp, terrifying, and familiar.
Ruok froze for half a second.
"…So it's time."
His grip tightened slightly under the cloak.
Before he could move again—
A shadow covered him.
Heavy.
Massive.
He looked up.
Too late.
A silver dragon descended from the sky.
The impact shook the ground. Dust and small stones burst outward, forcing Ruok to shield his eyes with his arm.
"…Shoots, why here of all places?" he muttered.
The dragon's wings folded slowly. Its scales shimmered like polished steel under the dim light.
Then—
It shifted.
Shrank.
Reformed.
Aeltharion Thal'Vaeris stood where the dragon had been.
Tall.
Composed.
Every movement precise and controlled.
Power wrapped in calm.
Ruok swallowed.
"…That's not good."
Aeltharion turned.
His gaze swept the area once.
Then stopped.
On him.
Ruok felt it immediately.
Like being pinned in place without anything touching him.
Aeltharion stepped closer.
Slow.
Measured.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Then his nose twitched.
"…Ah," he said softly.
He stopped in front of Ruok.
"May I inquire," he began, voice smooth and refined, "what business a half-blood has in such proximity to the demon encampment?"
Ruok forced himself to breathe normally.
Don't panic.
Don't panic.
He bowed slightly.
"Lord Aeltharion," he said. "It's an honor to fight alongside you."
Good.
Respectful.
Safe.
"I was just… walking around," he added. "Not actually heading to the demon camp."
He took a step sideways.
Then another.
Trying to leave.
"—You are lying."
Ruok froze.
"…Ah."
Aeltharion's voice didn't rise.
Didn't need to.
"I can sense the dissonance in your words," he continued calmly. "It is… quite apparent."
Ruok closed his eyes for a brief moment.
Damn it.
He turned back.
Sighed.
Then bowed again, this time deeper.
"You're right, my lord," he said. "I'm sorry for lying."
A beat.
"I was heading to the demon camp."
Honesty.
Partial honesty.
Sometimes that worked.
He lifted his head slightly, just enough.
"It's… embarrassing," he added, scratching his cheek. "But I'm actually looking for food."
A small, awkward laugh.
"The human camp's running dry. We barely get enough to keep fighting."
He lowered his head again.
Waited.
Silence stretched.
Too long.
Ruok's thoughts started drifting.
Why do all the leaders stare so much? Is that part of training? "Advanced Intimidation: Chapter One—Just Stare Until They Panic."
Aeltharion finally spoke.
"So the rumors hold merit."
Ruok blinked.
What rumors?
Aeltharion reached into his cloak and pulled something out.
"Catch."
Ruok looked up just in time to fumble and catch a small bundle wrapped in leaves.
He blinked.
"…Oh."
He looked at it.
Then at Aeltharion.
"Thank you, my lord. You are…" he trailed off.
Careful.
Very careful.
Aeltharion's lips curved slightly.
"…Different from my kin?" he finished. "Yes. I am told that quite often."
His gaze shifted briefly toward the elven camp behind them.
"Elves are creatures of pride," he continued. "I am intimately familiar with that truth."
Ruok nodded slowly.
"…Because you're a half-blood too, my lord."
The moment the words left his mouth—
He froze.
Covered his mouth.
Idiot.
Aeltharion didn't react immediately.
Then he nodded.
"Indeed."
Calm.
Unbothered.
"They treat half-bloods more harshly than outsiders," he said. "An unfortunate miscalculation on their part."
A faint smile appeared.
"Their words, however, proved insufficient against my actions."
He looked ahead, distant for a moment.
"I recall vividly the day the crown was placed upon my head," he said. "The sight of those same voices kneeling… was most enlightening."
Ruok lowered his hand slowly.
"…Yeah," he said quietly. "I can imagine."
Aeltharion looked back at him.
"Eat well," he said. "Fight well. Strength will be required."
Then he walked past him.
Just like that.
Conversation over.
Ruok stood there for a moment.
Then looked down at his hand.
He opened the leaf bundle.
Three small biscuits.
He picked one up.
Bit into it.
Chewed.
Paused.
"…It's bland."
A sigh.
"I really shouldn't complain."
He ate the rest anyway.
Slowly.
Then pulled his cloak tighter and started walking again.
West.
Toward the demon camp.
"…Alright, Mephyst," he muttered.
"Let's see what you're really up to."