Chapter 69: Paint The Forest Red

The training grounds had settled into a calm hush. The earlier chaos of drills, sparring, and madness had faded, leaving the Tyrants sprawled out across the pristine white floors, their breaths heavy and their bodies aching. The Clerics who had been watching earlier had dispersed, leaving the group to their exhaustion. 

Xyenn lay flat on his back, his arms spread wide as he stared blankly at the ceiling, his body still tense. His chest rose and fell slowly, his hair damp with sweat, and his legs twitched occasionally as if still feeling the phantom swings of Mertha's blows and Gorran's slashes. Beside him, Gorran stretched out with quiet composure, his Xenith blade resting beside him. Unlike Xyenn, he didn't look completely wrecked—just tired, as though the day had been draining in a way that wasn't entirely physical. 

Their moment of peace was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. Xyenn tilted his head slightly, groaning. "Oh no…" 

Gridd's stocky figure appeared over them, his runic hammer slung over his shoulder, his beard still glowing faintly from the forge magic he had used earlier. His sharp, dwarven eyes scanned the two of them, and his lips curled into an amused smirk. 

"Ye lads done already?" Gridd asked, his voice carrying that unmistakable dwarven roughness. "Hope this ain't all ye've got." 

Xyenn groaned, forcing himself to sit up slightly, his arms trembling from the effort. "Done? Me? Never. I can keep going!" He pushed himself into a shaky seated position, his usual grin faltering as his muscles screamed in protest. 

Before he could fully get up, Gridd stomped down on Xyenn's chest, pinning him to the ground with his thick boot. Xyenn squirmed, his hands gripping at Gridd's leg as he let out a comical squeal. "Move your dwarf leg, you walking brick wall!" 

Gridd didn't budge, his weight holding Xyenn firmly in place. "Yer in no condition to train anymore, brat. Stay down before ye embarrass yerself further. I was jokin' witcha."

Xyenn flailed under the pressure, his face contorted in frustration. "I'm not embarrassed! I'm just… recovering!" 

Gridd smirked and leaned forward slightly, adding just enough pressure to make Xyenn groan louder. "Recoverin', eh? Ye'll recover just fine layin' there. Don't make me knock ye out meself." 

Gorran chuckled softly beside them, shaking his head. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" 

"Aye," Gridd replied. "More than ye know." 

Xyenn let out an exaggerated sigh, still pinned to the ground but finally giving up. "Fine. I'll stay down. Happy now?" 

Gridd lifted his boot, and Xyenn immediately rolled onto his side, rubbing his chest. "Damn dwarves…" he muttered under his breath. 

Gorran turned his head slightly, his gaze shifting to Xyenn. His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. "Xyenn…" 

Xyenn stopped grumbling and looked over, his brow furrowing. "What?" 

Gorran hesitated, his usual confidence replaced by something subtler, more vulnerable. He stared at Xyenn for a long moment before finally speaking. "What's the feeling you get… when you save people?" 

Xyenn blinked, caught off guard by the question. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, his expression shifting to one of curiosity. "What do you mean?" 

'Gorran? THE Gorran asking me a question like this randomly?'

"When you spared Nacht," Gorran clarified. "Even after he tried to kill you. Tried to take your body. Or when you save others. What's the feeling? What's the name of it?" 

Gridd leaned against the wall, his interest clearly piqued. His sharp eyes flicked between Gorran and Xyenn, silently waiting for the answer. 

Xyenn sat up fully now, his face unusually serious. He thought for a moment, his gaze dropping to the floor as he tried to find the words. When he finally spoke, his voice was slow and deliberate. "Like vengeance." 

Both Gorran and Gridd stiffened at the word. Gorran's brow furrowed, and Gridd tilted his head slightly, intrigued but clearly confused. 

Xyenn continued, sensing their reactions. "It's not like being a hero. Or a savior. I know that when I save people, they might see me that way, but that's not how it feels to me. It feels… like vengeance. Like I'm striking back at the dragon gods for all the suffering they've caused. Like I'm avenging the people who've been oppressed, hurt, or killed by their cruelty." 

Gridd folded his arms, his expression unreadable. "Vengeance, eh?" 

Xyenn nodded. "Yeah. It's not about being noble or righteous. It's about balance. Every time I save someone, it feels like I'm resisting the temptation to become a monster myself. Like I'm reminding myself that there's another way. I feel like… like I'm the harbinger of vengeance. Or maybe… maybe I'm just caring." 

At the word "caring," Gorran flinched subtly, his jaw tightening. He looked away, his mind drifting. 

"C-Caring?!"

'That can't be me, right…?' Gorran thought.

Xyenn tilted his head. "What? Did I say something wrong?" 

Gorran shook his head, exhaling slowly. "No. It's just… I didn't see myself as someone who cares. Not for anyone but myself." 

But even as he said it, memories flashed in his mind. Training with Xyenn. Fighting alongside the Tyrants. The battle against the Lysfødt's crystal beasts. The people he had saved in Soulcaris from the Sun-Drake's berserkers. And that moment a month ago, when he could have killed Xyenn in his sleep—but didn't. 

Gorran sighed and sat up, running a hand through his hair. "Back in the Pool of Light… I saw something. A vision." 

Xyenn and Gridd exchanged a glance but stayed quiet, letting Gorran continue. 

"I saw myself saving people. Over and over. And watering flowers." He scoffed, shaking his head. "I still don't get what the hell the flowers were about. But I was chasing you, Xyenn. I wanted to talk to you. But I didn't. I held back. Maybe because I'm too damn prideful to ask you what saving people means. Maybe I didn't want to seem… soft." 

He paused, then shrugged. "But now I've asked. And I feel better for it." His voice hardened slightly. "Don't tell anyone I told you this. Either of you. Or I'll kill you both." 

Xyenn stared at him, his mouth slightly open in shock. "No way…is this…CHARACTER DEVE—""

"—Shut it," Gorran interrupted, glaring at him. "But I'm serious."

Gridd, meanwhile, stroked his beard thoughtfully, his expression calm. "The flowers, eh?" 

Gorran glanced at him, his brow furrowing. "What about them?" 

Gridd's voice took on a thoughtful tone, his dwarven accent adding weight to his words. "Flowers grow where there's care, lad. But they don't grow easy. They need work. Water. Sunlight. Effort. Ye say ye don't care for anyone, but maybe that's the point. Maybe ye've spent so much time wrapped up in yer own pride, ye never thought about what ye could grow if ye stopped bein' so selfish." 

Gorran's jaw tightened, clearly insulted, but Gridd kept going, his tone unwavering. 

"I know yer past, Gorran. Ye grew up with the Xenith clan. A prodigy assassin. A child praised for yer talent, spoiled by the attention. It got to yer head. Turned ye selfish, arrogant. That pride rotted ye from the inside out." 

Gorran flinched, his hands clenching into fists.

But Gridd didn't stop. "Maybe those flowers mean somethin'. Maybe they're tellin' ye to start growin' somethin' better. Somethin' worth savin'. And maybe, just maybe, that starts with ye askin' what it means to care." 

The silence that followed was heavy. Gorran looked away, his jaw tight, but he didn't argue. He knew Gridd was right, even if he hated to admit it. 

Finally, Gorran sat up fully, his gaze fixed on the floor. "You don't tell me what to do, Gridd. But… I'll give it a try. No promises." 

Gridd smirked. "That's more than enough, lad." 

Xyenn, still staring at Gorran in disbelief, let out a quiet laugh. "You're a completely different person from when I first met you. We used to hate each other." 

Gorran shot him a sharp glare. "Don't get used to it." 

"Thanks for actually talking to me about it. Guess you're not such a wuss after all."

"Huh?! I'll end you!" Gorran scoffed as he immediately noticed Xyenn was just playing with him.

Xyenn adjusted himself on the ground, leaning back on his palms as he looked over at Gridd. Gorran sat beside him, arms crossed, his typical stoic demeanor in place. Xyenn hesitated for a moment, then tilted his head toward the dwarf. 

"Hey, Gridd," he said cautiously. "What about you? What did you see in the pool? If you don't mind me asking. Don't step on me again…"

Gridd immediately squinted at him, his thick brows drawing together. "What'd I see, eh? Ye wanna know what I saw, brat?" His voice carried a sharp edge, his tone almost scolding. 

Xyenn flinched, his hands flying up in front of him defensively. "I didn't mean to pry! Just curious, that's all!" He quickly scooted closer to Gorran, hiding behind the larger man like a child seeking protection. "Gorran, help me out here!" 

Gorran didn't even bother looking at Xyenn, his arms still crossed as he scoffed. "You're pathetic." 

Gridd stared at the two of them for a long moment, his expression stern. Then, suddenly, he let out a loud, boisterous laugh. "Bahaha! I'm just pullin' yer leg, lad. Ye don't need to hide behind big broody there." 

Xyenn peeked out from behind Gorran.

Gridd chuckled again, shaking his head, he leaned his hammer against the wall and sat down on the floor with a heavy thud, his expression growing serious. "But if ye really want t' know, I'll tell ye." 

Xyenn straightened, his curiosity reignited. "What did you see?" 

Gridd's voice softened slightly, his gaze distant. "I saw… death." 

Xyenn's eyes widened, and he let out a small gasp. Even Gorran's stoic facade faltered slightly as he glanced at the dwarf. 

Gridd leaned back against the wall, his posture heavy with the weight of his words. "Aye. Death. But not just any death—it was my own." 

Xyenn stayed silent, his playful demeanor fading as he listened intently. 

Gridd thought, 'I guess this would be the perfect time to let these lads know..'

Gridd inhaled deeply, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. "It's tied t' my past. T' mistakes I made… mistakes I can't undo. Ye see, once upon a time, I had a son. A boy who was everythin' t' me and my wife. He was the miracle we'd prayed for, fought for, waited for. But…" He paused, his jaw tightening. "He's gone now. And his death's been hauntin' me ever since." 

Xyenn blinked, taken aback. "A son.." 

Gridd nodded slowly. "Aye. And I failed him, lad. Failed him as a father, failed him as a man. Let me tell ye the tale, so ye understand why I saw what I saw in that damn pool…" 

He shifted, resting his elbows on his knees as his voice grew heavier. "When me first wife was alive, we struggled for years t' have a child. She had trouble carryin', ye see. We tried everythin'—prayers, potions, rituals. She even considered turnin' t' another dragon god for help, Freina, the goddess of birth, fertility, and motherhood. But I couldn't let her do it. I was already bound t' the dragon god of the forge. Breakin' that bond would've been a death sentence for me—and for her." 

His hands clenched into fists as he continued. "But then, miraculously, after years of heartbreak, we finally had a son. He was our greatest joy. Our miracle. I was so damn happy t' have a son that I spoiled him rotten. I spared the rod too many times, turned a blind eye to his faults. I thought, 'He'll grow out of it. He's just a lad.' Like ye are, Xyenn. Shows why I'm so hard on ye at times. But I was a fool, ignorant of the damage I was doin'." 

Gridd's voice cracked slightly, but he pressed on. "As he got older, he started mixin' with humans. That was banned in our clan back then—the humans were trouble, outsiders, forbidden. But my boy… he grew prideful. Arrogant. He wanted more—money, influence, wanted to explore. He started stealin' weapons and armor forged by me and the other clan members, sellin' them off t' humans. He wasn't even good at forgin'. Too young, too inexperienced. But he didn't care about the craft—he cared about the gold it brought him." 

Xyenn frowned, his brow furrowing. "What… what did you do?" 

Gridd let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "What did I do? Nothin'. I scolded him, aye. Warned him. But every time he said, 'I'll never do it again,' I believed him. Trusted his words. And every time, he lied t' me. I was too soft on him. Too blind t' see what he was becomin'." 

His voice grew darker, his fists tightening. "Then one day, he got in over his head. He tried t' cheat a group o' bandits out o' their gold. Thought he was clever enough t' pull it off. But he wasn't. They killed him. Cut him down like he was nothin'. When I found out…" His voice broke slightly, and he took a deep breath before continuing. "When I found out, it destroyed me. Destroyed me wife. She fell ill not long after. Refused t' be healed. Said she didn't want t' live in a world without him. She was bed-ridden for weeks, and then she was gone, too." 

The room was silent, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. 

Gridd's voice turned sharp, bitter. "I went after those bandits. Gathered human mercenaries t' help me track them down. Killed every last one of them. But it didn't bring me peace. Didn't bring me boy back. And it didn't bring me wife back either." 

He leaned back, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "That's why I saw death in the pool. It's been followin' me ever since. I've been carryin' it with me, like a shadow I can't shake." 

Xyenn was speechless, his usual energy completely gone as he stared at the dwarf. Even Gorran, who rarely showed emotion, looked somber. 

Gridd looked at the two of them, his expression softening slightly. "But maybe… maybe the pool was tryin' t' tell me somethin'. Maybe it wasn't just about my death. Maybe it was about lettin' go of the past. About findin' somethin' worth livin' for again." 

He sighed, running a hand through his beard. "I dunno. I'm still figurin' it out. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's this—don't make the same mistake I did. Don't let pride or fear blind ye to what really matters." 

The room was quiet for a long moment before Gorran finally spoke, his voice low and gruff. "That's… heavy." 

Gridd smirked faintly, though his eyes remained serious. "Aye. Life's heavy, lad. But we carry it anyway." 

Xyenn, still processing everything, muttered, "You're… a lot deeper than I expected, Gridd." 

"Don't get used to it, brat," Gridd replied, his smirk widening. "That day…that day when I got revenge.."

(FLASHBACK)

The moon hung high and cold in the black sky, its pale light casting jagged shadows across the sprawling bandit camp nestled in the heart of the forest. The distant crackle of campfires and drunken laughter echoed faintly, unaware of the storm about to descend upon them. Gridd stood at the edge of the clearing alongside his four mercenaries, his body rigid and his face grim beneath the faint glow of his rune-forged armor. Every carved line in the plate thrummed faintly with power, as if the runes themselves were angry, sharing in his fury. His left arm bore the weight of a massive crossbow affixed to his gauntlet, its edges jagged and brutal, carved meticulously with dwarven runes. At his side, his battle ax hung ominously, its blackened surface sparking faint streaks of dark electricity that hissed like whispering serpents. 

The mercenaries around him shared the same grim energy. Varnok Thaldriss, the towering human tank, rolled his tree-trunk shoulders as his massive hammer rested against the earth. The weapon was monstrous, inscribed with crests that pulsed faintly, promising carnage with every swing. His bald head shone faintly in the moonlight, and his scarred face twisted into a grin that showed yellowed, jagged teeth. 

"Man it took forever getting here!"

"I always love a good bandit session!" Lirae "Wisp" Orveth crouched low, her wiry frame coiled like a spring. Her alchemy knives gleamed faintly in her gloved hands, vials of volatile liquid strapped to her belt, the faint scent of acid and poison wafting from her. Her green eyes darted restlessly, scanning the camp like a predator waiting to pounce. 

Jorath "Runeslinger" Keldren leaned against a tree, his cocky grin plastered on his face, his twin rune-forged daggers spinning deftly in his hands. The blades shimmered faintly with a strange light, their sharp edges glinting like the teeth of a beast eager to bite. His armor, sleek and light, was built for speed, allowing him to move like a shadow—though subtlety wouldn't be needed tonight. 

"Let's get this done. I'm starving."

Finally, Velka "Ironchant" Rhass stood steady, his grizzled dwarven face set in stone. The long-handled mace in his hands was shaped like a bell, its surface covered in scratches and dents from countless battles, its deep resonance already faintly vibrating in the air. His thick beard was streaked with gray, and his eyes gleamed with a ferocity that belied his age. 

Gridd's voice was low, guttural, and cold. "No stealth. No mercy. We go in, and we bring the bastards t' their knees. Leave no one standin'." 

Varnok smirked, gripping his hammer tightly. "Been waitin' to break some skulls all night." 

"Let's paint the forest red," Lirae murmured, her voice dripping with venom as she adjusted the straps on her belt. 

Jorath cracked his neck, grinning. "Try to keep up, old man," he teased Velka, who responded with a dry, humorless chuckle. 

Gridd didn't waste time. He stepped forward, every movement heavy with purpose. "Let's go." 

And then they rushed forward as one. 

The bandit camp exploded into chaos as Gridd and his mercenaries charged through the makeshift wooden barricades, smashing them to splinters with ease. The first bandit, a wiry man standing guard at the entrance, barely had time to shout before Gridd's ax left his hand. The weapon spun through the air, streaks of black electricity trailing behind it like ghostly tendrils. It struck the man in the chest with a sickening crunch, the force of the blow splitting his torso in half. His upper body flew backward, leaving his legs standing for a brief, grotesque moment before they collapsed. 

Gridd caught the returning ax with one hand and leaped forward, his rune-forged armor amplifying his speed. He brought the weapon down on another bandit, cleaving through the man's shoulder and burying it so deep into his ribs that the corpse stuck to the blade when he yanked it back. Blood sprayed in thick arcs, painting the dirt crimson. 

To his left, Varnok waded into a swarm of bandits, his massive hammer swinging in wide arcs. One bandit lunged at him with a rusty sword, but Varnok caught the blade against his forearm, the runes in his armor hardening the surface like stone. He grinned and brought his hammer down with a thunderous smash, crushing the bandit's skull like a ripe melon. The crest on the hammer flared, and a shockwave rippled outward, sending three more bandits flying, their bones snapping audibly as they hit the ground. 

Lirae darted between the chaos, her alchemy knives flashing. Her movements were serpentine, her body twisting and contorting unnaturally as she evaded strikes with ease. She threw one knife into a bandit's chest, the blade exploding on impact and sending shards of bone and viscera in all directions. Another bandit lunged at her with a spear, but she spun around him, slicing his throat with a blade that hissed with corrosive acid. His flesh bubbled and melted as he fell, gurgling. 

Jorath moved like the wind, his twin daggers a blur. He dashed between enemies, his blades slicing tendons and throats before they could even react. One bandit swung a club at him, but Jorath ducked, his daggers flashing upward to sever both of the man's arms in one fluid motion. Blood sprayed like a fountain as the man screamed, only to be silenced when Jorath plunged both blades into his chest, twisting them for good measure. 

Velka's mace rang out like a death knell, each strike sending shockwaves of sound that left bandits clutching their ears, their eardrums ruptured. He swung the weapon into a bandit's chest, the impact caving in his ribcage and sending him flying into a wooden post, his body crumpling like a ragdoll. Another bandit charged him with a dagger, but Velka let out a deep, resonant chant that froze the man in place, his body trembling as if caught in an invisible vice. Velka swung his mace, shattering the man's skull with a single blow. 

Gridd was unstoppable. He fired his arm-mounted crossbow at a bandit charging him with an axe, the rune bolt striking the man's leg. The limb exploded in a spray of gore, and the bandit collapsed, screaming in agony. Gridd silenced him with a brutal kick to the face, his boot caving in the man's skull. Another bandit tried to flank him, but Gridd hurled his ax again, the weapon slicing clean through the man's torso and leaving a blackened, smoking wound as it returned to his hand. 

The camp was a massacre. Bodies littered the ground, blood pooling in the dirt and soaking the crude wooden structures. The air reeked of iron and death, and the bandits' desperate screams were drowned out by the sounds of steel meeting flesh and the crackling of flames as tents were set ablaze. 

In the center of the chaos, the bandit leader, Kross Veldmar, stood trembling. He was a wiry man with a patchy beard and mismatched eyes, one of which was a milky white orb. His armor was cobbled together from stolen pieces, and a jagged scar ran from his temple to his jaw. He dropped his sword as Gridd approached, his ax dragging along the ground, leaving a trail of sparks. 

"Please," Kross stammered, falling to his knees. "I didn't know it was your son! I didn't know! Have mercy!" 

Gridd's eyes burned with fury, and his voice was cold and quiet. "Mercy? Did ye show me boy mercy when ye cut him down like an animal?" 

Kross scrambled backward, tears streaming down his face. "It wasn't me! It wasn't me, I swear!" 

Gridd raised his ax, the black electricity crackling violently along its edge. "Lies." 

With one brutal swing, he brought the weapon down, cleaving Kross's head from his shoulders. The severed head rolled across the ground, the lifeless eyes staring blankly into the dirt. 

Gridd reached into a pouch at his side, pulling out a small urn. He opened it, pouring the ashes of his wife and son over Kross's corpse. The wind caught the ashes, scattering them over the blood-soaked ground. 

He turned and walked away as flames consumed the camp. Around him, the mercenaries were setting fire to every structure, their figures moving in slow motion through the carnage. The crackling of the flames, the screams of the dying, and the distant toll of Velka's mace created a symphony of destruction. Gridd didn't look back. 

(FLASHBACK END)

Gridd leaned back against the wall, his hammer resting beside him. His eyes, heavy with years of burden, stared at the floor. The air between the three of them had grown still, almost reverent. His voice, gruff as always, carried a weight that neither Xyenn nor Gorran had ever heard before. 

"After me boy and wife were gone… I didn't see a point in livin' anymore," Gridd began, his tone carefully restrained, though the emotion beneath it was undeniable. "When I raided that bandit camp with the mercenaries, I wasn't just lookin' for revenge. I was hopin' it'd be me end." 

Xyenn and Gorran listened quietly, their usual sharp quips and stoic walls replaced with genuine attention. 

"I thought… once I killed those bastards, I'd just let it end. I could've had one of the mercs put me down after we were done. Or I could've walked right into the fire we used to burn the camp down. I had plenty o' chances." His voice faltered, but he quickly steadied himself. "My plan was simple—die there, be with me wife again. Tell her I did it. That I avenged her. That I avenged him." 

He paused, his hands tightening into fists. "But when the moment came… I couldn't do it. I just couldn't take meself out. Ye know why?" 

Neither Xyenn nor Gorran responded. They waited, knowing the answer would come. 

Gridd's voice softened, his words carrying a deep melancholy. "Because of me clan. Without me, there'd have been no leader to guide them. No one who could keep 'em steady. I was young back then, but even then, I was the wisest among 'em. The best fit to lead. And the thought o' leavin' them without anyone… it kept me alive. Even though I was fightin' so damn hard within meself to just end it all right there, I turned around and went back." 

Xyenn shifted uncomfortably, his throat tightening at the rawness of Gridd's words. Gorran remained still, his face unreadable, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of understanding. 

Gridd exhaled deeply, his shoulders slumping slightly. "But goin' back didn't make it better. Through the years, it felt empty. Lonely. No matter if there were a hundred dwarves surroundin' me, I felt like I was walkin' alone. Me goal was still the same—to seek death. But I could never bring meself to die. Every battle, every fight, I thought maybe this'd be the one. But I clung t' life. Why? Because some small, foolish part o' me believed I could try again. That I could make up for me mistakes." 

He glanced up at Xyenn and Gorran, his eyes tired but resolute. "But I couldn't remarry. Not after her. Not after what I lost. I thought… if I wanted t' die and see her again, then remarryin' would contradict that goal. Would make me a hypocrite. So I stayed alone. And I didn't know what kept me goin'. Not really." 

There was a brief silence before Gridd's voice softened further. "But then, when I held yer kid, Xyenn... ye and Yuuna's little dragonkin baby… it made me think. Just a little. I felt somethin' I hadn't felt in years—a warmth. A warmth I thought I'd lost forever." 

Xyenn blinked, surprised, his expression softening. 

Gridd continued, his gaze distant. "Even when I protected the wee one at Haldrek's castle, when that bastard was rampagin'… it showed me somethin'. It showed me I wasn't completely devoid of emotions. That I still had somethin' left in me. A soft heart, buried deep under all the pain. Enough t' protect that child, even if it meant losin' meself." 

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "But me goal hasn't changed. I still want t' die. But not by me own hand. No, I want t' die in battle. Valiantly. Like a true warrior. So me clan can look at me and be inspired. So they can see that pressin' on is what matters most—not wallowin' in the past, but focusin' on what warms ye up every once in a while. That's what I want me death t' mean. That's the main reason…I decided t' come along with ye all here, to Jörvaldr."

Xyenn felt a lump in his throat. He quickly wiped his face with his sleeve, hiding the tear that had escaped. He turned his head away, his voice unusually quiet. "Gridd…" 

Gridd looked at him, his expression softening. "Aye, lad?" 

"I'm sorry," Xyenn said, his voice barely above a whisper. "For asking. It must've been hard to share all that." 

Gridd waved him off, his tone lightening slightly. "Bah, don't worry about it. Ye didn't know. And between ye and me, Yuuna doesn't even know that story. Besides me clan, ye two are the only ones who know the deep shit about it. So don't go flappin' yer gums to anyone." 

Xyenn nodded quickly, his face still turned away. "Of course. I won't say a word." 

Gridd's tone grew serious again. "And one more thing. If it comes down to it in battle, don't save me. Let me go. Ye hear me, Xyenn?" 

Xyenn turned back to him, his expression resolute. "I can't promise that. I won't let you die, Gridd." 

Gridd narrowed his eyes, and for a moment, the air between them grew tense. But before Gridd could respond, Gorran's voice cut through the silence. 

"Respect it," Gorran said firmly, his sharp gaze locking onto Xyenn. 

Xyenn frowned, looking between the two of them. "But—" 

"Respect it," Gorran repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. 

Gridd nodded slowly, his stern expression softening slightly. "Ye've got a good heart, Xyenn. A damn good heart. Even if yer brutal at times, ye always mean well. But there's honor in choosin' yer way t' go. And there's honor in respectin' that choice." 

Xyenn clenched his fists, clearly torn, but he finally sighed and gave a small nod. "Fine. But I still don't like it." 

Gridd smirked faintly, patting the younger man on the shoulder. "Didn't expect ye to. I know ye fully at this point."

For a moment, the three of them sat in silence, the weight of the conversation lingering in the air.