SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant

Serren led the others back the way they had come.

They had a long distance to cover before reaching Primordial territory again. They had only found Dravok because they had sensed something unusual far beyond the routes they normally used to search for food.

That was the nature of the Dead Meridian. Nothing stayed reliable for long. Its geography changed every month of the year, and each month brought an entirely different version of the land with it.

A plain could become a mountain range. A river could vanish beneath stone. Forests, swamps and valleys rose where nothing similar had stood only weeks earlier.

For anyone else, living permanently in such a place would have been close to impossible.

The Primordials had found their own answer to that.

Several hours later, the first white structures appeared beyond the dark stone ridges. Serren passed between two natural walls and finally saw the city spreading out in front of him.

It should not have existed there.

White and black stone houses covered a broad stretch of land, arranged around wide roads and raised terraces. A river ran through the city, dividing several districts before joining again downstream.

Fields took up the outer sections, and enclosed pens held monsters that had been domesticated or kept for food. The Primordials did not depend entirely on hunting the changing lands outside, although expeditions remained common.

Their city stayed where it was even when the rest of the Dead Meridian moved.

That alone was something most outsiders would have called impossible.

Serren entered through one of the main paths with the other four behind him. His brown hair was disordered from the fight, though his body showed surprisingly little evidence of what had happened.

He looked like a man somewhere in his thirties, with sharp red eyes and a strong frame, despite having lived close to a century already. For his race, there was nothing unusual about the gap between his appearance and his real age.

People noticed the group almost at once.

Serren was a captain, and it was rare for him to come back from a gathering expedition carrying nothing.

Questions followed them through the streets.

”What happened?”

”Did you find something outside?”

One of the four answered that they had run into a dangerous monster and abandoned the hunt. Another gave a different explanation several streets later, saying the area had turned unstable and they had come back early.

Nobody mentioned Dravok.

The name alone would move through the city faster than any official report. The God of War had once been among the most recognizable people of their race, and there were still Primordials alive who had served under him directly.

Serren did not want rumours running before the people above him heard what happened.

They eventually reached the largest structure in the city.

Unlike the homes around it, it was built almost entirely from black stone, with white pillars holding up its entrance and old markings carved around the walls.

Serren stopped before the doors and looked at the four with him.

”Wait here.”

They obeyed without argument.

Serren went in alone.

The chamber inside was wide and barely furnished. Five people sat around a long stone table, the same five who handled the most important decisions concerning what remained of the Primordial race.

The man at the centre looked somewhere in his fifties.

That appearance was deceptive.

Belthro had lived for thousands of years.

His long black hair fell behind his shoulders, and despite the age in his face, his body was in excellent condition. His eyes were darker than his hair, almost unnaturally black, as though light stopped when it reached them.

Belthro raised his gaze when Serren entered.

”Serren. You’re back earlier than expected. Something happened?”

Serren stopped several steps from the table.

”Belthro... we saw Dravok.”

For the first time since Serren entered, the room changed.

Belthro’s expression showed surprise, although it was hard to tell whether the news pleased him or troubled him.

”Dravok?”

He leaned back slightly.

”I didn’t expect him to come here again. I wasn’t even certain that man was still alive. Where is he?”

”We drove him away.”

Belthro went still again.

Serren continued before anyone could interrupt.

”After what he did, we couldn’t let him come any farther. He abandoned us when everything collapsed. He doesn’t deserve to walk back in here as though none of it happened.”

One of the people beside Belthro shifted.

Felyth had stayed quiet until then.

She looked older than Serren, although nowhere near her real age. Long black hair framed a composed face, and her purple eyes had been fixed on him since Dravok’s name was first spoken.

A black Primordial marking circled her neck like a thin collar.

When Serren said Dravok’s name, the mark had glowed for a single second.

”Serren.”

He turned toward her.

”Yes?”

”Don’t you think that was something we should have decided?”

Serren hesitated before answering.

”With respect, I don’t entirely agree. Dravok was our general. People like me followed him for decades. I know him well enough to know what he did.”

Felyth did not appear offended.

She looked at him for several seconds before correcting him.

”No, Serren. You knew General Dravok.”

The distinction made him pause.

Felyth laid one hand against the table.

”I knew him before that title meant anything. Before most of the soldiers who followed him were born.”

Serren’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Felyth continued without changing her tone.

”I don’t know whether anyone ever told you, but before he left, Dravok and I were together.”

Serren said nothing.

”I would’ve liked to see him,” Felyth added. ”Even if only to hear what he had to say after all this time.”

Belthro spoke before Serren could answer.

”You said you drove him away.”

”Yes.”

”You fought him?”

Serren nodded.

”All five of us.”

Belthro’s black eyes travelled slowly over Serren’s body.

His clothes were damaged. There was no serious wound anywhere on him.

Then Belthro looked toward the closed doors, where the other four waited outside.

”You served under Dravok for decades, Serren. You know exactly what kind of man he was on a battlefield.”

Serren remained silent.

Belthro leaned forward slightly.

”And yet you’re standing in front of me without a single real injury.”

His eyes stayed where they were.

”Tell me something. How badly hurt are the other four?”

Serren did not answer.

Belthro seemed to already know what that silence meant.

”Then ask yourself this instead.”

His voice stayed calm.

”If Dravok truly came here as our enemy, why are any of you still alive?”