Hi guys! Sorry for long wait; I was super busy for the longest time, but now it's summer! So I'm hoping to have much more time to dedicate to writing :D I hope you all are doing well and staying safe!
Thank you so much for the new favorites and reviews! You guys are awesome and I hope you continue to enjoy the story! Next chapter is going to have lots of wholesome builder x Malroth goodness, so be excited for that ;)
.: 6 :.
She Triumphs
Moonbrooke was the talk of Hargon's Realm.
Apparently, the builder was now wreaking creative havoc on the icy island, something that wasn't news to Malroth. The High Priest, however, was beside himself, and seemed to be on the edge of his seat anytime a monster messenger rushed in with news of the builder's most recent exploits. She was making tremendous strides in beefing up the new castle, and Malroth was sure that, from what he'd already seen of her previous creations, it was probably nothing short of exceptional.
The destructive prince found himself spending less time on the boringness that was paperwork and regal duties, and instead focused on mulling over his meeting with the builder. She wasn't anything at all like Hargon had often described builders to be... Dare he admit it, she was sweet. She was pretty, and kind, and brilliant, and with how grandiose her creations were, she was a builder through and through. She was his worst enemy (she was supposed to be, anyway).
What really piqued his interest was the fact that she had no trouble talking to him. She had a healthy fear, certainly, but that didn't stop her from treating him kindly. Malroth couldn't remember the last time someone had been genuinely respectful of him. Fearful, sure, and mocking? Very rarely. Genuine respect and kindness were not what he was used to; and why would she be nice to him? Was she hoping to gain something out of it? Somehow, he didn't think that was the case, but no matter how he thought about it, he couldn't figure her out. She was definitely unlike any human he'd met before, which was a compliment considering how most humans behaved similarly in his presence: fearful, sniveling, pleading "don't hurt me" and "I'll do whatever you say." There were even some who stood up to him, hatred burning in their eyes as they spat at him or challenged him. Those were the humans who ended up executed, and not necessarily at his command... Hargon liked to make examples of rebels, and while Malroth would have preferred simply beating the snot out of them himself, the High Priest insisted that he not waste his time or efforts on such "lowly worms."
So what was the builder's deal? Why was she nice to him? There was always the possibility that she was stupid... Or maybe just naive, too naive for her own good. If she was dumb, she wouldn't have recognized his authority, but she had, and despite that, she was still her same cheerful self, polite and respectful even in the face of what could become her death if she wasn't careful. So maybe she wasn't stupid after all, maybe she was just... Well, maybe she was just a builder.
The more he thought about his conversation with this enigma of a woman, the more Malroth began to consider the idea that perhaps Hargon truly had gotten everything all wrong. Perhaps building wasn't bad... Certain people in the past may have used building for selfish, greedy reasons, but not everyone had that mindset. So far, he'd only seen people helping each other, and even the builder herself had such a light, pure aura around her; she could have been mean and nasty to Malroth, yet she chose to be kind. She chose to use her abilities to help others even when there wasn't much in it for her. No one could ever fully pay her back for the things she built for them, nor could they pay her back for saving their home islands, yet that never stopped her from continuing to put her life on the line for them, and it wasn't like she expected them to pay her back in the first place. She was good for goodness' sake and goodness' sake alone.
Did that make him evil? Maybe it did, and nowadays he didn't know how to feel about that. If goodness put smiles on people's faces and earned genuine respect—if it meant making friends—then maybe doing good things wasn't as nauseating as he once thought. He actually began to feel a sliver of shame at having once laughed at those who mourned and wept. He wondered, for the first time in his life, how it would feel to make people laugh and smile. Did that bring satisfaction and joy? Was that why the builder did what she did? What would it be like to have someone he considered a friend, someone to laugh and pal around with?
Good goddess, what was this builder doing to him?
On one occasion, Malroth gave into his curiosity and stole away to a high ledge overlooking Moonbrooke Castle to see how she fared as a fighter. It was by pure chance he'd shown up right in the middle of a battle between one of the scouting troops sent by Hargon's Heroes, and as he watched the skirmish, he had to admit that he was slightly impressed.
From a warrior's perspective, she wasn't the best person on the battlefield, but she wasn't the worst—she could hold her own pretty well even when she suffered particularly hard hits from his troops. She was agile, able to parry and get out of harm's way if need be, and she dealt out enough damage to get the job done. The builder was nowhere near his level when it came to combat, but she wasn't bad, either. She'd been telling the truth about having had backup in battle, though; while she wasn't a horrible fighter, he could see different openings in her form that could have proven fatal if it weren't for the soldiers fighting alongside her and making up for her lapses in form. Moonbrooke Castle was holding its own thanks to the combined efforts of her weaponry and dedication, as well as the soldiers' skill and strength.
Malroth still wasn't sure where he stood in terms of creation being bad or good, but he began to lean a little more heavily towards it being 'not bad' when he heard tell of Hargon's Heroes getting ready to attack Moonahan.
It was early in the morning, just before the sun began to stretch its rays across the sky. Snow fell at a lazy pace, the flakes so thick that they stuck wherever they landed, and Malroth found himself wondering if a blizzard was on its way, based on how the winds kept picking up.
Or perhaps the universe was aware of the atrocities that would take place in the pitiful settlement that was a few miles away from the rebuilt castle. The calm before the storm, so to speak.
To be fair, Hargon's Heroes didn't know their revered prince would be observing them; he was covered in a thick gray robe, a heavy hood obscuring most of his face from view. One might think he was a prestidigitator, what with the way his red eyes looked under the darkness of the hood. As he stood from a distance, watching as fire and brimstone rained down on the meager town, people screaming and falling to the ground in unconscious heaps, Malroth didn't feel the joy he normally would have felt at such a display of chaos. The pained cries, the anguish, the terror... All of it made his heart clench, and he couldn't understand why. What was different about this time? Why was he feeling so conflicted over something as simple as a ransacking when he'd watched his generals do it countless times before?
A few days later, Malroth had been in his study looking over a few papers. Hargon's "system" was starting to drive him crazy; how was it that a system that supposedly worked so well ended up saddling him with all sorts of work while Hargon got to have ample amounts of free time on his hands? The prince was starting to think he'd drawn the short stick, royal title be damned. He could very well have ordered Hargon to knock it off with all this paperwork business, but truthfully, Malroth didn't know much about how to run a kingdom. Did he even have a kingdom? There were followers, of course, and monsterkind stuck together much like humans did, but maintaining all that was more of Hargon's forte. Hargon knew what to say, how to say it, and what kind of show to put on.
Malroth paused in reading one of the drier documents in his hands. Was that what all this was? A show? What power did he really have if all his lordship was owed to one single monster?
He considered it a mercy when someone knocked on the door, tearing Malroth's attention from the paragraph he'd been trying to read for the past ten minutes (but was proving to be for naught, as his thoughts kept flickering towards a certain blonde builder).
"Come in," he called, turning in his chair. He wasn't surprised to see Hargon, but he was surprised to see Hargon wearing a very smug grin. Something was up.
"My Lord, a moment of your time if you please."
Malroth stood. "What do you need?"
"Please accompany me to the throne room. There is a visitor who requests your presence immediately."
The prince fell into step with the High Priest, who seemed all-too eager to get to their destination. "A visitor? What's this about?"
"I must say, I had my... Concerns regarding Moonbrooke and the pesky builder who seems adept at evading our grasp," the High Priest said, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "However, luck has smiled upon us in the form of a human."
The prince's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "A human? I thought we didn't associate with humans."
Hargon cackled. "Come and meet him for yourself, my Lord, and you shan't be disappointed. That is one thing you can always count on when it comes to humans—we may be destructive, but they do not know the meaning of loyalty... or shame."
When they finally reached the throne room, the guards standing watch opened the doors for both the prince and High Priest. As they entered, Malroth immediately caught sight of a blue mop of hair with half-melted snowflakes still clinging to his locks.
The young man standing before them was a cowardly little idiot. From his throne, the prince could see the blue-haired human quivering with fear, the wrecktor's gloved hand resting on his shoulder in a feeble attempt to comfort him. He smartly kept his head bowed, his eyes trained on the citadel flooring beneath him, and something about him immediately earned Malroth's distaste.
"Ah, my dear Lord and Master," the wrecktor greeted, bowing its head respectfully. "Thank you for giving us your time today."
"Wrecktor," Malroth nodded his acknowledgement. "What brings you here?"
"My Lord, it seems that not all Moonbrookians are interested in fighting against our troops. This human has expressed a desire to act as a spy for us in hopes of securing an eventual triumph on our part. Isn't that right, my child?"
The human made an affirmative noise that sounded more like a whimper.
"Do we really need a spy?" the prince asked. "I thought our men had everything covered."
"We do," the monster conceded, a nasty twinkle in its eye. "But what is a war without treachery? What is a war without destruction? Not only can we destroy the Moonbrookians physically, but we can destroy their sense of trust and camaraderie as well. Is that not an excellent, exciting war?"
Malroth couldn't exactly agree. His idea of war was clearly different from whatever Hargon's was. Nevertheless, he turned his attention to the blue-haired male.
"So, you betrayed your friends to defect to our side?" he asked, to which the man nodded, his gaze still carefully trained on the floor. "Why?"
"This one fears death more than he fears us," the wrecktor chuckled. "Under normal circumstances, I would have tossed him into the lava lake by now, but he possesses useful information about the builder's base that we could use to our advantage."
Malroth's gaze flickered from the quivering warrior to the monster. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hargon's face light up with a nasty little smirk that sparked anger inside of him. He didn't understand why he felt sickened by this human, but something told him to keep his disgust in check. An image of a certain blonde girl with a dopey smile flashed in his mind, and he exhaled. He had a feeling that things had just become ridiculously complicated, and he was never one for "complicated."
"And what, pray tell, do you know of the builder's base?"
The wrecktor removed its hand from the man's shoulder, motioning for him to stand. He did so, his head still bowed. He opened his mouth to speak, but the prince cut him off before he could utter even a word.
"Look me in the eye when you address me," Malroth ordered, disdain dripping from his voice. "If there is anything you should be afraid of, it shouldn't be death—you should be afraid of me. Show your respect."
Reluctantly, the man obliged him, and a pair of terrified golden irises met his own burning red ones. The man swallowed nervously, his hands clasped in front of him in such a way that somehow made him look that much smaller.
"Th-there are several spots that your men could attack," he began. "Holes in the walls, points of entry, w-weak spots that have yet to be reinforced. You could even set a few traps if you so wished and the M-Moonbrookians wouldn't even know until the traps went off."
Malroth was well aware, for he had seen those same weaknesses and openings the day he'd gone to challenge the builder. Asking this poor excuse for a human about what he knew was merely a formality.
The prince turned towards his underling. "Wrecktor, do you know the reason for his betrayal?"
"As I said, my Lord, he fears death more than he fears us."
"And that's the only reason?"
At the wrecktor's helpless shrug, Malroth turned his attention back to the blue-haired male. "Obviously you don't want to die, and I get that. What are you hoping to accomplish by defecting to our side? Nothing is for free, so what do you want from us in return for your information?"
"Monsterhood, my Lord." An unsettling gleam entered the man's eyes. "I-I wish to have the high honor of becoming like the powerful, valiant troops you command."
The prince barely bit back a sneer. What made this human think he could be a monster? What kind of person betrayed their friends just to preserve their own life? He didn't realize it, but he was already a monster, just not the kind that Malroth dealt with on a regular basis.
Hargon and the wrecktor seemed to be watching both the prince and this human traitor with bated breath, though the prince's expression gave nothing away. He was well aware of their expectations, and though it pained him to give the go-ahead, he did so.
"Fine," he bit out. "You hold up your end of the deal and you'll be one of us, but if you screw up even once, I will personally see to it that you suffer immensely before we let you die. Understand?"
The human nodded quickly. "You can count on me, Master. I shan't disappoint you."
Malroth remained on his throne long after Hargon, the traitorous human, and the wrecktor took their leave. He rested his chin in the palm of his hand, thinking over everything that had just transpired. That man was serious; he'd literally do anything to save his own skin, his friends' lives be damned, and while Malroth could be considered evil, he wasn't that evil. Seriously, what kind of person traded in their friends' lives just to save his own?
The builder was obviously a sweet girl. Dopey with a dash of naivete, too nice for her own good... It wasn't a good combination in a war setting. Now that there was a traitor in her midst, the game would change; people would get hurt, people would die. He didn't understand why it bothered him so much; after all, he was never one to care about humans in the first place. Humans were weak, stupid, and selfish, and they were only loyal to whoever helped them fill their bellies. Truthfully, Malroth could not care less about human beings if he tried.
But her, this elusive, friendly builder... He still hadn't figured her out yet. She wasn't selfish, she wasn't stupid, and she wasn't weak, not in the slightest. She was an anomaly, as far as humans went.
She was good at building, but she had a lot to learn about war. If someone was going to betray her forces, then maybe Malroth should show a little mercy for once. He knew he shouldn't care, but she'd been kind to him when she ought to loathe him, so what was a little mercy in return? Someone had to warn her, and it looked like that role fell onto his shoulders. Besides, wasn't that fair? If that blue-haired idiot was going to go behind his friends' backs and tell all their secrets to the enemy, the builder deserved fair warning.
Just as the prince decided that another visit to Moonbrooke was in order, and just as he was getting up to head to his room and gear up for the cold weather, Hargon re-entered the throne room. "My Lord, have you managed to complete any of the paperwork on your desk? A few forms must be signed by the end of today."
Malroth shut his eyes in frustration and let out a long sigh. The builder would have to wait.
The Builder entered her room and was careful to close the door softly behind herself. Normally, when she was feeling this amount of frustration, anger, and sadness, she would've slammed her door and stomped around, because sometimes there was nothing more satisfying than slamming a door so hard that the very frame rattled in reply. She was not destructive by nature, but at the moment, all she wanted to do was grab the nearest object and throw it against the wall as hard as she could manage.
It was hopeless. Oh sure, the Moonbrookians had done what they never imagined they'd do—they'd defeated Hargon's Heroes, and they'd rebuilt the castle so much that it was now even more grandiose than it had been prior to the never-ending war. It was gorgeous, and the weapons that lay within its walls were powerful enough to drive back wave after wave of enemies. Moonbrooke Castle was reaching a new peak what with all the new arrivals and the weaponry, and they were all doing incredibly well. Victory, a final, peace-filled victory was within their grasp.
And then Atlas, the mighty hand behind the Heroes showed up, promising pain and suffering beyond anything they'd ever experienced before—and the builder had already had her fair share of pain and suffering on this wretched island. How many allies had they buried? How many soldiers had died in battle, fighting with everything they had in hopes of protecting the last stand humanity had on this frigid wasteland? How many cuts, bruises, broken bones, gashes, and hard blows had the builder suffered during the innumerable battles initiated by the enemy? She was sure the deep cut on her bicep was going to scar once it finished healing... medicinal herbs could only do so much, after all, and a scar was better than being in the grave, but still: all of it hurt.
The builder swallowed, which was hard to do considering frustration and anguish were currently lodged in the back of her throat. Everyone was looking to her for a way to defeat this final foe. Atlas was the last thing standing between them and (hopefully) everlasting peace. Normally, she'd already have an idea by now—she'd be scribbling away in her book. Blueprints would be handed out, people would start gathering supplies and building, and she'd be overseeing construction of some incredible solution to end their problems once and for all.
Normally she'd know what to do, but Atlas was nothing like Hargon's Heroes. In fact, he made them look like ants, literally and figuratively. One good stomp and Moonbrooke Castle would be no more. All of them would be no more. Taking on that archdemon, the oversized batmandrill, even the chimaera were one thing, but Atlas? He was practically the size of the entire island, if not bigger! How the heck were they ever going to take him down?!
She'd spent the entirety of dinner racking her brain for ideas. What did she already know about Atlas? He was huge, he was powerful, he was the final big bad to vanquish... What else? What could possibly be a weakness for something of his size and strength? The more she tried to think, the more her brain shut down, and the builder eventually left the castle cafeteria, where everyone was too weary to do much else than eat and tend to their wounds, and she returned to her room, not knowing what else to do.
The blonde tried hunkering down with her beloved book. She flipped through its pages frantically, desperate to find anything that might help spark inspiration, yet her mind would not cooperate. Finally, with an aggravated huff, she slammed the book closed and hurled it onto her bed.
Useless! she thought angrily, tears burning behind her eyes. I'm useless to them right now. I need to help them and I'm utterly useless. We're all going to die unless I figure something out, and I can't think of a single freaking thing that will work!
The blonde began to hyperventilate as images of Atlas stomping his way through the castle began to assault her mind. She could feel her chest tightening, and when the panic began to feel too overwhelming, that's when she knew she needed to get some air.
She hurried out of her room and down the hall towards the exit that led to a small, crumbly graveyard. None of the guards were posted at the door, which was both a relief (she didn't want anyone to see her like this, nor did she feel like trying to come up with an excuse for running off on her own without Warwick or Anessa escorting her) and a concern (what were they thinking, not guarding the exits? Had they not learned from that whole event with Ra's mirror?!), but right now, she couldn't focus on that. She had to get some air.
As soon as the door opened, a frosty breeze bit through her clothes and chilled her to the bone, a welcome reprieve against her burning skin. The builder carefully shut the door behind her, taking care to make as little noise as possible so as not to alert any of the castle's residents, and she trudged through the snow towards what was left of the graveyard.
How many weeks ago had she and Warwick snuck through the small opening to get a clearer view of the siege that once stood at Moonbrooke Castle's gates? It felt like a lifetime had passed since then... When she thought of Lulu, Rosie, and Babs, all of it felt like it'd happened in different lifetimes, like none of that stuff had happened merely a month ago. Moonbrooke truly was a different monster than anything she had ever dealt with. At least on Furrowfield and Khrumbul-Dun, the big baddies had easier weaknesses to figure out. At least with those monsters, her brain didn't freeze up. They had weaknesses; Atlas didn't seem to have any whatsoever. If she wasn't careful, this graveyard would become overpopulated, and if she lived to tell the tale, that meant she'd have lots of headstones to make, plus coffins, and... and...
The builder covered her face with her hands, tears rushing down her cheeks faster than she could stop them. She fought to hold herself together, but the more she thought about that giant, the more she began to realize she was way in over her head. Maybe that day she'd met Malroth, she should've surrendered when she'd had the chance. All these people were counting on her, and if she failed, that meant not just her own death, but the death of so many who had placed their trust in her hands. If she failed them, it meant death.
They would die. All of them would be dead. Their deaths would mean she didn't think quickly enough. It would mean letting down so many people who finally had a taste of hope, who had placed their trust and lives into her hands. If she surrendered, maybe they would have a chance at staying alive. Or maybe not...
If they all died, it would be her fault. Her fault... The blood would be solely on her hands.
A sob escaped the builder and she buried her face even more into her hands. She collapsed to her knees and ignored the coldness seeping into her leggings from the snow, her emotions taking full reign for once. Bottling them up was a bad habit of hers, and if she didn't get it out now, she wouldn't be able to think clearly later. She tried to keep herself quiet, to contain the raw sobs and cries that shook her body, and all that resulted in was her choking on emotional pain. The tears came even faster and she allowed herself to lose it, because sometimes getting it out was far better than bottling, and she'd definitely been doing enough of that these past few weeks.
The sound of heavy boots crunching in the snow didn't register to her until the footsteps stopped and she had the peculiar sensation that someone was standing in front of her. She didn't want to look up because if it was Anessa or Warwick, one of her fellow warriors, she didn't want them to see how upset she was. As their sort-of leader, she had to keep up a brave face, and if she couldn't even do that...
"I'm s-sorry, Warwick," she hiccupped. "If you don't mind, I'd r-rather not talk about our next c-course of action right n-now."
"Warwick? That's a strange way to say 'your highness.'"
The builder immediately looked up, shocked to see not the blue-haired warrior, but Malroth. His red eyes blazed in the moonlight, the color violent and loud against the gentle snowy world around them. Very little armor decorated his lithe, muscular form, yet much like their first meeting, he didn't appear the slightest bit bothered by the cold. A haughty smirk rested on his lips, but it dimmed when he realized the builder had been crying.
"Y-your Highness?" she asked, quickly rubbing at her eyes. "What are you doing here?"
"I figured I'd come check on your progress," he half-lied. Truthfully, he had come to see how well the castle was coming along, but he'd also come because he couldn't sleep. His thoughts had been going around in circles ever since their last conversation, as well as finding out that there was a traitor in her midst; he'd come in hopes of getting more answers from her... Among other reasons he didn't want to acknowledge. Not now, anyway.
Instead, he drank in his surroundings with a nod of approval. "I see you took my advice. You're not nearly as dopey as you look."
The builder let out a weak chuckle, a hiccup interrupting her as she wiped at her nose and eyes again. "I'll take that as a c-compliment."
He frowned. "What's wrong with you? Why are you upset?"
"It's nothing."
"Bull. People don't cry over nothing."
She looked up at him. Snowflakes kissed her face as they drifted down, only adding to the wet tear tracks that streaked her rosy cheeks. Malroth was slightly surprised that it bothered him so much to see her in such a sorry state.
"With all due respect, why do you care?" she asked quietly. "Weren't you the one who said we were enemies?"
Malroth was quiet for a moment before he gave a curt nod. "I did say that, didn't I?"
He began to circle her slowly, and the blonde got the distinct feeling that she wasn't just in the presence of a terrifyingly powerful man—somehow, he reminded her very much of a dragon with how he moved about, like a predator toying with its prey.
"Destruction and creation have always been enemies," he continued. "I seem to have caught you in a moment of weakness. No one is around, you're clearly unarmed... I wonder how the others would function without you leading them."
The builder sniffled thickly. "They probably wouldn't."
At least she's honest with herself, he thought, stopping in front of her. "So, if I were to take you out now, my men would win the war."
"You have the power to kill me if you want to," she admitted, fear and defeat flashing across her eyes. "If you want me dead... Just do it already. Don't draw it out."
Now that gave the prince pause. After pushing back against his forces and causing so much ire for him and Hargon (mostly Hargon; Malroth secretly liked this girl, she had a lot of guts to go up against him), was she finally giving up on winning this war? That wasn't much fun; for what reason would she be so quick to surrender after all this time, after all her efforts?
"You know, the last time I saw you, you were hell-bent on getting me to see the good side to all your creations," he remarked. "What's up with you? Are you finally surrendering to me?"
"No, it's just that.. I mean, it's—" The builder's eyebrows furrowed together. "It's complicated, okay?"
"War is always complicated. Care to explain?"
"Atlas is on his way to smash us into nothingness," she replied dryly. "That's how it's complicated."
Ah, Atlas: one of his most powerful, most sadistic generals. No wonder she was in tears—he'd seen grown men soil themselves when they saw Atlas approaching. To her credit, at least she hadn't done that. Still, this girl always had tricks up her sleeves, and Malroth would be lying if he said he wasn't curious to see how she would triumph over this literal gigantic obstacle.
"He is pretty powerful. I've seen him wipe entire islands off the map with one good stomp."
The builder didn't reply.
"I don't think anyone has ever won a fight against him," Malroth continued, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "If you're that willing to give up, I understand."
"It's not that I'm giving up," she amended. "I will still do what I have to do, but that doesn't mean I'm not scared. Big difference."
"So, what's the plan?"
The builder let out a frustrated sigh. "I don't know. I keep trying to figure it all out, but every idea that pops into my head is useless. I've never taken on someone of Atlas's caliber."
"You've worked so hard to create all those weapons across every island you've ever been on, and you can't think of something to take him down?" Malroth sneered. "You're sure you don't want to surrender?"
She closed her eyes in defeat. "Okay, your highness, what if I did surrender? What would be my fate then?"
"You? You would go last." A nasty grin lifted his lips. "I think I'd start with them."
The builder's eyes flew open. "What?"
Malroth brandished his battle axe, malice lighting his eyes. In the hazy moonlight, they appeared more eerie and red than usual, and his grin revealed sharp-looking white teeth; the builder barely suppressed the fearful shiver that crawled down her spine. Goddess, now she understood why so many people were afraid of him—he looked downright terrifying. "They've run their course on this island, don't you think? We monsters deserve a place to call home, and what better place than one that's already been broken in by our own claws?"
"No!" The builder wailed, lunging forward to grab his arm. "Don't do it! If it's violence you want, then don't hurt them—take me instead and spare them, please!"
The prince's eyes widened with shock. Not only was she offering herself up as a sacrifice to save the lives of the others, but she was touching him. Her delicate fingers were currently wrapped around his bicep, her nails almost digging into his skin. No one had ever dared to lay a finger on him before; even in the heat of battle, the few humans he'd fought against had never been able to get close to him. Not even monsters dared to reach a claw towards him, yet this girl...
She seemed to realize what she'd done because she instantly let go of him, wringing her hands together. "I'm so sorry, I-I didn't mean—"
"I-it's fine." But was it fine? He shivered, though not from the cold. He had a flurry of feelings about her touching him (her hands were so soft, her touch so gentle), but now was not the time to sort through them. It was strange; normally, he would seethe at the idea of someone as lowly as a human daring to reach out a finger towards him, yet now, he couldn't find it in himself to even be upset. Very strange indeed, this builder and the effect she had on him.
"Builder, answer me something." Malroth lowered his weapon, no longer giving off an air of promised violence. "Why do you fight so hard for them?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
"They weren't winning this war before you and even now, as you work yourself to the bone to keep them safe, the odds are not in their favor. They're doomed to be smacked down again and again no matter how much strength or courage they muster up. Why would you help them when they have nothing to offer you? Why would you fight so hard for them when things look hopeless? Atlas did not become one of my highest-ranking generals by being weak, you know. He could kill you all with one blow."
Something in her eyes changed. It was small, but enough that her expression morphed into determination. A fiery spark had flickered to life within her, chasing away any negativity that might have been clouding her perception.
"I don't help people because they can give me something in return," she replied, disbelief coloring her tone. "I help people because it's the right thing to do. I help others because I'm a builder, and that's what builders do."
"And fighting for them? You said it yourself—most of the men around you do the heavy-lifting while you stick with blueprints and tossing up structures. If they can fight for themselves, why do they need you?"
"Without my help, they wouldn't be able to fight. I provide them with hope and the means to protect themselves, and they do the rest. All of them have lives worth living and defending."
"Are you sure about that?"
It was watery and weak, but the small smile on her face was still a smile. "As sure as I'm a builder."
"And you're willing to risk your life for them even when they accuse each other of treason."
"Of course I am."
"But why? I don't get it."
"Because they're my friends," she replied. "I might not agree with all the things they say and do, but they need my help more than anything, especially now that someone as big as Atlas is looking to destroy us. They can accuse each other of treason all they want, but the bottom line is that I have things to do. I have people to protect, and as long as I have breath in my body, I will protect them with everything I have even if it means sacrificing my life to keep them safe. It's my duty to help others as much as I can."
"And what if they accused you of being the traitor?" He tilted his head to the side curiously. "Would you still fight for them then?"
The builder hesitated. "I don't know how I'd be able to fight alongside them while being locked in a dungeon cell, but I would still try."
He marveled at her answer. "You're really bent on saving these people."
"Of course I am. Like I said before, they all deserve to live, they all have lives worth protecting. I won't rest until they're safe. I promised I'd help them and I stand by my word."
Malroth nodded slowly, accepting her answers with a kind of awe and admiration. Truthfully, he'd never wanted to see her surrender; she was clearly cut from a different cloth than he was and he wanted to see where things went. Threatening the Moonbrookians had been a bluff to get that spark back in her eyes, and much to his delight, it did the trick. It made him feel odd inside to see that passion for building back in her eyes, but not a bad-odd... He told himself it was merely because a broken, defeated enemy was a boring enemy. How interesting could she be if she was willing to give up, just like that?
(And maybe beneath it all, Malroth was curious enough to silently challenge Hargon's teachings by seeing just how far this builder went if she was allowed to continue: if she achieved her goals and rebuilt the castle, and if she managed to finish building a utopia on the Isle of Awakening, what would happen? What was the worst that could happen if creation was allowed to flourish? Because so far, nothing bad had happened on the other islands other than losing control over the humans, so what was the point of preventing it? Part of him wanted to push the boundaries and see for himself if creation was worthy of cracking down on, and he couldn't do that if the only builder willing to go above and beyond decided that she was ready to throw in the towel.)
"Did you..." The builder's soft voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Did you ever tell your generals about our weaknesses?"
"Let me ask you this instead: are any of them still alive?"
The blonde shook her head.
Malroth gave a curt nod. "Then you have your answer. No, I didn't say anything to anyone. No one knows that I've spoken to you, nor that I knew your weaknesses to begin with. I kept that knowledge to myself."
"Can I ask why?"
"'Why' what?"
"Why are you being merciful to us? They're your men; why wouldn't you tell them everything you saw?"
Malroth grimaced. "Because even though yes, they are my men and they do deserve any advantage I can give them, someone already took it upon themselves to do that."
She blinked. "What do you mean?"
"There's a traitor among your ranks, Builder."
Her face fell. "Yeah, so I've heard."
"Then you've heard correctly. Someone within the castle walls has been watching your every move and feeding that information to some of my high-ranking officers. It wasn't until recently that I myself learned of this new development."
A gut-wrenching mix of defeat, exhaustion, and sadness bloomed on her face. "Who would do that? I've worked so hard to try and protect everyone... Who hates us so much that they would willingly betray our weaknesses?"
Just like that, Malroth's dislike for the blue-haired traitor increased tenfold. He didn't understand why her sadness affected him so, but he could understand how upsetting it was to learn that not all of her friends were on her side. She looked like she hadn't had a good night's rest in weeks, and maybe it was the lighting but she looked a little thinner, too. This girl was working herself into an early grave, and for what? For some cowardly, sniveling little rat to negate her every attempt to save their meager resistance? If that was what her efforts were repaid with, then the least he could do was even the score somewhat by not telling his generals what he knew.
"I... I don't know who it is." Another lie. This one tasted bitter on Malroth's tongue, but to be fair, he didn't know the traitor's name. He hadn't thought to ask. "But I do know that while I hate building, I hate traitors even more."
"Even so, I'm curious." The builder's eyes lifted to his, and he had the queer feeling that she was looking past his rough-and-tough exterior to the person underneath. "Why would you warn me? I thought you wanted to win this war. I mean, I know that the Children of Hargon have this whole never-ending war thing going on, but wars always have a victor, and you're clearly a warrior with lots of battle experience under your belt. Wouldn't you want any advantage you could get?"
He scowled at her, his hands coming to rest on his hips indignantly. "Let's get one thing straight: I don't need an advantage. I could wipe the floor with you in one shot."
"Then... then why not do it?" She instantly held up her hands in a 'whoa nelly' gesture: "And that's not me asking you to destroy us, by the way! I'm just asking, person to person."
Malroth didn't know what to say. He felt small and vulnerable under her sharp blue gaze, like he'd been caught with his hand in a cookie jar. She was right to question him, of course; after all, they were supposedly mortal enemies. Creation and destruction were meant to fight, to constantly be nipping at each other's heels. As Hargon had showed him time and again, both powers were constantly locked in battle, trying to tip the scale. Where creation sowed, destruction reaped, and vice versa. That was just the way of the world.
So why was he helping her? Why had he let her live the first time they'd officially met? He could have destroyed the castle and taken everyone as captives. He could have crushed her, or better yet, crushed everyone she cared about, then watched in satisfaction as the hope in her eyes died.
So why didn't he do any of those things? What had changed?
It wasn't like he was in love with her... whatever 'love' was, anyway. He didn't care about her... okay, so maybe that wasn't true. Part of him, a part so small that it was barely there, didn't want to see her get run into the ground. She wasn't mean, she didn't use building for bad things like Hargon had drilled into his head all these years, and she didn't make things for her own selfish gain. She was the epitome of goodness, he'd even say she was an avatar of righteousness, two things he was supposed to be against. He didn't know much about her, hell, this was only their second time officially meeting, so how was it that she'd managed to get him to question everything he knew in such a short time?
Maybe it was all the people who were happy. Malroth had once found despair and destruction awesome, but after a while, it wasn't funny or entertaining anymore. It was fun to smash things, sure, but the reactions that people had... He had yet to see someone make something and become saddened by their creation. Destruction only sowed feelings of anguish, bitterness, and hopelessness, but creation sparked hope, ambition, joy, things he had rarely experienced himself. Did destruction really bring him joy? Did it make him feel happy inside to see people sob and gnash their teeth in anguish? Lately, he kept coming to the conclusion that no, destruction didn't make him feel happy. It was a good way to vent his frustrations, but it wasn't exactly a hobby. There was a certain curiosity that creation inspired in him. He'd never explored the realm of building, not even with cooking or making weapons, so the builder had made a good point when she'd asked him: if you never try something, how do you know it's bad? He'd accepted Hargon's teachings without question; maybe he ought to give this building business a chance.
Back to the original question: why was he helping her? Maybe because he still had so many unanswered questions about creation. Maybe because he had yet to meet someone as genuinely kind and sweet as she was, someone without any selfish ambition or ulterior motives behind her actions; because for once in his life, someone had made him question everything he ever knew, and it wasn't a comfortable experience but it made him feel comfortable enough to admit that maybe destruction wasn't the saving grace Hargon claimed it was, and that maybe there was something else out there that was more fun than breaking things; because to see her work herself to the bone for so many ungrateful people, and to know that someone in her midst was planning who-knows-what against her sparked a fury in his heart that he didn't need to understand, only to act and protect her.
Protect... Now there was a word Malroth had never thought he'd use to describe another person, let alone a builder. Protect her... It had a nice ring to it...
A few heartbeats passed before the blonde spoke again. "Your highness?"
"Betraying your friends just so you get to save your own skin is low, even in my book," Malroth admitted. The builder was surprised to see anger flaring in his eyes, but it didn't seem to be directed at her, and for that, she was grateful. Malroth was not the kind of person she wanted to piss off. "One thing about me, Builder: I like fighting. Violence is a language I'm fluent in. Fighting dirty and having an unfair advantage... there's no honor in a battle like that. If I'm going to go toe-to-toe with you, it better be a fair fight or it's not a fight worth my time."
The builder couldn't help but smile at that. For all his supposed villainy, that was actually pretty noble of him.
"Well... Thank you," she said. "For confirming that there is indeed a spy among us, I mean; I kept thinking they were just rumors, but at least now I know for myself that it's more than just hear-say. I'll keep an eye out for whoever this person is. And to be honest with you, I'm not an expert on the battlefield like you are, but if you'd ever like to spar, I wouldn't mind it. Just as long as you don't lop off my head in the process. I like being alive, you know?"
There she went again, surprising him with genuine kindness and warmth. He wasn't sure how to respond to a true-blue thank-you; the only thank-you's he had ever received were colored by fearful cries. And the fact that she offered to spar with him? Willingly, no less? This girl was nothing short of an enigma.
Malroth didn't know what possessed him to do it, but he reached out a hand and touched her cheek. Her skin was cold and still slightly damp, her previous tears mostly dried by the frigid winds that occasionally swept through the castle. His nails, black and sharp like claws, looked strange against her milky skin, and he was careful to ensure they didn't accidentally dig into her face as his hand cupped her cheek, tilting her head up slightly so he could really look at her.
Her bright blue eyes were wide with shock and her whole body stiffened. He could practically see the questions running through her mind—why was he touching her face? What was he thinking about? What was he doing?—and while he could understand such inquiries, he didn't have answers for any of them. Why had he reached out to caress her cheek? It was a mystery even to himself, though he knew he certainly didn't want his touch to hurt her.
After a few heartbeats, she relaxed under the gentle gesture and grinned. "Is this you getting back at me for touching your arm earlier?"
Malroth chuckled, finally letting his arm drop back to his side. "I guess you could say we're even now."
"Your hands are soft."
Coming from anyone else, he would have taken that as an insult, but coming from her... He hoped the night hid the slight blush on his cheeks. "As are yours."
Before he summoned his magic to warp back to his room, he offered her a rare, genuine smile. "Be on your guard, Builder, and stay vigilant. Even though things look rough, don't give up hope. Atlas is massive, but even he has his weaknesses. Keep at it and you'll think of something."
When Malroth disappeared, the builder couldn't help but stare dumbly at where he'd been, glancing at the footprints he'd left behind. They were an assurance that no, she hadn't lost her mind, and yes, he'd been there, encouraging her and helping to rekindle that determined spark that had always helped her figure out the most challenging problems.
Why was he being kind to her? Why was he encouraging her? Why had he even helped her in the first place? She didn't get it; if Malroth was such a big bad, then why wasn't he acting like one?
Part of her wished she had had more time to speak with him, but he was gone now and she needed to return to her quarters before anyone noticed she had left. Knowing Warwick and Anessa would likely flip if they found out she'd gone outside without any escorts, she quickly wiped at her cheeks one final time to ensure no one could tell she had been crying and she went back inside, sneaking back to her room where her furniture was still messy from when she'd had her own mini freak-out.
As she pored over her notes again, she couldn't help but think about the supposedly evil prince. Admittedly, part of her couldn't help thinking about that smile he'd flashed her. Prince Malroth may have been evil, but he wasn't exactly hard on the eyes, and that boyish smile of his sure was charming and cute.
The prince felt a sense of deja vu as he lounged on his throne, his chin resting in the palm of his hand. He was bored out of his skull, and if he had to hear another "dispute" about whether or not one of the low-ranking monsters stole another monster's lunch, something would have to get blown up.
The throne room doors burst open and in strode Hargon, a wrecktor hot on his heels. The High Priest did not look pleased, and Malroth had a sneaking suspicion as to who could be behind such a stormy mood. Once the blue monster was before Malroth, he bowed low and swiftly.
"My Lord and Master," he greeted. "I bring you terrible news."
"Good-terrible or bad-terrible?" the prince asked, even though he already knew what the answer would be.
The High Priest raised his head, frustration clear in his eyes. "That pesky builder...!"
For some reason, Malroth wanted to laugh. He could feel an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and he forced himself to suppress it. He wasn't sure why he found it so funny that the builder had yet again gotten under the High Priest's skin, but it was still funny all the same. To think that such an adorable human could get such a powerful dark priest all in a tizzy was great.
Instead, he masked his chuckle with a cough and asked, "What has she done this time?"
"Our sneaky little spy was foiled by her," Hargon spat. "He led her into a trap and then got himself killed! The amateur..."
How is that her fault? Malroth wondered, but didn't dare voice his thoughts.
When he'd regained his composure, Hargon let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It is no matter. Atlas is one of our very best, and he will squash this pathetic rebellion once and for all."
The builder could only watch in horror as Warwick emerged from their numbers to join the monsters.
So, it had been him all along? He was the one who kept betraying secrets to the enemy and allowing monsters into the castle?
As her sword narrowly missed scraping his fur, the builder felt her lip tremble and a single tear slip from her eye. It wasn't supposed to be like this, but now that they had no choice...
The builder had fought countless battles ranging from scuffles to, well, outright warfare, yet nothing had ever prepared her for something like this. Maybe the prince had been onto something, maybe she really didn't know all that much about war, and that made sense. She was a builder, after all, not a fighter.
Fighter or not, when the blonde thought about the gravestones she'd had to create, the coffins she'd had to nail together, and the bodies she'd had to place inside said coffins, the tears and bitter weeping of her friends as they grieved more unnecessary losses in this blasted, endless fight to survive, anger lit up her veins and she fought her hardest.
In the end, Warwick perished. The builder didn't feel proud of having taken him down, but she vowed to never allow something like this to happen again.
Donning a thick cloak with a very large hood that obscured his face from onlookers, Malroth watched from afar as Atlas roared, the giant's club striking the ground and sending shock waves throughout the earth. His focus kept flickering between his general and the humans that were working their hardest to send him packing, and so far, they weren't doing too badly. A few dead soldiers lay on the battlefield, at least, Malroth was pretty sure they'd already bitten the dust... It was hard to tell from all the way up here. Some seemed to lay about longer than others before getting up, dusting themselves off, and getting right back into the thick of battle as if they'd never been injured to begin with, while others merely laid there unmoving. Were they dead or merely knocked out? The victor of this battle would be the true decider.
They'd been battling against Atlas for a good hour now, wave after wave of enemies mowed down by the Moonbrookians' might. Each of them wielded swords of fine quality, probably made by the builder herself. Malroth had to admit that her blacksmithing skills were superb; if she weren't a builder, he'd ask Hargon if they could commission her for weapons. Goddess knows his troops could use better stuff than the meager bone swords and wooden clubs they tended to use.
To Malroth's utter surprise (this girl had a knack for shocking him every time he encountered her), Moonbrooke Castle had a fancy new upgrade: it was a tower that blazed with magnificent power, its energy washing over him in waves. He was aware, on some level, that while the Moonbrookians were busy fighting off his troops, he could have gone up to that tower and smashed it to smithereens within a matter of seconds. After all, that was his supposed destiny, wasn't it? To smash and destroy... Yet each time he even considered so much as touching the tower, an image of the builder's tear-stained face flashed in his mind, and he squashed any thoughts of going near the tall structure.
There was a strategy against Atlas that seemed to be working, as far as he could tell. Malroth had already seen the builder fire a blast from the biggest mass of sparkling energy, right into the giant's eye, no less. Once Atlas was incapacitated, the Moonbrookians attacked him with all their might; he'd get back to his feet, roar in anger and agony from his wounds, and summon more troops, all the while jumping up and down to create shock waves that knocked the human soldiers off their feet. At one point, the prince had even seen Atlas become so enraged that he smashed his club into the ground in the builder's direction, hoping that the tremors would specifically target her and knock her down. Everyone had watched and held their breath as she dodged his attacks with ease. She was quick on her feet, sometimes even doing fancy little flips and cartwheels to give herself an extra boost to get out of harm's way.
After a few times, the builder and her army caught on to Atlas's attack patterns, and soon, they were making incredible progress, probably the most progress Malroth had ever seen anyone make against the fearsome general. In fact, they were cutting through waves of monsters like it was nobody's business, unconscious soldiers or not. They even had their own healers who helped those who had suffered particularly devastating blows. The builder was amazing and she made some pretty amazing friends during her escapades, that was for sure.
Atlas roared, causing the earth to tremble beneath his fury, and the prince's eyes honed in on a familiar set of sunshine-colored pigtails. He winced when one of the shock waves caught her off-guard. She was sent flying into the air, falling onto her back so harshly that even he could feel his own spine ache from watching the impact.
Her face twisted in agony and he watched a purple-haired soldier rush over to help her back to her feet, the builder exchanging a few words with her before returning her attention to the giant who had exhausted himself. She stuffed a medicinal herb into her mouth and rubbed at her backside before charging back into the fray to help a few soldiers who were already on the offensive, slashing and hacking away at the giant.
Come on, Builder, he thought, shifting forward a little so he could better view the battle. You can do this.
Suddenly, Atlas groaned from having suffered too much damage. He staggered, and the ground shook as he stumbled over his own feet.
"BUILDER!" Malroth's attention snapped to that same purple-haired soldier who had helped the blonde regain her bearings from Atlas's attack. "Quickly, you must use the Kazapple cannon against him!"
With a snap of her fingers, the builder warped to the very top of the tower. A few minutes later, a blast of raw power shot right into Atlas's eye, earning a pained scream from the giant as he collapsed to the ground one final time.
Malroth couldn't stop the small smile that formed on his mouth. He didn't hate Atlas and certainly didn't wish death on the monster, but he had to admit, this supposed Kazapple cannon was pretty amazing. He couldn't remember a time when the gigantic general had ever stumbled over himself. The humans had outdone themselves.
No, wait. This was all the builder's doing. She was the one who had outdone herself. Good goddess, every time he saw her, he gained more and more respect for her.
The Moonbrookians were quick to take advantage of the giant's fall, attacking him with all their might. Malroth watched as the builder backed away from the spent cannon, took off into a sprint, and unflinchingly jumped off the tower's edge, her windbreaker allowing her to soar right into the fray to help her friends. When Atlas had suffered enough damage, he succumbed to his wounds, disappearing in a purple plume of smoke. In his place glowed a rusty relic, and the Moonbrookians were quick to gather around it, all staring with wonder at the prize they'd achieved through Atlas's defeat.
Malroth didn't know what was said between them, but it was clear that everyone was in awe of the rusty trinket they'd won. The builder picked up the relic and then they all made a slow trek towards the castle, which had stood strong despite Atlas's best efforts to knock it all down. Many soldiers were limping and hobbling along, but not without a spring in their step. Moonbrooke, which had long been under siege and under the Children of Hargon's thumb, was free once more.
As she led her troops back to their place of refuge, Malroth could have sworn she glanced in his direction. There was no way she could see him from such a distance, but then again, he didn't know much about the extent of a builder's power. Maybe she had heightened vision? Could she sense him? Malroth suddenly felt uncharacteristically shy, which irritated him. Why should he feel shy when she happened to glance in his direction? He was the son of a god! There was no reason to feel small under her gaze, and why would he feel small, anyway? It was ridiculous and it caused him to tug at his hood self-consciously.
Regardless, her attention quickly returned to the relic in her hands as the soldiers quickly set to work on repairing whatever damage Atlas had caused. Bloody, bruised, and banged up as they were, Malroth didn't fail to notice that they all worked happily as if they didn't have any injuries to begin with.
He warped closer to the castle, careful to remain out of sight, and watched the builder at her workbench. Her pigtails had fallen out of their ties and she had a couple of ugly purple bruises on her face from having gotten hit a few times on the battlefield, but she seemed to be alright. He had to give her credit; she was tougher than she looked. The prince watched as she worked diligently, infusing the rusty piece of metal with a strange glowing light, and when it was all said and done, she held in her hands a relic no longer corroded and rusty.
No. Now it was beautiful. Malroth's mouth fell open in wonder as he stared at the now-glittering emblem of Moonbrooke, a glorious symbol of its residents' resilience and courage.
He watched her bring it to the front of the castle and affix it to the beacon, all of the castle's inhabitants looking on with pride, and just as the shiny token touched the beacon's surface, warmth quickly spread throughout the land. Ice and snow began to thaw somewhat, and in certain spots, greenery and flowers were revealed. The island was still cold, as was customary of its climate, but it wasn't nearly as bitter as Malroth had known it to be. There was a hopeful feeling in the air, a stark contrast to the aura of death that had accompanied every chilly breeze and every snowfall. This new Moonbrooke was filled with potential and peace; what was once a land of icy ruin and defeat could now become something even grander than before, and the beautiful castle was merely the beginning.
Malroth watched as each of the castle's residents closed their eyes, lifting their faces upwards to bask in the sunshine. Even the builder, bruised and battered as she was, reveled in the morning sun. It was a bright new day, a wonderful start to an even brighter future.
For some reason, Malroth couldn't help but grin. She'd done it again. She had defeated a seemingly impossible obstacle and obtained victory, and even though she had obtained victory over his very forces, part of him respected her for still choosing to fight even when she'd had her doubts. Had they fought, she would have been a worthy opponent indeed.
He didn't stay for the after-party, nor for the uproarious applause and cheers. Instead, he warped back to Hargon's realm feeling a strange sense of relief and worry. He was glad the builder had won, but now the big question remained:
How long until Hargon would suggest he take the builder down himself?
Hargon was on the verge of having an aneurysm.
Malroth had seen him freak out and throw hissy fits before, but never like this. The blue monster had never lost his cool to the point of stomping his feet, expletives exploding from his mouth, his face screwed up with unabashed fury. The prince simply looked on as his mentor lost his mind, and the irony of the situation was not lost on him: Hargon was more upset about Moonbrooke than he was. He knew he should be feeling the same way, but part of him felt... Numb? Was that the right word? He didn't feel unhappy about the builder achieving victory over the frozen island, but he also wasn't bursting with joy. He felt neutral. Indifferent, really. No matter what Hargon claimed about keeping people under their thumb, it didn't make a difference to him whether Moonbrooke fell or thrived.
What did make a difference was the young woman who helped Moonbrooke enter a new golden age.
For the past few days, Malroth kept ruminating over that moment when he'd reached out to touch the builder's cheek. How soft her skin had felt, her lips pink, cheeks red from the cold, bright blue eyes full of questions. Why had he touched her? And why did he want to protect her so badly? Wasn't he supposed to hate her?
Ugh, here I go again, he thought with a huff. Every time he so much as thought of the word 'build,' a heaviness would settle in the pit of his stomach, definitely a sign that this whole thing with building was an unresolved conflict within him, and he still had no idea what to think or feel about building.
Later that evening, when the prince was alone in his personal quarters, curiosity gnawed at him. It was likely that the builder had returned to that Isle of Awakening where all of her friends were waiting for her. What was she up to now? No, wait, that was a stupid question; she was building, probably. Wasn't that what she'd dedicated her life to? Of course she'd be making stuff, and of course she'd be making stuff for her friends. Nevertheless, he stole away towards their own personal war room, where various maps, weaponry, scribbles, diagrams, and paperwork sat. Malroth made a beeline for a crystal ball sitting idly in the middle of the table, and once he picked it up, the glass glowed, revealing little more than swirling fogginess inside.
"Show me the builder," he commanded.
The prince didn't have to wait long. Within a matter of seconds, the smoky interior cleared, and in its place was a land sprawling with lush fields and pretty buildings. Beyond the sparkling night skies and wondrous structures, he could see the builder sitting far from where a party was raging. Clearly the citizens of the Isle of Awakening were living it up and celebrating the builder's latest victory, so why wasn't she celebrating with them? Surely she'd love a digger's jigger or two; she'd certainly earned the right to party, and if Malroth was on her side, he'd probably be drinking enough for the both of them.
Even through the glass, he could tell she wasn't happy. The weight of the world was on her mind, much like it had been weighing on his own mind ever since the last time he'd spoken with her in Moonbrooke. For someone as cheerful and optimistic as she seemed, saving the icy island from its never-ending war hadn't brought her any joy or peace.
Part of him wanted to see her again. He wanted to hear her voice and ask more questions about building. He didn't know what it was that drew him to her, nor did he care at this point; all he knew was that he wanted to see her and that was that. So why not do it? What was the harm in visiting her? It wasn't like he had anyone to answer to, right?
With that, Malroth set the crystal ball down and grabbed his cloak. He had a celebration party to crash.