The chieftain quickly turned his gaze toward Azalea. The flicker of guilt and nervousness in her eyes told him more than any spoken words could. Her hesitant reaction confirmed that what Orion was saying carried truth. His jaw tightened as his attention shifted sharply to the maidservant, a deep scowl creasing his weathered face.
"Where were you when all of this was happening?" he barked, his voice rumbling through the hall like thunder. "My daughter — alone by a stream and being attacked by a snake? That aside, she was alone and ran into a stranger who could have done far worse to her than any snake could?!"
A vein throbbed visibly on the side of the chieftain's neck, his anger barely restrained.
"I–I'm so sorry, Chieftain," the maidservant stammered, lowering her head immediately. "I must have been occupied with something when Mistress Azalea left the compound and went to… whatever stream this young man is talking about." Her tone was timid, almost pleading, but it did little to calm the storm brewing in her master's eyes.
"And what exactly..." the chieftain snapped, leaning forward, "could you have been so busy with, hmm? Your one responsibility — your only task — is to watch over her and ensure her safety. And yet you failed to do something so simple! Not once, but twice, it seems. Because if you had truly been doing your duty, we wouldn't be having this discussion right now, and my daughter would still have her innocence intact!"
The maidservant's lips trembled. Her hands gripped the sides of her dress tightly as she bowed her head even lower, shame washing over her. She dared not lift her eyes to meet his. The silence that followed was suffocating.
The chieftain exhaled harshly through his nose and then turned to face his daughter. His expression softened for a moment, though his disappointment remained heavy in his voice.
"And you, Azalea," he said sternly. "This isn't like you. Leaving the compound without your maidservant Stella, and then allowing this… this boy to take advantage of you?" His voice cracked slightly near the end, revealing the hurt beneath his fury.
He leaned back in his chair, a deep sigh escaping him. For a fleeting moment, the weight of fatherhood pressed on his shoulders, making him feel older than his years. Inwardly, he cursed himself for what he saw as his failure as a parent. Yet, as much as he wanted to address his daughter's behavior, there were more pressing matters to resolve. Orion's unfinished story hung in the air, demanding conclusion.
"We'll talk about your sudden change in behavior soon enough," he said, his tone firm again. "But right now…" His gaze snapped toward Orion, sharp and expectant. "Continue your story. Quickly. My patience wears thin."
Orion swallowed hard, straightened his posture, and cleared his throat. The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on.
"As I was saying," he began cautiously, "I saw the snake and immediately leaped into action. I was on the opposite side of the stream at first, but as soon as I realized the danger, I ran toward her as fast as I could. When I got close enough, I managed to draw the snake's attention away from her. It tried to attack me instead, but I was lucky — I managed to dodge its strike. I maneuvered around, grabbed it by the tail, and threw it as far as I could."
As Orion recounted the event, Azalea's mind flashed back to that exact moment. She remembered the blur of his movements — how effortlessly he had hurled the serpent away, his strength far greater than his lean frame suggested. For an instant, she'd stood frozen, stunned by both fear and awe. Even now, the memory of that display made her heart flutter uneasily.
"So you're telling me," the chieftain said, narrowing his eyes, "that you saved my daughter's life?"
"Yes, Chieftain," Orion replied, keeping his tone respectful. "That was how I met your daughter."
"And what happened after that?" the chieftain asked, his gaze cold and probing. There was an unmistakable edge in his voice — a clear expectation that Orion's answer would reveal something damning.
Truthfully, the chieftain no longer cared for the finer details. He wanted one thing and one thing only — a confession.
"After that," Orion continued, "she thanked me for helping her and asked what I was doing there."
"And what were you doing there exactly?" the chieftain pressed, his eyes narrowing even further.
Orion hesitated, his throat tightening. He had hoped to keep his experiments with the special oxygen-absorbing mud a secret — but now, his life might depend on his honesty. With a deep breath, he steadied himself and decided to speak plainly.
"You see…" he began, adopting a humble tone. "I came across a certain field not far from here — it had a mysterious type of soil with unique properties. For the past month, I've been developing breathing issues that have only gotten worse each day. Recently, it became unbearable — I could barely breathe without coughing, feeling burning sensations in my lungs, or itching all over my skin. Those symptoms only subsided when I stumbled upon that field, and after a bit of observation, I realized the soil there could somehow filter the air and make it breathable for me. I then applied it around my nose to help me breathe. That's what the mask I was wearing was for — it contained the special mud that keeps me breathing."
He paused for a moment before continuing. "After explaining this to your daughter, she kindly offered me a small container with a pleasantly scented cream or salve as a token of gratitude for helping her. She mentioned that I could use it to hold my mixture once I was done experimenting. Then, we parted ways. I haven't seen her since — not until today."
The chieftain's expression shifted from suspicion to intrigue, then hardened again. His eyes narrowed as a thought struck him.
"Wait a minute," he muttered.
"Yes, Chieftain?" Orion asked, anxiety creeping into his voice.
"What field are you talking about — this field with 'special soil'?" the chieftain asked, his tone heavy with warning. "The only field around this area that matches that description is the one to the west, just a few clicks from here."
Orion froze for a heartbeat. "Umm… yes, that's the one, Chieftain."
At once, the chieftain's eyes widened. He rose halfway from his seat, his expression darkening into a deep frown.
"So you're the one responsible for ruining that field of flowers — the very one I personally tended to and cared for!" His voice thundered through the hall, startling even Samuel and Marcel, who stood by Orion's side.
Orion's breath hitched as he instinctively stepped back, his pulse quickening.
The chieftain has ties to that field? Orion realized with horror. The same field from which he'd collected the oxygen-absorbing mud? Cold sweat prickled the back of his neck.
"Because of your reckless actions," the chieftain continued furiously, "you uprooted the flowers and dug into the soil as if it were your personal playground! Do you have any idea how much effort went into cultivating that land? The harmony, the color, the beauty — all destroyed because of your carelessness! The look I was going for, the balance of that field — ruined! I had to abandon all my plans for it because of you! Do you have the faintest idea how furious that makes me?!"
His words struck like hammers, each one driving Orion further into panic. The young man opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. He could only bow his head slightly, guilt and dread mixing in his stomach.
Less than six feet away, Xander watched with barely concealed amusement. The corners of his lips curved into a sly smile. Seeing Orion walk himself into even deeper trouble was pure satisfaction. It was poetic justice, he thought — after all, Orion had embarrassed him, stolen from him, and now fate was returning the favor.
Meanwhile, Orion's chest tightened. His thoughts were a frantic blur — he'd only wanted to explain himself, to tell the truth, yet somehow he'd dug himself into a pit. Between the chieftain's wrath, Azalea's lies, and Xander's hidden grin, he felt the walls closing in.
And this time, there would be no easy way out.