CHAPTER 240: RECONCILIATION

Right.

I hadn’t actually introduced Zivra to most of them. Back when we returned from the raid, I’d just said she was recovering in a tent, nothing more. No one had pressed further—probably assuming she was just another subdued Chosen waiting to be sorted out.

"Daughter of the former chief," I said simply, stepping aside so she could see her fully.

Flogga looked Zivra over with the same clinical detachment she used when inspecting stew meat. Not impressed. Not concerned. Just taking stock.

"Oh," she said flatly. Then after a pause, she gave a nod and turned back to her ladle.

"You too. Sit and eat."

But before Zivra could take a single step toward the circle of goblins, a sharp voice rang out from the edge of the gathering—loud, clear, and laced with disbelief.

"Zivra?!"

It was Nira.

She stood frozen at the edge of the clearing, her voice still lingering in the air. Gork was right behind her, one hand resting on her shoulder. His posture was stiff, his face unreadable, but the tightness in his jaw said enough. He didn’t look happy. Not one bit.

Zivra didn’t meet their eyes. She kept her head low and stepped forward slowly, as if each movement was a burden she had to carry.

When she got close, Gork instinctively stepped in front of Nira, shielding her with a single broad arm.

But Zivra didn’t protest.

She simply dropped to her knees in front of them, hands trembling as tears spilled freely down her cheeks, soaking the earth beneath her.

"I’m so sorry," she said, her voice breaking. "The two of you... I’m really sorry."

There was no defiance in her tone. No pride. Just raw, exposed regret.

Nira stepped forward, brushing Gork’s arm aside without a word. She didn’t hesitate. She knelt down beside Zivra and pulled her into a soft embrace, holding her like someone who had already made peace with the past.

"It’s alright," Nira whispered, her voice catching as her own tears welled up. "I understand."

The moment lingered—quiet, full of something unspoken.

Gork stood behind them, arms now crossed tightly across his chest. He turned away slightly, staring off into the trees. But even from the side, I could see the tension in his shoulders.

I warped next to him without a sound, materializing just to his side. He didn’t flinch, just kept staring into the distance.

I leaned in and spoke low, just for him.

"What about you?" I asked. "Do you forgive her?"

Gork exhaled slowly, tension bleeding from his shoulders as he relaxed his stance just a little. Then, with a calmness that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he said:

"If Nira forgives her, then I forgive her too."

But he wasn’t done.

He glanced back toward the two of them—Zivra still on her knees, Nira holding her tightly, both of them crying quietly into each other’s shoulders.

"...But if she ever lays a hand on Nira again," Gork continued, his voice colder now, "I might not be so willing next time."

Fair enough.

I gave a small nod.

"Don’t worry about that," I said, stepping beside him. "It won’t happen. Not without my permission."

That made him pause.

His head turned sharply toward me, his eyes narrowing.

"You got her to swear an oath?" he asked, surprised.

"Yeah."

His expression hardened, searching my face for the lie. "How’d you do it? What did you threaten her with?"

I smirked. "Didn’t have to. I used Talk no Jutsu."

He blinked. "Talk no... what?"

I shook my head, brushing off his curiosity with a half-smile.

"Forget about it. You wouldn’t understand."

Gork didn’t press further, but he kept staring at me with that same wary expression—like he was still trying to figure out if I was messing with him or if I’d actually had some unknown mental skill. A little bit of confusion, a little bit of suspicion.

To cut the tension before it settled deeper into the air, I took a step forward and raised my voice just enough for the others nearby to hear.

"Now that all of this is over," I said, glancing around, "why don’t we all sit down and have a proper meal?"

Some of the goblins nearby nodded, a few already scooping more stew into their bowls.

But before anyone could move, Zivra swayed where she knelt.

And then collapsed forward—straight into Nira’s arms.

Her body went limp, her head slumping against Nira’s shoulder as if every ounce of strength had finally drained from her system. It made sense. Her ability wasn’t just some flashy mental trick—it tore through her stamina like wildfire.

The only reason she’d stayed upright this long was sheer stubbornness.

Now that everything had calmed, now that there was nothing left to fight or run from, her body finally gave in.

Gork moved instinctively, kneeling beside them. He gently helped steady Zivra’s unconscious form, careful not to jostle her too much.

"We’ll watch over her," he said, voice low but firm.

I gave Gork a nod, watching as he and Nira gently lifted Zivra between them and carried her off.

With them gone, I turned and made my way toward Flogga.

She was still standing behind the stew pot, wiping her hands on a rag that had definitely seen better days. Her expression was unreadable, but I knew her well enough by now to sense when something was on her mind.

"By the way," I asked, coming to a stop beside her, "where are the others?"

"They’re watching over the camp," she said, stirring the pot without looking up. "Narg said anyone could attack at any time. Said it was best to be cautious and keep a few stationed outside."

I nodded. That sounded like Narg, always thinking three steps ahead.

"And Zarah?" I asked, a little too quickly, my voice giving away more than I intended.

Flogga gave me a quick side glance, clearly catching the shift in tone. "She’s out too. Took one of the patrol routes near the southern ridge."

I nodded again, slower this time. Good. That meant she was alright.

But Flogga didn’t stop there.

She narrowed her eyes and gave me a long, pointed look, like a mother sniffing out the scent of a lie.

"Did you two get into a fight?" she asked, voice calm but direct. "She looked... pissed when she came back earlier."

Of course...