"Try to enjoy the night," Halsin had instructed Rodahn with a bemused smile before turning on his heel and striding away. With Halsin off to perform his diplomatic duties, Rodahn was left to navigate the ball on his own.

To Rodahn, the command was laughable. How could he possibly enjoy himself in this foreign land, surrounded by delicate figures who seemed to have none of the rugged vitality he was used to from his homeland? The people here, most barely reaching his chest in height, were a world apart from his own kin. Every time he approached, his orcish appearance—despite his meticulous grooming and the finest war gear he had donned for the occasion—elicited looks of disdain and avoidance. Hell even their idea of strong drink was a mere novelty to him, leaving him sober, irritable, and increasingly frustrated.

He prayed to Naxia that she'd just make the night go a little faster.

However, there was a silver lining to disastrous night he was experiencing: the palace gardens. In stark contrast to the frostbitten north, the vibrant greenery of Windrop's gardens was a breathtaking spectacle. Under the moon's pale light, the floating lanterns lining the serpentine paths cast a mesmerizing, colorful glow over the foliage and blooming flowers. The gardens offered a rare, tranquil escape from the clamor of the ball, a hidden sanctuary where Rodahn could momentarily forget his discontent, if just for a moment.

As he wandered deeper into the garden, the paths meandered like a labyrinth of greenery. All around him were high walls. Rodahn was so absorbed in the nature around him that he failed to notice someone approaching until it was too late. Instinctively, his large, calloused hands reached out to steady them, preventing a tumble to the ground.

Rodahn looked down upon the individual he had hit with a blend of surprise and concern, he gently grasped the smaller figure by the shoulders, righting them with a firm yet careful touch. “Sincere apologies,” he rumbled, his voice carrying a deep, resonant tone.