Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If anyone told Steve Palchuck that trolls were real, he would’ve laughed, called them nerds, and maybe shoved them into a locker just for fun.

 Monsters? Magic? Secret worlds under our feet? Please.

That was Eli Pepperjack-level nonsense.

You know the type—wide-eyed, twitchy, always carrying around a notebook full of “sightings” and drawing eyes in the margins.

Steve used to shove guys like that into trash cans.

He wasn’t that dumb.

He knew the difference between real and not real.

Just as he walked inside home—eyes on his phone, thinking about what leftover Chinese might still be in the fridge —

WHAM.

He froze.

CRASH.

The sound was coming from the basement.

Steve let out a long, drawn-out sigh, rolling his eyes.

“Raccoons. It’s always raccoons.”

He slammed his phone into his pocket and grabbed the broom by the door, already halfway to the basement.

This wasn’t his first time dealing with animal noise. Last time it was squirrels making a mess of the attic.

Easy fix.

No, what Steve found instead were two massive blue creatures, towering over him in the dim light of the basement. One of them was already taking slow, deliberate steps toward him.

“Master Steve, is ni—”

Before it could finish, Steve’s heart hammered in his chest. With a shout, he swung the broom at the creature, the bristles crashing against its chest with a dull thud.

It didn’t even flinch.

“What the hell are you?” Steve yelled, eyes wide as he backed up, grip tightening around the broom’s handle.

The creature’s glowing eyes stared down at him, calm and unblinking.

“No need to fear us, Master Steve,” it said in a deep, polite voice. “My name is Blinky, and beside me is my compatriot, known as AAARRRGGHH!!!”

The other creature - much larger and with a wide toothy smile, - raised a massive hand and waved.

Steve screamed.

Not a brave, action-hero kind of scream. A full-on, high-pitched, what-the-fuck-is-going-on -in-my-life scream.

Then he hurled the broom at them like a javelin and turned to run for the stairs—Only to slip on the second step and fall flat on his back with a loud thud.

His head hit the floor. The world spun.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna get eaten,” he gasped, trying to crab-walk away. “By—whatever you are! Mutant smurfs? Basement yetis?”

The big one—AAARRRGGHH!!!—looked offended.

The smaller one stepped forward, hands raised peacefully “We do not eat humans, Master Steve. That would be barbaric.”

Steve blinked. “Okay, so... basement aliens, then?”

Blinky blinked.

“Aliens?” he echoed, tilting his head.

“Yes,” Steve said firmly, as if that made the situation better. “You’re blue, huge, and in my basement. That’s alien behavior, dude.”

AAARRRGGHH!!! looked at Blinky. Blinky looked at AAARRRGGHH!!! There was a long pause.

“We are not aliens,” Blinky said gently, like he was correcting a very excitable toddler. “We are trolls.”

Steve stared.

Then he laughed. Once. Loud and sharp.

“Trolls. Right. Like, internet trolls? Or the kind that live under bridges? Because if you tell me I need to answer riddles to survive, I will throw another broom.”

“We are the kind that live under your town,” Blinky said.

“Okay, nope,” Steve interrupted, throwing up a hand. “I hit my head. That’s what this is. I’m concussed. I’m hallucinating. Probably from the expired sweet and sour chicken.”

AAARRRGGHH!!! tilted his head. “No... chicken here.”

Steve let out a groan and flopped back onto the floor, one hand gripping his forehead as he stared up at the basement ceiling.

“Okay, okay. I’m losing it. I’m officially losing it,” he muttered, staring up at the bare lightbulb overhead like it was going to explain things. “Blue monsters? Trolls? Did I get hit by a truck in my sleep? Am I in a coma?”

“No coma,” Blinky said gently, looking a little sad at Steve’s mental breakdown. “You are awake, Master Steve. And you are very important.”

Steve shot a disbelieving look at Blinky. “I’m important? To who? My mom?”

“No,” Blinky said seriously, “to the world.”

Steve blinked a few times, processing that. “Wait... what?”

“Exactly,” Blinky said. “You are the chosen one. The amulet—”

“Oh, not the amulet again,” Steve groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. “What is this, a fantasy novel? Did I get trapped inside a really bad Dungeons & Dragons game?”

“We are serious,” Blinky said, stepping closer, his glowing eyes earnest. “The amulet of Daylight challenges you to ascend to the most sacred of offices.”

Steve blinked, processing what Blinky had just said, then rubbed his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Yes, I am in a coma," he muttered, barely containing his frustration. "This is all a dream. There's no way this is real. Blue trolls? A glowing amulet? I'm just lying in a hospital bed somewhere, dreaming about some messed-up fantasy."

Blinky stepped closer, his expression softening with sympathy. "Master Steve, this is real. You are awake, and you have been chosen."

"Chosen for what?" Steve asked, already feeling like his brain was about to explode from the confusion. "To get eaten by giant trolls in my basement? What is this, a nightmare?"

“You are not just chosen, Master Steve,” he said solemnly. “You are the Trollhunter.”

Steve blinked up at him, mouth parting. “The what now?”

“The Trollhunter,” Blinky repeated, eyes glowing gently. “Protector of both our realms. Defender of balance. And the first... of human kind.”

Steve just stared.

Then, finally: “...Nope. I’m going back upstairs. I’m gonna play with my Xbox and pretend this never happened.”

He got up, brushed himself off like he hadn’t just screamed like a cartoon character, and started up the stairs.

“Master Steve, wait—please!” Blinky called after him, hurrying a few steps forward. “You cannot simply walk away from destiny! The amulet chose you—that is not something to ignore!”

Steve didn’t even glance back. “Watch me.”

“It is your duty! You are the first human Trollhunter in history!”

“Cool. I’ll put it on my college applications.”

Behind him, AAARRRGGHH!!! gave a small, hopeful wave.

“Bye, Trollhunter,” he said, with a big, goofy smile.

Steve paused halfway up the stairs, groaned louder, and dragged a hand down his face.

“I’m gonna need more than leftover Chinese to deal with this,” he muttered. “Like… therapy. Or a priest. Or both.”

Chapter Text

The alarm blared.

Steve groaned and flopped an arm out, smacking the clock until the noise stopped. For a few blissful seconds, he let himself pretend everything was normal.

Then he rolled over.

And saw it.

The amulet.

Just sitting on his bedside table.

Not glowing. Not humming. Just... there. Solid and silent. Like it belonged.

He stared at it.

It stared back. Figuratively.

Steve let out a tired sigh and flopped onto his back, arms spread wide. “Great,” he muttered to the ceiling. “Still real.”

He didn’t touch it. He didn’t want to touch it. Just looking at it was enough to make his stomach twist.

The events of last night came rushing back in waves—blue trolls, basement chaos, being called the chosen one like he was in some knockoff fantasy movie. He buried his face in his pillow and groaned.

“Please let this be a prank,” he mumbled into the fabric. “A weird, elaborate, very stupid prank.”

The amulet didn’t respond.

Of course, it didn’t.

He stayed like that for a while. Face buried, pillow slowly getting warm under his cheek. Maybe if he lay there long enough, the universe would rewind itself. Maybe he’d wake up and none of it would’ve happened.

But eventually, the alarm on his clock blared again. Second snooze. No more grace.

Steve groaned and rolled over, slapping at the screen until it shut up. “Fine, fine, I get it. Reality wins.”

He swung his legs out of bed, his feet hitting the floor with a dull thud. His eyes flicked to the amulet.

“You better not do anything weird today,” he warned it. “No buzzing. No visions. No 'chosen one' speeches.”

The amulet, once again, refused to comment.

He arranged his hair neatly, putting gel in it as always, grabbed his backpack, and hesitated.

He looked at the amulet again. Just for a second. And for a brief moment, it felt like the room itself was holding its breath, like something was waiting. He couldn’t shake the strange feeling that he was being watched.

With an annoyed grunt, he scooped it off the table and shoved it into his pocket.

“Only because I don’t want the government showing up and dissecting me or something,” he muttered, shoving the amulet deeper into his backpack. “Not because I believe any of this garbage.”

And with that, he headed downstairs.

His morning routine was almost painfully normal. Scrambled eggs. A protein smoothie with barely enough fruit to cut the taste. The kind of breakfast that stuck to a routine he didn’t question much. One that had been expected of him for years.

No one else around. No footsteps upstairs. No reminders to pack lunch or brush his teeth. Not since his mom flew out for another work trip—some overseas conference with a name Steve couldn’t even pronounce. She’d left a note on the fridge and dropped money onto his credit card with a “Don’t order too much takeout :)” scribbled in the corner. Classic. Another trip, another week.

So, it was just him.

Every so often, he caught himself glancing at the sink like the blue trolls might pop out of it. Or the back window, expecting to see them. 

But after leaving them in the basement last night, locked, there had been nothing. No movement. No weird glowing. No polite monster greetings.

Just silence.

Steve muttered under his breath as he rinsed his bowl, trying to shake the thoughts from his head. “Maybe they left,” he muttered again, the words not quite sounding convincing. The whole troll thing, the basement mess—it all felt like something that belonged in a movie, not his life.

“Yeah, sure. A hallucination,” he snorted, wiping his hands on a towel. “Bad takeout or whatever. Not real.”

But even as he said it, he knew that wasn’t entirely true. The weight of the amulet in his backpack was a constant reminder that something weird had happened. That something was still lingering. A nagging sensation that refused to go away, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.

The feeling that something wasn’t right, something was watching him… it lingered in the background like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

He let out a frustrated breath, as if trying to blow away the weirdness hanging over him. “Whatever. I’m not dealing with this right now.”

With that, he moved on, focusing on the next thing. He wasn’t going to sit around all day obsessing over trolls and glowing amulets. He had to get to school. He had to just… keep going.

Steve made his way to the garage, trying to clear his head. The normality of grabbing his helmet and heading out to his Vespa felt oddly comforting, even if it didn’t fully push away the strange, gnawing feeling.

The engine roared to life with a familiar hum. He revved the throttle, pulling out of the driveway and down the street, pretending, for just a moment, that everything was fine.

By the time lunchtime arrived, Steve had managed to push everything from last night to the back of his mind. His head was wrapped up in the comfort of normalcy—Spanish with Señor Uhl, math equations with Miss Janeth, and a morning that hadn’t been interrupted by trolls or glowing amulets. He felt lighter as he grabbed his lunch tray, the hum of the cafeteria reminding him of how much simpler things used to feel.

But the hum of the cafeteria didn't quite drown out the small voice in the back of his head. The amulet still weighed down his backpack, a constant, silent reminder that everything wasn’t as normal as it seemed.

He found Logan and Seamus at their usual table, both of them deep in conversation about the latest game or some other random topic he couldn't quite follow. It didn’t matter. They were friends, and the chatter was a welcome distraction.

For a brief moment, Steve felt like he could breathe again. Here, there was no amulet. No trolls. Just... high school.

“So, Steve,” Seamus said, pushing his tray aside, “you ready for the play?”

Steve took a seat, dropping his tray onto the table with a loud clatter. He didn’t need to think twice. “Of course. I’m Romeo, aren’t I?” He leaned back, grinning smugly. “Who else could pull it off? They’ve basically been begging me to take the role.”

Logan snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, sure, Steve. You’re the only one who could pull it off.”

“Exactly,” Steve said, winking at him. “I mean, who else would have the charisma? The... presence? I’ve got it all. And Claire as Juliet? The chemistry is going to be off the charts.”

Seamus raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh, she’s definitely got everyone’s attention with that role. You think she’s trying to get the whole school to come watch?”

Steve nodded without missing a beat. “Of course, she is. She knows the whole thing is going to be a hit with me in the lead. Juliet’s a great part, but let’s be real—Romeo’s the one everyone remembers.”

Logan leaned in, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, you’re that confident, huh?”

Steve shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’m basically born to be on stage. Everyone’s gonna want to see me, and Claire? She’ll be fine. But let’s face it—nobody’s paying attention to Juliet when I’m up there.”

Seamus laughed, shaking his head. “Man, you’re ridiculous. But yeah, I guess I see where you’re coming from. You’ve got the whole ‘leading man’ vibe down. I’m just curious how you’re gonna pull off that whole ‘love-struck Romeo’ thing.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “Love-struck? Please. It’s acting. I’ve got it covered. I’ll make it look so effortless; people will be wondering if she’s secretly in love with me. After all, everyone loves the Palchuk.”

Seamus and Logan exchanged a glance, both cracking a grin. Logan shook his head. “Man, you’re something else.”

Seamus laughed. “Yeah, well, if anyone could pull off making Juliet fall for him, it’d be you.”

Steve stood up, gathering his tray with a confident smirk. “Exactly. I’ll be up there, playing it cool, and before you know it, Claire will be all ‘Romeo, Romeo’—and then boom. The show’s mine.”

Logan shrugged, still grinning. “Sure thing, Steve. If anyone can make it happen, it’s definitely you. Just try not to actually fall for her, alright?”

Steve waved him off with a casual flick of his hand. “Please. I’ve got more important things to focus on. Like making this play legendary. But hey, I’m not complaining if Claire gets a little... distracted along the way.”

The bell rang, conversations and clattering trays with its shrill declaration: lunch was over.

Steve rose from the table with a stretch and a lazy grin, tossing his tray onto the return rack like a basketball free throw—nothing but net. Logan and Seamus called something after him, but he didn’t catch it. Didn’t need to. He was already halfway down the hallway, riding that post-lunch swagger.

This was his world.

The halls were alive in that usual chaotic rhythm—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, teachers yelling things like “Let’s go, Mr. Alvarez!”—but for Steve, it was all just background music. His soundtrack. A victory lap.

“Palchuk!” someone called from near the trophy case, and that was all it took.

He slowed his step just enough to collect the attention like it was owed to him. A trio of guys crowded around, eyes wide like he was some kind of living legend—which, honestly, wasn’t far off.

“That three-pointer you hit last night?” one of them said, awe in his voice. “You floated, man.”

Steve grinned and held out a hand. High five. “Gotta give ‘em a show, right?”

Another chimed in. “That reverse layup? Chef’s kiss.”

“Appreciate the love,” Steve said smoothly, offering a second high five without breaking stride. “All in a day’s work.”

He kept moving, catching a few more nods, smirks, and finger guns as he passed clusters of students. Someone clapped him on the back in passing. Another kid held out a fist bump. It was the kind of effortless admiration Steve lived for—and today, it felt especially good. Like a reset button had been hit.

No trolls. No glowing amulets. Just his name echoing down the hallway for all the right reasons.

This was his lane. He wasn’t going to drift off into weird basement fantasy stuff again. Not today.

He adjusted his backpack, felt the amulet shift, and didn’t flinch.

Just a normal day in school.

The rest of the day blurred by in a haze of half-listened lectures and half-hearted note-taking. Steve showed up, answered when called on, and even tossed out a joke or two.

Everything was going smoothly—until the final bell rang.

Chairs scraped back. Lockers slammed open. The usual chaos poured into the halls, loud and familiar.

Steve didn’t linger. He didn’t stop by his locker or joke with Logan and Seamus on the way out. Didn’t even give Pepperjack the usual shove into his locker.

Just a quick wave, and he slipped out of the crowd, moving faster than usual.

He was already in a hurry, but there was something different about the way he felt now, as if the weight of the amulet and the chaos of the night before were slowly building up again. Maybe it was just nerves. But maybe it was something else. The normalcy of the day felt like it had been masking something that was still there—waiting.

He made it to the gym earlier than he needed to. The doors creaked as he pushed them open. The court was empty, lights were on, and the air was still and cool.

He dropped his bag by the bleachers, grabbed a ball, and started shooting.

Nothing dramatic—just layups, free throws, the simple rhythm of movement. He didn’t look at the clock. Didn’t need to. He just kept going.

There was something about the echo of the ball, the familiar grip of the court under his shoes, that helped settle the noise in his head. It wasn’t about warming up.

It was about staying here, a little longer than usual.

That’s all.

The final whistle blew, signaling the end of practice. Steve wiped the sweat from his forehead and jogged over to the sidelines, his body aching from the drills but feeling the familiar rush of endorphins that came with the game.

Coach Lawrence stood by the bleachers, arms crossed and eyes scanning the team. “Alright, good work today, but don’t get complacent,” he called out. “We’ve got a lot of work ahead. Keep practicing on your own time, and make sure you’re on time for the next session. Got it?”

A chorus of nods and muttered "Yes, Coach" echoed through the gym. Steve barely registered the words as they bounced off him. The usual post-practice energy wasn’t there. The reality of what waited for him outside the gym—what was waiting at home—was starting to creep back into his mind.

“Palchuk!” Coach’s voice snapped him back to attention. “You still here?”

Steve turned, blinking away his distracted thoughts. “Yeah, Coach?”

“Don’t forget what I said,” Coach added with a nod, clearly aware of Steve’s usual intensity. “You’re a key player, and you need to keep your head in the game. The rest of the team is looking to you.”

“Of course.” Steve gave a quick nod, though it felt more like an automatic response than anything genuine.

He grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder with a familiar ease. His Vespa was parked just outside, waiting. As much as he wanted to stay and shoot a few more baskets, the thought of going home—of sitting alone with the growing weight of everything he was avoiding—was far more unbearable.

The gym doors creaked as he pushed through them, stepping into the cool night air. The streetlights had already flickered on, casting long shadows along the pavement. Steve didn’t even hesitate, just heading straight for his Vespa. He had become almost mechanical in the way he moved, trying not to think, trying not to feel.

The engine hummed beneath him, and the cold night air swept past Steve as he zipped down the quiet street, the soft light of the streetlamps casting long shadows on the pavement. He leaned into the turns, trying to lose himself in the rhythm of the ride.

For a moment, he almost managed to forget—forget about the amulet in his backpack, about the weirdness that had come crashing into his life. This was just him and the open road, heading nowhere in particular, trying to outrun the thoughts that were never too far behind.

But then…

A noise. Low, guttural, and growing louder.

Steve’s head snapped around. The dark street was empty, the buildings a blur on either side. He wasn’t imagining it.

The sound of something heavy crashing through the shadows reverberated in his chest.

His heart skipped a beat.

Before he could even process what was happening, a massive shape lunged from the darkness. It emerged from behind a row of trees, blocking his path. The thing was huge, its rough, black skin glistening in the dim light of the streetlamps, sharp swords strapped on its back. Its red eyes pierced through the night, locking on him like a predator.

A fucking troll.

With fucking massive swords.

Steve’s stomach dropped. His mind raced—this couldn’t be real, not again. But the growl that echoed through the night left no room for doubt. His Vespa screeched in panic as he swerved, narrowly avoiding the beast’s outstretched claws.

The troll let out a roar that vibrated through Steve’s bones as it charged after him, feet pounding the ground like thunder. Adrenaline surged through Steve’s veins, and instinct took over.

He gripped the throttle harder, pushing the Vespa faster, weaving between the trees and trying to outrun the beast. His heart hammered in his chest, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. The streetlights blurred past, but the heavy footsteps of the troll were gaining on him.

A sharp crack echoed as the troll slashed at the back of the Vespa, its claws scraping against the rear fender. The bike jerked violently, but Steve managed to steady it, pushing it to its limits.

He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. He had to keep moving.

A street ahead, the road split—he could either take the shortcut through the alleyway or keep going. Without thinking, he veered toward the alley, hoping the narrow turns would make it harder for the troll to follow.

But the creature was relentless. It growled, its heavy body barreling after him, barely dodging the obstacles in its path. Steve’s hand tightened around the handlebars as the alley came closer, the space between the walls narrowing with every second. He couldn’t hear the troll anymore, but he could feel it. Its presence was like a weight in the air.

He didn’t have time to think. Didn’t have time to plan.

He turned hard at the last moment, narrowly avoiding a metal dumpster, but the troll wasn’t so quick. The creature’s arm shot out, knocking over the dumpster with a deafening crash as it closed in.

Steve’s heart was in his throat. Every instinct screamed at him to keep going, to get away, but the troll’s footsteps were growing louder. Closer.

His mind flashed back to the amulet in his bag—his only connection to the strange world he was now a part of. What if it could help? Could it stop this thing?

But the thought was fleeting. He had no idea how to use it. Not yet. All he could do was run. Keep running.

The alley ended ahead, and there was no turning back. With one last, desperate push, Steve yanked the handlebars, swerving the Vespa around the corner.

The roar echoed behind him, fading into the night. But Steve didn’t need to look back to know the truth.

The trolls were real. The amulet was real. And whatever world he’d stumbled into... it wasn’t letting go.

“Yup,” he muttered to himself. “Definitely not just bad takeout.”

Chapter Text

Steve’s Vespa skidded to a stop near the edge of town, tires squealing as he jerked it onto the curb. He didn’t bother with the kickstand—just let it fall as he stumbled off, hands on his knees, chest heaving.

His brain felt like static. His legs were jelly. Every instinct in his body was screaming one thing: run.

He ran a hand through his hair, sweaty, wild, half-matted from the helmet. He looked like a mess. Felt worse.

A voice rang out behind him.

"Master Steve!"

Steve screamed.

A sharp, high-pitched yelp tore out of him before he could stop it. He whipped around, practically jumping out of his skin, hands half-raised like he was ready to fight or run or both.

He froze for a second, eyes wide, heart hammering. Then, in a panic-fueled blur, he snapped, “You again, what the—?! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Blinky’s multiple eyes blinked rapidly. “Oh! I... I apologise, Master Steve. I did not mean to startle—”

“Yeah, well, you did!” Steve cut him off, voice still high and breathless. “Some six-foot murder beast with swords just tried to kill me! It was huge and crazy and I thought I was gonna die! Do you even realize what just happened?!”

Blinky’s eyes lit up with a mix of horror and awe. “You went against Bular—and you’re still alive?!” He clapped all four hands together, positively buzzing. “I knew it! I knew you had potential, Master Steve! This is extraordinary! I knew you had potential!”

Steve blinked, shaking his head. “Bular? Who the hell is Bular?! I don’t know what that thing was—I was just running for my life!” He took a few staggered steps back, glancing over his shoulder like he expected it to pounce out of the trees. “I barely got away! And now you're telling me I fought something named Bular?!”

“He’s not just anything,” Blinky said breathlessly. “He’s one of the most dangerous trolls alive. And you... you survived.”

Steve stared at him like he’d grown another head. “No. Nope. I don’t like that sentence at all.” He ran both hands down his face. “I didn’t sign up for this! I just wanted to survive—not get recruited into—whatever this is!”

“You’ve been chosen!” Blinky insisted. “The amulet found you for a reason. You are the new Trollhunter!”

Steve let out a shaky laugh—part disbelief, part survival instinct—and dropped to his knees. He yanked open his backpack and fished out the glowing amulet like it was a cursed rock. He shoved it into Blinky’s chest.

“Then take it back!” he snapped. “I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t ask to be chosen!”

Blinky caught the amulet, stunned. “But—Master Steve—”

“I’m not your 'Master'! I’m just a guy who almost died in a parking lot!”

Suddenly, the ground rumbled. A deep, distant growl rolled through the trees.

Steve froze.

“No, no, no—”

CRASH.

Trees snapped like matchsticks as something massive tore its way through.

Aaarghh moved like lightning. One massive hand scooped Steve up around the waist, hoisting him like a rag doll.

“Whoa—HEY—WAIT—WHAT—” Steve flailed as he was lifted onto the troll’s broad back. “I don’t want a piggyback ride—I WANNA LIVE!”

“Hold on,” Aaarghh said, already charging forward like a battering ram.

“To the Heartstone Trollmarket!” Blinky shouted.

“The WHAT now?!" Steve yelled, clinging for dear life. "That sounds fake!”

“It’s a hidden refuge! You’ll be safe there!”

“I don’t care what it is, just GET US THERE FAST!”

Behind them, Bular’s roar echoed like thunder.

Suddenly, Steve’s eyes widened. “Wait! My Vespa! I just got that thing!” He twisted around, still trying to peer over Aaarghh’s massive back. “You can’t just leave it! What if it gets destroyed?!”

Aaarghh huffed but didn’t stop. “It’s just a thing, little one. Life is more important.”

“But it was my Vespa!” Steve yelled, his frustration growing. “I worked for that! I—!”

“There’s no time!” Blinky huffed. “We’ll retrieve your Vespa later!”

“This is the WORST DAY of my life!”

They tore through suburban streets, Steve bouncing wildly on Aaarghh’s back. Sprinklers spun. Wind chimes jingled. Mailboxes exploded.

“I CAN'T FEEL MY SPINE!” Steve yelled, bouncing with every step. “WHY ARE WE IN MY NEIGHBOURHOOD?!” Steve screamed.

Aaarghh thundered down the street, his massive feet cracking pavement with each stride. Steve clung to his back, knuckles white, legs flailing as he bounced with every jolt.

“Shortcut!” Blinky said, swinging onto a fence and vaulting like a very enthusiastic librarian.

“WE’RE BEING CHASED BY A LITERAL MONSTER AND YOU’RE PARKOURING?!”

The pavement ended. Woods swallowed them whole.

Branches slapped Steve in the face as they tore through the forest.

“I have an IMPORTANT QUESTION!” Steve shrieked. “WHY ARE WE RUNNING?! YOU'RE BUILT LIKE A BRICK WALL! JUST-I DON'T KNOW-FIGHT HIM!"

“I’m a pacifist,” Aaarghh rumbled.

Steve blinked. “You’re a WHAT?!”

“A pacifist,” Aaarghh repeated calmly, ducking under a low branch.

Steve’s scream practically split the trees. “ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!”

“This is why we need a Trollhunter!” Blinky called back.

Steve whipped around, red-faced and clinging to Aaarghh’s back like a terrified backpack. “THEN GET ONE!"

”“You are one!” Blinky shouted. “And Aaarghh doesn’t fight anymore!”

“What?!” Steve's voice cracked. “You—” he gestured vaguely behind him at the massive troll carrying him like a sack of flour, “—you’re built like a tank and you’re telling me you don’t fight?!”

Aaarghh rumbled calmly, ducking under another tree. “Fighting... not always answer.”

“OH MY GOD,” Steve wailed. “Well it’s a great time to be morally enlightened, buddy! There’s a murder troll literally chasing us with SWORDS!”

Blinky huffed. “Which is exactly why the amulet chose a Trollhunter! Some are born to fight, some to protect, and some—” he glanced at Aaarghh with a touch of reverence, “—choose peace.”

Steve, hair in his eyes and panic in every bone, screamed into the wind. “I CHOOSE BURRITOS! WHY CAN’T I CHOOSE BURRITOS?!”

Suddenly, everything opened up.

They burst out of the forest like a freight train off the rails, tumbling onto the cracked edge of the old canal. The sudden change in terrain sent Steve bouncing on Aaarghh’s back like a sack of flour in a high-speed chase.

Aaarghh skidded to a stop at the water’s edge, gravel crunching underfoot. Blinky leapt ahead, darting toward the far wall, took out from his many pockets a glowing crystal. 

“I’ve been here,” Steve muttered, his voice small beneath the rush of panic and memory. “This is where I found it... the amulet. It was just sitting there. Glowing.”

Blinky didn’t pause. “That was no coincidence. The amulet called to you. It chose you.”

“I didn’t ask to be chosen!” Steve shot back.

Another roar ripped through the forest behind them—closer. Too close.

Without warning—

WHHRRRR-THUNK!

A massive sword came flying out of the trees like a spinning slab of death, slamming down between them with an earth-shattering crack. The canal floor shattered under the impact, chunks of concrete flying. The force blasted a shockwave outward, knocking Steve clean off Aaarghh’s back.

He hit the ground hard, skidding across the cracked concrete, the world spinning in a blur of pain, dust, and panic.

“MASTER STEVE!” Blinky shouted, scrambling toward him, but the gap the sword created was wide and jagged.

Steve groaned, pushing himself up on shaky arms. His helmet had been knocked clean off, now lying cracked a few feet away. Dirt smeared across his face, his limbs screaming in protest. Before he could even catch his breath—

THOOM.

The ground shuddered.

THOOM.

Steve’s head snapped up.

Out of the treeline, a massive shadow launched into the air. For a split second, Steve saw it—hulking, horned, glowing with fury and fire.

Then—

CRASH!

Bular landed right in front of him, concrete shattering beneath his feet like glass. The impact nearly threw Steve back again. Dust and debris exploded around them in a choking cloud.

Bular stood tall—monstrous, burned, and very much alive. His eyes locked on Steve like a predator ready to end the chase.

“Nowhere left to run, little Trollhunter,” he growled, stepping forward, dragging his other sword behind him, sparks flying where it scraped.

His heart pounded in his chest as he glanced back toward the looming form of Bular, still closing the gap between them. Steve couldn’t think—couldn’t focus—could barely hear Bular’s taunts over the roar in his ears.

A sudden voice pierced the noise.

“Catch!” Blinky’s voice rang out, sharp and clear.

Without thinking, Steve’s hand shot up. Out of pure instinct, he caught the amulet as it sailed toward him. His fingers closed around it—and in that moment, something surged through him. Raw. Electric. Ancient.

It wasn’t just power.

Something was waking up.

A roar tore through the air.

Bular was already there, sword raised, fury blazing in his eyes as he swung with everything he had—aiming straight for Steve’s head.

Time slowed.

Steve didn’t know how he knew. Didn’t understand it. But in that instant, his mouth moved on its own. The words rose like a memory that wasn’t his—and left his lips.

"For the Glory of Merlin, Daylight is mine to command."

The amulet exploded with light.

A blinding burst of blue and gold flared out like a miniature sun, slamming into Bular with the force of a freight train made of starlight. His sword stopped inches from Steve’s head, caught in a shockwave of shimmering energy that radiated outward in rippling rings.

In a burst of light—Steve was no longer on the ground.

The armor formed in a blink, folding over him like liquid metal pulled by gravity. Sleek. Glowing. Alive with lines of energy that thrummed through his bones. A sword—his sword—materialised in his grip. Light in his hand, but heavy with purpose.

He didn’t remember standing, but now he was on his feet. Balanced. Braced. Eyes locked with Bular’s.

The monster roared, eyes blazing.“I will drink your blood from a goblet made of your skull!” Bular roared, his voice a storm of fire and fury as he lunged, sword raised high.

Steve didn’t think. He moved—like something ancient had taken the reins.

His arm rose, the sword already there, already swinging.

Metal clashed with a flash of light as the blades collided. The force of it jolted through Steve’s body, thunder cracking in his bones. Sparks flew. Bular snarled.

Their blades locked in a flash of light, sparks flaring as Steve held his ground—barely.

Bular pushed forward, strength unrelenting, teeth bared in a wicked grin. “You think that armor makes you strong, little boy?”

Steve grit his teeth, bracing with everything he had. “No,” he shot back, eyes narrowing. “I make the armor strong.”

With a yell, he twisted, broke the lock, and swung wide—forcing Bular back a step.

It felt good. The sword in his hand, the armor thrumming with power, the surge of adrenaline in his veins.

He smirked. “What’s the matter? You scared of a little human with a shiny upgrade?”

Bular’s grin only widened.

“You talk too much.”

He feinted left—then moved. Too fast. Too fluid. Steve barely had time to react before Bular spun behind him, knocking his sword aside with a brutal sweep.

Steve’s grip slipped.

The blade flew from his hand.

“No—!”

The next blow hit like a truck.

Bular slammed his massive fist into Steve’s chest, sending him flying across the cracked concrete. He crashed hard, armor sparking, breath knocked clean out of him.

Steve groaned, the world tilting as he tried to push himself up.

Bular stalked forward, dragging both swords behind him now, the sound shrieking like metal against bone. “Still think you’re strong, Trollhunter?”

Steve coughed. “...I’d like to reconsider.”

He tried to sit up, winced, and flopped right back down.

“Actually—nope. Nope. I’m totally screwed.”

Bular chuckled—a low, awful sound like boulders grinding together. “I will tear that armor from your bones, bit by bit. Let you savor the exquisite pain of your flesh being stripped away.”

Steve’s eyes went wide, his breath catching in his throat. “Uh, WHAT?!” His voice went a few pitches higher than usual, almost a squeak.

He waved his hands in front of him, as if trying to block out the horrifying image."Dude, are you... like, serious right now?! That’s— way too graphic!”

Bular raised a sword, fire gleaming along its edge; however, before he could finish with the blonde boy, giant hands suddenly grabbed him from behind - yanking him off the ground like a sack of potatoes.

“Wha—HEY! WHOA WHOA WHOA—!”

He was pulled back with such force the world smeared into streaks of light and shadow. Then—

FLASH.

A surge of magic. The portal flared to life, swallowing him whole.

CRACK—Bular’s sword slammed into where Steve had just been, the blow splitting the concrete with a thunderous boom.

Steve tumbled through stone and light, crashing hard onto the ground. He lay there groaning, limbs sprawled like a dropped puppet.

Aaarghh loomed over him.

“Told you. Life is more important.”

Blinky skittered into view, frantic. “Master Steve! Are you hurt?! Are all your limbs still attached?!”

Steve stared up at the two,  chest rising and falling like he'd just sprinted through a war zone—because he had.

His lips moved, voice hoarse, barely a whisper.“I’m officially filing a complaint with the universe…”

His eyes rolled back.

And he passed out cold.

Chapter Text

Steve’s head lolled back, eyes rolling as his body finally gave in.

Blinky caught him before he could fully slump, hands fluttering with frantic energy. “Master Steve? Master Steve!” he gasped, lifting Steve’s head gently. “Are you hurt?! Can you hear me?!”

The armor was gone now, reduced to a flickering shimmer that faded into the air. Only the amulet remained—dormant, but pulsing softly in Steve’s hand. Blinky hovered over him, scanning for wounds, for any sign of serious damage.

Then—relief. A faint breath. A steady rise and fall of his chest.

“He’s... merely unconscious,” Blinky whispered, sagging slightly with a shaky exhale. “Oh, by the Heartstone, I thought—” He broke off, a hysterical little laugh catching in his throat. His hands trembled as he pulled them back, unsure whether to fuss or fall apart.

Aaarghh crouched beside them, brow furrowed. “He did well.”

“He did more than well,” Blinky said, his voice thick with awe, disbelief flickering in his many eyes. “He stood against Bular. A human—he stood his ground. He called the armor."

Aaarghh, holding Steve with careful hands, gave a low, thoughtful grunt. “He is… stronger than he looks.”

Blinky took a moment, just staring at Steve. The boy looked small now, peaceful in the crook of Aaarghh’s arms.

“I didn’t believe it at first,” Blinky said softly. “When the amulet chose him, I thought—no, knew—it had to be a mistake. A human? A loud, brash, unwilling human?” He shook his head at the memory. “He tried to give it back. Practically shoved it at me.”

Aaarghh nodded. “He screamed. A lot.”

“He still does,” Blinky murmured, but this time, the edge of his mouth twitched upward. “But he faced Bular. He stood his ground. And when it mattered most… he called the armor. He answered.”

He touched the edge of the amulet still clutched in Steve’s hand with quiet reverence. “I was wrong. The amulet knew better than I did.”

Aaarghh carefully shifted Steve into his arms, cradling him close with the quiet respect of one carrying something fragile and fiercely important.

“How comes a human was chosen?” Aaarghh rumbled at last, glancing down at Steve with a puzzled frown.

Blinky’s brows knitted in thought. “I have pondered the same question,” he admitted. “Perhaps... perhaps the amulet sees something we cannot. Or perhaps, in times of great change, it seeks something unexpected.”

Together, they turned toward the gleaming crystal stairs that led downward — to the Trollmarket, the beginning of a path none could yet see.

Aaarghh’s heavy footsteps were careful as he carried Steve, while Blinky kept pace beside him, glancing over his shoulder every few steps, as if half-expecting another ambush from the shadows.

“Do you think Vendel will approve?” Aaarghh asked after a long moment, his voice low but curious.

Blinky gave a strained laugh, rubbing his temple.

“Approve? I suspect he will object most strongly. Loudly, and at great length.”He sighed, then added with quiet humour, “Then he’ll do what he always does. He will listen to the amulet's choice, whether he likes it or not.”

Aaarghh grunted in agreement.

“Trollmarket needs a Trollhunter. Even a strange one.”

“Especially a strange one,” Blinky said with a hint of a smile. “Master Steve may lack training, but he has spirit. Enough to challenge Bular head-on, even without understanding the weight he carries.”

They descended deeper into the cool glow of the underground, the faint sound of Trollmarket life beginning to hum in the distance — a distant, living heartbeat of their hidden world.

Blinky’s eyes fell again to the boy cradled in Aaarghh’s arms. His voice dropped softer.

“We will teach him. Protect him. Shape him into what he must become."

A pause. Then a fierce glint sparked in Blinky’s gaze.

“For the amulet chose him — and we will not let it regret its choice.”

And with that, the great stone doors of the Trollmarket loomed ahead, ready to receive them — and the future they carried.

Far above, beyond the tunnels where the Trollmarket slumbered in crystal-lit peace, a very different storm was brewing.

Bular's fury seethed beneath his thick, armored skin; a fire hotter than magma. His claws tore deep gouges into the stone ledge where he crouched, the crumbling shards scattering at his feet. His heavy breath steamed in the cold air, each exhale a promise of violence.

He had failed.

Failed.

The amulet had slipped through his grasp—again. That miserable human whelp, fragile and soft, had dared to call the armor.

Bular snarled aloud, the sound echoing off the cavern walls. His fists pounded into the rock again and again until the ledge cracked, sending fractures skittering out like a spiderweb.

It wasn’t just his pride that was wounded. It was his future. His father’s future. Without the amulet, the chains that bound his father in the Darklands would hold fast. Freedom—true freedom—was still maddeningly out of reach.

And the worst insult of all? It was a human.

A human had been chosen.

He had crushed Trollhunters before, scattered their broken bodies across battlefield after battlefield. Trained warriors, steeped in magic and skill—and yet this mewling, shrieking boy had survived him.

Unacceptable.

A voice slid from the shadows, smooth as silk and twice as cutting.

"My, my. All that rage, and still empty-handed."

Bular whipped around with a snarl, but he already knew the scent and sound of the one approaching. Strickler—always annoyingly composed—emerged from the shadows, his dark gaze fixed on him without a hint of fear. The Changeling’s posture was relaxed, his hands folded behind his back, but there was no mistaking the purpose in his cold eyes.

Bular’s claws dug deeper into the stone, frustration building. "You failed," Strickler said evenly, his voice clipped, though his expression remained unbothered. "I provided you with the information, and yet... here we are."

Bular's jaw tightened, fury bubbling to the surface. He was so close. So close to ending this charade. But the amulet had slipped away again, and the boy was safe, retreating to the Trollmarket.

“Next time, I’ll rip him apart,” Bular growled, his voice laced with venom. “I’ll make sure there’s nothing left of him to mourn.”

Strickler's eyes remained cold, his voice calm and calculating. "You had your chance, Bular. And you failed. This isn’t just any troll. This is a human. And humans—they don’t fade into the shadows the way we do. They draw attention."

Bular’s eyes flashed, impatience creeping through his frustration. "What do you mean? He’s a human! Just a boy. I’ve crushed Trollhunters before—"

"But this is different," Strickler interjected, his calm tone cutting through Bular’s mounting fury. "You can’t just eliminate a human the same way. Kill him now, and you draw attention. Humans have allies. They will come for you. The boy is only part of the game."

Bular’s chest heaved with barely contained rage. "Then what do you suggest? That I just wait?"

Strickler's smile was faint, but it carried the weight of something far darker. "Yes, you wait. But in the meantime, we watch. We plan. You don’t want to make the same mistake twice, do you?"

Bular growled low in his throat, claws flexing, but his desire for action was being overruled by Strickler’s pointed logic. "Next time, I will end him. I’ll make sure of it."

Strickler gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Of course. But trust me, Bular—when the time comes, you’ll have a far better advantage. Things are in motion now. All in good time."

Bular's mind churned with unanswered questions, frustration still simmering beneath his skin. "What kind of plan are you talking about?"

Strickler turned, his shadow stretching long and dark behind him. "Don’t worry. I’ve already set things in motion. You’ll see. Everything is falling into place."

As Strickler disappeared into the shadows, Bular stood there, still seething with the need for retribution. His claws flexed at his sides, his eyes glinting with the promise of what was to come. He would have his revenge, and next time, he would make sure the boy would not escape.

But for now, the game had changed. And he would play by Strickler’s rules—for now. 

Chapter Text

Steve woke up with a ragged gasp, like surfacing from underwater.

For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. The world was spinning—his limbs heavy, his chest tight, and something cold pressed against his back. His vision swam with shifting shadows and soft blue light. It was quiet. Too quiet.

Then everything came back.

Bular.

The roar. The searing heat. The crushing weight of claws closing in. And the amulet—the blinding surge of light, the armor wrapping around him, too fast to understand, too late to stop.

He bolted upright with a strangled cry. Pain stabbed through his ribs, and his vision blackened at the edges. He barely caught himself with trembling arms, breath rattling in his throat.

“Master Steve!” Blinky was already at his side, his many eyes wide and frantic. “You’re safe, you’re all right—it’s over!”

But Steve didn’t hear him—couldn’t.

“No—it’s not!” he shouted, voice cracking as he jerked away from Blinky’s hands. “He was gonna kill me! I saw him—he was right there!” His gaze darted wildly around the cavern, his chest heaving.

Then Blinky leaned in closer, his voice softer but firmer. “Almost, yes. How – “

“He was going to tear me up bit by bit!” Steve cut him off, his voice rising. “Like—what the hell?! Who even survives that?! Like a burrito wrapper on Taco Tuesday—just shredded!”

Blinky reached out again, hands raised in a calming gesture. “Master Steve, please, breathe. You are here. You are safe—”

But Steve was spiraling, caught in the momentum.

“No, you don’t get it!” he snapped, voice pitching high. “I felt it—he threw me like a rag doll! I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think! Then the armor just—just happened! What even was that?!”

Blinky inched closer, his tone gentler. “Master Steve, you are shaken, understandably so. But the amulet chose you. That means something.”

Steve’s eyes widened; panic flared sharply in his chest. “The amulet chose me?” he echoed, voice pitching higher. “No—no, then it can un-choose me!”

"Master Steve!"

He scrambled upright, still wincing, and started patting himself down in a frantic rush. “Where is it?!”

“I’m serious—I didn’t ask for this! His hands fumbled over the stone floor, eyes darting like it might suddenly appear. “I’m not dying because some glowing rock thinks I’m special! Hell no—I ain’t dying for this!”

Blinky took another step closer, his many eyes focused on Steve, his voice steady but filled with concern. “Master Steve, please, I understand your fear. It’s a lot, and it’s overwhelming. But you’re alive. The amulet chose you because it believes you can handle this—”

“Handle it?!” Steve shouted, still frantic, his hands trembling as they pressed against his head. “I don’t even know what the hell happened! The amulet, the armor—it’s like some freak accident! I don’t—!”

He staggered a step, nearly losing his balance, his hand gripping the wall like it might stop his mind from unraveling. “And you—Bug-Eyes, or whatever—stop telling me I’m ‘chosen’ like that’s supposed to help!”

Blinky flinched, visibly hurt, his ears drooping slightly. His many eyes blinked out of sync as if computing whether to correct the name or simply let it slide for now. “Master Steve, I assure you—my name is—”

“Enough.”

The new voice cut through the cavern like a blade—rough, booming, and full of disdain.

Steve flinched hard at the sound. His head snapped toward the entrance as heavy footsteps echoed against stone.

A towering troll stepped into the light—taller than Blinky, broader than Aaarghh, and with a face carved from stone and judgment.

Steve’s breath caught. His eyes widened as instinct kicked in—too many giants, too many voices, too much. He scrambled backward, away from Blinky, away from the new threat. His back hit the cavern wall with a muted thud.

“No—no, more trolls?” His voice cracked. “I—I don’t—just stop—!”

He curled in on himself slightly, his palms flat against the rock, like it could absorb him if he pressed hard enough.

Draal’s steps were heavy with contempt as he approached. His glare never left Steve—sharp, unyielding, and full of disgust.

“This?” he growled, voice like grinding stone. “This is the one the amulet chose?”

Steve flinched again, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just shook his head faintly, as if trying to deny reality itself.

“A sniveling, panicked fleshbag,” Draal continued, tone curling with venom. “Curled up like prey. Is this what’s supposed to protect Trollkind? To defend us?”

Blinky stood quickly, placing himself partially between them.

“Draal, that’s enough,” he said firmly, his usual scholarly warmth giving way to steel. “He is shaken, yes—but he is alive. He faced Bular and survived.”

“Barely,” Draal snapped, his eyes narrowing. “He cowers like a hatchling. How can he wield Daylight when he can’t even stand?”

Blinky’s ears twitched, but he held firm. “And yet the amulet still chose him. It saw something worthy. Shouldn’t that warrant your restraint?”

 “When my father fell,” Draal growled, stepping closer, his voice thick with barely suppressed rage, “the honor should have passed to me.”

Blinky’s expression darkened, his brows knitting. “Draal—”

“I trained for this,” Draal snapped, jabbing a clawed finger at the trembling human. “I bled for this! And instead, the amulet chooses that? A sniveling fleshbag curled in fear?” His voice dropped, cold and bitter. “Where is the justice in that?”

Blinky didn’t waver. He squared his shoulders, voice calm but resolute.

“The amulet is bound to destiny, not desire, Draal. It does not choose based on who trained hardest or who demands it loudest. It chooses who must be chosen.”

He gestured subtly to Steve, still trembling but alive.

“It saw something in him—a thread woven deeper than any of us can fathom. And once the amulet chooses, it cannot be undone.”

A new voice entered the cavern, deep and deliberate.

“Perhaps it should be.”

The cavern entrance widened with approaching footsteps—slow, heavy, and deliberate. A larger troll emerged from the shadows, flanked closely by Aaarghh, whose towering frame lingered silently behind him like a quiet storm. The troll’s staff tapped softly against the stone with each step, his eyes cool beneath his heavy brows as he studied the scene.

Steve looked up, and something inside him crumpled further. More trolls. More eyes. He pressed back harder into the wall, trembling so violently his teeth nearly chattered.

“Vendel—” Blinky started, already tense.

Vendel raised a hand to silence him. “He is a fleshbag,” he said, voice cool but sharp. “Look at him—panicking, trembling, unable to face what’s before him. Is that the bearing of a protector?”

As Vendel spoke, Aaarghh stepped forward—not toward Vendel, but toward Steve. His movement was slow and careful. When Steve flinched and pressed tighter to the stone, his entire frame vibrating with tension, Aaarghh paused. He made no move to touch him, nor did he make a sound to startle. Instead, he simply shifted to Steve’s side, turning to face the others. A silent presence. A shield, if it came to that.

Vendel glanced at Blinky; his tone measured but pointed. “The amulet has been known to make ill-fated choices, as you know better than most. And this one? He’s ruled by fear. No clarity. No conviction. I see no champion—only disorder wrapped in flesh.”

Vendel’s eyes locked on Blinky; voice steady but cutting like a sharpened blade. “You trained Unkar—the one they now call ‘The Unfortunate.’ A young trollhunter eager to prove himself, yet he fell quickly, caught unready. His death was a harsh reminder that even the chosen can fail.”

Blinky’s gaze faltered for the briefest moment, but he said nothing.

Vendel shifted his weight, his staff tapping against the stone floor. “And before your time, the amulet chose Tellad-Ur—one of the fiercest warriors ever to bear its light. A legend in the making.”

His voice dropped, cold and bitter. “But instead, he became the first to betray us. He turned to darkness, sided with Gunmar, and stained the amulet’s legacy. That radiant choice became a curse—a shadow that lingers over Trollkind to this day.”

He turned his sharp gaze back to Blinky. “The amulet does not always choose wisely.”

Vendel’s eyes swept over the trembling human curled against the wall. “And now, it chooses this… fleshbag. A panicked, shivering boy with no grasp of discipline, honor, or strength. What will he bring us? Chaos? Ruin?”

Behind him, Aaarghh stood silent. Not imposing, not moving—just present. He remained beside Steve, who had drawn in tightly, shrinking into the stone like it might hide him.

Blinky’s many eyes flickered. A pain sat behind them, old and worn but deeply rooted. “He faced Bular,” he said softly. “And lived. That is no small thing.”

Draal stepped forward, claws scraping stone. His voice was low and coiled with contempt.
“Lived? He trembles like a hatchling. Surviving isn’t the same as being worthy.”

He pointed a glare at Blinky, sharp and accusing. “You speak of destiny and worth—but what worth is there in choosing fear? What strength lies in panic?”

Blinky’s eyes narrowed, his voice steady but fierce. “Fear is not weakness, Draal. Fear keeps us alive. It sharpens us, warns us, teaches us to be cautious. Without it, even the strongest fall blind.”

Draal’s lips curled into a sneer. “Pretty words, Librarian. But fear does not win battles. It does not wield blades.”

Blinky stood firm, his many eyes narrowing. “Nor does brute strength alone. If it did, you would be wearing the armor now, would you not?”

A low growl rumbled in Draal’s throat. “I have spent decades preparing for that armor. Honing my skills. Bleeding in the arena. I have earned the right.”

“And yet the amulet chose otherwise,” Blinky replied evenly, though the tension in his frame betrayed the weight of his words. “Perhaps that should give you pause.”

“It gives me fury,” Draal shot back, voice rising. “Because instead of a warrior, Trollkind is given a trembling mouse. A human who flinches from shadows!”

“He is not the first to be afraid,” Blinky said quietly, but with conviction. “Even Kanjigar felt fear. Courage is not the absence of it—it is choosing to rise despite it.”

Draal scoffed. “And what if he doesn’t rise, Librarian? What if he breaks? Will your riddles protect us then? Will your scrolls stop Gunmar?”

Blinky’s voice turned cold, clipped. “And will your pride?”

Draal’s eyes narrowed, the tension between them now crackling like stone on steel. For a moment, silence reigned—thick, bitter, unresolved.

Then Draal broke it with a snarl.

“Enough.”

Without another word, he turned and strode toward Steve, each heavy step echoing off the cavern walls. Steve stiffened, pressing himself tighter against the stone, eyes wide with dread.

“Then let’s remove the burden,” Draal growled, reaching down. “Let the amulet find someone worthy.”

But he never made it.

A massive arm dropped in front of him, solid and unyielding as a wall of mountain stone.

Aaarghh.

He had moved silently, but now stood between Steve and Draal, his broad back shielding the human entirely. His eyes met Draal’s with quiet firmness—not aggressive, but immovable.

Draal’s nostrils flared. “Out of my way, brute.”

Aaarghh didn’t budge.

His voice came low and steady, a rumble beneath the tension. “He is not yours to touch.”

For a moment, the cavern held its breath.

Draal stared him down, muscles taut with rage, claws twitching at his sides—but Aaarghh didn’t move. Not an inch.

Behind them, Vendel’s voice cut through. “There’s no need for this.”

Draal turned, scowling deeper. “No need? He’s clearly unfit—”

Vendel held up a hand, not for silence, but for clarity. “If you truly question the amulet’s wisdom, then we consult the Soothscryer. Let fate speak plainly.”

He began to turn, but Blinky’s voice cut in sharply.

“Vendel—no. That is not fair.”

All eyes shifted to the scholar, whose usual composure was now laced with uncharacteristic urgency.

“He’s had no training, no knowledge of our world or the burden placed on his shoulders. You would hold him to the standards of seasoned Trollhunters when he’s barely had time to breathe?”

Vendel regarded him, impassive.

“The Soothscryer does not care for experience. It seeks only what is true.”

Blinky stepped forward, frustration flickering behind his many eyes. “Then it will find confusion and fear—not because he is unworthy, but because he hasn’t been given the chance to be anything else.”

“He must face it,” Vendel replied, unyielding. “Whether now or later, the truth of his place must be known. Better to discover it before fate demands more than he can give.”

“He is still reeling!” Blinky snapped. “Bular nearly killed him! You’ve seen what state he’s in. He’s no warrior yet—he’s barely standing. Would you judge a sword by striking it fresh from the forge?”

Vendel finally turned to face Blinky fully. His expression wasn’t angry—only hard. “If the metal is weak, no fire will strengthen it. And if it is strong, then let the Soothscryer prove it.”

His gaze lingered on Steve, who still sat huddled against the wall, watching them all with wide, frantic eyes, his breath shallow and uneven.

Steve’s voice barely rose above a whisper, trembling with something fragile and raw: “Please…just let me go."

“No more time for speculation. No more arguments,” Vendel said quietly, firmly. “Prepare the Soothscryer.”

Chapter Text

Steve sat huddled against the cold stone wall, arms wrapped tight around his knees, clutching them to his chest like a shield. His breath came in short, ragged bursts, each inhale scraping his ribs raw, each exhale threatening to collapse him entirely. The damp chill seeped through his clothes, numbing his skin, but his mind burned too hot, racing too fast.

The flicker of torchlight made shadows writhe across the cavern walls—too big, too strange, stretching into monstrous shapes that wouldn’t sit still. Trolls loomed in his peripheral vision, massive and jagged, their stone-rough hides catching the firelight in cruel angles. Every glance showed him claws, tusks, teeth—too sharp, too dangerous. His hands shook where they gripped his jeans, nails carving crescent moons into the denim.

This isn’t real. It can’t be real. His chest hitched, every thought stumbling over the next. I should be home. On my couch. With my phone. Ordering a pizza. Not here. Not with them.

He pressed his forehead to his knees, rocking, as if curling small enough could erase all of it—the trolls, the weight of the amulet, the stares digging into him. But the voices around him wouldn’t stop. Low rumbles. Impatient growls. Even the calmer tones sounded too deep, too alien, too heavy for his human ears.

“Did you hear that, fleshbag?” Draal’s voice cut through like thunder, a rumbling challenge that made Steve jolt upright despite himself. The troll stepped forward, his massive form blotting out the nearest torch. “Let us see if you are truly worthy of it.”

Steve flinched so hard it rattled his bones. He twisted against the wall, throwing his hands out uselessly. His fists struck only air, flailing at nothing. “Don’t touch me! Don’t—don’t you dare! I… I can’t! I don’t want—I just—” His voice cracked into a strangled shriek, the sound ricocheting off stone.

The trolls loomed larger in his panicked eyes, and words tumbled from him, jagged and frantic, too fast to think: “I don’t have to do this! You can’t make me! I know my rights, okay? You can’t just… drag me into some creepy… stone cult thing! That’s illegal, or… or something! I read about it! There are rules! There are—there are laws!”

The words meant nothing here, but he clung to them anyway, spitting them out like a shield he didn’t have. He pounded his fists weakly against his knees, rocking harder, panic spiralling faster than his thoughts.

“Leave me alone! Just—leave me alone!” His throat tore with the scream, the sound echoing off stone and making the trolls flinch back a step. His fists balled, he struck at his knees again, as if he could fight himself into disappearing. “I don’t want this! I don’t even know what you want from me! I can’t—I can’t do this!”

Aaarghh rumbled low in his chest and stepped closer, a silent barrier of stone and strength, but Steve barely noticed. His shoulders hunched, his head buried, trembling. His voice shrank, the words cracking smaller with every repetition.

“Leave me alone… please… just leave me alone…”

“Enough of this nonsense,” Draal snapped, taking a heavy step forward, eyes narrowing. “If he cannot stand, then drag him. The Soothscryer will decide.”

Aaarghh braced himself between them, growling softly, but it was Blinky’s sharp voice that rang out. “He does not have to go!” Blinky stood firm, all four arms spread, protective. “Not until he is ready. We will not force him.”

Vendel tapped his staff once, calm but unyielding. His gaze fell not on Steve, but on Blinky. “Blinky, the fleshbag must come with us. Delay helps no one. The Soothscryer awaits—there is no more time to waste.”

Blinky’s ears flattened, his voice quivering with fury. All four of his hands lifted, gesturing fiercely as though trying to carve sense into the air itself.

“And what then? Drag him like a criminal? Shatter what little courage he still clings to? He is but a hatchling, Vendel—unready, untempered. I ask you, give him time. Time to rest, to steady himself. He has been thrust into a truth too great, too sudden. Would you have his first step as Trollhunter be one taken in terror?”

Steve’s rocking grew more frantic at the words. His voice broke, spilling faster: “Leave me alone… leave me alone… I can’t—I don’t want this—I want to go home…”

Vendel’s staff struck the stone floor with a sharp crack, echoing through the cavern like a clap of thunder. Sparks danced along the edges of the worn stone tiles, and Steve flinched, pressing his face harder into his knees.

“Time is not a luxury we have, Blinky,” Vendel continued, his voice firm, unyielding, resonating with authority. Every syllable seemed to push the air out of the room, compressing it, making Steve’s chest ache even more. “The amulet has chosen him. Whether he trembles or not, whether his heart races like a drum or he screams until he is raw, his path has already been set.”

Blinky’s glowing eyes flickered with conflicted light, the small motions of his hands sharp but restrained. “But—he is a hatchling! He cannot yet comprehend! He has not even had a moment to breathe, to steady his mind. You would force him before he is ready—before he can even accept this? He is still in shock, still tethered to the world he knew."

Vendel’s gaze did not waver. “It is a necessity. The Soothscryer waits, and the amulet’s will is absolute. If we delay any longer, we risk more than the fleshbag’s fear—we risk the chance to fulfil what must be done. Every moment of hesitation carries its own peril.”

He turned sharply toward Draal, his voice hard and commanding. “Lift him. Now. Take him to the Soothscryer. No more delays, no more hesitation.”

Steve shrieked, twisting violently, tiny fists flailing at Draal’s enormous hands. “Don’t touch me! I… I can’t! I… I just—leave me alone!” His words tumbled over each other, panic spiralling faster than he could think.

Draal’s massive arms wrapped around him with firm, unyielding strength. Steve struggled, kicking and screaming, but there was no escape. Aaarghh braced himself beside them, a solid wall of stone, and Blinky hovered close, flapping and chittering, trying to soothe the terrified human.

Steve’s mind spun, every nerve ending alight. His small hands clawed at Draal’s arms, as if sheer will could shatter the impossible weight pressing down on him. “I… I just… I want to be anywhere else! Anywhere!”

Blinky’s glowing eyes met his, conveying both concern and warning. “Master Steve… we will be with you. We won’t leave you," he murmured in his broken, urgent tongue. He scurried back and forth, chittering anxiously, brushing against Steve as if to hold him together.

Draal held him securely, stepping forward with deliberate strength, carrying him toward the chamber of the Soothscryer. Every flail, every scream, every tear-streaked word of protest pressed against the cavern walls, echoing in a relentless chorus of fear.

Steve’s heart pounded like a drum in his chest. Every step made him feel smaller, weaker, and exposed. He wanted to disappear. The shadows on the walls became monsters, his own panic painting them with claws and fire.

When the Soothscryer’s chamber finally came into view, Steve’s limbs trembled uncontrollably. The massive doors loomed before him like a judgment. His chest heaved, breath shallow, mind spinning. The trolls placed him carefully on the cold stone floor inside.

Blinky stayed close, muttering protective phrases in his strange, broken tongue. He scurried anxiously from side to side around Steve, brushing against him as if to hold him together. Aaarghh stood solid, a sentinel of stone, as Draal approached to position Steve at the chamber’s centre.

Vendel stepped forward, lifting Steve’s small, trembling hand toward the glowing surface of the Soothscryer. Steve screamed, twisting, flailing, nearly collapsing to the floor.

“No! My hand! Don’t—don’t make me!” His tiny body shivered violently as the glowing surface of the Soothscryer approached, his mind a whirlwind of terror and disbelief. Every instinct screamed at him to pull back, to vanish, to shrink out of existence.

The cold hum of the Soothscryer bit into his skin, sending icy tendrils up his arm. “Please! Not my hand! I… I can’t… I just—leave me alone!” His voice cracked, small and desperate, carried off into the cavern like a brittle thing on the wind.

Blinky darted closer, moving quickly around Steve, brushing against him as best he could to offer comfort. “Master Steve… we are here… we won’t leave…” His broken, urgent voice carried reassurance, even as the chaos pressed in.

And then—a sudden, blinding flash of light, unlike anything natural, erupted from the Soothscryer. The cavern fell silent, even Draal and Vendel frozen in place, their stone faces reflecting awe and unease. The trolls recoiled, startled by the burst of raw magic, their massive forms tense, claws digging into the floor as if bracing for impact.

Steve’s body went rigid for a heartbeat, every nerve alight with shock, before he collapsed forward onto the stone floor, trembling and gasping, utterly overwhelmed. The light seemed to linger on his skin for a heartbeat, as though marking him with something ancient and powerful.

Blinky hovered close, chittering frantically, pressing near to shield and steady him, while Aaarghh loomed beside them, a solid sentinel of stone. Even the trolls stood back, uneasy, watching silently as the Soothscryer’s glow dimmed, leaving only the cold stone, the hum of ancient magic, and the fragile, trembling figure of Steve at the centre.

Chapter Text

 Steel clanged, bright and sharp, ringing through the air like music. He pivoted, sword raised, every muscle honed, alive, sure of itself. The training yard pulsed with sound—cheers, shouts, the thud of boots on dust. The weight of the sword in his hand felt right, natural, like it had always been there.

The boy across from him faltered, parried once, then stumbled. Steve lunged, the motion instinctive, and with a final strike, his opponent’s sword spun away. The roar of the crowd filled his chest with fire.

He straightened, triumphant. The steel felt alive in his grip—his arm an extension of its edge. When he lifted it high, sunlight caught along the blade’s length, gleaming like a promise.

The crowd quieted.

A shadow stepped forward.

Taller. Broader. The air itself seemed to tighten around him. The helm hid his face, but the weight of his presence was undeniable. The cheers faded into silence.

The bell rang.

Their swords met—metal on metal, ringing bright and violent. Lightning ran up Steve’s arm with every clash. He struck again and again, but each blow was turned aside, redirected, absorbed like water meeting stone. The other fighter didn’t move with rage or haste—only with certainty.

Frustration surged. He swung harder, faster. Sparks danced, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. But the knight’s blade slipped through his guard like it knew the rhythm of his pulse.

A twist.

A counter.

And the world fell out from under him.

He hit the ground hard. Dust filled his mouth. The sword was gone. The shadow loomed above him, blade poised to strike. For a breathless instant, the face beneath the helm flickered into view—familiar eyes, sharp and cold—

FLASH.

The strike never landed.

Instead, a jolt surged through Steve’s body, sharp and sudden, as if the blow itself had flung him across worlds. His shoulder jerked hard, pain shooting down his arm. The scene shattered—fragments of sound and colour tearing away like smoke.

He gasped.

The soft surface beneath him was warm—nothing like the cold stone he remembered. His vision blurred, shapes swimming in and out of focus. His heart thundered in his chest, his breath short and shallow.

Where am I? What… just happened?

He pushed himself upright, groaning as his limbs protested. For a moment, he thought he was back home—his room, familiar floorboards, his bed—but the details didn’t match. The room around him gradually came into focus—towering shelves filled with ancient tomes, a soft amber glow from hanging lanterns, and the faint, musty smell of parchment and metal. Too quiet. Too still. Nothing he recognised.

He blinked, trying to ground himself. This isn’t home. Not even close…

Movement caught his eye—a flash of blue and too many arms.

“THE BLUE ALIEN!!” Steve shrieked, scrambling back, blanket tangling around his legs. “What the hell…?!”

Blinky froze mid-step, blinking all six eyes. “Ah—yes, of course. My apologies! I forget how startling one’s first conscious moment in Trollmarket can be.” He clasped all four hands neatly in front of him. “But do not fear! You are safe, Master Steve. I am Blinky—a troll, not an alien. Please… try to remember my name.”

Steve’s pulse spiked. “Master—wait, what? Trollmarket?! What even—how do you know my name?!”

Blinky straightened, adopting a reassuring tone that did nothing to calm Steve. “You are in my study, deep beneath Trollmarket. You… ah… collapsed after the Soothscryer’s resonance.”

Steve blinked rapidly, words tripping over his breath. “The—what? What does that even mean? What—what happened to me?!”

Blinky’s ears twitched. “Nothing was done to you, Master Steve. The Soothscryer merely… reacted.”

Steve’s voice jumped an octave. “Reacted? I was on fire! My whole body—everything—” He cut off, clutching his head, breathing hard. “I don’t—I don’t even know what that thing was!”

Blinky hesitated. “Neither… do we. Not entirely.”

Steve froze. “You don’t—? You don’t even know what happened?!”

Blinky’s hands flexed nervously. “We stayed nearby. Watching. Protecting. And you… slept… a full cycle, Master Steve. We were very worried.”

Steve blinked. “…A cycle?”

“In human terms,” Blinky said carefully, “roughly twenty-four hours.”

“TWENTY-FOUR HOURS?!” Steve practically yelled, bolting upright. “I missed… I missed everything! School—Señor Uhl—Spanish! My basketball practice—Coach is going to kill me! My friends—”

He froze mid-sentence, patting at his jeans before jerking forward. “My phone—oh please—” He dug into his back pocket, yanking out his phone. The screen was spiderwebbed with cracks, faintly glowing. “Oh no—no, no, no!”

Notifications flooded the display—missed calls, texts, and group messages—five per cent battery blinking like a countdown to doom. Steve groaned, slapping a hand over his face. “I—oh no, no, no, no, no!”

Blinky hovered closer, muttering, “We stayed near, Master Steve. We did not leave you… But you needed to endure the resonance.”

Steve’s panic didn’t calm. His chest heaved. “Not ready? I barely understand anything! I’m a—Trollhunter? What the fuck is that even mean?!”

He bolted toward the door, blanket tangling around his legs. “I-I’m out! I can’t deal with this!”

But he didn’t make it far. Aaarghh stepped smoothly into his path, blocking the exit. Steve skidded to a stop, chest heaving.

“I—get out of—out of my way!” he yelled, flailing.

Without thinking, he lunged sideways—tripping, sliding, and crashing straight into Aaarghh’s massive side. The impact sent him tumbling backwards, blanket twisting around him, and he landed on the floor with a groan.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no—” he whispered frantically, pressing his palms to the floor as if he could disappear through sheer will.

Blinky hovered close, flapping anxiously. “Master Steve! Please! Calm yourself! He means no harm!”

Steve blinked, chest rising and falling rapidly, staring up at Aaarghh’s calm, protective form. “…Not gonna… eat me?”

Aaarghh rumbled gently, a deep, grounding sound. Steve’s knees shook as he sank fully against the troll’s solid side, pressed flat to the floor, trembling, heart racing.

At that moment, the study door swung open again. Steve’s pulse jumped. He looked up, body still shaking. Vendel stepped inside—tall, imposing, horns curving subtly, eyes glowing faintly, presence pressing against the air.

“So… you are awake,” Vendel said, calm and measured. “I came to see for myself. The human… must be tended to, after such a reaction from the Soothscryer.”

Steve’s chest tightened. Memories of the cavern, the amulet, the flashing light, and the trolls came rushing back. His body shivered, and he pressed himself closer to Aaarghh.

Blinky hovered closer, hands raised. “Vendel… he is still disoriented. He has yet to awaken fully. We must give him time before the Soothscryer can properly judge his spirit.”

Vendel’s gaze swept the room, eyes sharp but calm. “Time… yes. He is the first human chosen by the amulet. Unprecedented. We must see not only how he reacts, but if he can withstand it… if he is worthy… and, indeed, whether he can survive long enough for the Soothscryer to truly judge his spirit.”

Steve’s knees buckled slightly, panic tangling with disbelief. “Survive?! Judge my spirit?! I—oh no, oh no no no—”

He slid down fully onto the floor, blanket twisting beneath him, chest heaving.

“You can endure,” Blinky said firmly, hovering close. “We shall be with you. You are not alone. You must breathe, absorb, and endure… before the path becomes clear.”

Aaarghh rumbled in agreement, low and grounding, a wall of solid reassurance.

Vendel’s eyes stayed steady. “Time is all that will reveal your worth, human. Only then can the amulet decide if you are truly ready.”

He gave a slight nod to Blinky and Aaarghh, then turned and exited the study, his presence leaving the air feeling heavier for a moment before it settled.

Steve lay back fully on the floor, legs splayed, heart hammering in his chest. He buried his face in his hands for a heartbeat, then shot his head up, voice raw and panicked.

“…What the fuck is going on?!”

The room was quiet except for the low, grounding rumble of Aaarghh and Blinky hovering close, hands raised in caution. Steve’s panic didn’t abate—if anything, it spiked. “…And just what the fuck is a Trollhunter?!”