The daughter of the goddess, whose smile is as radiant as the sun itself, finally notices Vaelith and her smile freezes.

  "A mortal. Sitting on a chair like it's her personal throne." She murmurs in disbelief.

  She huffs in bewilderment. She has seen cocky mortals's behavior before, but Vaelith casually sipping her tea while watching the spectacle is a new level.

  "Arrogance."

  Orvyn, who is in the middle of stopping a recruit from snapping themselves in half—or perhaps he's the one responsible for it, no one can tell—turns his head and follows her gaze.

  Vaelith.

  Who sits on her chair, currently in the middle of a betting pool with five other immortal officers about the fate of the new recruits.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Elaris stands casually in the air next to her, a silent sentinel, holding a jar of dragons ashes that describe everything and nothing about the scene at the same time.

  Orvyn's lips curl into a smirk. "Vaelith, you mean? Not arrogance. Inevitable."

  The daughter of a goddess scoffs, her perfect composure cracks a little because of the sheer audacity that is Vaelith. "Now you are just messing with me. I called her arrogant, which is already deplorable, but now you double down and say it's inevitable?"

  Orvyn simply nods. "Yes."

  She scoffs again and turns her eyes back at Vaelith, who is now betting her favorite mortal chocolate bar on a recruit's fate. Elaris plucks the chocolate from her hand. Tastes it. Decides it was disgusting. And banishes it to the shadow realm.

  Vaelith stares at him with her usual calm blankness expression, which somehow communicates that what Elaris did is a crime against her bloodline.

  Orvyn chuckles, watching his companions, his friends, his leader.

  And the absolute inevitable and oddity that is Vaelith.