Grumble's Gambit

Grumble’s jaw was practically glued to the floor, his eyes wide and unblinking, fixated on the crumpled, soot-stained heap that was once known as Boy. The air in the shattered training arena still thrummed with the residual, acrid stench of the Shadow Maw’s foul magic, a scent that clung to everything like a particularly persistent curse. Most of the other students were either tending to their minor scrapes and bruises, or huddled together in hushed, horrified whispers. But Grumble? Grumble was doing something far more important. He was calculating.

He’d always been a numbers man, a strategist, a meticulous planner. While Boy had been out there, flailing about with raw, untamed power, accidentally creating a miniature supernova with a sneeze, Grumble had been diligently practicing his incantations, perfecting his elemental control, and memorizing every single glyph in the advanced defensive warding textbook. And now? Now, the immovable object had been… well, moved. And rather forcefully at that.

“Pathetic,” Grumble muttered, a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. He nudged a stray piece of rubble with his polished boot. “Honestly, all that raw talent and he still manages to get himself turned into a charcoal briquette. Serves him right for being so… *casual* about it all.”