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.”