《When Wonder is Born, Unakin》 [0] - Prelude In a world where magic weaves through every living thing, where power and intellect are keys to survival, the races of this realm follow their own paths, bound by their instincts, desires, and ideals. In the corners of this realm, where civilization and wilderness intertwine, there was born a creature unlike any other. A newborn goblin¡ªa being typically driven by primal instincts, hunger, and a thirst for dominance over its kin. But this one was different. From the moment it opened its eyes, it gazed not upon the world with a hunger for power, but with an insatiable thirst for wonder. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. Where others saw chaos and violence as the answer, it saw reason and understanding. The thirst for knowledge burned like a fire within, driving it to question everything¡ªits origins, its purpose, and the very nature of the world it inhabited. It sought to question all it could see. It sought to understand all it could hear. It sought to learn all it did not know. And as the magic of the world flowed around it, the newborn began to wonder: "What is the meaning of it all?" .................. UPCOMING NEXT - CHAPTER 1 - Birthed Curiosity. .................. [1] - Birthed Curiosity The first breath of life is a strange thing. For most, it is instinctual, a rush of survival, the beginning of a path paved by hunger, pain, and the drive to live. But for one, it was different... In the depths of a dimly lit cave, where the air was thick and heavy, there was a stir in the shadows. A faint cry echoed through the cavern, quickly swallowed by the deep silence that followed. The walls, damp with the weight of years, bore ancient markings¡ªcarvings so weathered and faint they could have been mistaken for random scratches. Yet their meaning was lost to time. For the time being, none paid attention to these signs. There was nothing to be learned from them¡ªat least, not by those who lived here. The cave floor was scattered with small bundles of dirt and tattered cloth, each one hiding a tiny, newborn. In the dim light, the newborn green creatures lay curled in the dirt, their small forms twitching slightly in response to the rhythm of the world around them. Their bodies were fragile, their eyes still closed, but their hunger was already fierce. Step¡ª! The silence of the cave was broken by a low shuffle¡ªsoft, barely audible, yet unmistakable in its intent. The shadows in the cave shifted, and soon, a large form loomed over the tiny, bundled figures on the ground. Its presence was imposing, yet it was small¡ªhunched, green, and gnarled, barely towering over the newborns Its skin was rough and mottled, dark green with patches of brown, and its sharp, beady yellow eyes glowed faintly in the dim light. Small, crooked tusks jutted from its lower jaw, and its hands, gnarled and calloused, moved with careful precision. A Goblin. The adult goblin¡ªits form hidden in the half-light¡ªpaused for a moment, surveying the scattered and hungry infants. There was no hurry in its movements, only a purposeful rhythm. Gi¡ªGi! Hearing the cries of hunger, the hands of the adult goblin reached down to the ground, and from the darkness, long, wriggling worms were pulled from the earth, squirming eagerly in the adult¡¯s grasp. One by one, the adult goblin threw the worms toward the bundles of cloth. The newborns, weak and hungry, reacted instinctively. Their sharp, small teeth sank into the squirming creatures as they cried out in hunger, "Gi!" Their voices were high-pitched, despite their small frame, a sound of primal need. The worms were devoured quickly, their wriggling bodies no match for the overwhelming hunger of the goblin infants. Yet, amid the wails and cries of hunger, one newborn did not lunge toward the food. It remained still, its tiny yellow beady eyes wide and unblinking as it stared at the wriggling worm in front of face. Like its kin, it cried out, hunger gnawing at its tiny form. Yet, when the worm was thrown before it, something flickered in its eyes¡ªanother hunger, deeper and unknown. Its tiny hands twitched, but instead of lunging forward, It stared at the wriggling creature, not with mere instinct, but with curiosity, as if searching for something more. The worm writhed, instinctively fleeing its fate¡ªlike all things that live While its brothers and sisters devoured their food with frenzied urgency, this one simply watched, its wide, curious eyes fixed on the wriggling creature before it. The adult goblin, noticing the strange stillness in the tiny one¡¯s gaze, paused for a moment, its eyes narrowing as it looked at the newborn who didn¡¯t move to feed. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. Then, without hesitation, the adult scooped the tiny goblin up by the neck, the almost-escaping worm writhing in its other hand. Dangling in its grasp, the newborn did not struggle, its gaze unwavering, filled with the same strange curiosity. The tiny goblin blinked, glancing from the worm to the adult¡¯s face. Its head tilted slightly¡ªas if trying to comprehend the strange motions of the world around it. Go? The sound was faint, uncertain¡ªalmost a question. But before an answer could come¡ª Gup! ¡­Burp! The adult goblin shoved the worm into the newborn¡¯s mouth. Instinct took over. Its small teeth sank into the wriggling flesh, and in moments, it swallowed, letting out a tiny, involuntary burp. Satisfied, the adult goblin wasted no time. It moved with brisk, practiced motions, ensuring that each newborn had eaten. Those who had already devoured their worms whimpered softly, their small bodies twitching as the warmth of food settled in their bellies. A yawn¡ªthen another. One by one, the newborns¡¯ cries faded, replaced by slow, heavy breaths. Their tiny bodies curled instinctively into the dirt, the exhaustion of birth overtaking them. Even the strange one, the last to eat, drowsily fixed its gaze on the adult, its small fingers twitching before its heavy eyelids finally shut. The adult let out a quiet grunt. Its work was done. Without another word, it turned and retreated into the shadows, its heavy steps disappearing into the depths of the cave. The dim light swallowed its form as it disappeared into the depths of the cave, leaving only the soft sound of sleeping breaths behind. Silence returned, For now, the newborns slept. ¡­¡­ Time passed quickly, especially for the infant goblins. By the fifth day, their once fragile bodies had grown to the size of children. Goblins, though often considered weak, were feared and hunted by many¡ªnot for their strength, but for their rapid growth and overwhelming numbers. They could be found anywhere in the realm, multiplying at an alarming rate, and in mere days, a newborn could become a child. Gi!¡ªGi! The cries that had once been driven by hunger were now filled with a new urgency¡ªa thirst not only for food but for exploration, for play. They were creatures eager to discover the world beyond their brooding chambers. But on this day, the day the goblins transitioned from newborns to children, something was different. The sharp clink of metal rang through the air, growing louder with every step. Two goblins, towering and clad in rusted helmets, entered the cave. Their presence was imposing, and the dull gleam of their iron spears shimmered faintly in the dim light. Behind them, a third figure followed¡ªunlike any other goblin. This one was draped in a tattered cloak, dark and stained, with a large cane crowned with a skull and tusks. His eyes gleamed with an unnatural intelligence, His presence twisted the very air around him. The elite goblins stood motionless, their gaze sharp and unyielding. The young goblins¡ªno longer infants, but now fully-fledged children¡ªfell silent. The cave itself seemed to hold its breath, the weight of the visitors'' presence pressing down on everything. The cloaked goblin moved between the two elite goblins, each step slow and deliberate, the air thickening around him. The children felt it¡ªhow small they suddenly seemed, how fragile. Stopping between the spear-wielding goblins, the cloaked figure finally spoke. His voice was broken and eerie, each word deliberate as though dragged from the depths of an ancient memory. ¡°No... more... free... food,¡± he rasped, his voice like the creaking of old bones. The echo of his voice settled in the cave, his words hanging heavy in the air. The young goblins, still confused, watched the cloaked goblin with wide, uncertain eyes. One of the young goblins, trembling with fear-fueled aggression, bared its tiny fangs. It growled, defiant, yellow eyes narrowed. The elite goblins, standing like towering shadows, were quick to react, their iron spears raised in warning as they stepped forward to discipline the rebellious child. Humph! But before the guards could strike, a low grunt escaped the cloaked figure¡¯s lips. His hand rose slowly, fingers outstretched. The guards froze in place, their weapons halting mid-motion. "Wind..." the cloaked goblin muttered, his voice barely a whisper, yet it carried with an unsettling authority. His fingers pointed toward the defiant goblin. In an instant, the air around the child warped. Swoosh¡ª! A violent gust exploded from his fingers, tearing through the cave. The wind sliced through the young goblin¡¯s frail body with brutal force¡ªits flesh disintegrated in a flash. Bone and blood scattered, torn apart in an instant. The screeching, gurgling scream of the goblin filled the air for a mere moment before it was swallowed by the howling wind. With a single, sharp slam of his cane against the ground, the cloaked figure silenced the cave. The wind stilled immediately, leaving only the stench of blood and the deafening quiet. His glowing eyes swept over the young goblins, fear and awe reflected in their wide eyes. His voice rumbled like thunder. "Weak... die... Strong... hunt... eat." Without another word, the cloaked goblin turned and began to leave, his footsteps slow and measured. The elite guards followed in his wake, their faces hidden by their helmets. As the cloaked goblin vanished into the shadows, a heavy silence settled over the cave. The small goblins huddled, trembling in fear, the scent of blood thick in the air and the sight of their mangled kin still fresh in their minds. Yet, amidst the fear, one child remained unmoving. Its tiny form stood eerily still, unblinking, eyes locked on the shattered remains of its kin. While the others cowered, the child¡¯s gaze lingered for just a moment longer, fixated on the broken body, before it turned¡ªquietly, deliberately¡ªtoward the darkened path the cloaked figure had taken. Then, in the suffocating silence, it spoke its first words¡­ ¡°¡­Wind?¡± ¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­. UPCOMING NEXT - CHAPTER 2 - The Meaning of the Hunt. ¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­. [2] - The Meaning of the Hunt The young goblins stumbled out of the birthing cave, blinking against the sudden shift from darkness to dim, open light. Their thin bodies, still young, tensed at the unfamiliar air. Unlike the damp, enclosed space where they had spent their first days, the outside world was vast, chaotic, alive. Thirty¡­ forty of them. A full brood¡ªa testament to the terrifying speed of their race''s proliferation. The village surrounded them¡ªa crude scattering of tents and makeshift huts built from scavenged wood, bones, and tattered cloth, blending into the thick forest beyond. Fires smoldered in shallow pits, their flickering light casting long shadows across the dirt ground. There were no walls, no true boundaries¡ªonly trees and the presence of goblins, everywhere. The air was thick with a stench of smoke and old blood. And the moment the young ones emerged, the village noticed them. Yellow eyes gleamed in the dim light as older goblins turned to watch. Some sneered, baring jagged teeth in amusement or disinterest. Others grunted, returning to their business¡ªgnawing on bones, tending to weapons, arguing in broken growls. A few, the more scarred and battle-worn, simply stared, as if weighing the worth of the new brood. Confusion swept through the young goblins. Some huddled together, instinctively seeking the comfort of numbers, while others flinched at the violence around them¡ªthe sickening crack of bones snapping between teeth, the guttural snarls of goblins fighting over scraps of meat. A few, driven by hunger, immediately dropped to all fours, sniffing the dirt for anything edible. But there was no mother to guide them. No hand to feed them. As the cloaked goblin had said, this was a world where the weak died, and only the strong hunted and survived. Yet one of the braver younglings let out a shrill Gi!¡ªa cry of frustration, perhaps even a demand. The response was swift. A nearby goblin, taller and hunched with sharp scars across its arms, lashed out with a swift kick, sending the small one tumbling into the dirt. ¡ªGhhk-ghhk¡­ kehh-kehh-kehh! Laughter¡ªharsh and cruel¡ªerupted from a few nearby goblins. The young goblins flinched, their instincts screaming to submit, to obey. Most lowered their heads, avoiding eye contact with the stronger goblins. Others, smarter or hungrier, turned their attention elsewhere¡ªtoward the scraps of discarded food, toward the underbrush where small creatures scurried unseen. Survive. That was the only rule. Yet, amidst them all, the small one¡ªthe curious one¡ªstood still, watching as it always did. Beyond its brothers and sisters in the brood, there were others¡ªmore like it, yet different. Some were larger, their limbs thick with muscle. Others were smaller, hunched and wiry. Some bore patches of wild, matted hair atop their heads, while others were bald, their scalps marred with scars. Its yellow eyes flickered, tracing differences, patterns. It watched, and watched, and watched. Until, a sharp tug of hunger broke its focus. The ache twisted in its stomach, raw and insistent. It had eaten nothing since it awoke, much like the rest of the brood¡ªbut now, it could ignore it no longer. Around it, the young goblins stirred restlessly, their own stomachs curling with a primal need they could no longer suppress. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. The air thickened with the sounds of hunger¡ªsharp growls and desperate yelps. Some of the younger goblins, driven by instinct, lunged toward the older goblins, trying to snatch at the scraps of meat they were eating. But similar to before, the older goblins were swift and merciless. They swatted at the young ones with brutal swipes, sending them tumbling to the dirt. The younger goblins yelped in pain, but the hunger drove them forward again, attempting to take what they could. They snarled, jagged teeth flashing as they devoured the food, ignoring the young ones entirely. It was a cycle, relentless and unyielding¡ªone that the curious and young goblin had already begun to understand. The curious goblin stood apart from the chaos, its yellow eyes flickering with quiet curiosity. It watched as the older goblins consumed the meat¡ªlarge, meaty chunks disappearing into their mouths in practiced motions. But they hadn¡¯t always been here. The meat must¡¯ve come from somewhere. The curious goblin¡¯s tilted its head. It had seen the others with meat, but where did they find it? It took a step forward, but hesitated. The older goblins were powerful, merciless. It had learned that much already. But there was something more to their strength¡ªsomething beyond just their size and aggression. They didn¡¯t fight for every scrap, they didn¡¯t chase the food. They took it. They knew where it was, and how to get it. Its yellow eyes flickered from one older goblin to the next, its mind working quickly, trying to answer its own question. And that¡¯s when it hit the curious goblin. The food didn¡¯t just appear. The older goblins were¡ªtaking it from outside somehow. Its stomach clenched, but it ignored the ache. It could eat later¡ªafter it understood.¡ªand then, it moved. It began to follow. Two older goblins left the village, and the curious goblin kept a safe distance, careful not to alert them. They led it through the village and out toward the edge of the forest. The curious goblin¡¯s eyes scanned every movement, noting the way the older goblins seemed to be heading with purpose¡ªeach one aware of the land around them, knowing exactly where to go. Eventually, the older goblins halted near a dense thicket. One of them¡ªtaller and thick-limbed¡ªgripped a crude spear, its jagged tip dark with dried stains. The other was smaller and thin, its long fingers twitching as it hunched close to the earth. The curious goblin expected them to pull food from the thicket, but they didn¡¯t Instead, The smaller goblin¡¯s posture shifted. It lowered itself further, pressing its chest almost flat to the ground. Its body trembled, its arms shook, its movements turned sluggish and erratic¡ªlike something wounded, something weak. It wasn¡¯t moving like a goblin. It wasn¡¯t like something strong. It was¡­ wrong. The curious goblin¡¯s yellow eyes narrowed. It didn¡¯t fully understand, but instinct¡ªsharp and primal¡ªtold it that something was off. That something about this was unnatural. The larger goblin remained still, hiding itself behind the underbrush. Then, a faint rustle in the underbrush. The underbrush trembled as something else stirred¡ªa creature unlike any the curious goblin had ever seen. It was small, covered in thick fur, with tall, flicking ears. But what stood out the most was the sharp, glistening straight horn protruding from its forehead. The creature moved cautiously, its large eyes scanning its surroundings. Its powerful hind legs tensed, coiled tight with readiness. The hunched goblin continued its act, dragging its limbs awkwardly, shuddering as though it was on the verge of collapse. It let out a low, pitiful whimper. The horned creature¡¯s ears twitched. And then, it lunged. Not away, but forward¡ªstraight for the smaller goblin. Its legs uncoiled like a spring, launching its horn straight toward the goblin¡¯s hunched back. But the second goblin had expected this. At the last possible moment, it twisted, rolling to the side just as the horned creature struck empty earth. A trap. Before the creature could recover, the larger goblin moved. A sharp thrust. Swoosh¡ª! The spear plunged into the creature¡¯s exposed side. A shrill cry ripped through the air as it thrashed wildly, trying to kick itself free. Its horn slashed, missing the larger goblin¡¯s leg by inches. But it was too late. The spear twisted, and the creature''s body went still. For the first time, the curious goblin understood¡ªhunting was not about finding food. It was about making something die. His stomach twisted, saliva pooling in his mouth. He had eaten before¡ªworms, scraps. But this was different. Bigger. And he wanted it. The weak died, and the strong ate the weak. Just as it had been in the days of its birth. When hunger gnawed at its belly, it had devoured the writhing, blind worms in the dark. It hadn¡¯t thought much of it then¡ªonly that it was starving, and they were there. But now, watching the larger goblins, watching the way they took life, something became clear. If it did not eat¡ªif it did not kill¡ªthen it would starve. And if it starved, it would weaken. And if it weakened¡­ Something else would eat it. The scent of fresh blood filled the air. The curious goblin¡¯s nostrils flared. Its stomach twisted. The horned thing had been moving¡ªstrong, fast. Then it stopped. Now, it was meat. The larger goblin pulled its spear free. The smaller one crouched low, knife in hand. A quick slash, and the thing¡¯s belly split open. Steam curled from its insides. The curious goblin¡¯s mouth felt strange, wet. A feeling it didn¡¯t understand. The older goblins dug in. Their fingers tore through flesh, ripping free the best parts¡ªthe dark, rich meat, the slippery red pieces that smelled the strongest. They ate. They did not stop. The curious goblin watched. Its stomach ached. It knew this feeling. Hunger. It had eaten before. Worms. Small things. Weak things. This was the same. But different. Bigger. The curious goblin stepped forward. Would they give it food? ¡­No. It had already seen what happened to it brothers and sisters. The curious goblin¡¯s fingers twitched. It looked at its hands. Small. Empty. It had no spear. No claws like the horned thing. No tools like the older goblins. But it had hunger. And hunger was enough. It lowered itself, muscles tensed. If it wanted meat, it would take it. Just like them. ¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­. UPCOMING NEXT - CHAPTER 3 - Skitter Haunt. ¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­. GLOSSARY -:- [1] Horned Rabbit ¡ª A small but deceptively dangerous monster, known for its powerful legs and sharp horn protruding from its forehead. Unlike ordinary rabbits, it will charge at threats rather than flee, using its horn to impale predators. The Horned Rabbit is an omnivore, feeding on both grass and meat. Its meat is a valued food source, and its horn is sometimes repurposed into tools or weapons. [3] - Skitter Haunt Leaves whipped underfoot, the forest floor damp with the scent of earth and prey. Three figures moved through the undergrowth. One led, tall and thick-limbed, gripping a jagged spear with practiced ease. The second, smaller and thin, slinked low to the ground, its long fingers twitching with anticipation. They did not speak¡ªonly moved, senses sharpened, bodies tense, eyes scanning for movement. And trailing behind them, half-hidden in the shifting shadows, was the third. A young goblin. It had been following them for a while now, careful to match their pace, careful not to be seen. Leaves rustled beneath the weight of three goblins, their movements barely a whisper against the thick, damp air. The goblins paused. Their noses flared as they sniffed the air¡ªsomething was near. The larger one, holding the jagged spear, gave a subtle nod, his body tense with quiet anticipation. The second goblin¡ªsmaller, wiry, with twitching fingers¡ªsank lower to the ground, moving silently, as though one with the earth. They had found prey. Ahead, nestled in a patch of dense ferns, not one but three Mossfoot Badgers fed. Their stout, gray bodies were low to the ground, their moss-covered paws brushing the damp earth with a softness that made them nearly invisible. They fed on roots and berries, unaware of the predators closing in. The Mossfoot Badger was a stealthy creature, its moss-covered paws muffling any sound, making it a difficult prey to track in the thick, moist forest. But now, with three of them, the older goblins knew the odds had shifted. The two goblins exchanged glances, their mouths curving into eager grins. Three badgers. This would be a haul. The large goblin gripped his spear, prepared to strike when the time came. The smaller goblin, knife in hand, was already preparing for the rush. They would ambush the badgers. The thin goblin, knife in hand, crouched low. With a barely audible breath, it surged forward, closing the gap between it and the closest badger. Squeal¡ª! The knife¡¯s blade cut across the badger¡¯s side, drawing a shallow wound. The badger¡¯s body jerked back in surprise, but the creature barely flinched from the pain. It let out a sharp cry, its sharp eyes narrowing as it turned to face its attacker. Thud. The large goblin stepped forward, his spear lancing forward with the full weight of his strength. Swoosh¡ª! The spear drove deep into the badger¡¯s flank. The creature¡¯s shriek of pain filled the air, but it was over quickly. Thud. It hit the ground, its body twitching before it stilled, lifeless. For a moment, the forest fell silent. The two goblins stood tall, grinning widely from the thrill of the kill. But the remaining badgers were far from finished. Their eyes flashed with rage. Squeeeee¡ª! The surviving badgers let out a blood-curdling cry. claws scraping against the forest floor as they prepared to retaliate. Their bodies were stout and muscular, built for digging and defense, with sharp teeth bared in anger. The larger goblin grunted as the badger''s claws scraped across his armor, just missing his chest. He staggered back but kept his footing, swinging his spear with renewed ferocity. Swoosh! Another badger charged at the thin goblin, its teeth gnashing as it tried to clamp down on the goblin¡¯s leg. The goblin scrambled backward, narrowly avoiding the strike. It cut across the air, the badger¡¯s roar ringing in its ears as it swiped again. Hiss¡ª! The goblin scrambled backward, barely dodging the attack. It hissed in pain as the badger¡¯s claws grazed its arm, leaving a bloody streak. The badgers were relentless now. The larger goblin charged again, his spear raised high. The badger it faced retaliated with a violent push, slamming its head into the goblin¡¯s stomach, pushing him back a few steps. The goblin grunted and swung his spear again, aiming for the badger''s throat. Swoosh! But the badger ducked, its claws catching the goblin¡¯s arm in a glancing blow, leaving a bloody streak along his skin. The fight was no longer an easy kill. The badgers were wild with fury, attacking in every direction, their claws and fangs flashing. The two goblins struggled to keep up with the onslaught. The larger goblin gritted his teeth, his grip tightening around the spear as another badger collided with him. Crack¡ª! The weapon gave way under the pressure, the shaft splitting with a sickening crack. His eyes widened in disbelief. Now it was just tooth and claw. A desperate struggle of beasts. The thin goblin wheezed, clutching his bleeding chest, barely able to keep standing. The badgers, though wounded, were still moving, their breath heavy, their gazes murderous. Both sides knew¡ª Kill or die. Then¡ª If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Squ¡ª! The creature let out a strangled cry, legs buckling, body collapsing. The goblins and badgers alike turned, stunned. A new figure had entered the fight. Half-hidden in the shifting shadows, gripping a bloodied rock, stood the curious and young goblin. Its breath was steady. Its eyes, calm. And it was ready to kill. Squeeeee! The badger writhed, its body convulsing as blood seeped from its crushed skull. A sharp wheeze left its throat before it collapsed, twitching once¡ªthen still. The curious goblin didn¡¯t hesitate. Its sharp eyes locked onto the remaining badger, the last of its kind. The creature hesitated, its furious snarls faltering as instinct screamed at it to run. But it was too late. The larger goblin lunged. With a guttural growl, he crashed into the badger, grappling with the beast as it thrashed and clawed, teeth snapping inches from his face. The thin goblin, still clutching his wounded chest, let out a ragged breath¡ªthen pushed forward, his knife gleaming. A swift slash. Squ¡ª! A choked squeal. The blade drove deep into the badger¡¯s throat, warm blood spurting against the goblin¡¯s fingers. The creature spasmed once¡ªthen sagged, lifeless. Silence fell. Heavy panting filled the clearing, the three goblins staring at the bodies around them. The two older goblins panted, their bodies aching, their wounds stinging. Blood smeared their green skin, some their own, some from the badgers now lying lifeless on the forest floor. The fight had been brutal, but they had won. The larger goblin¡ªstill gripping the splintered remains of his spear¡ªturned to the strange one. His yellow eyes flicked up and down, finally taking in the newcomer properly. Small. Young. Fresh bred. He grunted, baring his teeth in something like approval. He pointed at a dead badger. "Fresh bred¡­ help." His voice was rough, guttural. "Get¡­ some meat." The thin goblin, still clutching his bleeding chest, gave a slow nod. He did not protest. The curious goblin had fought. Had killed. However, the curious goblin did not move toward the offered portion. Instead¡ª Thud! A sharp kick struck the larger goblin¡¯s leg, making him stumble with a snarl. His grip tightened around the broken spear, instincts flaring. The curious goblin stood firm. "Two," he growled, voice steady. "No me¡ª" he pointed at the dead badgers, at the blood on their bodies, at their wounds¡ª"You die." A tense silence hung in the air. The larger goblin bared his teeth, muscles twitching. He took a step forward, brandishing his broken spear. The smaller one, still twitching with irritation, stepped in closer, his thin frame a stark contrast to the brute force of the older goblins. Their eyes narrowed, and they circled the curious goblin, attempting to force him into submission. "Two?¡­fresh brood" the larger goblin snarled, his voice thick with disdain. The second thinner goblin growled, "¡­Greedy¡­Weak" The curious goblin stood unmoving, not an inch of fear in his posture. He didn¡¯t flinch. His eyes were steady, cold, locked onto the larger goblin¡¯s every movement. "Grr¡ªWeak?" the curious goblin growled, his voice a low rumble. "You. Bleed. Now. Weak!" The larger goblin lunged forward, half spear aimed straight at the curious goblin¡¯s chest with a vicious thrust. The curious goblin twisted, ducking low, his body flowing with an unexpected fluidity. The spear whistled past his ear, missing by mere inches. Without hesitation, the curious goblin kicked out, his foot striking the larger goblin¡¯s shin. The older goblin stumbled, a sharp hiss escaping him as he tried to steady himself. Before the larger goblin could recover, the smaller goblin rushed in with his knife, teeth bared. His movements were slow due to his injuries, but the curious goblin, unharmed, sidestepped easily, avoiding the swipe with abnormal precision. The larger goblin grunted, recovering his balance. "Quick," he muttered, eyes narrowed with growing fury. "You fast, not strong." With a roar of frustration, the larger goblin lunged again, this time with brute force, swinging the spear in a wide arc. The curious goblin didn¡¯t flinch. He reacted almost instinctively, ducking low, but there was something more to his movements. It wasn¡¯t just speed; it was a fluid anticipation, as though he knew where the spear would strike before it even happened. His body moved just out of reach, effortlessly avoiding the strike, his eyes locked on the larger goblin¡¯s every move. The smaller goblin circled him, hissing in pain, his exhaustion evident in every step. The larger goblin swung again, a vicious swipe aimed at the curious goblin¡¯s head. But the curious goblin was already moving¡ªhis foot shifting, his body twisting in an unnatural flow of motion, narrowly avoiding the attack. The smaller goblin snarled and lunged again, his knife flashing in the dim light. Thud¡ª! A sharp kick slammed into his wounded leg. The thin goblin howled, his balance breaking as he crumpled to one knee. Before he could react, the curious goblin¡¯s hand shot forward, snatching the knife clean from his grasp. In the same motion, he turned¡ª The jagged blade now pointed directly at the larger goblin¡¯s throat. The brute froze, chest rising and falling with exhaustion. His grip on the broken spear tightened, but his body wavered. Worn, bleeding, breath ragged¡ªhe knew he couldn''t move fast enough. The thin goblin hissed through his teeth, panting, his lips curling back in a mixture of pain and fury. He snarled, spitting blood onto the dirt."Grr¡ªSkit! Skit!... Skitter!" The two older goblins remained still, their bodies tense, muscles coiled¡ªbut they did not attack. The larger goblin¡¯s grip on his broken spear loosened. He exhaled sharply through his nose, then took a step back. The thin goblin followed, dragging his injured leg, still baring his teeth but making no move to strike. A beat passed. The larger goblin gave a low grunt, voice tinged with reluctant acknowledgment."Grrh¡ªWe¡­ know you. Skit.¡± The curious goblin fingers flexed around the stolen knife, his breath steadying. Then, with the faintest tilt of his head, as if testing the weight of it¡ªhe muttered it back. "¡­Skit.¡± .................. UPCOMING NEXT - CHAPTER 4 - Feast of the Brethren. .................. GLOSSARY -:- [1] Mossfoot Badger ¡ª A stealthy and territorial forest creature known for its moss-covered paws, which muffle sound and make it difficult to track. Despite its stout build, it is highly aggressive when provoked, fighting relentlessly even when wounded. Its powerful claws, used for both burrowing and combat, can tear through flesh with ease. The Mossfoot Badger is an omnivore, feeding on roots, berries, and small prey. [2] Goblins'' Naming ¡ª Goblins, unlike many other species, don¡¯t place much significance on personal names. Their culture values instincts and survival more than individual identity, leading to a more utilitarian approach to naming. Goblins are often given names based on their actions, traits, or even their behavior, like ¡°Quickclaw¡± for swift movement or ¡°Mudfoot¡± for navigating swamps. but these names are typically bestowed by others rather than chosen or deeply cherished by the goblin themselves. [3] Skit (Skitter) ¡ª A name given to the curious goblin based on his quick, darting movements during his fight against Vrik and Burk. Unlike the brute force of larger goblins, Skit relied on instinct and preceptive eyes to avoid blows, slipping away rather than meeting attacks head-on. The name is simple but fitting¡ªmarking him as one who moves unpredictably, neither the strongest nor the fiercest, but slippery enough to survive. [4] - Feast of the Brethren The goblin village sprawled beneath the canopy of ancient trees, their thick branches weaving a heavy shadow over the settlement. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, mixed with the pungent smell of roasting meat from the fire at the heart of the village. The fire crackled in the center, its flickering flames sending long, twisting shadows dancing across the clearing. Around it, the goblins gathered¡ªlarge and small, thick-skinned and lean¡ªall of them bent over their spoils, tearing into their prey with grunts and growls. The older goblins devoured the meat with abandon, their sharp teeth ripping through the flesh of the hunts, their calls echoing across the clearing. They seemed unaware of the world around them, focused solely on satisfying their hunger. While the older goblins gnawed at their kills, the younger goblins¡ªfreshly bred, new to the world¡ªwatched with hungry eyes. Their mouths hung open, saliva dripping as they stared at the feast laid before them. The number of the fresh brood had been nearly forty, but now, that number had thinned through the first night of survival. Some of the younger goblins tried to steal scraps from the older goblins, but their efforts were swiftly punished. Some, smart and driven enough by hunger, left to hunt for their own feed. But less than half of those returned¡ªfewer still with anything to show for it. Yet, no matter how much they wanted to feast, the hungry younger goblins knew their place, for now. They watched from the edges of the firelight, their gazes lingering on the meat, their hunger raw but restrained. And amidst them, one of the rare few who had eaten¡ªthe curious goblin. Skit, or so it was called today by its angry older brethren. After the hunt with the two older goblins, he came to learn their names¡ªBruk, the thick-limbed, balding brute, and Vrik, the smaller, wiry one with twitching fingers. It seemed that every goblin was called in a particular way, based on traits or mannerisms¡ªa pattern he was beginning to understand. He hadn¡¯t been told outright but had pieced their names together from the way they barked at each other, snarled orders, and spat curses. Bruk often grumbled Vrik¡¯s name in irritation, while Vrik, always fidgeting, muttered Bruk¡¯s name with sharp, mocking jabs. Slowly, and unnaturally so for a goblin, Skit was learning. When Bruk and Vrik finally stepped back, Skit seized the opportunity, his eyes scanning the two dead Mossfoot Badgers. Driven by hunger and an overwhelming instinct, he grabbed one of them and, without hesitation, sank his teeth into the warm flesh. The taste was raw and satisfying, and the gnawing hunger surged within him, clouding all thought. He tore into the meat, barely noticing as his fingers fumbled with the sinewy muscles and bones. As he consumed, his mind sharpened for a brief moment¡ªhe realized that this was the way of the goblin, the way of the strong. After nothing was left of his first prey, something happened. Something he couldn¡¯t understand. For a fleeting moment¡ªfaster than he could react¡ªsomething flashed. [¡­] A pulse, a flicker of something unseen. It wasn¡¯t scent, sound, or sight. It was like a whisper but not quite¡ªa presence that vanished before he could grasp it. His body remained still, his eyes darting around, but nothing had changed in the world around him. Then, silence. The feeling was gone as quickly as it came, leaving behind only an eerie emptiness in his thoughts. He growled under his breath, unsettled. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. He didn¡¯t know what it was. But whatever it had been, it had passed. Shaking his head, Skit turned back to the other dead badger. With it slung over his young frame, he made his way back to the village, his steps steady and sure. He remembered the way. He always remembered. But before entering the village, he veered off the path, crouching beside a thick bush near the outskirts. With quick, clawed hands, he dug into the damp earth and buried the carcass. Why? His sharp eyes flicked toward the firelight, where his broodmates huddled at the edges, their eyes wide with hunger as they watched the older goblins feast. Some grew desperate, lunging forward to steal scraps¡ªonly to be beaten down and laughed at. ¡ªGehe¡­ghek-ghhk¡­ kehh-kehh-kehh! Skit¡¯s lips curled, revealing his small, sharp fangs, their gleam barely catching the flickering firelight. a goblin''s grin, twisted and raw. As Skit moved through the shifting mass of goblins, a pair of murky eyes settled on him, A raspy sniffle cut through the crackling fire and murmuring voices. Sniff¡ªsniff¡­ Perched atop a gnarled stump, A wrinkled goblin sat hunched, his skin a weathered gray-green, stretched taut over a bony frame. His ears were long and drooping, his yellowed fangs protruding slightly from his thin lips. Wrinkled fingers idly tapped against his knee as he observed the gathering with a gaze that had seen countless cycles of goblin life. Sniff¡ª! His nostrils flared. Beneath the overwhelming stench of sweat, damp earth, and roasted flesh, he caught it¡ªthe scent of blood, fresh and lingering. It clung to the small goblin, a young one. Unlike the others, he did not feast. He did not snarl or jeer at the struggling younglings. He simply watched. And right now, he was watching Skit. His sunken eyes narrowed slightly. Skit wasn¡¯t hunched in hunger like his brethren, nor was he gnawing on scraps or licking his lips in desperate longing. The elder¡¯s fingers drummed against his knee once more. ¡°Khekhe¡­ young one, not hungry?¡± the elder rasped, his voice like dried leaves scraping together. Skit stiffened. The elder¡¯s nostrils flared again, his beady eyes glinting with something more than simple curiosity. ¡°Blood.¡± A crooked grin stretched across his face. ¡°Fresh.¡± Skit turned toward him, meeting his gaze, He bared his teeth, hunching slightly like his starving kin. "Me... hungry." A simple lie. The elder''s fingers drummed against his knee once more, the tapping slow, deliberate. His grin never faded. ¡°Oh?...Strange¡± His murky eyes studied Skit, but he said nothing more of the blood. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, his bones creaking with the movement. ¡°Hngh¡­ young one is hungry, but young one does not fight for scraps.¡± The elder¡¯s grin widened just a little, his yellowed fangs glinting in the firelight. ¡°Strange.¡± Skit said nothing. He only watched, his muscles tense beneath his thin frame. The old goblin let out a dry chuckle, scratching at his chin. ¡°You¡­ bring meat.¡± His gaze remained sharp despite his age, narrowing as it shifted to the blood on Skit. ¡°Bring meat to me.¡± His long fingers tapped his knee again. ¡°I show.¡± Skit¡¯s brows furrowed. He didn¡¯t understand, but something about the elder¡¯s words caught his attention. He tilted his head, a question in his eyes, though his voice was hesitant. ¡°Show?¡± The elder¡¯s smile widened slightly. ¡°Yes.¡± His voice dropped lower, more serious now. ¡°I show you more than scraps. I show you what you cannot see. If you bring meat.¡± Skit blinked, trying to process the elder¡¯s words. Something about the way the goblin spoke stirred a strange feeling within him. The elder leaned back again, resting his weight on the gnarled stump beneath him, his eyes still fixed on Skit. He didn¡¯t press for an answer. Instead, he let the silence stretch between them, as if to give the younger goblin time to think¡ªor perhaps to make the choice for himself. Skit¡¯s gaze drifted toward the fire, toward the older goblins who feasted with abandon. His stomach growled, but it was different now. The desire for food, for meat, was mingled with something else. Curiosity. A sense of potential. An itch he couldn¡¯t quite scratch. Finally, Skit nodded, though he still didn¡¯t fully understand. He turned and walked away without another word, his small figure swallowed by the night¡¯s shadows. The elder watched him go, his grin still lingering on his withered face, eyes gleaming with something older, deeper than simple amusement. ¡°Interesting¡­ A king?... No!¡­ too young, too smart¡­ strange?¡± he muttered to himself, tapping his fingers once more, lost in thought. His crooked grin faded, replaced by a look of deep contemplation. The flickering firelight danced across his weathered face, but his murky eyes were distant, focused on something beyond the village¡ªa thought, an idea, something only he could grasp. For a moment, the elder sat in silence, the only sound the crackling fire and the soft rustle of the forest around him. As the night deepened, the firelight flickered and stretched long shadows across the village. The elder remained seated on his stump, his gaze still distant, his mind elsewhere, while the steady rhythm of his fingers tapping on his knee filled the silence. ¡°Gheh-heh¡­ curious, curious. Very curious,¡± he rasped under his breath, before turning his gaze back to the fire. The night thickened, and time, unfeeling, moved forward. .................. UPCOMING NEXT - CHAPTER 5 - Through the Hungry Eyes. .................. [5] - Through the Hungry Eyes The fifth night had passed, but hunger remained. Skit stirred awake, his thin body curled beneath the meager shelter of thick roots and damp earth. The village was still, save for the occasional grunt or twitch of a sleeping goblin. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, smoke, and the remnants of last night¡¯s feast. His stomach clenched. The hunger had dulled after eating, but now it gnawed at him again, a restless ache that would not fade, waking him up from his dreamless sleep. He had buried the badger. A meal set aside, hidden from the others. Now, he would claim it. Skit shifted, careful not to rouse his broodmates. They were sprawled about, their thin chests rising and falling in uneven rhythm. Some still clutched at their empty bellies, their bodies too weak to stir, while others twitched in restless sleep. His sharp eyes darted toward the deeper part of the village. The fire had long since died, its embers barely smoldering. The older goblins, some bloated from their gluttonous feast, lay strewn about in crude heaps, snoring and grumbling in their sleep. Yet not all remained idle. A few had already stirred, stretching their limbs with lazy growls before slipping into the shadows of the forest, off to hunt for their morning meal. Satisfied, Skit crept into the dawn¡¯s shadows, slipping away to unearth the carcass he had buried the night before. The forest swallowed him whole, its thick roots and twisted branches offering perfect cover as he moved. He retraced his steps from the night before, his bare feet silent against the damp earth, barely disturbing the quiet. Soon, he reached the spot. However¡­ The soil was disturbed. The dirt where he had buried the carcass was loose, freshly overturned. His heart pounded, a sharp awareness creeping up his spine. Slowly, he crouched, fingers brushing the earth, feeling the absence. The badger corpse was gone. Grr¡ª! Skit''s breath hitched, a low growl rumbling in his throat as his instincts surged to the forefront. Beastly fury mixed with hunger, and he gritted his fangs, nails digging into the damp earth as his eyes scanned the ground. The scent was faint, but it was there¡ªthe lingering trace of blood, now mixed with something else¡­ a sharp, acrid stench. "¡­Steal?" The earth had been torn apart by something hungry¡ªsomething that had scented the hidden flesh and unearthed it with ease. Tiny tracks dotted the soil, leading into the brush. Not a goblin. Skit¡¯s jaw tightened. Burying meat¡­ no good. He stared at the empty hole, hunger twisting inside him, but now there was something else. A lesson, carved into the dirt as surely as the claw marks. There were things in the night that hunted, that stole, that smelled what others could not. Skit exhaled slowly. He had thought himself clever, smarter than the others. And yet, his meal was gone. Next time, he would not just bury his food. Next time, he would bury a trick. His stomach growled, but he ignored it. Instead, he knelt, pressing a hand to the disturbed earth. The tracks were faint. If he followed them¡ª Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! [¡­] But as his fingers brushed the soil again, a sudden flicker¡ªlike before. A flash. But this time, it didn¡¯t just vanish. His vision blurred, then sharpened. The faint traces in the dirt shifted, becoming clearer¡ªvivid, as if a hidden layer of the world had peeled open before him. A strange awareness crept in, something new. Faint outlines¡ªno, not just footprints¡ªlingered in the soil. Shapes too subtle to notice before now stood out, etched in eerie clarity. He blinked. The world around him suddenly felt sharper. His breath quickened as his vision adjusted, revealing traces that had been invisible just moments ago. Gah¡ª!?! Instinct kicked in. Skit jolted back, his muscles coiling in fright. The world felt different. It felt weird. There, a small series of faint marks, nearly invisible to the naked eye, glowed for a fraction of a second¡ªbefore they faded again. Skit¡¯s breath hitched. The knife he stole from Vrik was already in his grasp, his fingers tight around the rough handle. He hadn''t even thought¡ªhis body simply reacted, fangs bared, muscles coiled. His eyes flicked back to the ground. The strange, glowing traces had faded, but he knew what he saw. Knew what he felt. His ears twitched, straining. The forest creaked, the wind whispered, but there was no movement nearby. Nothing. Skit tilted his head, confusion creeping into his sharp features. "¡­Gre?" he muttered, uncertain. Slowly, he crouched, pressing a hand to the earth again. His breath remained steady, though his grip on the crude knife did not loosen. Yet still¡­ nothing happened. Skit frowned, his grip tightening on the knife. His free hand pressed against the dirt, testing, feeling. Nothing. Just cold earth beneath his fingers. But he wasn¡¯t wrong. He knew what he saw. His ears twitched. What was different before? His mind reeled back to the moment it happened¡ªthe sharp click, the tension, the way his breath caught. Feel again. Skit exhaled slowly. His claws traced the ground, his breathing deep and steady, his hunger momentarily forgotten. He reached for the feeling again, the strange clarity that had opened his eyes. Then¡ª [¡­] The air shifted. The world sharpened. The wide, black slits in his yellow eyes thinned, contracting like a beast locking onto its prey. And this time, the glowing traces didn¡¯t vanish immediately. Skit¡¯s breath slowed as the world around him sharpened into vivid focus. The faint traces in the dirt glowed with an unnatural clarity, revealing shapes he couldn¡¯t have seen before¡ªlines, claws, and subtle movements where there had been nothing His fingers trembled as he traced the outlines in the dirt with his claws, feeling a strange pull, an understanding blossoming in the depths of his mind. The traces¡ªfootprints, no, something else¡ªthe presence of the creature that had stolen the meat. It wasn¡¯t just a trail; it was a something he couldn''t explain. A language Skit had never known but somehow understood. His hunger, his anger, his instincts¡ªthey all merged into a singular focus. His hand tightened around the knife. And he moved. The glowing lines pulsed faintly at first, mere flickers in the dirt, but as Skit followed them, they brightened, surging with each step he took. The marks weaved through the undergrowth, guiding him forward like veins pulsing with unseen life. Skit slipped through the trees, silent as shadow, his body low to the ground. Twisted roots jutted out beneath his feet, damp earth sinking slightly under his weight. He moved past jagged stones and thick foliage, his senses heightened, tracking the trail with an intensity beyond simple sight. Leaves rustled as he pushed past a bush, the scent of wet bark and moss filling his nostrils. The path wound through towering trunks, deeper into the woods, where the canopy thickened, letting only faint streaks of light pierce through. Then¡ª The trail ended. Skit came to a halt, eyes narrowing at an unremarkable tree standing among its brethren. Nothing about it should have caught his attention¡ªit was just another tree, surrounded by gnarled roots and dense bushes, blending perfectly with its surroundings. Yet he could see it. And it stared back at him. A slithering motion¡ªa flicker of something dark. Skit¡¯s fangs bared slightly as his grip on the crude knife tightened. The tree wasn¡¯t a tree. Not completely. Perched against the bark, motionless yet watching, was the one who stole his meat. A shape peeled away from the trunk, yet it didn¡¯t move¡ªit had already been there, watching. A flick of something thin and quick¡ªa dark tongue, tasting the air. Skit¡¯s breath hitched. His pupils narrowed into sharp slits. Green eyes, slitted black like a serpent¡¯s, peered at him from the bark. Not on the bark¡ªas if they were part of it. Its skin¡ªno, its scales¡ªweren¡¯t like flesh, weren¡¯t like the soft bellies of prey. They were rough, jagged, like the bark of the tree itself. A creature made for stealing. For ambush. For deception. And now, it stared back at him, unblinking. Skit¡¯s grip on his knife tightened. The thing¡ªthe thief¡ªclung to the tree, its form twisted and unnatural, yet perfectly blended with the bark. Then, it moved. Skit didn''t know what this creature was. He had never seen anything like it. But if he did, he would know. It was a predator. Not the kind that chased, not the kind that fought head-on. The kind that waited. The kind that took. Its body uncoiled from the bark, peeling away like a branch breaking free from the wind¡¯s grip. A long head¡ªtoo long¡ªserpentine, smooth yet ridged, tapering into a sharp, angular jaw. It had no nostrils, no fur, only that flickering dark tongue, testing the air between them. Not just a snake. Not just a lizard. Something in between. Of course, Skit didn''t know what it was, nor did he care. Skit¡¯s eyes flicked lower. It had limbs. Small, clawed forelegs clutched the bark, anchoring it in place. Its hind legs, more powerful, pressed close to the trunk as if ready to lunge, muscles coiled beneath its bark-like scales. And that tail, thick and gnarled, wrapped tight against the wood, keeping it balanced. Had he not followed the trail, had he not seen the glow¡­ he never would have known it was there. Its green eyes¡ªlike flickering leaves, blending with the canopy¡ªremained fixed on him. And Skit knew. Knew what it wanted. It had stolen his food. And now, it wanted more. It wanted to eat him. However¡ª Skit¡¯s fangs bared, a low growl rumbling in his throat. His grip on the knife tightened, hunger and instinct burning in his gut."¡­Found you¡­ thief." Because this time¡ªhe was the one who would eat. .................. UPCOMING NEXT - CHAPTER 6 - Prey Among Predators .................. -:- [6] - Prey Among Predators Skit¡¯s breath came in sharp, ragged gasps, his small body aching from shallow cuts and bruises. His arms shook from exertion, his grip tightening around the crude knife in his hand. Across from him, nestled in the undergrowth, was the thief¡ªa creature he had thought weak, too cowardly to hunt, a mere scavenger. So why was he the one bleeding? Its body melted into the trees, scales like rough bark, as if the forest itself had spat it out. Its flickering green eyes darted between the leaves, never staying still, shifting like restless flames. It had no scent, no breath he could hear¡ªjust the rasping flick of a forked tongue, tasting him, tracking him. Skit swallowed down panic. He had lunged before, confident, reckless. It had cost him. The creature had barely needed effort to throw him aside, its hind legs propelling it forward in bursts too fast for him to follow. It had raked its claws across his ribs, sending him tumbling into the dirt. Even now, dull pain pulsed beneath his skin, but he forced himself to stand. He had made a mistake. Why doesn¡¯t it hunt? It¡¯s strong, fast¡ªit can hunt. Why steal? He barely dodged another swipe, the clawed forelimbs striking bark where he had been standing a heartbeat ago. Then, as he scrambled back, another thought surfaced. A memory¡ªthe short goblin, Vrik, dragging its limbs awkwardly, shuddering, playing weak. A trick. This thing wasn¡¯t weak. It didn¡¯t steal because it had to. It stole because it wanted to. The realization sent a shiver down his spine, but there was no time to think. The lizard lunged, its mouth gaping wide. Skit threw himself aside, barely avoiding the snap of powerful jaws. His body rolled against rough dirt and tangled roots, pain lancing through his side. He couldn¡¯t overpower it. Couldn¡¯t kill it head-on. It was bigger, faster, stronger. Skit scrambled up, eyes darting. The trees. The roots. The dirt. The next time the creature lunged, he was already moving. He twisted, forcing it to follow. He weaved between the roots of trees, darting beneath low branches where its bulk struggled. The forest was thick, tangled¡ªhe could use that. The beast coiled its tail around a trunk, using it for balance, but he forced it into tighter spaces. He dove into the undergrowth, forcing it to strike blindly. The first small victory came when he kicked up dirt into its shifting eyes. The lizard shrieked, thrashing as its vision blurred. The second, when it lunged too hard and cracked its jaw against a low-hanging branch. The third, when his knife finally struck flesh¡ªa shallow cut along the side of its mouth. But it wasn¡¯t enough. Hiss¡ª! The creature let out a rasping, dry hiss. No sound of pain. Just irritation. He tried to move, but his legs faltered. His chest burned. The creature, though wounded, was still strong. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. And now, it was learning. Adjusting. Its movements tightened, its patience growing thin. A shudder ran through him as he felt the shift in the air¡ªa change in the hunt. Then it struck. The air whistled, it seemed to snap in half. A blur of movement¡ªtoo fast to react. SWOOSH¡ª! Something heavy, gnarled like twisted roots, slammed into his side. Not claws. Not fangs. The thief¡¯s tail. A solid mass of muscle and bark-like scales, swinging like a battering ram. The impact ripped the breath from his lungs. a powerful force slamming into Skit¡¯s side with bone-shattering force. His body crumpled, his ribs creaking with the pressure, his breath yanked from his lungs in a brutal rush. His world twisted as the blow sent him hurtling toward a nearby tree. The rough bark of the trunk dug into his already battered flesh, the sensation like fire as his body scraped across it. His back hit first, slamming into the rough surface of the tree with a sickening crack, the sound lost beneath the rush of pain that exploded in his chest. His vision blurred for a second, a burst of white-hot agony flashing through his skull. He couldn¡¯t breathe. His limbs were heavy, sluggish, as though they didn¡¯t belong to him. He managed to gasp, a strangled noise, and tried to catch his breath, but the air was thick and heavy in his lungs. Before he could process what was happening, the force of the strike sent him careening to the ground. He hit the earth with a jarring thud, his knees buckling and his body crumpling into the dirt. His knife slipped from his fingers, burying itself in the dirt beside him. His limbs refused to move, his vision darkening at the edges. His body was screaming, but there was no strength left to answer it. Above him, the thief loomed. Even now, it blended into the trees, its jagged outline shifting, its green eyes flickering like restless leaves. Its forked tongue flicked out, tasting his weakness. Tasting victory. Then¡ª BOOM!¡ªCRACK¡ª! A booming sound followed by a deafening crack. The forest itself seemed to shudder. A shriek tore through the air¡ªhigh, sharp, filled with something Skit had never heard from the thief before. Fear. Then¡ª CRUSH¡ª! A sickening crunch, followed by the wet squelch of something heavy caving in. The Barkscale Stalker let out a strangled noise¡ªhalf-screech, half-choke¡ªbefore it was cut short. No cry followed. No struggle. No final, desperate scream. Nothing. A hollow, suffocating silence. A void where something should be but no longer was. His vision blurred, his body barely responding. He could only make out shadows¡ªsomething moved in a red and black blur, faster than even the thief. A powerful impact. A final, strangled cry. And then¡ª crushing silence. The thief was gone. Skit¡¯s heart pounded in his chest, weak and erratic. His instincts screamed at him, but his body refused to obey. His limbs felt like they belonged to someone else, unresponsive, distant. His mind slipping away like water through cracked fingers. But even as darkness pulled at him, something burned at the edge of his senses. A shape loomed above him, massive, its form shifting against the dimming sky. Not a tree. Not a beast he knew. Through the haze, through the dark creeping into his mind, he felt it¡ªred eyes, staring down at him. A shiver crawled up his spine. It moved closer, slow, deliberate, like it had all the time in the world. The air around it felt heavier, wrong, like the forest itself held its breath. His instincts screamed, but his body refused to obey. His limbs were too heavy, his thoughts leaving. His fingers twitched. Felt something in the dirt. Rough. Familiar. Knife. A shuddering breath. Blood filled his mouth, thick and iron-heavy. His vision blurred, but instinct burned through the haze. The primal need¡ªthe only thing left. Survive. His body moved before thought. A wild, unthinking lunge, a final act of defiance. The blade struck flesh¡ª Clink¡ª! The jolt ran up his arm. Like hitting stone. The blade barely scratched. The figure grunted¡ªnot in pain, but in surprise. A chuckle followed. Deep. Rough. Amused. It echoed through the trees, through the silence, through the creeping edges of Skit¡¯s consciousness. Skit barely heard it, his world tilting, his senses slipping through his grasp like water through broken fingers. The red eyes remained, watching. Unblinking. Unmoved. And then¡ª Darkness reached for him. His vision collapsed inward, his thoughts scattering into the void. The weight of exhaustion, of pain, of fear, finally pulled him under. And as the world slipped away, the last thing he felt was the ground, cold and unyielding beneath him¡ªjust like the flesh he had tried to pierce. .................. UPCOMING NEXT - CHAPTER 7 - The Scent of Blood. .................. GLOSSARY -:- [1] Barkscale Stalker ¡ª A stealthy ambush predator that blends seamlessly with tree bark, its rough scales providing near-perfect camouflage. Nearly invisible when still, it waits patiently before striking with sharp claws and powerful hind legs. Despite its lean build, it is an efficient hunter, using a flicking forked tongue to detect prey. Territorial and opportunistic, it stalks intruders and scavenges kills. Drawn to disturbed earth, it uncovers hidden food with ease. Known as ¡°the horror of the trees,¡± it is rarely seen¡ªonly noticed when it¡¯s too late. [7] - The Scent of Blood I The morning air was thick with the scent of damp earth, dew-kissed leaves, and something sharper¡ªblood. metallic, wild. It was everywhere. Beneath the towering trees, where golden shafts of sunlight split the gloom, a figure moved. A mass of black and red, shifting between the dappled light. His skin, dark as iron left in fire, carried the deep hues of smoldering embers¡ªred not of fresh wounds, but of something ancient, something forged. And upon that skin, shadows coiled. Not mere ink, but deep-carved marks, black as the void between stars. He moved without sound, his presence a silent force. A predator in the heart of the wilderness. And the forest knew it. No birds sang. No insects chittered. No beast lingered in his path. The usual symphony of dawn had died¡ªsilenced by something far more dangerous. The figure moved without sound. A shadow woven into the morning mist, gliding through the underbrush with a grace that belied its size. Its breath was steady. Unhurried. Each step placed with practiced ease, careful not to disturb the leaves beneath. The forest stirred with life¡ªthe scent of damp bark, the quiet rustle of unseen creatures¡ªbut none of it held interest. It was searching for something else. Something to eat. The forest was thick with the scent of blood. He could smell it from miles away. It wove through the morning air, tangled in the mist, stretching far beyond what normal senses could grasp. Blood was common here. Fresh, old, dried¡ªspattered across claw-marked trunks, pooling in the undergrowth. A constant undercurrent in the wild¡¯s unending cycle of hunger and death. He sifted through the scents, separating them with practiced ease. The stale remains of last night¡¯s hunt. The sickly-sweet tang of decay, unfit for consumption. The coppery bite of fresh wounds, promising warmth¡ªlife. That was what he sought. A meal worth the effort. While sifting through the tangled scents of the forest¡ªthe iron tang of fresh kills, the damp musk of overturned earth¡ªhis stride slowed. His nostrils flared. He breathed in deeper. He sifted through the layers again, pulling apart the scent like muscle from bone. The scent of blood sharpened, a thick metallic sting on his tongue. A Barkscale Stalker. A creature that bled rarely, hunted often. Familiar. Expected. A beast that hunted in the undergrowth with patient, lethal silence. And yet¡ª There was something else. A second scent, tangled with the first. One he did not recognize. That, in itself, was absurd. He stilled, his dark fingers curling slightly. The hush of the forest pressed in. A sharp exhale left his tusked lips. Strange. The blood of beasts, monsters¡ªeven the crawling dead¡ªhe could name them all in a single breath. It was his nature to know them, his blessing to recognize even the faintest trace of spilled blood, even if he had never met their kind before. And yet, here was something beyond his knowing. The moment stretched, thick as the scent of blood. He exhaled slowly. Snnff¡ª his breath pulled through flared nostrils, dissecting the layers of scent once more. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. No mistake. The smell was there¡ªreal, undeniable, and impossible. Something he could not name. His weight shifted slightly, the ground beneath his feet giving a soft crk of protest. A slow inhale followed¡ªdeep, steady, calculating. Then¡ª BOOM¡ª! The earth beneath him exploded. Cracks splintered out like a spiderweb from where his feet had once been, the sheer force of his motion leaving behind a shallow crater. Loose dirt and shattered bark erupted, flung outward in a chaotic spray. And in an instant¡ª He was gone. A streak of black and red tore through the sky, a blur against the morning light. The world howled past him. Wind roared, hammering against his skin, but he did not waver. He did not even register the sheer altitude. His eyes remained locked ahead, searching. From below, the towering trees became a blurred mosaic of green, nothing more than shifting patterns beneath his feet. The forest¡ªso vast, so endless¡ªwas beneath him in mere heartbeats. Then¡ªgravity took hold. He began to fall. Plummeting through the air, the wind curling around him. And yet¡ªhe remained in control. Before he touched the earth, he spoke. A single phrase, guttural and ancient¡ª "Hide of Tokoloshe." And then¡ª His vanished. The crushing weight of him, the primal dread that sent birds fleeing and beasts cowering¡ªit was gone in an instant, as if snuffed out by an unseen hand. Even the ground beneath him seemed hesitant to remember his weight. He landed. THUD. His feet met wood, a thick branch screamed beneath him, bending to its limit¡ªthen, with a final groan, it steadied¡ªbut even that sound felt muted, distant. His skin blurred, melting into the dappled light. The shifting shadows of leaves draped over him, swallowing his form into the natural rhythm of the forest. The creature crouched low on a thick branch, its piercing gaze slicing through the dense canopy. Eyes like burning embers scanned the sprawling expanse, each movement, each detail, captured and stored in an almost unnatural focus. His nostrils flared, inhaling deeply, the thick air swirling with the scent of wet moss, damp earth, and the sharp tang of fresh blood. He sifted through it, peeling apart the layers like a master craftsman unraveling a complex tapestry. Then, his gaze zoomed on his targets. A Barkscale Stalker¡ªexpected. And the second scent, the one that, despite the blessing of his patron, he couldn¡¯t recognize. His red, predatory eyes blanked, bafflement stirring beneath the scent of blood. Even the Fairies, known as the greatest pranksters¡ªable to fool a dragon¡¯s senses, slip past the keenest of trackers¡ªcould never escape his nose once their blood was spilled. Yet¡ª A green pipsqueak? A goblin. And what¡¯s more, it was fighting against a Barkscale Stalker instead of fleeing in terror. The Stalker¡¯s instincts, though cowardly at times, were far beyond a goblin¡¯s pay grade. The creature''s lips curled back in a soundless snarl as his gaze narrowed, studying the goblin from his vantage point. The very thought of it struck a chord of disbelief. He had encountered goblins before¡ªsly, weak, opportunistic little creatures, nothing more than pests, their blood no more remarkable than piss. The goblin fought with desperation, blood streaking through the air as it dodged the Barkscale Stalker¡¯s relentless strikes. Every hit from the beast sent tremors through its frame, yet the goblin persisted, swaying and stumbling, but never falling. A minute passed. Then two. Then five. And still, the goblin stood. Injured. Exhausted. But alive. The creature grip tightened against the branch beneath him, the bark creaking under his strength. His crimson eyes gleamed with something between interest and surprise. His tusked mouth curled slightly in silent contemplation. This goblin¡ªthis green, scrappy pipsqueak¡ªwas strange. The creature was clearly young, inexperienced, and its blood¡ªstrange, unlike any he had ever smelled before¡ªmade it impossible to gauge its age. - The creature could see the desperation in the goblin''s every move, but there was something else, something more than mere survival instinct. The way the goblin dodged, the way it shifted its weight, adjusting its stance¡ªit all looked clumsy, unrefined, a telltale sign of inexperience. Its movements were jerky, awkward, like a fighter still learning the dance of battle. Yet, despite this rawness, despite the lack of grace, it managed to stay on its feet. It wasn¡¯t perfect. It wasn¡¯t even close to being a skilled warrior. But it was alive. And, more surprisingly, it had managed to land a blow on the Stalker¡ªshallow, but enough to draw blood. The creature watched, an amused snarl tugging at its lips. The goblin''s movements might have been unexpected, but in this wild dance of survival, how long could it keep holding on? Minute after minute crawled by, and yet¡ª The green runt endured. It ducked, it twisted, it fell and staggered, only to rise again, bleeding and breathless. Its motions were clumsy, its footwork raw and unrefined, but the instinct was there. Still, it lasted. And lasted. The ember-eyed watcher tilted his head slightly, that snarl faltering into a quiet, unreadable stare. An hour. Nearly an hour. The goblin should¡¯ve been dead a dozen times over. Yet it danced still¡ªbarely standing, body quaking from exhaustion, skin torn and stained with blood. But the eyes¡­ They never blinked. For a fleeting moment, the creature felt something stir in his chest¡ªAmusement. Or perhaps... respect? He scoffed, At the strange stirrings in his gut. Him Respecting a goblin? But the moment didn''t last. With a sudden misstep, the goblin faltered. A flash of exhaustion too great to conceal, its body finally betraying it. The Stalker struck with bark tail. The impact sent the goblin flying, crashing into the rough bark of a tree, the thud of its body against the trunk echoing through the forest. The creature scoffed inwardly. The goblin had been impressive, in its own way¡ªbut the game was up. His grin twisted into something sharp, something feral. The tusks beneath his lips bared like an animal on the hunt. His knees bent, muscles coiling as his body tensed, ready to spring. And then¡ªhe sprung. BOOM!¡ªCRACK¡ª! .................. UPCOMING NEXT - CHAPTER 8 - The Scent of Blood II .................. -:- [8] - The Scent of Blood II Skit¡¯s consciousness, still new and fragile, drifted in darkness. No lucid dreams, no nightmares¡ªjust a emptiness. His tiny mind, still raw and developing, felt neither rest nor unrest. It was a blank, without a shape or a sound, but then¡­ something stirred within him. A pull. It began as a tug in the deepest recesses of his consciousness, subtle at first, but it grew stronger, more insistent. His mind, still so young and undeveloped, responded to the call, unbidden, unaware. Before Skit could even register the change, a massive scent filled his senses. Gahff¡ª?! It was suffocating¡ªoverpowering, sharp, like the stench of blood, thick and pungent. His instincts screamed at him to recoil, his lungs burned. The scent invaded every pore, the taste of iron flooding his mouth, choking his throat. He gasped, or tried to. The air wasn¡¯t right. It was heavy, thick with something more than just the blood. Skit¡¯s tiny body, weak and fragile, fought against the invisible weight pressing down on him, but he had no strength, no knowledge of his enemy. His eyes snapped open. But what he saw¡ª What he saw was nothing like what he understood. He opened his eyes¡ªor at least, he thought he did. Red. Everything was red. A vast, endless sea of blood stretched in every direction, as far as his young eyes could comprehend. It was thick, viscous, like a living thing, undulating gently, waves rising and falling. Skit flailed, but the blood surrounded him¡ªswallowing him whole. He didn¡¯t know how to swim. He didn¡¯t even know what swimming was. His body, so weak and underdeveloped, had no chance in this vast sea. Gahpff¡ª! He tried to scream, but the blood filled his mouth, choking him. A wave of panic surged within him, and his mind, still confused and blurry, tried desperately to make sense of what was happening. The suffocating pressure built, his chest tight with the struggle to breathe, but there was no air¡ªonly blood. The deeper he sank, the more it pressed against him, clawing at his skin, pulling him into its depths. The pain¡ªsharp, agonizing¡ªbegan to blur his thoughts. The world around him, once so vast and overwhelming, turned into a dizzying whirl of red. His limbs were heavy, his head swimming in the toxic weight of the blood. His mind grew foggy, slipping into unconsciousness as the suffocating grip of the blood sea closed in. And then, just as the darkness was about to claim him, a violent force seized him. Skit was ripped from the depths of the sea of blood, the current that had threatened to drown him suddenly reversed. SPLASH¡ª! He was thrown upward, his small body flung out of the viscous blood with such force that it sent him crashing into the surface of a pool¡ªa pool of more blood. He landed with a harsh thud, and his body recoiled as he coughed violently. His chest heaved in desperate, ragged breaths. His throat burned, raw from the acidic touch of blood that had filled his mouth and lungs. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. His eyes, still stinging, squeezed shut, trying to clear the irritation that had clouded his vision. Blood soaked his small frame, dripping from every inch of his skin. His tiny body, trembling, lay sprawled on the blood-soaked surface, and though he gasped for air, he could barely find enough to fill his chest. The air was thick, tainted with the suffocating weight of blood, and still, it felt like the oppressive presence of something ancient lingered in the atmosphere. But Skit could do nothing but cough, his mind clouded with dizziness, eyes closed tight against the pain. Skit¡¯s barley managed to flutter open one of his eyes, The other remained swollen and closed, blood seeping from the corner and mixing with the tears that streaked down his face. Before him stretched an unimaginable landscape¡ªa world of blood. Rivers of blood coursed through deep canyons carved from jagged bone. In the distance, towering mountains loomed, their peaks like monstrous spires made of decayed blood. Above, the sky¡ªif it could even be called that¡ªwas not a sky at all. It was a vast, pulsing red veil, alive, shifting with a breath of its own, as though the very air carried a heavy, oppressive weight. Skit¡¯s breath caught in his throat. His one open eye burned from the sheer intensity of the scene before him, but still, despite the overwhelming sight, he couldn¡¯t tear his gaze away. The crimson world was silent. Silent in the way a grave is silent¡ªtoo still, too waiting. Skit lay frozen on the bleeding surface, eyes wide and blank, his senses overwhelmed by the surreal landscape. His face, streaked with tears and blood, bore a grimace not of pain¡ªbut dread. Then¡ª A voice. ¡°Ah¡­ I forget,¡± it said, like a whisper inside his skull. ¡°You¡¯re only six days old¡­¡± A pause. A breathless chuckle. ¡°No, wait. Seven now. Yes¡­ seven.¡± The voice giggled¡ªnot in joy, but in hunger. Like a predator marveling at a helpless bug pinned to a wall. Skit stiffened at the sound, a chill crawling up his spine. He didn''t know the words. He didn¡¯t understand what was being said. But his body did. His blood did. His instincts¡ªbarely a week old¡ªscreamed louder than the Stalker ever had. Run. Run. RUN. But there was nowhere to run. Suddenly, a suffocating pressure, far greater than anything the sea of blood had ever caused, crashed down on him. The sea of blood rippled. Then it parted. Not violently. Not with grandeur. The blood split gently¡ªlovingly, as though it had been waiting for this moment. Like a veil being drawn back by unseen hands. And something stepped through. Not from the horizon. Not from the air. From beneath. The blood parted like curtains, revealing the silhouette of a figure¡ªunseen but felt in every bone of Skit¡¯s trembling body. A red shadow, monstrous and looming, stepped into the pool of blood. The very air around Skit seemed to warp, heavy with an oppressive presence that made every instinct in his tiny body scream in terror. It rose from the blood as though it were her birthright. It body was not fully seen¡ªonly suggestions, glimpses. A silhouette too perfect to be real, and too wrong to be named. It eyes glowed like twin gashes in reality¡ªcrimson slits that drank in light. ¡°You sank like a stone,¡± It said, teasing. ¡°Such small limbs¡­ not even a twitch of resistance.¡± Skit''s gaze fixed on the silhouette before him, his eyes wide with terror. The presence of the figure twisted his very perception, his mind suddenly clouded, like a thick fog settling in. Instinctively, his eyelids fluttered shut. Then, the voice came again, slow and teasing, almost kind¡ªan eerie contrast to the pressure that lingered. ¡°Good, you know how to kneel.¡± The words slid into his mind like a knife, sharp and cold. His ears rang, the sound of it reverberating through his skull, while the suffocating pressure that had once gripped him began to ease. Something twisted inside him. His blood churned with a strange, unnameable feeling. He didn¡¯t know what kneeling meant, nor why the thought of it filled him with such feeling. But his blood reacted¡ªhis tiny body shuddered, vibrating with the intensity of something far older than him. Step¡ª! The figure¡¯s footsteps sounded, slow, deliberate¡ªsavoring each one. Each footfall sounded louder, closer, until the air around Skit seemed to shrink. Step¡ª! The footsteps echoed as the figure grew closer. It presence lingered like an oppressive fog. Skit felt as it gaze, it gaze was stripping him bare. His thoughts raced, his body frozen in place, unable to move an inch. ¡°I felt something strange near one of my children,¡± the voice mused softly, as though speaking to no one in particular, its words slipping into Skit¡¯s mind like icy fingers, yet a touch of amusement lacing her tone. Step¡ª! ¡°I never expected a goblin,¡± the voice sighed, the sound of mild disappointment seeping into its words, though a teasing, almost playful tone lingered beneath. ¡°Goblins... such quaint little creatures. Always so small, so... scrawny. They scurry about, never rising above the muck. Hardly worth the attention, really." "They never amount to much, do they? never able to rise above their pitiful existence, It¡¯s almost... sad, isn¡¯t it?¡± Skit¡¯s heart thudded in his chest, fast and wild. What? What was this? Why was it talking about him? His head spun, confusion crashing through his little mind. What¡¯s happening? What is this? His body wouldn¡¯t move. It felt stuck, like he couldn¡¯t make it do what he wanted, couldn¡¯t get away. The air... the pressure¡ªit made him feel small. Small and helpless. It was too much. Too big. Too heavy. His tiny mind couldn¡¯t understand. But he felt it. The weight. The words. Step¡ª! The steps ceased, and Skit¡¯s heart pounded erratically in his chest, as though his very life was being measured by the piercing gaze that held him still. ¡°A tiny goblin, barely seven days in this world, and yet¡­ there¡¯s something strange about you, isn¡¯t there?" .................. UPCOMING NEXT - CHAPTER 9 - The Scent of Blood III .................. -:- [9] - The Scent of Blood III ¡°A tiny goblin, barely seven days in this world, and yet¡­ there¡¯s something strange about you, isn¡¯t there?" "You feel me. You hear me. And still, despite being a goblin you stand? Curious." the voice mused again. Skit felt it¡ªan invisible weight bearing down on him, suffocating and oppressive. Every muscle in his body was frozen, as if held by chains that were invisible but undeniably real. He tried to summon the courage to open his eyes, to see what was before him, but his body refused to obey. "You want to look at me, don''t you?" The voice was playful, teasing, almost as if it knew his thoughts. "So curious, so young. But you wouldn''t want to make that mistake. Not so close." There was a pause, and then the voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "should you dare gaze this near, you may never leave this place again." The silence was a shroud, suffocating and complete. A laugh slipped through the dark¡ªsoft, feminine, and wrong. Like silk drawn across a fang. It did not echo. It lingered¡­ and coiled. ¡°Goblin... but not,¡± the voice mused, curling around him. ¡°A newborn, yet you walk with blood not meant for you.¡± Something exhaled¡ªno, tasted. ¡°Mmm. Your blood sings. A song too old for your bones. Too deep for your size.¡± ¡°How peculiar. I do not know your blood. That¡ª¡± It voice dipped into a hum, thoughtful. There was something almost amused in it tone now¡ªalmost. ¡°And that...¡± It purred, ¡°is not supposed to happen.¡± A pause. A silence that pressed into his skull. Then, a murmur like velvet on skin. ¡°You are no child of those hypocrites" The word hypocrites cracked like dry bone in her tone, leaving behind a faint trace of venom. ¡°You do not wear their touch. You do not reek of their cowardice.¡± Skit didn¡¯t understand¡ªhis mind was too fractured¡ªbut the weight of those words lingered. Then, softly¡ªmockingly¡ª ¡°Oh, little greenling... you are not theirs, are you?¡± Skit¡¯s heart hammered in his chest. The suffocating pressure had returned, heavier than before. Then, the laugh returned. A low, seductive, filled with venom, sound that curled inside his ribs and made his heart stutter. His confusion made it worse. He felt drawn to the sound, pulled by some thread he couldn''t see. ¡°Mmm... no matter,¡± the voice sang, drunk on mischief. ¡°Even if you were¡­" A beat. "I¡¯d leave a little something anyway.¡± It sounded almost disappointed... then excited. The voice curved like a smile. ¡°A treat.¡± The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°A keepsake.¡± It was not an offer, nor a promise¡ªjust an inevitability. Tre-at? ,Skit¡¯s mind barely registered the word..., as the pressure disappeared. ¡°Let''s make you even stranger, shall we?¡± But before he could even reach for the thought, pain struck. Pain. Unholy. It was the world itself tearing apart. He couldn¡¯t scream. Couldn¡¯t breathe. All he could do was endure as something carved into his flesh, twitching and convulsing uncontrollably. Then, within the darkness of his closed eyes, runes¡ªa river of gold¡ªbegan to flow. They burned his vision, words too old, too wrong for his mind to understand. And yet, the message echoed: [You are being bestowed with ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Etchings] It was no blessing. No title. It was an irrevocable fate laid upon him. Skit could not comprehend it, his through already scattered from the beginning, his thoughts already faded, but the pain kept him tethered to his failing body. ¡°Oh my,¡± It purred again, noticing the shudder in his spirit. ¡°Already fading?. Poor thing.¡± [You have been bestowed the ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Etchings: Blood Mania.] A soundless voice boomed across his mind, not spoken, but felt. ¡°Blood Mania~? Hah, what a name... they do get dramatic, don¡¯t they?¡± Skit barely heard it. His awareness was slipping like sand through cracked fingers. Even the words felt like distant thunder. The weight of it gaze pressed down on him, suffocating, but there was something odd in it voice now. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, little thing,¡± It murmured, so close, so tender, but cruel. ¡°My child is near.¡± The voice words slipped past his consciousness, like water through cracked stone. ¡°Play nice, little goblin. Don¡¯t bully him,¡± the voice purred. ¡°Not that you¡¯ll remember. He¡¯ll be your playmate soon enough.¡± The laughter that followed was honey-laced poison. And then¡ªdarkness claimed him. ¡­¡­ Skit¡¯s nightmare had ended. But the cruel reality of survival had only just begun. His battle with the Barkscale Stalker had left him bloodied and broken, bruises blooming across his body like rot, ribs sore with every breath. And yet¡­ he lived. Somehow. It wasn¡¯t strength or cunning that saved him. It was the stubborn vitality that goblins were cursed¡ªor blessed¡ªwith. Through the long, starless night, his body mended. Crude and slow, but enough. Still, survival was never guaranteed in these woods. Not even for victors. And Skit had not won. Not really. He lay out in the open, exposed in a forest that crawled with beasts, monsters, and worse. And yet none had come. No scavenger. No predator. Just¡­ silence. But something had been watching him. And it still was. ¡°Wake up.¡± The voice wasn¡¯t loud, but it cut like a knife through shadow. It wasn¡¯t heard¡ªit was felt. A tremor through his skull. A pull in his gut. Skit¡¯s eyes snapped open. Air surged into his lungs with a ragged gasp. His body lurched. Pain followed¡ªsharp, throbbing, cruel. It flared in his ribs, his arms, his legs. He twisted, trying to move, to stand¡ªbut his limbs protested, and he slumped back with a wheeze. Panic buzzed at the edge of thought. His mind was still fogged, his memory splintered. Flashes came, too fast, too loud: The Stalker. The fight. The fall. The red eyes. The cold. He shouldn¡¯t be here. He shouldn¡¯t be breathing. The unease crawled through him like worms beneath skin. Something didn¡¯t add up. Grrrr!! Instincts kicked, He pushed himself up, slowly this time. Muscles ached, but obeyed. His breath was shallow, ribs protesting with every inhale. Around him, the forest looked wrong. Splintered trees. Blood-slick earth. Deep gouges in the soil. The aftermath of violence, not battle. There were no predators here. But no safety either. Silence choked the air¡ªno birdsong, no insect drone. Just the faint hiss of wind dragging through the trees. Nothing moved in the dense undergrowth. Only the faintest stir of wind through the trees broke the silence. He looked around, cautiously, scanning the broken forest. Pieces of the Barkscale¡¯s body lay scattered in a disjointed pattern, as if someone had torn it apart in a single, violent motion. His hand went to the knife at his side, the familiar hilt grounding him in this world of confusion and pain. The blade was chipped, worn from use. His legs felt weak beneath him, but he forced himself to stand. A sharp throb shot through his ribs as he took a step forward. Snap! The sound of a twig snapping broke through the stillness. Skit froze. His heart skipped a beat. He whipped around, his knife raised, muscles tensed for a fight. Nothing. The silence stretched on, stretching Skit¡¯s nerves thin. His gaze darted to the shadows, expecting something to leap from them at any moment. Still nothing. Skit¡¯s breath hissed out between clenched teeth. A low, guttural growl. Part fear. Part relief. He was done here. Time to¡ª ¡°Leaving already?¡± The voice was thick, guttural¡ªcarrying with it a weight of presence, as though the very air had shifted around it. Skit¡¯s muscles locked. And chill ran down his spine. .................. UPCOMING NEXT - CHAPTER 10 - Playing Nice. .................. -:-