Huuuraaaaaah!

If there was one thing to be said about goblins, it was that they knew how to throw a celebration. The village echoed with a cacophony of cheers, laughter, and the discordant hum of their raucous festivities.

Barrels of frothy beer lined the clearing, though most of them were already drained dry despite the night being young. Goblin musicians played a wild assortment of instruments—pipes, drums, and strings—all competing in an unholy disharmony that somehow seemed to fuel the revelry. Their dancers, too, were frenetic, their movements chaotic and untamed, though hardly mesmerizing.

I weaved through the crowd, dodging clumsy attempts at embraces as goblins—young and old—clung to me with tear-streaked faces, babbling in their guttural tongue. Their gratitude was palpable, even if I couldn’t understand a word of it. For reasons beyond my comprehension, they saw me as a hero. But their adulation weighed heavy against my exhaustion.

My limbs felt like lead, and every step was a struggle. My mana reserves, dangerously depleted, left me feeling as though my very spirit had been hollowed out. The dizzying din of celebration didn’t help; it only heightened the pounding in my skull.

Through the haze, I spotted Unan. Or rather, I noticed his conjugate—a female goblin clinging to him with an affection that bordered on scandalous. I turned my gaze quickly, wanting no part in their overzealous display. Instead, I pressed on, searching for Zee.

It wasn’t long before I found him, seated at the edge of the clearing. A barrel rested beside him, as he sat cross-legged, his attention fixed on the mug he swirled absently in his hand. The whirlpool of beer mirrored his absent stare, his mind clearly elsewhere.

I let out a sharp neigh to get his attention.

He jolted, his head snapping toward me. “Grunt! By the gods, don’t sneak up on me like that,” he said, clutching his chest as though I’d startled his very soul.

I approached, shaking my head and letting out a soft grunt to convey my own weariness.

Zee chuckled dryly, the sound tinged with bitterness. “At least someone shares my sentiment.” He turned his gaze back to the crowd, his expression twisting into one of distaste. “Look at them. Hollering and dancing like fools, as if today’s small victory guarantees tomorrow’s safety.”

I tilted my head, watching him curiously.

“They’ll never change,” he continued, his voice low. “Our people live in the eternal today, blind to the threats lurking just beyond the trees. This… this is why we stagnate.” He took a long sip from his mug, his flushed cheeks betraying how deeply he’d already indulged despite the bitterness in his tone.

There was a weight to his words that struck a chord within me. Zee was not like the others; that much was clear. His cynicism, his detachment—it all stemmed from something deeper. Something that set him apart from the tribe he called his own.

He sighed heavily, his gaze lifting to the stars above. “I don’t know how much longer I can stay here, Grunt.” His voice softened, carrying a wistful edge. “I have dreams. Big dreams. I want to see what lies beyond this forest. To stand on the shores of the great ocean and feel the waves on my skin. Not read about it in some old book.”

The longing in his voice stirred something in me—a memory, faint and bittersweet. I, too, had once dreamed of leaving my tribe, of exploring the world beyond the darklands. But those dreams had crumbled, much like every other fleeting connection in my life.

I glanced toward the crowd and spotted Unan once more, his earlier affection giving way to a heated argument with his brother Onan. Their bickering was animated, their gestures exaggerated. Onan shoved Unan’s shoulder with a scowl, while Unan attempted to calm him with raised hands. The scene was oddly familiar, and for a moment, I felt a pang of recognition.

It reminded me of my own brother. The envy that had simmered between us, the tension that had poisoned what little bond we had. In the end, it had proven what I’d long suspected: even blood ties were subject to the transactional nature of relationships. Love, loyalty, brotherhood—they were illusions, shattered by the relentless grind of time and self-interest.

My gaze drifted to the podium where the chieftain now stood, his towering presence commanding the crowd’s attention. The goblins fell silent, their raucous energy giving way to reverent anticipation. Runan’s voice boomed in his guttural tongue, his tone impassioned as he raised a clenched fist to the sky. The crowd responded with a resounding cheer, their fervor reignited by his words.

But not all were moved. My eyes caught Onan standing at the edge of the crowd, his arms crossed and his expression one of disinterest. He did not cheer, nor did he seem inspired by his father’s speech. If anything, he seemed bored.

Then, with a sweeping gesture, the chieftain extended his arm toward me. “Warrior Grunt… come… here.”

Every pair of eyes in the clearing turned to me, and a ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd. My body tensed under the weight of their collective gaze. Reluctantly, I stepped forward, my hooves heavy against the earth.

I approached the podium, where a bowl filled with a blood-red liquid rested atop a carved pedestal. The liquid shimmered faintly, as if imbued with mana.

“This is the blood of our ancestors,” Unan said as he stepped forward, his voice carrying a solemn weight. “It strengthens us, binds us. This is our tribe’s highest honor—a blessing bestowed upon our greatest warriors.”

Runan dipped two gnarled fingers into the bowl, his movements deliberate. His eyes closed as he muttered a chant in the goblin tongue, the liquid beginning to glow faintly in response. When his eyes opened, they were alight with an eerie intensity.

He reached toward me, his fingers slick with the glowing liquid. I froze as he began to draw symbols on my forehead, his touch sending a nauseating churn through my core. The symbols—runes, I realized with growing alarm—glowed faintly as they took form.

My tribe had taught me the dangers of runes. They were not mere marks; they carried power, and in the wrong hands, they could enslave or destroy. Instinctively, I tried to back away, but Unan placed a firm hand on my mane, his touch both steadying and restraining.

“Do not fear,” he said, his tone calm. “These runes are of strength. Our tribe does not practice the deceitful runes of the elves.”

Despite his reassurance, a deep unease settled in my chest as the ceremony continued.

The runes etched into my forehead began to hum, a soft vibration that reverberated through my entire being. The nausea in my core surged, twisting and writhing like a living thing. Yet, beneath the discomfort, I felt it—mana. The ambient energy of the forest was being drawn to the rune, flowing into my fractured core like water filling a cracked vessel.

The fissure within me began to knit itself together, the raw edges smoothing as the influx of mana stabilized. It was a sensation both alien and familiar, reminiscent of my tribe's runecraft. Runes that allowed their bearer to absorb mana continuously, an endless stream of energy that eliminated the fear of running dry.

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But this rune did more than restore my mana. My muscles spasmed, jolts of strength coursing through my limbs as though my body were being reforged. The dull ache of exhaustion faded, replaced by an invigorating vitality. This truly was a rune of strengthening.

As the chieftain finished his chant and withdrew his hand, a sharp hiss broke the air. An arrow, wreathed in an ominous glow, pierced his chest.

The world seemed to freeze as the chieftain let out a guttural howl. He staggered but did not fall, his glowing tattoos flaring as he turned to face the forest. His roar echoed through the clearing, a sound that shook the very ground beneath us.

The goblins erupted into chaos. Some scrambled to flee, others raised their weapons in defiance. But before they could react further, a hail of arrows rained down. Each arrow struck true, disintegrating flesh into ash upon impact. In an instant, a third of the crowd was gone.

Unan roared in anguish, rushing to his father’s side. But the chieftain pushed him away with a firm hand, his runes blazing with renewed intensity. Another arrow flew toward him, but this time, he caught it mid-flight. Without hesitation, he thrust his hand forward, and the earth responded. A wall of stone rose to shield the remaining goblins, cutting off the barrage.

He turned to his people, raising his fist in a gesture of defiance. His presence, even wounded, was commanding—a beacon of strength for his tribe.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Onan walking calmly toward his father. Something about his gait set my nerves on edge. An instinct, primal and unrelenting, screamed at me to act. Without thinking, I moved to block his path, stomping a hoof in warning.

Onan laughed, his expression one of mockery as he extended a hand toward me. His voice rose above the clamor, addressing the crowd with measured authority. The goblins’ eyes shifted, their gazes hardening as they looked at me with suspicion. I could feel the shift in their sentiment—where once they had seen a savior, they now saw an outsider, perhaps even a threat.

Reluctantly, I stepped aside, my chest tight with unease. Onan strode past, pulling a spear from his back. He pointed it toward the earthen wall shielding them from the elves, his voice steady as he addressed the tribe. The goblins, drawn to his words, began to calm, their chaos replaced by a dangerous unity.

Unan, however, stood frozen. Conflict played across his face as he looked between his brother and his father. His loyalty was clear, but so was his uncertainty. Onan approached the chieftain, placing a hand on his shoulder. His gesture appeared reassuring, even fraternal.

Then, with a swift motion, Onan drove his spear into his father’s chest.

The chieftain’s eyes widened, his glowing runes faltering as the spearhead pierced his heart. He collapsed, his massive frame hitting the ground with a finality that silenced the crowd.

“NO!” Unan’s roar tore through the clearing as he charged at his brother.

But Onan was prepared. With a flick of his wrist, the earth rose, trapping Unan’s foot and sending him sprawling. In his moment of vulnerability, another figure emerged—Unan’s conjugate. She moved with chilling precision, a knife glinting in her hand as she slashed his throat.

Unan’s eyes met hers, wide with confusion and heartbreak. Blood spilled from the wound, pooling under him as his expression twisted into one of disillusionment, regret, and sorrow.

In that instant, I saw not Unan but a memory—a younger, stronger version of myself, betrayed by those I had trusted most. My tribe, my companions, my lovers—they had all turned on me. The sting of that betrayal burned anew, sharp and visceral.

I lunged forward, rage propelling me. But a sudden tug on my tail halted me mid-stride. I turned to see Zee, his eyes brimming with tears.

“No,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Stop. We have to leave.”

My gaze flicked back to Onan, who now stood before the crowd, his voice ringing with authority as he rallied the tribe. “He sold us to the elves!” Zee hissed, his words cutting through my haze of fury.

The pieces fell into place. Onan had seized the chaos, not just to survive, but to secure his rule. By allying with the elves, he would deliver his people into servitude, trading their freedom for his throne.

Zee tugged at my tail again, his desperation palpable. “We can’t win here. We’ll be fighting both the elves and our own people.”

I looked at him, the weight of his plea sinking in. He was right. The goblins had already accepted their fate. They would bow to Onan, and through him, to the elves. To fight now would be suicide.

Reluctantly, I turned away. Zee scrambled onto my back, his small frame trembling against mine. And for the first time in this life, I ran.

“Go to the old man,” Zee said, his voice tight with urgency. “He might be able to help us.”

The forest closed around us as we fled, the sounds of battle fading into the distance. But their echoes lingered in my mind, a reminder of the blood spilled and the betrayal that had yet again left its mark.

The forest closed around us, its dense canopy swallowing the light and shrouding the path ahead in shadows. Onan’s shouts echoed faintly behind us, growing fainter with each stride.

An arrow whistled through the air, its tip glinting with an unnatural light. I summoned the black flames, their ravenous heat devouring the projectile before it could find its mark. The flames hissed as they vanished, leaving nothing behind but the faint smell of scorched mana.

Zee clung tightly to my mane, his voice sharp and urgent. “Left! Then straight ahead—faster!”

I poured what little mana I could spare into my muscles, my hooves pounding against the earth in a desperate rhythm. The forest blurred around us, its gnarled roots and hanging vines a treacherous maze. My legs burned, but I pushed on, driven by Zee’s directions and the weight of our shared desperation.

The journey felt endless, each second stretching into eternity. My lungs burned, and the ache in my core pulsed with every step. Yet, finally, the familiar clearing came into view. Asher’s tree stood at its center, a timeless sentinel against the chaos of the world.

Zee leapt from my back before I came to a full stop, his small form stumbling as he ran toward the ancient spirit. “Old man! Old man!”

Asher remained still, his eyes closed and his bark-like skin motionless. He seemed as much a part of the tree as the gnarled roots that anchored it to the earth.

Zee reached him, his frantic voice cracking as he spoke. “The elves came—and Onan, that bastard, he—hic—he…”

His words dissolved into sobs, his small shoulders shaking uncontrollably. The sight of him, so raw in his grief, pulled at something deep within me. I understood that helplessness, that shattering of one’s world.

I stepped forward, lowering my head to rest my snout gently against Zee’s trembling back. His sobs softened, and to my surprise, he turned and threw his arms around my head, squeezing me tightly. His tears soaked into my coat, his grip desperate.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then, Asher’s voice broke the stillness, low and steady. “Zee, I am incapable of being any help.”

Zee pulled back, his tear-streaked face twisting with frustration. He turned to the spirit, his voice rising in desperation. “Weren’t you once a powerful spirit? Your stories—can’t you do something? Can’t you?”

He faltered, his breath hitching as he tried to steady himself.

Asher’s gaze remained somber, his ancient eyes filled with quiet resignation. “I have hidden your presence from your pursuers. That is the limit of what I can do in my current state.”

A faint glow drew our attention downward. The pendant hanging from Asher’s neck lifted gently, as though carried by an unseen wind. It detached and fell to the ground with a soft thud.

“This is all I can give you for your journey,” Asher said. “Pour a drop of blood on it, each of you.”

Zee hesitated, wiping at his eyes before nodding. He pulled a small knife from his pouch, its blade crude but sharp enough. With a quick motion, he sliced his finger and let a bead of blood drip onto the pendant’s surface.

I reached for the telepathic connection I had shared with Asher before, relieved to find it intact. ‘Why would we pour our blood onto it?’ I asked, the thought brushing against his mind.

The spirit’s gaze remained fixed on Zee as he replied. ‘It is an artifact of my tribe. With it, you will be able to communicate across distances. It will bind your voices to each other.’

The weight of his words settled over me as I stepped forward. Beside Zee, I lifted my hoof, using its edge to press into my coat until I felt the sting of blood. The crimson droplet smeared across the pendant’s surface, joining Zee’s.

“Put the pendant on, Zee,” Asher instructed.

Zee obeyed, slipping the pendant over his head. It rested heavily against his chest, the faint glow of its runes casting soft shadows on his skin.

The moment the pendant settled, I felt it—a pull, similar to the telepathic connection Asher had forged with me. Tentatively, I reached for it, plucking at the invisible thread and sending a thought across.

“Can you hear me, Zee?”