Oliver slowly stirred along the mattress. Bringing the blankets closer towards him as he felt the cold wind leak from the open tent fabric. Taking a deep breath as he kept his eyes shut. A good part of him was fearful of what was going to come.

He wanted to be back home…under the safety of his grandparents’ house. He didn’t want to be out in a completely different world!

He had school, sports, and his whole life ahead of him…he didn’t want to be here, within the muck and the forest. He gripped the blankets tighter, his fingers prickling into the meager cloth as he began to part his eyes open.

He wasn’t surprised. Letting a tired groan escape from his parted lips as he stared at the red fabric that made up the tent. Another day, another night. Would this be his life?

Closing his eyes every day…hoping that he would wake free from this nightmare that had ensnared him? How long was he going to be here for?

He doubted that this was like the children books his mother used to read to him when he was younger. That going through some dresser or some portal would lead him back to his old life. How long was he going to stay here?

Days, weeks, months…years? He took a deep breath inward, his heart rampaging along his chest at the word years trembled within his minds eye. It was a possibility that he needed to comprehend. He could very well live the remainder of his life here.

No videogames, no TV, no ease that came from modern life. Would he have to hunt within this dark forest, learn to survive with the races of Demi Humans as a member of The Lost Ones?

Would that be his life…would that be all he would amount too? A hunter, a tribesman, a marauder…was such little things, what his mother would’ve wanted him to become. Was that all he was going to be?

Yet, smoke trickled along his senses. Slowly rising from his cot as his dark eyes began to take in his surroundings. Quickly throwing on a pair of worker pants and a long-sleeved shirt, a different pair than the ones he had discarded. Dozia, that weird girl. Someone had to swap out his clothes for a pair of new ones…and he bet he already knew the culprit.

Still remarking on the strange girl that regarded him as a savior…a messiah. He slowly shook the thoughts out of his head as he pushed away the fabric. His eyes widening as he took in the sight.

It was raining, the wet moisture coming along his senses as it prickled through the natural slick wood and dirt that surrounded the camp. Yet, it only made the roaring flames bicker and roar along his gaze. The camp was on fire, rows and arrays of tents were sprinkled with pure bright orange flames.

They rode along with heavy fixtures of steam that blanketed the land. Oliver had to squint his eyes to even see. He retreated into the tent, taken aback from the visual that was displayed.

How the hell did he sleep through it all? His fingers combed through his locks of deep black hair, trying to sort through his thoughts. He needed to leave, this place wasn’t safe anymore and if he remained who knows what could happen.

With those parting words, the moment they came into his head, Oliver's friend snapped his head to the side, seeing a figure outside the tent. Oliver followed his gaze and saw a man, his green eyes trained on him.

The man held a slim short sword in his right hand, wearing a suit of reinforced leather armor and a long cape that trailed behind him.

"Hello there," the man spoke, his voice slow and measured.

Oliver took a step back, his arms wrapping around himself. He glanced behind him, searching for a way out, but found none. He turned back to the man who kneeled in front of him.

"It's okay, I won't hurt you, but it is very important for you to come with me," the man said.

Oliver's eyes roamed over the man's belt, where matches and cinder were wrapped for easy access. It suddenly dawned on him that this man and his companions were responsible for the fire that had engulfed the tents.

As he contemplated his next move, memories flooded Oliver's mind--of the kindness and compassion he had received from the monsters he had encountered. They had treated him when he fell from the sky and even fed him.

He couldn't let this man harm them. With a deep breath, Oliver stepped forward, outstretching his hand to meet the older man's. But before they could make contact, a sickening slice cut through the man's body, and a bronze blade impaled him.

Ben stood frozen, his arm still raised, as the man fell to the ground, blood seeping from his lips. Dozia appeared from nowhere, her eyes flashing with malice as she pounced on the man's body, swinging her sword again and again, the rhythmic slither of bronze on flesh ringing in Oliver's ears.

When she was done, Dozia approached Oliver, her clothes and face covered with the crimson of human blood. Oliver shrank back, terrified by the violence he had just witnessed.

He had witnessed death before, but this was different. Whether it was flames or gunfire, it had always been dreadfully quick. But Dozia's savagery repeated within his head, so bloodthirsty and so long, like a train's horn humming in his mind.

Dozia moved in front of him, and his hand shook as he looked up into her eyes. Then it happened. Her open palm landed on his cheek with a winding slap, and he fell to the hard dirt, his butt hitting the ground.

Dozia loomed over him, awakened from his daze by the sizzling of her palm still ringing in his ear. He looked up at her, his breath heavy. The smiling girl from a couple of hours ago was gone, replaced by a glowering Dozia.

She was taller than him, even though she was a goblin, with human-like features save for her inhuman skin, the shape of her ears, and her teeth. Strange thoughts, indeed, considering the display of violence he had just witnessed.

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He glanced over at the body, the man's face horribly caved in, bits of flesh and bone strewn along the red fabric of the tent. Tears welled up in his eyes, not from sadness but perhaps his body's last-ditch effort to offer some release from the hell he had experienced over the last few hours. Oliver looked back at Dozia, who was holding the sword, droplets of blood falling like crimson raindrops.

She knelt in front of him, staring into his dark eyes. Was this how he was going to die? Had he somehow failed her or disrespected her, and she was going to kill him? His breath grew heavier, his eyes fixed on her neutral expression as she showed no emotion. He noticed her freckles, which darted along her face and arms.

"Foolish, what the hell were you thinking?" she snapped, purposefully keeping her voice low but with a sharp bite.

"He was a slaver who was just trying to avoid a fight. When I came up here to save you, I was hoping you would distract him or something, but you were…" She gnashed her teeth together, and Oliver saw her fangs as she slowly shook her head. "I was hoping your powers would have awakened by now, but it looks like we need more time," she said, taking a deep breath and shaking her head once again.

Oliver knew he would receive no answer. "Come on, we must leave this place," she said, rising to her feet and flicking the remaining wet slop of crimson onto the floor with a quick flick of her wrist.

She extended her green hand towards him, and he hesitated for a moment before taking it. There was no other option, no other place to go. Dozia pulled him up to his feet, and they quickly made their way outside.

Oliver and Dozia navigated the charred remnants of the slavers' camp, bodies strewn about like gruesome ornaments. Oliver's attention was torn between the devastation surrounding them and the determined gaze of his companion. At times, he couldn't help but steal a glance at the carnage, but Dozia always drew his gaze back to her.

The sight of the slain slavers left Oliver with a lingering question. How could a small band of children overcome fully armed adults? As he ruminated on this, he realized that while he had been paralyzed with fear, Dozia and the tribe had fought valiantly for their lives.

Dozia abruptly halted their movement and yanked Oliver behind a toppled tree, her grip tight around his arm. He huddled low, grateful for the cover, while Dozia kept watch with a focused calm that both impressed and bewildered him.

It dawned on Oliver that Dozia was not merely leading him but had a plan. Her steady demeanor revealed that she had already assessed the situation and calculated their next moves. She was strong and resilient, unlike Oliver, who had cowered in fear when faced with danger.

"Why did you not fight back?" Dozia's question cut through the silence like a blade.

Oliver turned to face her, but her eyes remained fixed on their surroundings. He had no answer. In the past, he had traded blows with his tormentor Hunter, but he never truly wanted to hurt him. Now, facing a real threat to his life, he had caved in and submitted.

"I gave up. I was scared...of dying," Oliver confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

The truth was difficult to speak, but Dozia deserved to know. Compared to her bravery and fortitude, Oliver's admission made him feel like a coward.

Isn’t that what I am…a coward?

Dozia let the words ring for a moment, relishing in their power. Then, she turned her attention away from the breathtaking expanse before them and focused her gaze on Oliver. With a fierce determination, she dropped to one knee in front of him. "Never do that again," she commanded, her voice low and firm. "Submitting, giving up, losing hope—we do not succumb to those things. No matter the odds, no matter the sacrifices, and no matter the reason, we push forward until the bitter end."

As she spoke, Dozia raised her finger and jabbed it into Oliver's chest, her eyes blazing with an intensity that made him flinch. "Even under the threat of death," she continued, her words hitting him like hammer blows. "Even if it means death in the end. It is better to die as a warrior fighting tooth and nail for survival, than to surrender to fate and live with the weight of such a loss."

Dozia smiled, a small smirk as she gazed upon him. “Lena’s older brother was the one that taught me,” She sighed. “He was a mentor in his own way. Taught me everything about being a warrior, and I see his eyes within you.”

Oliver could feel her finger pressing harder against his chest, the heat of her gaze burning into him. Her words echoed in his mind, taking hold of him like a vise. No matter the odds...no matter the sacrifices...no matter the reason. Push forward until the end.

These were powerful words coming from a goblin warrior of only twelve years, but they were words that Oliver knew he needed to hear. He didn't want to give up, didn't want to settle for a life of constant struggle and uncertainty. He wanted something more, something better than what he'd experienced so far.

"Dozia, I have to say something," he began, and she turned to look at him sharply. "I'm not him. Your prophet, I mean. I don't know what happened to him. Thank you for saving me, but I don't know what you expect from me."

Dozia shook her head, her eyes flicking up to the endless night sky above. Oliver followed her gaze and saw the twin moons shining down, casting an eerie glow over the surrounding wilderness. "Enough," she said, her voice softening slightly. "You're not a fool, Oliver. I saw you cut through the sky like a meteor. I heard the trumpet that bellowed as I trekked through the wilderness to find you. I know what you are, even if you don't yet realize it."

She reached out and took his left hand in hers, her thumb tracing circles over his palm. "You are special, Oliver," she said with a small smile. "And it is my duty to protect you. You will be the one to save us."

Suddenly, everything clicked into place for Oliver. Dozia hadn't hit him because she was angry with him. It was a wake-up call, a reminder of what he could have become if he'd given in to despair. Dozia was his protector, his savior, and she believed in him when he didn't yet believe in himself.

But there was no time to dwell on these revelations. The slavers had appeared, flanking them within there lapse of concentration.

Dozia's eyes blazed with an unyielding ferocity as she sprang into action, engaging the pair of attackers with the skill and precision of a seasoned warrior.

Oliver, however, remained frozen in his tracks, mesmerized by the sheer power and grace of the goblin girl's movements.

His mind was still reeling from the revelation that she saw him as a savior, and the weight of that responsibility felt overwhelming.

Dozia's blade clashed against the slavers' swords, each strike ringing out like a thunderclap in the night. With a deft movement, she slipped past one of their guards and slashed open his throat. The man fell to the ground, his lifeblood spilling out onto the dusty earth.

With a swift kick, Dozia sent the fallen slaver's sword spinning through the air. She caught it with her free hand and charged towards the remaining attackers, her blades a blur of deadly silver. But then, disaster struck.

A slaver had managed to sneak up on her from behind, delivering a savage blow to the back of her head. Dozia stumbled, her vision swimming as she fought to stay conscious. Her grip on her weapons faltered, and she fell to the ground, her world fading to blackness. In the darkness, Oliver's voice echoed like a beacon of hope.

"Dozia!" he cried out, his voice filled with fear and desperation.

The goblin girl's hand trembled as she reached out for him, but she could no longer feel the warmth of his skin. Her heart sank as she realized that she had failed to protect him, that she had allowed herself to be caught off-guard by the slavers.

But even as the darkness closed in around her, Dozia refused to give up. With a fierce determination, she summoned all her strength and pushed herself back to her feet. Her eyes blazed with a renewed intensity as she prepared to face her enemies once more.

She knew that the battle was far from over, that there were still dangers lurking in the shadows. But she also knew that she would never give up, that she would fight until her dying breath to protect the ones she loved.