The forest was alive in ways I had never seen, yet it seemed to actively conspire against my pursuit. My body groaned under the strain of every sudden turn and jump as Zee darted ahead, his wiry frame blending seamlessly with the chaotic terrain. I stumbled more than once, my bulk an awkward disadvantage compared to the goblin’s nimble movements. My hooves skidded on loose earth, and branches clawed at my coat like desperate hands.

A chilling cry broke through the rustling leaves and snapping twigs—a war cry. It wasn’t human, nor was it entirely monstrous. Ahead, the trees began to thin, their gnarled branches parting to reveal the origin of the chaos. My breath hitched at the sight.

The clearing was a battlefield. A makeshift village sprawled before me, its heart beating with fire and panic. Goblin mud huts sat nestled against the trees, their squat forms surrounded by precariously balanced wooden platforms that formed treehouses. Flames licked hungrily at the structures, climbing like voracious serpents as acrid smoke choked the air.

The goblins themselves were a frenzy of movement. Some fled downstream, their cries shrill with terror. Others stood firm, their crude weapons raised as they tried to shield smaller goblins from the onslaught. The arrows—sleek, precise, and aflame—fell upon them in relentless waves, piercing flesh and leaving only ash in their wake.

I barely had time to process the massacre before my attention was drawn to the attackers. 

They emerged from the shadows of the forest with a grace that defied the carnage they wrought. Their pale skin glowed faintly in the flickering light of the fires, and their sharp, symmetrical features were as unnerving as they were captivating. Where the goblins were raw vitality and crude resilience, the elves were deliberate and calculated, their expressions devoid of malice or pity. Two horns, delicate and sharp, jutted from their foreheads, curving slightly backward like crowns marking them as something more than human.

I had seen their likeness before—etched in stone and whispered about in hushed tones back in Aurelia. But those depictions failed to capture the chilling beauty of the elves in the flesh. Here, they moved like ghosts, their arrows loosed with unerring precision.

And then I saw her. A goblin mother, clutching her child as she darted between the huts. Her movements were frantic, her eyes wide with the primal fear of a creature with no escape. The air seemed to still as an arrow arced toward her, its flame illuminating her anguished face.

The arrow struck, and in that fleeting second, our eyes met. Desperation, anger, and helplessness burned in her gaze before she crumbled to ash, the child disappearing in the same instant. The hollow silence that followed reverberated through my soul.

My body reacted before my mind could decide.

I surged forward, mana coursing through me. It was raw and unfamiliar, resisting my every command. But I forced it into alignment, enveloping myself in a protective barrier. The mana shimmered weakly at first, a flickering red hue that struggled to hold form.

An arrow zipped past me, embedding itself in the ground with a hiss of heat. Ahead, a goblin warrior—a chieftain, perhaps—took the field. His towering frame dwarfed those around him, and the tattoos etched into his skin began to glow with an eerie blue light as he summoned spears of earth from the ground. He hurled them toward the elves with devastating force, the air cracking with each throw. Yet the elves were quick, their movements a deadly dance as they evaded his attacks and retaliated with precision.

The mana within me wavered as I focused on the elves. One of them had noticed me—a figure with sharper horns and a cold, calculating gaze, I noticed it then. On his forehead lay a rune etched into his very skin, radiating a black hue.

He didn’t hesitate, loosing an arrow with lethal intent.

Time slowed. The memory of the Darklands came rushing back, where desperation had forced me to discover a flame that would consume all. The arrow, wreathed in mana, bore down on me with terrifying speed. My barrier faltered, but instinct took over. The flames around me shifted, darkening into a deep black that devoured the arrow on impact.

A gasp rippled through the elven ranks. Their serene expressions broke for the first time, astonishment flickering across their faces. More arrows followed, each aimed with deadly precision. But the black flames consumed them all, growing stronger with every strike.

Pain blossomed in my core as the flames pushed against my will. They were alive, hungry, and insatiable. Every arrow they devoured replenished my mana, only to be consumed to maintain the flames. My core, strained and brittle, threatened to shatter under the constant flux.

The elves faltered, one notching an arrow only for its body to be decimated by an earthen spear. The chieftain had struck true. Their arrows ceased as they began to retreat into the shadows, but not before their leader—a tall, regal figure—locked eyes with me. There was no hatred in that gaze, as he simply assessed the new threat.

I exhaled sharply, the flames subsiding as exhaustion washed over me. My legs trembled, and for a moment, the world blurred. But then, the goblin chieftain roared—a guttural cry that reverberated through the clearing and sent a renewed fervor through his kin.

Zee appeared beside me, his earlier grin replaced with a look of cautious concern. “Oi, are you—”

The black flames surged, lashing out toward him. He barely dodged in time, the heat singeing his skin. The burst drained the last of my mana, and I collapsed, my legs giving out beneath me.

Through the haze of pain, I looked up at Zee. But what I saw was not the wiry goblin. It was a man—a muscular figure with dark hair and blood-red eyes staring down at me with disdain. The vision passed in an instant, and Zee’s worried face came into focus.

“Oi! Can you hear me?” he barked, shaking my mane.

I snorted weakly in response, too drained to form a coherent thought.

Zee’s grin returned, albeit strained. “Ahaha, the old man was right. You’re full of surprises, horse.”

The other goblins began to gather around me, their eyes wide with curiosity and awe. Among them was the chieftain, his imposing form radiating authority. He stepped closer, his glowing tattoos dimming as he regarded me with a mixture of suspicion and reverence.

“I… am Runan,” he said, his voice deep and halting. “You?”

I grunted in response to the chieftain’s question, a sound that seemed to satisfy him.

“HAHAHA… Yes, good warrior: Grunt!” His laughter was as crude as the jagged scars on his face.

It seemed my identity was now sealed. Grunt.

The chieftain—Runan, as he had called himself—motioned for me to follow, his movements broad and commanding. I fell in step behind him, ignoring the dull ache radiating from my core. Each step felt heavier, my strained mana core threatening to buckle my legs beneath me.

The village was in ruins. Flames still licked at the remains of huts, their dying embers casting eerie shadows on the mud walls. Goblins milled about, their expressions ranging from hollow despair to wary relief. Some glanced at me with a mixture of awe and suspicion, but they kept their distance. I didn’t mind—it gave me a chance to observe them.

The goblins, despite their grotesque features, were a fascinating sight. Their resilience was palpable in the way they moved through the devastation, picking up the pieces of their shattered homes. Yet, I couldn’t help but think of the elves. Though their cruelty was undeniable, their beauty had an almost hypnotic quality. It was a strange thing to long for the presence of something so lethal, but compared to the goblins, their elegance was easier on the eyes.

Two massive goblins flanked the chieftain, their armor crude but functional. They towered over the rest of the goblins, their muscles bulging beneath scarred green skin. Their hulking forms were similar to Runan’s, carrying themselves with a similar confidence.

We stopped in front of the largest hut in the village—a structure that stood apart with its reinforced walls and the remnants of a carved totem outside.

“My home,” Runan said, his voice gruff with pride.

One of the hulking goblins at his side turned to me and spoke, his tone surprisingly clear. “This is the chieftain’s hut, great warrior.”

Runan grunted in approval, as if affirming the translation. The hulking goblin spoke again “Do you understand the human tongue, Grunt?”

I nodded, resigning myself to my new name.

“Well then, I—”

Before he could finish, another goblin barreled into the speaker, sending him staggering. I tensed, expecting a fight, but the attacker merely wrapped her arms around him, planting an exaggerated kiss on his cheek.

“My apologies,” the goblin said, his tone flustered as he gently extricated himself from her grasp. “My conjugate just got overly emotional at my return.”

The chieftain watched the exchange with thinly veiled displeasure, his lips twisting into a scowl. Meanwhile, the other hulking goblin—who had remained silent until now—narrowed his eyes.

“Tonight,” The goblin interrupted my thoughts, his voice cutting through the awkward moment, “we will have a banquet to commemorate our victory over the elves.”

Clearing his throat as he composed himself, he continued. “My brother and I will host it, and you, O’ great warrior Grunt, will be our guest of honor.”

The silent goblin—apparently the speaker’s brother—let out a low growl of disapproval but said nothing.

The chieftain grunted, and the two brothers stiffened, saluting as he disappeared into his hut.

The silent one broke the stillness with an aggressive string of noises aimed at his brother, but the latter merely waved him off with a dismissive smirk.

“This is my brother Onan,” the goblin said, turning to me with an exaggerated flourish. “And I am Unan.”

He extended his arm toward me, his grin wide and unapologetic. “Follow me, Grunt. Zee went to fetch you, and we are the only ones proficient in the human tongue. I’ll lead you to him.”

Onan rolled his eyes, muttering something incomprehensible as he stalked off.

Unan sighed theatrically, his earlier bravado dimming. Before we left, he turned and embraced the goblin who had pounced on him earlier, kissing her with an intensity that made me wince. Their affection was clumsy and unpolished, but there was something peculiar about it.

He lingered for a moment, his hand brushing her hair as he whispered a few guttural words. Then, with visible reluctance, he let her go and gestured for me to follow.

I kept my expression neutral as we left the village, but inwardly, I was unsettled. The goblins’ displays of affection, however grotesque, reminded me of something long buried—a warmth I could no longer place.

The river guided our path upstream, its gentle gurgle a welcome contrast to the earlier chaos. Unan led the way.