The world didn’t stay still.

Every time I returned to a tribe, a village, a refuge… something had changed.

Sometimes, they were gone. Sometimes, they had moved. Sometimes… only traces remained.

The Okais spread like rotting roots. They expanded. Explored. Took.

And… I learned to take too.

At first, I attacked only those who were alone. Unaware. Clumsy.

But then… I started watching. Observing them in groups.

From the branches, from the mud, from the mist.

I studied how they moved. How they walked in formation. How they used their weapons. How they spoke. What they did when one fell. What they did when they fired. What they did when they were afraid.

I didn’t understand the words, but the positions, the gestures, the decisions… I did.

And every time an Okai fell, I took their weapons.

Not all of them. Only what I could carry. Daggers. Knives. Small spears. Sharp bits of iron.

I brought them to the cave. Hid them. Lined them up. And practiced.

Sometimes alone. Sometimes with the others.

I repeated the movements I had seen. Copied the way they held them. The way they threw. Blocked. Switched hands.

I failed. Repeated. Improved.

Not all weapons were useful. Some too large. Too heavy.

But those that weren’t… became part of me.

When I went out, I carried several. One on my back. One on my ankle. One on my waist.

I moved with them as if they were old claws. They didn’t shine. Made no noise. Didn’t forgive.

And while I became a shadow, the little ones changed too.

They were no longer little.

The oldest spoke with me. Looked at me as an equal. Didn’t need everything explained anymore.

And it was the oldest who said it, one night by a soft fire:

“I saw flowers by the river. The ones that bloom when the cycle begins.”

I stayed still.

“Does that mean… it’s time?”

I looked at him. For the first time, with eyes of doubt.

The ritual.

The one that had marked my life. That had bonded me to the slime. That had changed me forever.

“If he does it,” I thought, “will he lose emotions? Will only love… and peace remain?”

But if he doesn’t…

What happens to a goblin who doesn’t cross that threshold? Does he wither? Die? Break?

I had taught the little ones to think. To decide. To be free.

And now… I had to teach them to choose something I didn’t fully understand.

That night there was no hot meal. No stories.

Only the fire. Only the young one and me. Face to face. The light trembling between us.

I sighed.

“I’m going to tell you something that’s not in the stories. And when I finish… you will decide.”