Typically, when a goblin is born, it emerges from a large plant known as a Goblos tree. Goblins are, in many ways, more akin to flora than fauna. They primarily reproduce asexually, budding from these strange trees. However, under rare circumstances, goblins may reproduce with other species. Those born of such unions are referred to as Halfs, while those birthed through asexual means are known as Pures.

Such was the origin of the young goblin who would later be named Kyros.

The creature stirred within a bed of green foliage, slowly pushing its way into the worldm, a sea of breath and sound.

Having emerged from the womb of the Goblos, it inhaled its first breath of air and stepped into life.

All around it stood others like itself, newborn goblins loosely assembled in small, uneven lines.

When a pure goblin is born, it is already the equivalent of five human years in mental development. It possesses rudimentary awareness and a sense of self, though it remains ignorant of nearly everything else.

Kyros began to approach the gathering, his movements uncertain. The group chattered amongst themselves in a primitive language composed of grunts and hisses, yet this strange tongue held clear meaning for its speakers.

“Everyone!” came a sharp command from a larger goblin at the head of the group. He held a staff, his bearing suggesting age and authority.

The murmurs died instantly, all eyes turning to the elder.

A dry chuckle escaped him. Whether he was amused by their sudden silence or merely by his own voice was unclear.

“Welcome to the world, my children,” he declared. “You may feel fear or confusion, but rest assured: I shall guide you in the way of our kind. There is no need to be afraid.”

The silence among the younglings was thick, yet there was no mistaking their curiosity.

“We will begin with introductions. There are twenty-three of you, so let us proceed promptly.”

The elder moved down the line, one by one asking for names. Each goblin responded instinctively, as if the names were etched into their being. After each name, the elder assigned a role.

Unlike many creatures whose names are bestowed upon them, goblins are born knowing their designation. In their case, a name is not merely given, it is awakened.

“What is your name, young one?” the elder asked as he came to Kyros.

“K...Kyros,” came the timid reply.

The chatter ceased once more. Dozens of gazes turned toward the speaker. Even the elder, despite his lack of eyes, seemed taken aback.

After a pause, he slowly nodded.

“I see. You have been born with the gift, the ability to communicate with the Sapients.”

Turning to face the group, the elder let out a laugh.

“This is no time for shock, but for celebration! He can speak with the Sapients!”

Cheers and whispers spread throughout the gathered children. When the excitement finally settled, the elder placed a hand upon Kyros’s head and spoke with solemn clarity.

“As for your role... Kyros,” he said, “you shall protect. You will safeguard your siblings, placing their well-being above your own. You are kindhearted, and that kindness shall be your strength.”

Kyros turned, gazing at the others.

Some clambered atop one another. Some laughed in strange bursts of sound. Others ran in disorganized circles, their bodies filled with youthful energy.

In that moment, he understood.

He was alive.

Life in the eighth layer was quite eventful. Every day, there was always something for the goblins to indulge in. The layer was covered in thick, lush forests, with creatures never seen before lurking around every corner.

“Look! A Flauran Bear!” A voice called out.

At this moment, Kyros, as well as three others, his siblings, were perched atop one of the tallest trees in the area, more than fifteen meters above the forest floor. The canopy around them was a dense sea of green, so thick that an ordinary human would struggle to see even a few feet ahead.

As for the others, the name for the slightly fatter one with a rhombus on his forehead was Flyros. Goblins were typically identified not just by physical distinctions, such as height or build, but primarily by the symbols on their foreheads, which were unique to each individual..

“Yeah, we know you wanna eat it!” Called out one with a star-like formation on his forehead. He was crouched right beside Kyros and carried himself with a brash, fiery energy. His name was Floros—the hotheaded one of the group.


“Guys be quiet, it’s going to see us with your yammering!” The smallest one, with a feminine voice, called out. This one had a hexagon on her head, much more complicated in shape than the others. This was Tyros. The leader of this specific hunting party.

Among goblins, leadership was typically assigned to those with the most elaborate insignias, as complexity of the mark was considered a sign of innate capability. These leaders would form hunting packs and guide others through the dangers of the layer. The more experienced a goblin became, the deeper into the layers they would travel.

Kyros, still relatively young, was equivalent to around fifteen in human years. He only bore only a simple circle. For him, leadership was out of the question.

As for the bear that was in discussion, it was large, no larger than an adult human, and walked on its hind legs. It was ripped with muscle, possessing two large yellow eyes that darted from corner to corner. Its claws were powerful enough to tear into bark with relative ease.

The beast sniffed the air, disturbed by the foreign scent intruding upon its territory, the goblins.

Silently, the four stalked it, leaping from tree to tree with practiced grace, careful not to make a sound. Two of them darted ahead, circling to cut off the bear's retreat, while Kyros and Tyros followed from the rear to block any potential escape.

After nearly twelve minutes of silent pursuit, the bear entered a clearing where a small stream trickled through the underbrush. Seemingly exhausted, it paused at the water’s edge, lowering its head to drink.

Now was the perfect time for the goblins to strike. The swaying of the leaves from the trees due to the gust of the wind perfectly masked any sounds. The clearing provided a clear view of the creature.

But..

Something felt off.


Noticing his comrades ready to leap into action, Kyros expressed his worries.

“Um, I think something's wrong.” He said to Tyros, gesturing towards the bear.

She looked at him, a bit confused as to why he would pass up such a golden opportunity.

“What’s wrong? He’s in the perfect position.”

“Flauran bears hate being exposed out in the open. They always prefer staying hidden from everything.” He gazed at the bear. “What if… What if he’s aware we are following him?”

A small snicker emanated from the group. They found his worriedness was something that was a part of his character. Given that his sole purpose was to protect everyone.

“Look, Kyros, you’re looking way into this. It’s an animal, he can’t be that smart.” Floros stated, his tone full of vigor.

“Besides, there are four of us if anything goes wrong.” Flyros stated matter-of-factly.

Tyros only snarled like a rabid animal, not even giving her input on the situation. She simply stared at the bear like a savage, ready to tear into its innards and feast on it’s flesh.

“B-But wait, what if we-”

Before he could even say anything further, the three lunged down below, their claws ready to impale inside their furry opponent.

What happened next defied all logic.

With the speed and precision of a seasoned killer, the bear twisted around mid-drink. In one swift motion, it opened its jaws wide, catching Flyros mid-air, then lashed out with its claw, striking both Floros and Tyros with bone-shattering force.

The clearing erupted in chaos. Blood covered the earth like tar rain.

Floros’s body had been torn in half, his entrails scattered across the forest floor. The wet sheen of his innards caught the light, blood pooling slowly beneath him.

The upper half of his corpse lay buried in the thick bush, gone from sight.

Tyros had been sliced on a diagonal, her body nearly bisected from the crown of her head down to her arm. She lay crumpled in the grass, her own brain matter slathering her lifeless form.

And then there was Flyros.

The Flauran Bear had clamped its jaws around his neck, thrashing side to side with feral force, spraying blood like a fountain across the clearing. It should have been a moment of agony, screaming, begging, writhing.

But Flyros did none of that.

Instead, he snarled.

With a vicious, animalistic fury, he lashed out at the bear’s face, his claws gouging toward its eyes. He fought with a wrath that mirrored the beast’s. Neither seemed capable of understanding anything but one command:

Kill.

From above, Kyros watched the carnage unfold. The shock of it all was overwhelming—but more than the blood, what rooted him in place was the unrelenting fire in Flyros’s struggle. That he still fought, still resisted, even in such a state…

"You shall protect."

The voice rang in his head.

Snapping out of his daze, Kyros leapt from the tree. He lunged at the bear’s face, driving his fingers into its eye. The creature roared in pain, momentarily releasing Flyros in a frenzy of confusion.

It flailed, staggering from the agony.

Kyros tore his hand free and dropped beside his wounded brother.

Flyros, though soaked in blood and limp from injury, still snarled like a rabid beast, clawing at the air with no sense of self.

They had to get out of this situation as soon as possible.

Kyros wrapped his arms around Flyros, trying to drag him to safety while the bear stumbled in pain behind them. But something was wrong.

Flyros wasn’t trying to escape.

He thrashed in Kyros’s grasp, trying to tear himself free. His focus remained locked on the bear, as if possessed. His arms flailed around with no sense of direction, just to attack.

“Fly! Stop! Please! We need to get out of here!!”

“KhkhkhkHK!!”

Flyros growled in response, more beast than anything. Still, Kyros held on.

“Flyros, please! Listen to me!”

Again and again he pleaded, but Flyros didn’t hear him. Then, on the twenty-second plea, Flyros’s clawed hand struck upward, piercing into Kyros’s jaw. Blood trailed down the attackers claw, dripping down unto the grass.

Pain shot through him, but he refused to let go.

To release him would be to abandon him. To fail the only directive he held dear. To fail as a brother.

“I won’t let go. I won’t let you die here.”

This went beyond simply saving someone. This was his family, his kin, one of those who grew alongside him.

This was the same Flyros who used to share his portion of meals with him whenever the others had already finished theirs.

The same Flyros who had been constantly made fun off for his slightly larger stature than the rest.

The same Flyros who had been kind to those around him, no matter how much they disgraced his honour.

Now, he was no more than a rabid mess, a beastly creature of the night, desperate to kill the opponent in front of him.

It hurt.

It hurt to see him like this.

Kyros gritted his teeth, still grunting in exertion from pulling his brother.

Suddenly, a staff touched his shoulder. It was neither too hard to cause any sort of pain, nor soft enough to be ignored in the chaotic scene.

Kyros looked up.

The elder stood above him, expression unreadable.

“Sir, please! Flyros is—he’s—!”

“Leave him.”

“...What?”

“I said, leave him.”

Kyros froze. The elder was the tribe’s voice of reason. Disobedience was unthinkable; he was aware of that much…

Yet…

“Why?! I can’t just abandon him! Please, just—”

A sharp crack to the back of his head. Kyros crumpled.

Freed from restraint, Flyros dropped to all fours and charged the bear, ignoring all wounds, his body consumed by fury. The bear, now fully recovered, identified him as the attacker and turned its full rage on him.

It roared, a monstrous sound that shook the clearing.

Flyros returned the roar, leaping at the beast with primal rage. His leap had covered about 3 meters, an astonishing feat his sane self would have ever considered possible.

“Tyros!!” Kyros screamed, voice hoarse.

The elder didn’t move. His expression remained vacant. Unmoved.

Kyros tried to run, desperate to save his brother, but the elder’s staff stopped him like a wall. Just a stick. But Kyros couldn’t move past it. No matter how much he attempted to move around it, something deeper, older, rooted him in place.

“—Tyros!!”

Blood sprayed across the grass.

“——Tyros!!”

“————TYROS!!!”

He couldn’t reach him. Couldn’t cross the distance. His own instincts had shackled him in place.

For three agonizing minutes, silence returned, broken only by the bear’s heavy breathing and the rustling of its retreat.

Then, finally, the elder spoke.

“This is our true nature.”

Kyros stared at the bloodstained clearing.

“...What..?”

“No matter how civil we pretend to be, at our core, we are nothing more than beasts. Do you understand, Kyros? This violence… this madness… it is not unnatural. It is who we are. We are goblins.”

Kyros couldn’t reply. His throat was raw from screaming.

The elder gestured across the clearing with his staff.

“This is the cycle our kind is cursed to repeat. Even the brightest minds I’ve seen: scholars, thinkers, dreamers, they all fall to it. The moment they feel fear, or hatred, or bloodlust… they become this.

“To kill, rape, and steal. This is our directive in this life.”

Kyros watched as the bear dragged Flyros’s body away, disappearing into the undergrowth.

Gone.

“I created this tribe in the Umbral Valley to escape the surface goblins and their savagery. But I have failed. I see now—our nature cannot be undone by ideals alone.”

He turned to Kyros.

“I need your help. Help me reshape our people into something new. Something better.”

Kyros stared blankly, unable to process it all.

“Why…”

“I know you hate me. I let your brother die. But I’ve tried to save ones like him before.”
He lifted his sleeve. The flesh beneath was blackened, shredded beyond recognition. “There is no saving a maddened goblin. Had you gone after him, you would’ve died too.”

Kyros looked down at the grass. He trembled.

Then he clenched his hands.

“Alright,” he whispered. “I’ll help you. I’ll help you.”

After all, his directive was to protect. Even if it was from themselves.