The forest stretched endlessly ahead, the faint glow of dawn lighting the path as Chris, Kira, and Eroll moved through the underbrush. Chris's body ached, his wings heavy against his back. Every step felt harder than the last, but he forced himself to keep going—Dorian's death still weighing heavily on his heart.
Kira, perched lightly on Chris's shoulder, gave him a worried glance. "You need to rest. You can barely stand."
Chris shook his head stubbornly. "We can't stop. Not until we're safe."
Eroll walked a few paces ahead, his curved sword resting lazily at his side. "Lucky for you," he called over his shoulder, "I know just the place."
Chris narrowed his eyes. "Where exactly are we going?"
Eroll grinned, glancing back. "To my clan."
Chris faltered for a moment. "You… have a clan?"
Kira fluttered her wings in surprise. "You never mentioned that before."
Eroll shrugged, his grin widening. "Didn't think it mattered. But since we're all friends now…" He gestured ahead toward the deepening forest. "Figured I'd show you where I come from. We'll be safe there."
The forest grew thicker as they traveled deeper into the woods, the light filtering through the canopy dim and cool. The landscape changed—ancient stone markers jutted from the ground, their surfaces covered in moss and strange symbols.
Chris noticed that the forest floor was well-worn, as if many feet had traveled this path over the years. It didn't feel like the wild, chaotic goblin territory he had expected—it felt… calculated. Organized.
Kira tilted her head, her sharp eyes scanning their surroundings. "Your clan… what kind of goblins are they, exactly?"
Eroll smirked. "The better kind." His voice carried a hint of pride. "We're not like those brutes who attacked the village. My clan's… different."
Chris raised an eyebrow. "Different how?"
Eroll tapped the hilt of his sword. "We live by honor. Discipline. Tradition." He shot a glance at Chris. "We may be goblins, but we're not savages."
Chris couldn't help but feel a flicker of curiosity. A disciplined, honorable goblin clan? It was the last thing he expected.
After hours of travel, the forest gave way to a hidden clearing. At the heart of it lay a small village—wooden and stone buildings, intricately carved with symbols, stood nestled beneath the shadow of towering trees. Goblins moved about the settlement, their movements precise and deliberate.
Chris blinked in surprise. These goblins looked… different. Taller, calmer, and more refined in movement.
At the village center, a group of goblin warriors practiced martial drills, their weapons gleaming in the morning light. Every strike was calculated, every movement flowing like water.
Eroll gave them a casual wave as they passed. The warriors nodded back, their respect clear.
Chris couldn't hide his shock. "This… isn't what I expected."
Eroll chuckled. "Told you. We're not like the others."
A figure approached—a tall goblin dressed in armor made from blackened leather, with intricate red stitching along the seams. His eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence as he studied Chris, Kira, and Eroll.
"Eroll," the goblin said with a slow nod. "You brought outsiders?"
Eroll gave an easy grin. "They're with me. We need a place to rest."
The armored goblin narrowed his eyes but gave a slow, respectful nod. "Very well. The elders will want to see you later." He cast one last glance at Chris before walking away.
Chris exhaled slowly. It felt strange—being welcomed by goblins. But there was no denying the sense of safety the village offered.
They were given a small cabin at the edge of the village, its walls lined with simple wooden furnishings and a crackling hearth. For the first time in days, Chris felt the tension in his body ease.
Kira perched on the windowsill, glancing outside as the village settled into its quiet routines. "They're different, alright."
Chris sat on the edge of the bed, his wings sagging heavily behind him. The exhaustion hit him like a wave, pulling him down with it. "I didn't think goblins could live like this," he muttered, rubbing his eyes.
Eroll leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. "Yeah, well… there's a lot you don't know about us."
Chris looked up, his gaze meeting Eroll's. "Why are you helping us? Why bring us here?"
Eroll's usual grin softened, just slightly. "Because you remind me of someone." He looked away, the embers flickering quietly around him. "And because… I think you deserve a second chance."
Chris felt the weight of those words settle over him. A second chance. He hadn't saved Dorian—but maybe, just maybe, he could save someone else.
The night settled over the village, the crackling hearth offering warmth as Chris, Eroll, and Kira sat together in silence. Chris's wings ached, but for the first time, the pain felt… manageable.
"We'll stay here for a bit," Eroll said, breaking the silence. "Recover. Train." He glanced at Chris, a flicker of mischief in his eyes. "And maybe figure out how not to crash into things with those wings."
Chris smirked despite himself. "No promises."
Kira gave a soft chuckle. "We'll need to be ready for what's coming. That Wargoblin won't wait forever."
Chris nodded, the fire in his chest burning brighter. He still had a long way to go. But with Eroll's clan offering a place to regroup and Kira at his side, he knew they could get stronger together.
The morning sun filtered through the dense canopy, casting patterns of light and shadow over the goblin village. Chris, Kira, and Eroll stepped out of their small cabin, greeted by the hum of activity.
Goblins moved with purpose—sharpening weapons, preparing food, and practicing martial drills. This was a far cry from the chaotic, marauding goblins Chris had fought before. Here, every movement was deliberate, disciplined, and efficient.
Kira perched lightly on Chris's shoulder, her sharp eyes scanning the village. "So, what's this place called?"
Eroll grinned with pride. "Welcome to Los Scarlend's stronghold in Hidden Underlend."
Chris raised an eyebrow. "Los Scarlend? That's... different."
Eroll's grin widened as he gestured toward the well-organized village. "We're not like the others. Los Scarlend is different because we chose to be."
Chris furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"
Eroll leaned against the wall of the cabin, his expression growing thoughtful. "A long time ago, my ancestors broke away from the larger goblin clans. Most goblin tribes are obsessed with power, plunder, and chaos. They fight without honor—only greed." He motioned toward the goblins practicing in the square, their swords moving in perfect synchronization. "Los Scarlend rejected that. We decided we'd rather live by discipline, by rules, and by tradition."
Chris tilted his head, intrigued. "So... you're not raiders?"
Eroll shook his head. "Not unless we're forced to be. We defend what's ours, but we don't take more than we need. The other goblins... they think we're soft because of that."
Kira fluttered her wings thoughtfully. "And what do you think?"
A smirk tugged at the corner of Eroll's mouth. "I think they underestimate us. And that's a mistake they won't survive."
Chris gave a small nod, absorbing the information. It was strange to think of goblins living by rules and honor—but there was no denying the order here.
As they wandered through Hidden Underlend, Chris took in the details of the village. The structures were carved from stone and wood, with intricate symbols etched into every surface. Vines wound through the buildings, giving the place an ancient, almost sacred feel. Torches lined the pathways, their flames flickering in the dim light beneath the forest canopy.
They passed a group of goblin warriors engaged in sparring, their movements precise and fluid. Every strike was calculated; every parry executed with skill. Chris couldn't help but feel a flicker of admiration.
Eroll gestured toward the sparring warriors. "That's what separates us from the others. We don't fight with brute strength—we fight with precision, patience, and control."
Chris raised an eyebrow. "Where'd the discipline come from? That's not exactly... typical for goblins."
Eroll's grin softened, his eyes distant. "It started with an elder named Scarlend. He believed goblins could be more—could evolve past mindless raiding. He founded this clan, and we took his name as a mark of pride." Eroll paused, then added, "He taught us that strength without purpose is just destruction. But strength with discipline... that's power."
Kira tilted her head. "And what about you? Do you follow all these rules?"
Eroll chuckled. "I follow enough to stay alive."
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Eroll led them toward the heart of Hidden Underlend—a circular stone building marked with runes and symbols, the gathering place for the clan's elders.
Eroll opened the heavy wooden door, motioning for Chris and Kira to follow. Inside, several older goblins sat cross-legged on woven mats, their eyes gleaming with wisdom and curiosity.
One of the elders, a goblin with silver-streaked hair and scars tracing his arms, leaned forward. "Eroll... these are your companions?"
Eroll gave a respectful nod. "Yes. They fought well and need a place to recover. I thought it was time they learned more about us."
The elder's gaze shifted to Chris, his expression unreadable. "You're human, aren't you?"
Chris hesitated but nodded. "I am."
The elder hummed thoughtfully. "You are far from home."
Chris gave a small shrug. "That seems to be the theme lately."
The elder gave a dry chuckle. "You've come to a place where strength is earned, not taken. We train not for conquest, but for survival. And now, with the goblin king rising, survival will become... more complicated."
Kira's eyes narrowed. "What can you tell us about this goblin king?"
The elder's expression darkened. "He's not like the others. The clans are gathering under his banner, drawn by promises of power. He speaks of evolution—something beyond the hobgoblins and Wargoblins you've seen."
Chris frowned. "There's something more? Another evolution?"
The elder nodded grimly. "Yes. A goblin king who evolves into something beyond—an Overlord. Few survive the transformation, but those who do... become monsters."
Chris's stomach tightened. An Overlord. He could feel the weight of the word, the danger it implied. If the goblin king succeeded in evolving, it would mean disaster for everyone.
Eroll crossed his arms. "That's why we need to train. If we don't, the Overlord will wipe us out, just like the other clans."
Chris exhaled slowly, the enormity of the situation settling in. This wasn't just about survival—it was about preparing for a war.
He glanced at Kira, who gave him a determined nod. They had come too far to stop now.
The elder spoke again, his voice low and measured. "If you stay here, you will learn our ways. But know this—strength alone will not be enough. It will take discipline and unity to survive what's coming."
Chris nodded, a quiet resolve building in his chest. He had seen what happened when discipline failed—Dorian's death was a harsh reminder of that.
Eroll clapped Chris on the back. "Welcome to Los Scarlend, my friend. Now let's see if you can survive the training."
Chris smirked, the weight in his chest lifting slightly. For the first time since the ambush, hope flickered in his heart.