As Finn re-entered the dim, damp cave, the familiar smells of smoke, wet earth, and decay filled the air. The constant hum of goblin voices, the clattering of crude tools, and the crackling of flames filled the cavern. This was the heart of the tribe, where the strong and the weak alike gathered, and where Finn had learned that every young goblin had to go through a certain ritual.
He walked with purpose toward the elder, an old, frail goblin sitting on a poorly constructed chair made of broken wood and stone. The elder, who looked nothing like the hardened warriors Finn had observed in the tribe, was hunched and weary, with skin stretched thin over his bones. Despite his age, the elder held authority, and every goblin—young or old—respected him. Finn had watched over the last few days as every goblin who caught their first prey had to bring it to this elder. It was a tradition, one that had to be followed.
Finn stepped forward, holding out the small lizard he had killed, its warm body still fresh in his hands. "I have hunted my first prey," Finn said, his voice steady but tinged with excitement.
The elder's tired eyes flicked over the lizard, a low chuckle escaping his lips. Clearly unimpressed by the small size of the catch, the elder's gnarled fingers twitched as he examined the creature. But traditions were traditions. "With your first prey, I will now bestow upon you a name," the elder rasped, his voice cracking but filled with authority.
The elder paused, eyes narrowing in thought as he regarded Finn. Then, with a sly grin, he said, "Your name is Muck."
The name felt strange to Finn, but it was his. In this moment, he officially belonged to the tribe.
Before Finn could fully process the significance of his new name, the elder snatched the lizard from his hands with surprising speed. In one swift motion, the elder sliced off the lizard's tail with a jagged stone, blood dripping onto the cave floor. He handed the mutilated body back to Finn without a word.
"This is the rule of the tribe," the elder muttered. "Any prey caught must be brought to me, to be taxed. The tail goes to me. The rest is yours."
Finn nodded, understanding now that the tax wasn't personal—it was a law of the tribe. The strong took from the weak, and the weak submitted. It was a harsh but necessary part of survival in their world.
As Finn took the lizard's body, now missing its tail, he realized something. The tradition, the naming, the tax—though small, it was a step in his journey. He had hunted. He had earned his place. In this brutal world, that meant everything.
Returning to his makeshift bed, Finn sat down with the small, skewered lizard still in his hand. He looked at it, the first prey he had ever hunted, and felt a strange sense of accomplishment mixed with hunger. His stomach rumbled loudly, a reminder that he hadn't eaten since his birth—since he had woken up in this strange world. He knew that if he was to survive, he would have to get used to these moments of discomfort.
Walking over to a nearby fire, he carefully skewered the lizard on a stick and held it over the flames, watching as the heat turned the skin crispy and the meat inside began to soften. The smell, although foreign, began to stir something primal inside him. It was food, and right now, it was everything.
When the lizard was slightly charred, Finn took it down, holding it in his hands. He stared at the slightly burnt body, the smell not quite like the cooked meals he remembered from his old life, but still, it made his mouth water. He hesitated. The memories of the rich, flavorful foods from his previous life—the sweet fruits, tender meats, and complex spices—flickered through his mind. But those weren't here. This was his reality now. He had to adapt.
With a sigh, he brought the lizard close to his mouth, biting into the tough skin. To his surprise, the taste wasn't foul, as he had expected. Instead, a rich, savory flavor exploded on his tongue, something unlike anything he had ever tasted in his old world. It was simple, yet satisfying, and for the first time since he arrived here, Finn felt a sense of contentment.
He quickly finished the rest of the lizard, savoring every bite. But as he swallowed the last piece, he realized something. There was no more food, and no one would share theirs. The goblins around him were all too preoccupied with their own survival to offer anything to the weak, to the newcomer.
His stomach growled again, but Finn could only sigh. He was on his own now.
With a sense of finality, Finn returned to his bed made of leaves and old rags, lying down and staring up at the darkened ceiling of the cave. He thought back on his day—the hunt, the naming, and the strange feeling of belonging to a tribe that didn't quite welcome him. He was still weak, still small, but he had taken the first step.
As exhaustion overcame him, Finn closed his eyes, the thoughts of the day fading into the background. Tomorrow, he would need to do more. Tomorrow, he would need to grow stronger, or this world would swallow him whole.
And with that, Finn drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep, ready to face whatever came next.