The cave was dark and humid. Sconces illuminated the spaces where the darkness was most resounding, providing limited vision. The ceiling was a forest of stalactites, and the walls appeared dark blue due to the light sources.
Inside a deserted part of the cave, a group of infant goblins was resting. Among them was one a bit different from the others. If one looked carefully, they would see that they all shared a characteristic brown colour in their eyes. All except one. This one's eyes were deep blue, the colour of the sea. A mesmerizing sight that was now twisted in a grimace. You would never expect such an expression on an innocent infant being, and you would be right to do so. This was no infant and, definitely, no innocent being.
Kote remembered. He remembered where he was, where he is. He remembered what he is. It all came flooding in his head like a tide, sweeping his consciousness away, the moment his eyes met his unwilling mother's eyes.
This was not the first time he was seeing it after all, but the second. His mother's eyes were the reason his life took the direction it did. That look changed everything about him. Ever since he grew enough to become conscious of his own existence, that look would replay in his wake, and sleep non-stop, like a haunting ghost, when it was supposed to be nothing but a fleeting memory.
Goblins had few to no females, to reproduce the needed ones from other races. He knew that. He was taught that. He saw it himself. But something inside him just tore him apart every time his mother's eyes replayed in his mind. Goblins had no love for parents, so where did that feeling come from? They were ugly, weak, parasitic infestations, with no morals or enough brains to sustain themselves, so where did his indignation and self-loathing originate?
He did not know.
What he did know was that somehow he found himself at the start of his life once again. He remembered growing up, becoming an adult in less than a year, hunting, killing, chasing after something. He did not know what, but he kept chasing after this feeling of emptiness; this feeling of incompleteness that made his life unbearable.
The last thing in his memory was being in that ruin, in that fortress of the abyss, getting chased by those accursed demons, when suddenly it all went dark. But, it wasn't so sudden, was it? What he felt more clearly than ever was the touch of a dagger in his hand.
The tiny goblin lifted its hand to look at its palm, hoping for that feeling one more time.
And as if the gods had heard him, there it was.
In his palm.
It took a few seconds for him to register what happened. He thought that it was nothing but a trick on his mind, a playful illusion as he lost himself in the memories. But, grasping it and feeling the cold material pressing against his palm, he realized it was real.
The dagger was once again in his hand.
"What the-!?" Stupefied by what was happening and momentarily startled, he threw the dagger as far away as he could, only for it to return to his hand as if it were a magnet looking for its pair. Granted, he was an infant, so he could not have thrown it very far; nonetheless, the result left him even more startled.
It was too small to be a sword and too large to be a dagger. It resembled a fang, or a broken tooth, with a sharp, rugged edge and pitch-black colour, as if it swallowed light itself. The hilt was made of exquisite material, making one think it was crafted specifically for the blade, and had no hand-guard. On this handle, the image of a nine-headed divine serpent, roaring destruction upon the world, was depicted with some kind of white material.
The goblin's eyes were shining with extraordinaire, hoping his mind wasn't playing tricks on him.
"F*ck me! It's really the dagger! But I don't steal it until-"
As his mind pondered the last moments of his life, he recalled the darkness; the void, the emptiness.
That never-ending abyss of blackness, that left no respite and no sense of existence.
He also remembered the bright, majestic light that guided him inside the abyss.
The one that gave him purpose and direction.
And the never-ending lattice of doors that he found himself stranded in. He remembered opening one of the doors, stepping inside and then-
Rebirth.
"There's no way is there? I mean reincarnation I get, but rebirth? If everyone rebirths after they die why does noone have memories of their past life and where were mine? What if this isn't real? What if this is a dream? A very real, lucid dream? What if every door is another dream, but- wait a minute. This isn't some nonsense dream, I don't remember my birth but, I remember the goblin chief, he looks the exact same, and that accursed shaman as well... What if-, what if the doors are gateways to my past- No, absolutely not. Unbelievable!Impossible!"
Kote had a hard time coming to terms with his current state, as it was unknown. No one conveniently handed him some kind of manual or any kind of instruction. Who's to say what's speculations and what's real, and given the state of things, real wasn't even on the table.
Kote was lost in thought for a very long time. Numerous possibilities went through his mind, but nothing substantial enough to give him clarity, he wasn't exactly bright, as he liked to say.
So he did the only thing he knew would wake him up, in case he was dreaming. Conveniently, a dagger rested on his tiny, infant hand.
He moved it towards his other one, and lightly pressed against his palm. The rough edge of the blade prickled and easily cut through his still sensitive skin.
His infant face twisted into a grimace of pain for but a fleeting moment, while blood trickled down this forearms.
"Definitely not a dream. This hurts more than I thought it would. I guess my skin and senses are dull. Makes sense, I am hours old after all..." He thought slightly regretting his actions.
"Maybe a pinch would be-"
The words died in his throat as he felt something in his head. His mind was filled with whispers.
As if the ghosts of his past surrounded him and whispered him words of spite and revenge, in a language he didn't understand.
It sounded baritone and ancient, as if the abyss had a mouth and spoken, as if the darkness had a voice to convey it's loneliness.
The whispers increased in intensity and volume until they became unbearable and the tiny goblin started squirming and doubling over in pain. Its eyes tightly shut, and its jaw clenched to the limit. It struggled to open its left eye and look at the source of the pain still radiating through its hand, only to see his blood seep inside the pitch-black fang.
The whispers grew as more and more blood was absorbed, forming a small whirlpool around the primordial weapon, until it became impossible to keep the screams from escaping his mouth. The infants surrounding him woke up and started crying from the noise, while he screamed his heart out as the voices gnawed on his brain.
The goblins patrolling around the cave quickly rushed inside the space, yelling to the infants to be quiet. After all, they were nothing but dumb creatures.
Amidst the never-ending chatter, the goblin found a single moment of respite, as the voices disappeared abruptly, returning that much under-appreciated silence.
But just before he could relax and rejoice for the nightmare being over, something resounded in his mind, in the form of a whisper, stronger than any of the voices he heard till nowm.
A name.
Kyomu.
It echoed through his mindscape, as if someone yelled it in a hurry, and then scurried away, afraid of remaining there any longer.
The goblin's eyes rolled back inside its head and it fell unconscious once more.
It's tiny brain was too frail to withstand such torture.
It was a miracle in itself that it handled all of the memories and voices.