Crossing the rocky breach, I thought I had left hell behind. But outside… it was just another mask. A ring. A trap of stone, a circle of order and strength surrounding the chaos we came from.
All around the exit, carved directly into the side of the crater, stretched a structured, impassive village, as if frozen by discipline. Hundreds of squat buildings, hewn from bone, skin, and stone, formed concentric rows around the chasm. No superfluous ornament. No grotesque decoration. Just the essentials: blades, walls, fire. The paths were wide, straight, designed for the movement of an army. The Nest was not a den — it was a living fortress.
The high goblin gestured for us to move forward. He said nothing. He didn't need to. Every step I took under the gaze of those silent warriors weighed more than any speech. They stood there, massive, their bodies weathered by trials, their eyes hard, yet humble. Goblins, yes, but far from the image of savage beasts I had in my mind. They stood tall, disciplined, organized. A superior caste, forged by survival, by hierarchy.
And I understood.
He wanted us to see this village.
To those left in the cave. To the pack leaders, to the others, to those arrogant adolescents who already thought they ruled the world after a week of animal violence. He wanted to spit a simple truth in their faces: you are nothing. He wanted them to understand that humility precedes power. That the pack is but a fragment. That true power lives here, in the calm gazes of those who know, in the steady grip on weapons, in the scars borne without shame. That everyone here had a place — and theirs had to be earned, not stolen by instinct.
And I, in this silent setting of mastered strength, was but a new breath. A still-formless anomaly. But for the first time, deep inside, an idea struck me harder than hate: if I must become someone… then I'll become it here. But not like them. Beyond them.
We finally reached the edge of the circle. Beyond the last stone houses, the world opened again — but this time, it wasn't a chasm. It was a boundary. A green frontier, dark, oozing with moisture. A forest. Dense. Twisted. Alive.
The high goblin stopped before the first trees. He slowly turned to us, the newborns. His eyes passed over each of us, without hostility, without pity. Then, in a hoarse but steady voice, he declared:
— Hunt. Survive. Grow stronger. Evolve. And come back… only after that.
Nothing more. No farewell. No advice. Just the raw law of the world.
But as I turned toward the woods, my gaze was caught by a figure behind him. A figure I recognized instantly. She stood straight, unmoving, on the edge of shadow and sunlight. For the first time, I saw her in the light.
My mother.
She was about one meter sixty, tall for a goblin woman. Her body, despite the scars life had left her, retained an animal grace, a quiet suppleness. Her skin was dark olive, speckled in places with dark patches like autumn leaves. Long red hair cascaded wildly over her shoulders, catching the light with a strange, almost unreal softness. Her eyes, golden yellow, shone with a moist, deep glow, filled with silent pain.
She said nothing. She didn't even move. But her face… her face bore that smile I'll never forget. A smile torn between tenderness and sorrow, between silent pride and contained fear. The kind of smile you give a son you know is too weak, but whom you must let go anyway. Because that's the rule. Because that's the world.
She knew I was frail. She had seen me struggle, crawl, suffer. She knew my chances of survival were slim… and yet she looked at me as if I was already greater than all the others. As if I carried something unique. Something possible.
And that look, that simple look, was worth more than all the armor, more than all the weapons. It struck me right in the heart, left a crack there.
So, without a word, I turned away.
And I took my first steps into the forest.
Toward the hunt.
Toward hunger.
Toward solitude.
And maybe, toward myself.
The others stayed in groups, of course. As always. By reflex. Maybe out of fear of isolation. But me… I already knew. If I stayed with them, I'd never get anything. They were faster, stronger, more aggressive. I'd always be last. I'd only get scraps, leftovers. And this time, it wasn't about grunts or blows. It was life or death.
So, slowly, I pulled away.
One step. Then two. Then ten. I listened. I watched. When the group focused on a trail, I slowed down. I let myself slide out of their sight. My breath grew quieter. My steps, lighter. I wasn't fleeing. I was disappearing. And soon… I was no longer there.
The forest stretched before me like a massive open maw, lined with roots and shifting shadows. The trees were tall, gnarled, covered in black, cracked bark, as if burnt from within. Their branches twisted above me into a tangled ceiling that barely let the light through. A murky day, sliced with green and golden rays, slid over the mossy ground, soaked with humus and rotting leaves. Everything here seemed ancient. Hostile. As if the forest itself hated having its soil stepped on.
The air was heavy, saturated with sap, damp rot, and threat. Brief cries echoed now and then in the distance — wings flapping, hoarse growls, rustlings that made the bushes tremble without ever revealing what hid inside. I didn't know where I was going. I let my feet guide me, my instinct do the rest.
Then I heard it: a liquid murmur, faint, almost shy. A spring.
I found it a bit further, winding between two trunks, clear, cool, narrow. The water flowed with incongruous grace in this setting of thorns and tension. I bent down without thinking. My trembling lips plunged into the icy water, and I drank greedily, as if the forest could tear away what little strength I had left. Each gulp brought me back a bit. To my body. To my fear.
But I didn't stay there. Not foolishly out in the open.
I looked around, then reached for a trunk with rough bark. I scratched its surface, dug my fingers into the cracks, and climbed. Slowly. Silently. Muscles tense, breath short. I rose just enough to hoist myself onto a thick branch overlooking the water. There, I was hidden. Not invisible, but less exposed. A small animal might have ignored me. But a creature… a real one… it would have seen me. And I knew it.
I stayed there. Still. Eyes wide open. Every leaf, every vibration, every heartbeat screamed at me to stay alert. Instinct had taken over.
I was no longer a child. Not yet a hunter.
I was prey… wanting to stop being prey.
I was weak. Objectively. My body was a mass of still-soft muscles, barely tensed by adrenaline. I had little strength, and likely even less speed. I might have a few days left, a week at most, before hunger or a creature took this makeshift body from me. I couldn't rely on claws or fangs. I wasn't a killer. Not yet.
My only weapon was my mind.
My memories.
My human thoughts, still intact despite the mud, the screams, this body that didn't really belong to me. I had lived something else. Thought differently. Dreamed higher. And that memory, even blurry, was my greatest strength. I had to use it. I had no other choice.
Evolve, the high goblin had said. I didn't know what that meant here. Maybe grow. Maybe change form. Maybe… mutate. It didn't matter. I'd think about it later. For now, one priority stood out: survive.
So I focused my thoughts. I crushed my fear under logic.
First step: a weapon.
I could bite, strike, but all that forced me to be close. Too close. The slightest mistake, and I'd be dead. No, I needed distance. A tool that pierces. That stabs. A spear. Simple, effective. Long enough to keep an enemy at bay, primitive enough to be crafted by hand. I'd need a straight stick, a sharpened stone, a strip to fasten it, or plant fibers… yes. It was doable.
And then… traps. I wasn't a predator. But I could make one fall. Trap it. Make it suffer in my place. A pit, a rope, a snare, a bent branch… yes. All that existed, even in this world. I couldn't afford to ignore those tools.
I had to start. Now. Before my mother's milk stopped carrying me. Before hunger clouded my mind. And just thinking about it… I saw her again.
Her face. Her gaze. That damned sad smile.
I felt it catch up with me. Smother me. I was there, frozen on my branch, reliving her eyes, that unexpected tenderness, that ray of light she embodied for me. And I could have let myself slip, drown in that choking emotion.
But no.
No.
She had given me that moment. That respite. That start. She hadn't said a word — but she had given me everything. A look, a chance, a spark. And if I let the forest take me now, then all of that would've meant nothing.
So I clenched my teeth. I slowly stood up. My heart pounded hard, but it was still beating.
I had to do it. For me.
And for her.
I had to come back.