Ghosts In The Tilth

Chapter 1: Dawn's Might

My name is Grolanach, though everyone simply calls me Grol. I sat around a rough-hewn table, my eyes down, admiring the craftsmanship. I was no carpenter, nor did I have a passion for the trade; it was easier than meeting the eyes of a stranger and forced into an uncomfortable conversation.

 The Inn, named The Centurion’s Rest, wasn't located in the capital but in a large, prosperous village on the border of Cent and North Cent territories, a place known for its wide, quiet roads and reliable trade. This inn, unlike the primitive stone structures of Faph we had recently come used to, was built with dark, polished timber and white stone, possessing a grandeur that suggested permanence and wealth. Inside, the massive common room was warm and noisy, illuminated by dozens of oil lamps hanging from dark rafters. The air was a brilliant haze of roasted meat, spiced wine, and the earthy dampness of worn leather.

We, Dawn’s Might, a seasoned adventuring team, were staying here because we had finished a heavy bounty of clearing a major trade path that bandits held hostage a few weeks ago. It was not a difficult job, but the truth was, we were taking a break, hoping the quiet here would settle Mayli's nerves.

His current mental state was a rock pressing on the chest of our entire team. It had affected our last few bounties; his attention would snap, his Fire Magic commands would waver, and he would take reckless risks to protect Dawn before she left. He sat across from me now, his chair pulled back slightly from the table, his powerful shoulders hunched as he drooped over the table. His long, dark, neatly braided hair covered half his handsome face.

Mayli was dressed in worn, serviceable brown leather armour over a simple tunic. His piercing, intelligent eyes were sunken, rimmed with fatigue, and his hands were trembling slightly as he played with his row of earrings, his telltale tick of nervousness. 

When word got out that we were in Centurion’s Rest, the Inn was packed full of locals wanting to meet us, asking us to share some of our lesser-known stories. Dawn’s Might was well known all over Cent. 

Like always, Zoku, another member of the team who had not arrived yet, always believed it was he who drew the crowd. He was convinced that every village we travelled to was filled with people who knew who he was. He is the one and only Zoku Cent, the bastard son of the 23rd King of Cent. When he came of age, his family banished him, along with all titles and riches granted to him. They took everything except his armour, sword and shield. In truth, Zoku was just a commoner with a famous last name.

The Inn, this particular evening, was busy as it happened to be the last working day before the weekend. The citizens of Cent get one day off a week from work. Most, if not all, of the locals usually spend the night before their day off drinking. It was great for business, great for us as an adventuring team, but not so good for me. I hated crowds, which might seem odd to most people, as anyone my size had nothing to fear. I had a secret, a secret only my fellow team knew. It took me over a decade of fighting alongside them for me to become comfortable enough to tell them. I was a giant, well, one-quarter giant. My grandmother was a full-blooded giant, and my grandfather was human. I never asked how it happened, and I never want to know.

It is a unique occurrence for species to cross-breed, and it rarely works out. I learned that the hard way. I had one love in my life. Vertuss. We tried to start a family together. It was the happiest day of my life when she told me she was pregnant. She gave birth to a beautiful boy, whom we named Motley. There were issues with the birth. So… so much blood. Vertuss died. And a few weeks later, so did Motley. I will never be able to love again.

Giants are feared in every corner of Aethel. It is a well-known anecdote that a small family of giants can easily wipe out an entire city. Yet, for some unknown reason, giants never came close to cities or villages. There has not been a report of a giant attack in almost a hundred years, yet major cities still hire and train city guards for giant invasions. We have been fortunate enough to travel most of Aethel, visiting thousands of cities. A lot of their citizens know about Kobolds, Elves, Dwarves, and Drakes. Bordering cities even had different species living together in harmony. Yet, giants are universally feared by all species. 

I try my best to never draw attention to myself. I keep to myself and never say more than I have to. Travelling with Dawn's Might helps with that as Dawn and Zoku command any room they enter. Dawn is strikingly beautiful. She is a natural leader and can easily command a room with just her presence. And Zoku… Zoku is just loud. He wants everyone to know his last name and always expects people to bow down to him and give him only the best. I remember when we travelled to Tel Anor, the capital Elven city of The Aethelwood Rainforest. It was a three-year journey to get there, and Zoku still expected his family name to have reached this far corner of Aethel. Of course, no one knew of the Cent royal family.

I took another draw of the ale I was sitting on. It was in my large custom-made mug, which I carried around with me. The mug held three times as much ale as the standard mug. Barkeeps always gave the mug a quizzical look and demanded I pay three times the price of a usual mug. I was always happy to. The mug was made from the horn of a fully grown Fe’Ar Mountain Goat, which usually took a C-ranked adventuring team to slay; a story for another time.

I looked across the table to Mayli, who was not drinking. Again. I can understand his feelings more than anyone else. Dawn’s Might comprised of four men and Dawn. We all fell for her at one point in time. Even the old man Sol, who was thirty years our senior and married with five daughters. But Dawn, our beloved leader, only ever had eyes for Mayli. They were madly in love. None of us ever felt jealous of their relationship. For us, it made sense. We were very happy for them. Especially now. Dawn had been away from us for the last five weeks; she was safely back home because she was pregnant. Her home was a few weeks' journey away, so it would be a while before we heard any news of her condition. And Mayli, the brave man, was overwhelmed with anxiety. Years ago, I shared the story of Vertuss. I feel that is plaguing his mind.

"Ale will help with your nerves, my friend," I whispered to Mayli. Of course, my whisper boomed and could be heard two tables away, instantly drawing attention.

“She is fine,” Sol Everground added, his voice steady. Sol, the team's healer, was sitting beside Mayli, his face kind and weathered. He wore a simple linen tunic and carried a large leather medical satchel slung over the back of his chair, ready for any emergency, and a simple wooden walking staff. Sol was the team's balance, a quiet wisdom to counter Mayli's fire. "Remember, we sent her away with most of our coin, she can pay for the best care around."

That was true. When Dawn broke the news, we were overjoyed. Mayli cried, and so did Zoku. The memory made me smile. While a few months pregnant, Dawn continued to join us on bounties, and it made Mayli frustrated. We all knew that it was a pointless concern, as Dawn was easily the strongest member of our team. She had the Armed Combat power and specialised in ranged combat. She could shoot a soaring raven in the eye with an arrow from four hundred metres away with her eyes closed. 

“Mayli! Is there a Mayli Bula here?” A loud, high-pitched voice came from the open door of the Inn, cutting through the downstairs bar and common area. The name of a famous adventurer made the Inn go quiet instantly.

At the sound of his name, Mayli instantly shot up, his chair scraping loudly on the stone floor. "Over here!" he called out. The Inn was large, and it took the young, thin messenger a good minute to cross, weaving through tables and bodies to get to us.

“Message for you, sir,” the messenger said, pulling out a scroll from his bag. The messenger bowed and quickly left.

We all knew who this message was from. Mayli, Sol, and I crowded around the table. Mayli held the scroll, his breathing shallow. The Inn held a collective breath. As Mayli broke the wax seal, I watched his eyes scan the parchment. They started to water. His hands shook, and he dropped the parchment.

He grabbed the mug before him, my large mug, and took a long draw, finishing the remaining ale. The Inn was quiet. As he placed the empty mug down, he looked from Sol and then to me, his eyes filled with wonder, relief, and joy.

“I am a father… of twins,” Mayli whispered.

Sol pulled Mayli into a hug, which was welcomed. Sol, Mayli, and everyone around us collectively cheered. The cheer reverberated out as patrons further away caught on to what happened. The whole Inn chorused. Some who didn't know about us joined in for the sake of it, sharing in the joy.

A steady voice sounded over the cheer. “Thank you, thank you, yes, you are in the presence of a nobleman.” The person took an extra, unnecessary effort to pronounce every syllable as they spoke, believing that each word that came from their mouth could cure the world. Zoku slowly walked down the stairs, looking over the guests of the Inn as if they were his subjects.

We ignored him, but the locals looked on as a man in the most expensive armour they had ever seen came into view. “Barkeep, a mug of your finest ale!” Zoku commanded as he rounded the corner in the stairway.

“Wait your turn, Zuko,” the barkeep simply responded while serving a group of workers who had recently arrived after a long shift.

Zoku feigned hurt. “That is Lord Cent to you,” Zoku replied, making sure to emphasise his last name. Upon hearing the full title, a small cluster of locals collectively gasped and cleared the way as Zoku reached the bottom of the stairs. Since most of the patrons here were regulars, I suspected they were simply playing along. It was an established performance, and they knew exactly how much awe Zoku required to make his entrance complete. He slowly walked towards the table we sat at, taking his time, making eye contact with each local and giving them all a small smile and nod, his calculated dance of royalty.

Sol stood up and saw the captivated crowd. “Ignore him, he is a bastard,” Sol stated loudly. All at once, the patrons’ faces dropped in mock disappointment, and they returned to their previous conversations.

Zoku paused his dance and glared at Sol. “How dare you! I am royalty, son of the 23rd—”

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” Sol interrupted. “Come over, we have good news,” he added.

Zoku did so, taking up the seat beside me. As soon as he sat, he looked up at the bar and shouted, "Ale!" Then he turned back to us. He saw the parchment on the table in front of Mayli for the first time. His mask of royal arrogance fell, and his eyes lit up. “Is that from Dawn!” he yelled.

Mayli smiled. “She is healthy, we have twins.”

Zoku’s eyes instantly erupted with tears. 

Zoku had been with us ever since he was kicked out of his royal family. Had it been thirteen or fourteen years now? It was hard to keep track of time when you travelled and moved around so much. We knew the real Zoku beneath the polished armour and the arrogance. This was him. Zoku leapt over the table, landing with a loud thud that crashed into Sol and Mayli. Zoku was shorter than the rest of us, but still a fully grown man. It took a lot of effort on the behalf of the other two not to crash off their chairs and onto the rough floor. 

Zoku was all heart; he bounced between laughing so much he almost suffocated and crying his eyes out several times a day. He was the life of every party and the one person you could always rely on.

“I... am... so... happy... for... you,” Zoku croaked out between sobs, his voice thick with emotion.

It took him a good ten minutes before he relaxed. Everyone was sitting back down in their respective chairs, and the barkeep had brought over a new round of drinks for us. The barkeep even left Zoku with his mug after Zoku complained, after only one sip, that it was "a brew for peasants" and demanded something of higher quality. Zoku continued to drink it down.

Mayli read over the parchment several more times before neatly folding it up and slipping it into his shirt pocket, right over his heart. "We have a boy and a girl," Mayli said with a wide, teary grin.

"What are their names? Did she write?" Zoku asked, his voice still shaky but eager.

Mayli became visibly nervous at the question. He looked at Zoku, then Sol, but he completely avoided my eyes. "Taylor and..." Mayli looked up at me for a mere second before looking down, concern etched on his face. "Motley." 

Sol's and Zoku's eyes instantly turned on me. A cold wave of confusion and profound gratitude washed over me, mixing with the pain of the old wound. Why did they choose that name? Was it a joke? An honour? I looked at Mayli, wanting to ask but unable to speak. My throat was suddenly dry, and my hands, these massive hands, gripped the edges of the table, making it shriek

Mayli must have seen the torment on my face; I was never good at hiding my feelings. My jaw was tight, and my eyes probably held a mixture of grief and shock.

"You know Dawn," Mayli said quickly, his voice low, earnest. "She would have picked that name in honour of you and Vertuss. You are her best friend, Grol."

I did not know that. I did not know what to say. The memory of Vertuss and our lost son was painful, fierce. Yet, the gesture made my cheeks flush, a wave of profound, awkward gratitude washing over me. I felt ashamed to have even questioned their intent.

Suddenly, I felt an arm wrap around my back, pulling me close. A head rested gently against my arm. I looked down and saw Zoku embracing me. His eyes were dry, clear of the earlier tears, and his smile was wide, full of genuine, uncomplicated support.

There was only one thing I could say, I should say. "Thank you," I managed, the words thick with all the emotion.

The heavy atmosphere of grief and joy shifted toward the pragmatic as Sol Everground cleared a space on the table, moving aside the half-empty mugs. He knew that it was time to move on and focus on our next bounty. "The coin from the trade-route bounty won't last forever," Sol said, his voice regaining that low, steady frequency that signalled the 'professional' team was back. "And with two new mouths to feed in the North, we need to refill the coinbags before we start the trek back home."

I reached into the inner lining of my leather vest and pulled out a crumpled sheet of parchment. I had grabbed it from the village notice board after we turned in our last bounty, waiting for the right time to bring it forward to the team. I smoothed it out on the table with a single, massive finger.

Bounty: Goblins in North Cent Coal Mine

Objective: Eradicate a clan of Goblins occupying the mine.

Rank: B2

Base Pay:12 Gold Coins upon clearing the main shaft.

Bonus: 50 Silver per verified Goblin ear turned in.

Threat Level: Approximately 10 goblins reported.

"It’s a B2," I noted. "It’s far below our rank, which means it’s safe. Quick work. We can be in and out by sunset, and the silver bonus for the ears is generous."

Sol leaned in, squinting at the ink. He was always the one to calculate the risk-to-reward ratio. For a team like Dawn’s Might, a B2 was almost an insult. We had faced Drakes and escorted a wagon full of gold between cities. But right now, easy was exactly what the team without its captain could handle. This was a hard reality to swallow, and it took a while to accept. Every bounty we took without Dawn was surprisingly different, even when they were ranked below our grade. Even though Dawn’s Might was an S-ranked adventuring team, the strongest arms in all of Aethel were useless without its head.

"Ten goblins," Mayli muttered, his eyes flickering with the first spark of focus I’d seen in weeks. "In a mine, my fire will be limited if the shafts are narrow, as I don't want to sap the oxygen. But I can flush them out into your reach, Grol."

Zoku, who quickly glanced at the bounty, adjusted his polished armour and let out a scoff. "Twelve gold? I’ve spent more than that on a weekend’s worth of wine in Cent! However..." He tapped his chin, looking at the common room patrons who were still watching us. "A hero must provide for his kin. If we take this bounty, I shall be the one to lead the charge. The King’s blood requires the front line!"

Sol ignored Zoku’s theatrics and looked at me. "You picked it, Grol. You trust the intel?"

"The village elder says the miners are still trapped inside, and the report came from one who escaped", I said, my thumb tracing the rough edges of the parchment. "It’s a straightforward culling. No surprises."

Sol nodded, slapping the table with finality. "Then it’s settled. We leave at first light. We clear the mine, collect the gold for Dawn and the twins, and by tomorrow night, we’re back here for one last round before we head North."

Chapter Two: The Bounty

We should never have taken this bounty.

As we descended, the world of sunlight and open air felt like a dream I had imagined centuries ago. The mine was an uneven, suffocating throat of stone, and we were sliding straight into its belly.

The heat was the first thing that hit us; a thick, stagnant weight that clung to our skin. The wooden support beams, ancient and blackened with age, groaned under the pressure of the mountain. In several places, the mountain had already won; corridors were choked with rubble where beams had snapped like dry twigs. For Sol, Zoku, and Mayli, the trek was a simple walk through the gloom. For me, it was a nightmare of claustrophobia. My two metre frame had to drop to hands and knees, crawling through the narrower shafts, my shoulders scraping against the rough rock whenever I tried to shift my weight as I dragged my great club along the ground with me.

"As the main entrance had high ceilings," I rumbled, my voice echoing uncomfortably in the tight space, "hopefully, central chambers should be open as well. The miners wouldn't have worked in a crawl space."

"Just keep moving, Grol," Sol whispered from ahead. "We’re following the light, won’t be too much longer."

There was an obvious path to take. Oil lamps, hung at regular intervals, flickered with a dying, orange light that cast long, dancing shadows against the walls. It was quiet. Way too quiet. A mine with ten goblins should have been filled with their chattering or their scratching. Instead, there was only the sound of our own breathing and the distant, rhythmic drip-drip-drip of water.

As we pushed deeper, the signs of the struggle appeared. The walls weren't just stone anymore; they were a canvas. Thick, dark splatters of blood painted the rock, reaching all the way to the low ceilings. It had happened days ago. The iron scent was stale, the stains dried into a crusty, blackened red mixed with the sickening, neon-green bile of goblin blood.

"They didn't go down without a fight," Zoku remarked, his hand hovering over the wall as he inspected. He wasn't boasting for once. His eyes were sharp, scanning the shadows, focused.

Mayli, leading the group, also inspected the aftermath splattered throughout the tunnel. His hand reached out, fingers grazing the stone walls. In the flickering orange light of the lanterns, he found them: deep, irregular scratches in the rock. At first, he suspected the frantic swings of miners' pickaxes or the jagged edges of blades, but as he leaned closer, his brow furrowed.

Below the deep gouges were thousands of smaller, fainter scratches. They weren't just on the walls; they crisscrossed the floor like an elaborate, etched carpet. Sol stepped up beside him, his narrowed eye examining the precision of the marks. They were too thin for tools, too perfect in length; every single one was an identical, rhythmic stroke.

"Goblins are known for their claws," Mayli whispered to Sol, his voice echoing flatly against the stone. "These are goblin markings." He looked around, his gaze travelling up the walls to the ceiling, realising the sheer density of the etchings. "Either the group ran through here hundreds of times... or there are a lot more goblins than reported."

The air in the tunnel suddenly felt thinner. We looked at each other; the casual confidence of an "easy job" was left behind at the entrance. Zoku’s hand tightened on his hilt; Sol adjusted the strap of his satchel.

"Let’s be on our guard," Mayli said, his voice hardening. He continued forward, his steps lighter, more calculated.

Two hundred or so even steps later, he stopped. "I see the main mine ahead."

At the horizon of the tunnel, a light began to grow. It was a bright, unbecoming, unnaturally bright glow for the deep earth. For a second, I wondered if we had somehow looped back toward the surface, but the quality of the light was… wrong. It wasn't the soft gold of the sun; it was a harsh, pulsing white-orange.

Then, the smell hit us. It was strong, meaty, and familiar.

"Food?" Zoku muttered, confused.

"And smoke," I rumbled.

"Fire," Mayli whispered.

As we approached the threshold, the sounds reached us: the rhythmic flickering of an immense blaze and the loud, violent pop of seasoned wood. Mayli reached the end of the tunnel and immediately ducked, his small frame pressing against a rough protruding rock. I watched his shadow stretch long and distorted across the wall as he peered into the vastness of the main mine.

He stayed there for a long time, his head moving slowly as he mapped the chamber. When he finally pulled back into the safety of our tunnel, his face was ashen.

"There is a huge fire in the middle of the mine," he reported, his breath hitching. "But I can't see any signs of life at all. No goblins, no movement. Just the fire." He paused, swallowing hard. "And the bodies. I’m certain I saw human bodies in the flames”. His voice wavered. “They're burning the miners."

Sol’s face twisted in confusion. "That makes no sense. It’s well known that goblins eat their prey raw. They have no use for fire beyond warmth, and they certainly don't waste bodies by cremating them."

We moved to the edge of the tunnel together, peering out into the central cathedral of the mine. The chamber was massive, easily three hundred metres across, with a ceiling that disappeared into a haze of smoke. In the centre, a bonfire the size of a cottage roared.

Together, we slowly moved in.

"Where are they?" Zoku whispered, his eyes darting to the dozens of dark, yawning tunnel mouths that ringed the chamber like the teeth of a beast.

"They're watching us," I realised, the giant's blood in me sensing the weight of hungry gazes. "They’re waiting for us to step into the light. There can’t be more than 50..60."

Even with the unsettling number of claw marks behind us, our confidence hadn't fully shattered. We were Dawn’s Might. To seasoned adventurers, goblins were a nuisance, not a death sentence. They were mindless, twitching things that attacked in a chaotic frenzy with no more strategy than a swarm of children. Grey goblins were known to ambush, sure, but they lacked the cognitive capacity for real tactics.

As we approached the bonfire, the smell hit us like a physical blow. I couldn’t help but breathe in the scent of roasting meat. It was a psychological assault; the horror wasn't that it smelled foul, but that the aroma was sickeningly appetising, a biological betrayal.

"Form a circle!" Sol commanded, his voice tight, snapping my force to the cavern around us. 

We moved into position, backs to one another, our eyes scanning the darkness beyond the firelight. The mine floor was a graveyard of uneven stone and scattering stalagmites that rose like crooked teeth from the ground. With the massive blaze at our centre, the rest of the cavern was a shifting sea of long, dancing shadows. Any one of those black streaks could hide a killer.

"They could be hiding anywhere," Mayli muttered, his hands flickering with embers in anticipation. "Or they could be nowhere at all."

"This isn't feeling good. Are you sure we are hunting goblins?" Zoku asked. Lifting his shield high, taking up a solid defensive stance.

"Just trust in each other," I started, trying to ground them. "They are only—"

My giant’s blood didn't just sense movement; it felt the killing intent of a hundred satisfied hunters. I looked up.

"ABOVE!" I roared.

They didn't climb down the walls. They didn't sneak. They rained.

Dozens of them kamikazied from the darkness above, plummeting through the thick, swirling blanket of black smoke that choked the ceiling. One landed directly in front of me, legs taking the fall and instantly coiling, ready to bounce.

It was a Grey Goblin, the most vicious of its kind. It was small and skeletal, its skin the colour of wet ash and stretched so thin over its ribs that it looked like parchment. It had no hair, only a row of yellowed, needle-like teeth that didn't quite fit inside its mouth, forcing its lips into a permanent, snarling grin. Its eyes were the worst part. Milky, pale globes with no pupils, no intelligence, and no soul. There was only a raw, animalistic hunger, a mindless instinct to tear and consume.

The goblin It launched itself at my throat with a shriek that sounded like grinding stone. My free hand came up and swatted it away. I didn’t have a chance to watch its trajectory as another fell in front of it, taking its brother's place.

"They're everywhere!" Sol yelled, his wooden walking staff held in both hands across his body as more shapes began to thud onto the ground around us.

The circle only held for a second; the sheer weight of the bodies falling from the dark overwhelmed our improvised formation. This wasn't just an ambush. This was a purge.

Sol was the first to realise the rules had changed. Goblins were supposed to be mindless, yet as they rained from the smoke-choked ceiling, a chilling pattern emerged. The ones landing near Zoku didn't lunge at the armoured warrior; they scrambled past his blade, their milky eyes fixed solely on Sol.

They know, Sol thought, his blood running colder than the goblin’s stare. They know which one to kill first.

A goblin dived for his face, its needle-teeth snapping centimetres from his eyes before Zoku’s silver blade sheared it in two. Zoku didn’t stop to check on Sol; there was already another diving goblin to slice. There was no time for a thank you and barely a moment to breathe.

Sol was a master of the restorative arts, a veteran of a thousand post-battle surgeries, but in the white-hot chaos of a melee, he was a liability. He was a man of quiet rooms and steady hands, usually tucked safely behind Dawn’s bow, directing the fighters. Here, in the belly of combat, his wisdom was useless. He felt the first bite, razor claws raking across his lower back, followed by a searing tear in his leg.

His cry of agony pierced the roar of the fire.

"Sol!" Zoku screamed, lunging to impale the monster that had latched onto Sol’s calf.

From the corner of the circle, Mayli’s hands erupted. A massive orb of orange-white flame roared over Sol’s head, slamming into a pack of fifteen goblins leaping from behind a stalagmite. For a brief, terrifying second, the shadows were banished, revealing a horde. The mine was filled with the sickening scent of burning skin and high-pitched, warbling shrieks as the goblins turned into living torches. Mayli stood trembling, his face a mask of sweat and desperate exhaustion. 

Zoku cleared the space around the healer with a brutal war cry, but the floor was slick with green ichor and loose gravel. Sol, clutching his mangled leg, stumbled. His heel caught on a jagged rock, and he went down.

The thud of his body hitting the ground was like a dinner bell to a thousand starving dogs. Every goblin within thirty metres snapped its head toward the fallen man. It was a death sentence delivered in a single second.

"NO!" I roared, but I was buried under a dozen of the grey devils myself, my iron club swinging in a desperate arc. I couldn’t advance, I couldn’t help.

Before anyone could reach him, the swarm struck. It was a literal wave of grey flesh, a writhing, screeching mound that buried Sol in an instant.

The sound was what broke me. It wasn't just the screaming; it was the wet, rhythmic tearing. It sounded like a wet canvas being ripped apart by hands. Then came the crunch. The unmistakable sound of small, sharp teeth finding the soft marrow of a human femur.

Sol’s voice, usually so calm and grounding, rose into a pitch I didn't know a human could reach. It was a shriek of pure, unadulterated terror that ended abruptly with a sickening, gurgling wet snap. Through the gaps in the scurrying pile of goblins, I saw a flash of Sol’s linen tunic, now a tattered, crimson rag, and then his hand. His fingers were splayed wide, reaching toward us, before a grey goblin clamped its jaws onto his wrist and dragged the hand into a dark shadow.

He was gone. Our anchor, our father figure, was disassembled by monsters that didn't even have the decency to wait for him to die. The easy bounty had claimed its first soul, and the air was suddenly thick with the copper tang of Sol’s lifeblood spraying across the mine floor.

The death of Sol didn't just break the party; it shattered the man Zoku Cent was trying so hard to be.

The nobleman, the arrogant prince, the life of the party, the shoulder to cry on, they all vanished. Zoku didn't scream a battle cry; he let out a high, thin wail of pure, unhinged grief. His vision went white, the world narrowing down to the singular, obsessive need to erase every grey thing in his sight.

In a fit of suicidal rage, Zoku unbuckled his heavy, royal-crested shield and hurled it with bone-shattering force into the pile of goblins feasting on Sol. It struck like a falling slab of granite, crushing skulls and scattering the creatures. It left his left side, the side he had spent a decade protecting, completely exposed.

He didn't care.

Zoku became a human blender. His silver sword, once used for precise parries and royal forms, was now a savage arc of desperation. He slashed at anything that moved, anything that shrieked, anything that wasn't the two men behind him. He was a whirlwind of steel and fury, painting his once-pristine armour in a thick, steaming coat of green goblin insides. Every swing was a frantic prayer for vengeance.

But the flame that burns the brightest is the quickest to turn to ash.

The goblins didn't fear him; they didn't even flinch at the sight of their brothers being cleaved in two. They simply saw an opening. As Zoku’s swings grew wider and his breathing turned into ragged, desperate gasps, the precision of a trained knight failed him. His movements became heavy, his shoulder drooping with the weight of his own sword.

They didn't try to impale him. They didn't have the strength to pierce his chest plate. Instead, they moved like a company of insects, flowing toward the gaps.

I watched in frozen horror as small, clawed hands found the seams of his plate. They dug into his armpits. They squeezed under the gorget at his neck. They reached behind his knees. It wasn't one killing blow; it was a thousand tiny slashes.

Zoku stumbled, his sword arm finally dropping as a goblin’s nail found the tendon in his wrist. He didn't fall all at once. He stayed on his knees, his head thrown back, as the grey tide began to peel him apart from the inside out. They weren't just killing him; they were flaying him through the cracks in his own legend.

"Zoku!" Mayli’s voice was a sob, but the nobleman couldn't hear him.

Zoku’s last moments were a frantic, rhythmic jerking of his body as he tried to shake them off. He looked like a puppet controlled by a drunk puppeteer. I saw his eyes for one final second. They weren't filled with the arrogance of a Cent, but with a sudden, quiet clarity. He looked at me, his mouth opening as if to say one last syllable of his name, before a dozen grey fingers vanished into his throat.

Thirty seconds after Sol. The world was deafeningly quiet.

Chapter 3: Rain

One day, in the infamous mineshaft found in North Cent, something unnatural happened. It rained. Not the cold, life-giving water of the surface, but a heavy, grey downpour of flesh and malice. It rained deep underground.

Then, forty-five seconds later, two of my best friends died.

I was the first to notice the goblins falling from the ceiling, but noticing wasn't enough. We were all overwhelmed, unprepared, and arrogant. Sol stumbled. A simple, human mistake. He was too far away. My reach is long, but I could not bridge the gap of fate. I watched him fall, and the grey tide rose to meet him.

Goblins kept raining from the smoke, shrieking their hollow prayers, but I was a mountain they could not move. I slapped them out of the air with my iron club as if they were nothing but bothersome flies. With every impact, there was a wet, heavy thwack, and the creatures disintegrated into explosions of green blood. 

Then Zoku snapped.

I saw him go into a frenzy. I wanted to reach out, to grab him by the shoulder and pull him back into the circle of my protection, but I could not calm his heart. His grief was louder than my voice.

I swept my club in a wide, punishing arc around my feet, the heavy iron crushing every goblin head within arm's reach. I cleared my ground, creating a momentary island of silence in the sea of shrieks, but Zoku was already gone, buried under the weight of a thousand small, scratching deaths.

Mayli’s scream tore through the cavern, breaking and raw.

I spun around, my heart stopping, thinking Mayli was the next to be consumed. But he was still standing. His palms were thrust out, his fingers trembling with a terrifying vibration. He was forcing his body to cycle the Prana he no longer had. He was standing close to the great central fire, and I watched in disbelief as the flames began to dance toward him.

The fire didn't just flicker wildly; it obeyed. It was drawn from the pit and spiralled toward his palms, circling and condensing until he held two massive, pulsing spheres of pure solar agony.

He pushed them.

He sent the orbs screaming through the air toward the writhing mounds that were feeding on Zoku and Sol’s bodies. The mine lit up in a glory of light so intense it felt as if the sun had been born. The balls exploded with a roar that shook the support beams, vaporising the creatures and the ground they stood on.

I had to shield my eyes, the heat searing the hair on my arms even from a dozen metres away. I was in awe. I have been with Mayli for over a decade; I have seen him burn bandits and monsters alike, but I have never seen such power. It was the desperate, beautiful roar of a man who had lost everything and was willing to burn his soul to ashes just to say goodbye.

In the corner of my vision, I saw him sway and then Mayli’s body go limp, his posture collapsing as if the bones had simply vanished from his frame. The fire he had called forth had been a masterpiece, but the price had been his entire reservoir of Prana. He flopped to the stone floor like a discarded doll, and my heart nearly stopped. I was only a few strides away, but the space between us was a gauntlet of grey flesh.

"I have to reach him!" I roared, the sound vibrating in the very stone of the mine. "I have to save at least someone!"

The goblins didn't care about my grief. They saw a fallen meal and a desperate giant. I kneed a cluster of them that tried to swarm my ankles, the impact turning their small frames into jelly. I didn't stop to check. I swung my iron club in high, horizontal arcs, swatting away the leapers that tried to cling to my shoulders. I was a mountain in motion, and nothing, absolutely nothing, was going to slow me down.

I took another massive step, my boots slick with gore, and that’s when I saw it. A single grey goblin, faster than the rest, had reached Mayli. It loomed over his unconscious form, its needle-teeth bared in a silent, hungry snarl. I saw its left arm rise, the claws protruding like ivory shards, ready to tear into Mayli’s throat.

"I can make it!" I screamed, the words tearing my throat raw.

As I took the final step, the goblin’s claw fell. It was too fast. The nails tore into Mayli’s stomach, a sickening sound of rending leather and flesh. In a burst of desperate instinct, I threw my iron club. It was a direct hit. The creature’s head didn't just break; it exploded, and its limp, headless body slumped beside Mayli.

I reached him in a heartbeat, dropping to a knee. Three lines of deep crimson gashes ran diagonally over his stomach. It wasn't deep enough to disembowel him, nothing immediately fatal, but we couldn't stay here another second. Even now, goblins continued to fall from the smoke above like heavy raindrops and more appeared from the shifting shadows of the stalagmites. It was an endless, churning sea of carnage.

I have to get him out of here, I thought, my heart hammering a rhythm of pure survival. Dawn and the twins... they need him. He's all that's left.

I scooped Mayli up, tucking him securely against my chest with my left arm. I was defenceless without my club, but I didn't care. I used my massive right hand as a hammer, swatting and crushing anything that moved as I pivoted toward the tunnel we had used to enter this hellhole. The path was clear.

I ran.

Goblins swarmed me like insects on a carcass. I felt the sharp, stinging slashes to my legs and the burning weight of them clinging to my back. Their teeth nipped at my ankles, trying to find the tendons to bring the giant down. It was a frustrating agony I had never experienced, the humiliation of being pecked to death by things so small. But I refused to stop. I focused every ounce of my being on my footing. One slip, one fall on the gore-slicked stone, and Mayli was surely dead.

The threshold of the tunnel loomed closer, a dark rectangle of hope. I picked up the pace, my lungs screaming for air that wasn't filled with smoke and the smell of roasting friends. I became less focused on the precision of my steps and more on the sheer momentum of my body.

We were so close. The tunnel was right there. I could almost feel the shift in the air, the transition from the open slaughterhouse to the narrow safety of the stone throat.

I dove through the exit, my massive right arm acting as a human skid to shield Mayli’s limp body from the rough, unforgiving floor. The impact shuddered through my bones, a jolt of white-hot agony as my weight and momentum crushed my already wounded forearm against the stone. We were free from the main chamber, a small, desperate victory, but we were far from safe.

I didn't stop to breathe. I couldn't. I flipped onto my belly and began to crawl, my movements a frantic, rhythmic heave of muscle and bone.

Every second was a nightmare of friction. My body ached with a deep, pulsing throb that felt like it was radiating from my very marrow. It was so damn fucking painful. I felt the raw, fresh wounds on my back and thighs scrape against the coarse tunnel floor and walls, the grit of the mine grinding into the meat of my legs. My muscles were screaming, begging for just one second of rest.

Just one second, they pleaded.

"KEEP MOVING!" I roared at the dimness, the cry echoing over the scattering goblins.

I clenched my jaw so hard I felt my teeth groan, hot tears of frustration and agony blurring the corners of my eyes. Behind me, the tunnel was filled with the frantic scratching of a hundred claws. The goblins at the front of the pack were right on my heels, their small, grey hands reaching out, desperate to snag even a single inch of giant flesh to slow me down.

Then, the dim light of a dying oil lamp illuminated the first row of support beams ahead, thick, ancient timbers of oak that groaned under the weight of the ceiling.

A hungry, almost suicidal thought crossed my mind.

I looked at Mayli, his face pale and eyes rolled back, and then back at the beams. If I brought the ceiling down, I could seal the tunnel. I could lock the horde away. But I was still deep inside the crawlspace. If my timing was off by even a fraction of a second, I wasn’t just sealing the goblins in, I was burying Mayli and myself under a mountain of stone.

I had no time. My right hand, slick with my own blood, reached out for the base of the timber. My fingers, thick as saplings, curled around the wood.

"I'm sorry, Mayli," I whispered.

I didn't wait. I didn't calculate. I just pulled.

As I pulled the timber free, I lunged forward with everything I had, bracing for the thunderous collapse, the crushing weight, the end. I didn't look back; I just waited for the world to fall.

But there was nothing. No roar of stone, no cloud of dust. Just the frantic, wet slapping of goblin feet and a sharp, needle-like bite on my heel. I bit back a cry of pure frustration, my heart sinking. The beam had been a hollow hope.

I kept moving, my vision swimming. As the light from the dying lamp behind me faded into the gloom, a new source of dim radiance began to fill the tunnel ahead. The next station, the next row of supports. Another chance.

I was desperate. I was on my last legs, my muscles shaking so violently I could barely keep my grip on Mayli. This was it. The final hope.

I reached the next set of exposed support beams. These looked different, swollen with moisture, the wood blackened and rotting under the immense pressure of the mountain. I didn't just pull; I threw my entire weight against the rotting pillar, wrenching it from its seat with a guttural roar.

Then, I heard it.

A low, deep rumbling that vibrated in my teeth. Puffs of ancient, choking dust exploded from the ceiling. I didn't stay to watch. I pushed off with my dominant leg, crawling with a speed born of pure terror as the ceiling began to groan and buckle behind me. The sound of the cave-in was like a god slamming a door.

I risked a glance backward. A dark wall of crumbled, mismatched stone and splintered wood now choked the tunnel. It was over. The horde was cut off.

But as the dust settled, I realised I wasn't alone.

A dozen goblins, the fastest, the hungriest, had made it through before the collapse. They came between me and the exit, their milky eyes narrowed in the dark.

"Fuck off!" I screamed, the words more a sob than a threat.

I pulled Mayli tight against my chest, his head lolling against my shoulder. I twisted my massive frame, flipping onto my back so I could face them, my heavy boots raised like shields. A goblin leapt, its mouth agape in a silent shriek, and I kicked. I felt its small, brittle ribcage collapse under my boot. A satisfying pop of displaced air and bone.

Before I could even chamber my leg for another strike, another one dived. I kicked with my left foot. Pop! They kept coming, a frantic, animalistic surge of grey flesh. I kicked and kicked and kicked, screaming at the top of my lungs, venting every ounce of the frustration, the agonising pain, and the hollow loss of Sol and Zoku into every strike.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

Finally, the tunnel went still.

The only sound left was the ragged, dry rasp of my own panting and the heavy, frantic pounding of my heart against my ribs. I waited, my legs still raised, my eyes searching the shadows for one more twitch, one more tooth.

Nothing.

The tunnel was silent. My lower body was thick with dust and a slurry of goblin blood. We were alone.

We were... free.

Chapter 4: Grol the Farmer

The village of Oakhaven sat like a stubborn barnacle on the low cliffs of North Cent’s northwestern tip. It was a place where the salt spray of the ocean met the biting winds of the tundra, home to three hundred souls who valued silence and routine above all else. In a place this small, gossip wasn’t just a pastime; it was the local currency.

Inside The Gull, the air continuously smells of brine and local wood burning in the central pit fire. The bar was quiet, save for the low murmur of three young women in the corner and the rhythmic polishing of glass behind the counter.

Arny, a sixty-six-year-old sailor whose joints creaked with every change in the tide, sat at the scarred wooden bar with his lifelong friend, Tuda. They saw each other every day on the dirt streets, but once a month, they made it official with a pair of room-temperature ales.

"Did you hear about the new guy?" Tuda asked, wiping a frothy moustache of foam from his lip after a long draw. "The tall one... umm, Gol, was it?"

"Grol," Arny corrected, his voice raspy.

"Right, Grol," Tuda added, leaning in. "Apparently, he was part of some famous adventuring team?"

Arny chuckled, the sound turning into a brief, dry cough. He took a slow sip of his ale. "What’s an adventurer doing all the way out ‘ere in the middle of nowhere? There’s nothing to kill here but time and fish."

"Dawn’s Might," the bartender interrupted, sliding a rag across the counter as he approached. He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I heard they were given false information on a bounty. A trap. The story goes it led to the death of the whole team. Every last one of 'em. He was the only survivor."

The bartender paused for effect, nodding toward the window. "He bought that abandoned farmland on the outskirts. You know the one, the soil’s more rock than dirt."

Arny and Tuda both froze, their mugs halfway to their mouths. The air in the bar seemed to grow heavier. They lowered their drinks slowly, their heads dropping in a rare moment of communal somberness.

"Poor fellow," Arny said softly. Tuda simply nodded, staring into the golden depths of his glass.

Arny’s gaze drifted past Tuda’s shoulder, toward the far corner of the room. The oil lamp in that corner had been shattered for two years, and the shadows there were as thick as wool. No one ever sat there. But as Arny’s eyes narrowed, he realised the shadows were moving.

A massive figure detached itself from the darkness, rising like a tower from the floorboards. Tuda noticed Arny’s stunned expression and turned in his stool.

The man was a colossus. He stood easily two metres tall, his frame so broad he seemed to displace the very air in the room. His muscles, visible through a worn, dirt-smeared shirt, looked as though they had been carved out of marble by a frustrated god.

A hand the size of a dinner plate reached out toward the counter. The movement was slow and deliberate, but Arny and Tuda flinched instinctively as it passed near them. Several copper coins clinked onto the wood, a sharp, bright sound in the quiet room.

From the still-shadowed face of the giant, a low, booming voice thundered, vibrating the liquid in the merchants' mugs.

"Thank you."

The giant turned without waiting for a reply. He walked toward the exit, his head ducked low to avoid cracking the doorframe.

The bartender let out a short, startled laugh. "I.. ah.. Forgot Grol was still here."

Arny turned to the bartender, his mouth agape in genuine shock. But Tuda’s eyes remained fixed on the door, watching the retreating back of the giant. As Grol walked away, the light from the bar's central hearth caught his skin.

Tuda’s breath hitched. He couldn't help but notice the thousands of thin, crisscrossed white lines that marred the giant’s skin, a map of messy scars covering his exposed lower back and tracing down his powerful legs.

"Goblins," Tuda whispered to himself. He shivered once, then took a long, deep sip of his ale.