Moving through the village outskirts required every lesson Aeon had learned about avoiding detection during his years as a slave. He stayed low, used shadows as cover, and timed his movements with the patrol rotations he had observed.
The goblin settlement was larger and more organized than he had initially realized. Crude but functional architecture divided the cavern into distinct districts—residential areas with clustered huts, workshops where weapons and tools were crafted, storage areas filled with supplies, and communal spaces around larger fire pits.
But it was the storage district that caught his attention.
Piles of dried wood were stacked against the cavern walls, clearly meant to fuel the village's many fires through whatever passed for winter in this underground realm. Clay pots that smelled of oil and pitch were arranged nearby—fuel for torches and possibly weapons. Bundles of dried grass and cloth, likely bedding materials, created additional tinder.
Most importantly, the storage area was positioned upwind from the rest of the village. Fire started here would spread rapidly through the entire settlement, carried by the air currents that flowed through the cavern.
Perfect.
But getting close would require passing within feet of several goblin workers who were tending to the supplies. Aeon watched their patterns, noting that they worked in cycles—carrying materials to other parts of the village, then returning for more loads. During the transitions, the storage area was briefly unguarded.
He waited for the next cycle to begin, then slipped between the huts until he reached the edge of the storage district. The smell of oil was stronger here, and he could see that some of the clay pots had leaked, creating dark stains on the ground that would ignite readily.
A goblin worker emerged from behind a pile of wood, arms loaded with kindling. Aeon froze, pressing himself against the nearest hut wall, but the creature was focused on its task and didn't notice the small figure in the shadows.
When the goblin had moved away, Aeon crept toward the largest concentration of flammable materials. His broken hand made manipulation difficult, but he managed to tip over several oil pots, spreading their contents across the dried wood and cloth.
Now he needed fire.
The nearest torch was perhaps twenty feet away, but reaching it would mean exposing himself to the central village area where dozens of goblins were going about their daily activities. Too risky.
Instead, Aeon searched among the scattered supplies until he found what he was looking for—a piece of flint and a metal tool that could serve as a striker. His left hand was clumsy with the unfamiliar motion, and his broken right hand could barely maintain a grip, but eventually sparks began to fly.
The oil-soaked materials caught with hungry eagerness.
What started as a small flame spread with terrifying speed. The leaked oil created rivers of fire that raced across the ground, igniting everything they touched. Within moments, the entire storage area was ablaze, sending smoke billowing toward the cavern ceiling.
Time to go.
Aeon sprinted away from the spreading fire, staying low but moving as fast as his damaged body could manage. Behind him, shouts of alarm began to ring through the village as goblins discovered the inferno consuming their supplies.
He needed to find cover before the entire settlement mobilized to fight the flames.
A cluster of large boulders near the cavern wall offered concealment. Aeon threw himself behind the largest stone just as the first groups of goblins came running toward the fire with crude buckets and containers.
But their efforts were already too late.
The fire had spread beyond any hope of containment. The oil had created accelerant trails that carried flames to multiple areas simultaneously. The dried wood burned with fierce heat, creating updrafts that carried burning debris to other flammable materials throughout the village.
Within minutes, entire sections of the settlement were ablaze.
The smoke was becoming a serious problem. Thick, choking clouds filled the cavern, reducing visibility to mere feet and making breathing increasingly difficult. The goblins' shouting became more frantic as they realized their village was doomed.
Aeon pressed himself deeper into the concealment of the boulders, covering his mouth and nose with his torn sleeve to filter the worst of the smoke. His eyes watered constantly, but he forced himself to keep watching the unfolding chaos.
The fire was consuming oxygen at exactly the rate his engineering knowledge had predicted. What had started as merely thick smoke was becoming a genuine atmospheric crisis. Goblins began to cough and wheeze, their movements becoming sluggish as the available air grew thin.
The chief's voice roared above the chaos, bellowing orders in the harsh goblin language. But even his commands couldn't overcome the simple reality of physics—there wasn't enough breathable air left in the cavern to sustain hundreds of creatures.
The shaman raised his crystal-topped staff, and Aeon caught glimpses of magical energy crackling through the smoke. But whatever spells the creature was attempting seemed ineffective against the environmental disaster engulfing the village.
Then, as Aeon had hoped and planned, the mass exodus began.
It started with the smallest and weakest goblins—the younglings and elderly who were most vulnerable to oxygen depletion. They stumbled toward the cavern exits, gasping for clean air. Their panic spread to the others, creating a chain reaction of flight.
Within minutes, the entire goblin population was streaming toward the passage that led to the dungeon entrance. Warriors abandoned their weapons, workers left their tools, and even the chief and shaman joined the desperate rush for breathable air.
They moved like a river of panicked flesh, hundreds of creatures flowing through the cavern exit in a desperate stampede. The sound of their passage echoed through the stone passages—feet pounding, voices crying out, the chaos of a civilization fleeing for its life.
Aeon remained hidden among the boulders, watching the greatest migration in the village's history unfold before his eyes. The fire continued to rage through the empty settlement, consuming everything the goblins had built over what were probably decades or centuries.
But more importantly, they were all fleeing toward the dungeon entrance—the same portal he needed to reach to escape this place.
Which meant that his problems had just become significantly more complicated.
The path to freedom now led through a corridor packed with hundreds of desperate, oxygen-starved goblins who would undoubtedly kill any threat they encountered.
From the frying pan into the fire. Literally.
But at least he had succeeded in creating the chaos he needed. Now he just had to figure out how to survive it long enough to reach his goal.
The sound of the goblin exodus was beginning to fade as the last stragglers disappeared into the passage. Soon, he would have his opportunity to move.
Whatever came next, it had to be better than facing an entire goblin civilization in open combat.
Or at least, that's what he told himself as he prepared to follow hundreds of panicked monsters toward the exit that represented his only hope of freedom.