Wake up… wake up, Goblin.
The words drifted through the fog of my half-conscious mind, strange and muffled, as though whispered from underwater. My head felt like it had been stuffed with damp wool, every thought sluggish and refusing to line up properly. I wanted to answer, or at least force my eyes open, but the weight pressing down on me was too much. I was too tired, too beaten down to care.
Then something brushed against my nose. Light. Ticklish. Persistent.
At first, I dismissed it as a trick of my battered senses—some leftover ghost of pain. But it came again, this time deliberately, dragging across the bridge of my nose as though demanding my attention.
I groaned and raised a shaky hand, swatting lazily at the annoyance. My palm met only empty air. For a moment, I thought it had gone, but no—there it was again, tugging with a stubborn insistence, like a child yanking at a sleeve.
