Chapter 24 – Shadows Watching
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The cave was thick with the stench of blood. Goblins whimpered in corners, their wounds wrapped in crude leaves. Infants wailed, hungry and restless.
Lila and Mira tried to hush them, offering scraps of meat—but the stores were nearly gone.
Mira whispered, "If this continues, we'll starve."
Altair sat upon a stone, his gaze unyielding. Victory against elves costs too much. But fear and hunger will kill us faster.
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He rose, his voice cutting through the gloom.
"From this day, we follow rules. Every kill will be divided. Mothers who are pregnant or nursing eat first. From them comes our future."
Some goblins grumbled, jealousy flashing in their eyes, but Altair's glare silenced them.
"Goblin children take only seven days to be born. In one week they walk. In one month, they can lift a spear. They are the spine of tomorrow."
The pack grew quiet. Slowly, heads nodded.
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Kael, Kyren, Davj, and Varz lay wounded, their breaths ragged. Varz forced a smile, blood at his lips. "Leader… what if the elves come again?"
Altair crouched, eyes blazing. "Then more elf blood will stain this forest. Each day we endure, we grow sharper. Each kill is proof we can rise."
The four warriors clenched their teeth, fire returning faintly to their eyes.
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From the shadows, Seraphina smirked faintly. "You're building a kingdom on forced births and blood. How long can such madness last?"
Altair turned his head, a cold smile touching his lips. "As long as I breathe. As long as blood can be spilled. You'll see."
Her voice died in her throat, strangled by the sheer certainty in his tone.
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Far away, the two surviving scouts knelt before Queen Eloria. Their bodies were swathed in bloodied bandages, their faces pale with memory.
"Your Majesty… our unit was destroyed. Goblins—disciplined, fighting in formation. With signals. With traps. With strange children among them."
The hall fell silent.
Some nobles laughed. "Goblins? Ridiculous. Excuses for failure."
But Eloria did not laugh. Her golden eyes narrowed. "Goblins with discipline… If true, that seed must not be allowed to grow."
She turned to Luthien. "Your counsel?"
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Luthien's silver hair shimmered as he inclined his head, his eyes drifting westward.
"Be wary, Your Majesty. Sometimes what is lowest… proves most dangerous."
In his heart, a whisper coiled: Altair. Only you could twist vermin into soldiers.
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That night, Altair sat at the cave's mouth. Mist wove between trees, heavy and still.
He felt it: not just beasts, not just men. Footsteps, far beyond the trees. Watching. Waiting.
"Elves…" he murmured, his hand curling into a fist. "You've sensed me already."
A grin split his blood-stained face. "Then come. Draw closer. I'll show you—that the goblin you scorned will turn this forest into your grave."
The mist thickened, carrying his vow into the dark.
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