The feast petered out one song at a time, like a campfire losing its last brave sparks. Villagers drifted home with full bellies and fuller hearts, murmuring blessings to the "Oracle of Likes." Chickens nested atop barrels. The goat that had tasted Aiden's sleeve fell asleep beside the shrine, head propped against a wooden carving of Aiden's face with its mouth permanently open in mid-"SUBSCRIBE."
Aiden lingered by the dying fire. He tried to look thoughtful, like someone wrestling with cosmic truths, but mostly he was counting bread loaves in his head and calculating how long he could stretch them if he accidentally broke his leg "off-camera" and needed time off from miracles.
The HUD glowed faintly in his vision.
Followers: 225Quest: Protect the Village from Goblin RaidTime Remaining: 5 days (major raid)
Right. The charge the goblins made today was just a sniff. The real storm was still coming. He rubbed his arms despite the heat. Fear crept in like a draft through a cracked door.
"Enjoying your worship, prophet?"
Darrow's voice was quiet, the kind that didn't need to be loud to cut. Aiden turned. The hunter leaned against a post, half-lit by ember light, bow unstrung but close enough to kiss.
"Sure," Aiden said brightly, because fear and sarcasm were roommates in his brain. "Five stars so far. Would attend again."
Darrow's eyes didn't move from Aiden's face. "The horn that drove the goblins back? It wasn't your doing. It was luck. They saw men gathered and didn't like the odds."
"Luck is just a limited-time event," Aiden replied, keeping his voice light. "Engagement, on the other hand—"
"Is nothing," Darrow said flatly. "When claws are on your throat."
Aiden's grin faltered. For a heartbeat he saw a different village: one not laughing around fires, but burning. He swallowed. "You don't like me. That's valid. But as long as folks sleep easier—"
"Sleep comes easy to fools," Darrow said. He straightened. "Prove you're more than a jester with thunder at his back."
"I already did," Aiden shot back, and even he was surprised by the heat in his own voice. "They asked for hope. I gave them something to chant. The goblins left."
"Once," Darrow said. "Tomorrow, at sun-high. Public square. Trial," he added when Aiden frowned. "You claim your runes and clapping are wards? We'll test them without the comfort of a crowd."
"Ah," Aiden said, nodding sagely while screaming inside. "A/B testing. Love that. Data-driven faith."
Darrow made a noise like a laugh that changed its mind and became a cough. "If you lie, better you're humbled now than dead later."
He walked away without waiting for an answer.
Aiden stared after him, then down at the soot-smudged palms that had waved so convincingly all day. He wiped them on his tunic, set his jaw, and announced to no one, "Okay. Fine. I'll… prototype."
He found a charred stick, crouched at the edge of the square, and began to draw on the packed earth: bold lines, quick slashes, strong angles—the kind of sigil that looked like it meant something even if it didn't. He tried #COURAGE, then #NOPE, then #PLEASEWORK. The last one felt honest enough to be powerful.
He leaned back on his heels. "Look at that. Design thinking."
The HUD didn't react. No glow, no ding. Just the crackle of one last ember and the goat's contented snore.
"Tomorrow," he told the empty square. "We hard-launch."
Sun rose gold and wide. Dew freckled the grass; smoke ribboned from hut chimneys. By the time the bell clanged the first two-clap LIKE of the day, half the village had gathered—because of course Darrow had told no one to come. Villagers can smell drama. It's as distinct as stew.
Darrow was already waiting in the square, sleeves rolled to the elbow. He'd set up a crude range with four targets—bundles of reeds tied to posts—each standing behind a different scrawl Aiden had made the night before.
Aiden tried to stand like a sage contemplating mountain weather. His stomach tried to stand like a squirrel on a burning roof.
"Trial," Darrow said, voice carrying. "We will test whether the Oracle's marks ward danger or if yesterday was wind and luck."
He gestured, and two boys dragged forward cages. Inside each, a goblin—a small one, all yellow eyes and needle teeth—snarled and rattled the bars.
Murmurs rippled. Someone crossed themselves in the culturally appropriate local way (which, for the village, seemed to be drawing an invisible hashtag in the air).
Aiden's grin never reached his eyes. Actual goblins. Again. Cool. Love that for me.
Darrow set one cage before the first sigil—#COURAGE—and opened it with a hooked stick, leaping back as the creature burst out, hissing, knife in hand. It darted forward, then juked aside, beelining not for the target but for the nearest villager.
"Whoa, whoa—!" Aiden shouted, hands up. "Hey buddy! Comment respectfully!"
Whether it was the shout, the goat that suddenly headbutted the goblin's knee, or sheer goblin indecision, the creature stumbled. Darrow's arrow took it in the shoulder and pinned it to the post behind #COURAGE. The goblin shrieked, flailed, then went limp.
Silence. Then a small, hopeful cheer. It died when Darrow shook his head. "Half luck."
He moved the second cage to #NOPE. The goblin inside was scarred around one eye and considerably angrier. Darrow kicked the cage door. The goblin erupted, knife flashing. It lunged—
—and its foot slid where Aiden's lines had turned clay smooth with dew. The goblin's own momentum flung it face-first into the post. Knife clattered. The reed bundle wobbled. A second later, the goat—apparently now sworn to Aiden's brand—charged again and finished the job by sheer enthusiasm.
This time the cheer was not small. The HUD pinged.
Followers: 239