The Three Crowns creaked when the wind shifted.
Not loudly. Not enough to wake panic. Just the slow, living groan of ancient trees adjusting their weight, branches rubbing together like old bones. The sound carried through the new platforms and lashings, through half-finished walkways and woven railings, reminding everyone that this village wasn't carved into stone.
It was borrowed.
Boss Mokh stood at the center platform where the three trunks braided together, his bandaged side wrapped tight with fresh moss and cord. He leaned on a spear not because he needed help standing—but because it reminded everyone he still could.
Below, the lake lay dark and wide, mist curling over its surface like breath from a sleeping beast. Reeds whispered softly at the edges. Somewhere beneath the water, fish moved. Life moved.
And somewhere beyond the reeds, something else watched.
The tribe gathered.
What was left of it.
They clustered on platforms and branch-bridges, clinging to railings, perching on roots, crouching where they could. Fewer bodies meant more empty space. Gaps where goblins should have been.
Vark counted them without meaning to.
Scavengers down to half.Only three full trappers.Scouts barely enough to keep two watches rotating.
Too few.
Boss Mokh raised a hand.
Silence came faster now. Fear made goblins obedient.
"Three Crowns is home," Mokh said. His voice was rough but steady. "High. Hard to climb. Water give food."
A murmur of agreement rolled through the platforms.
Mokh lifted one finger. "But home is not safe by itself."
He pointed outward—toward the forest, then the lake, then the sky. "Worgs remember. Metal-men remember. Bog-water folk watch."
That last phrase drew nervous clicks and hisses.
"New law," Mokh said. "Listen good."
He lifted a second finger.
"No lone wandering. Ever." His good eye hardened. "If goblin want walk alone, goblin want die."
A few goblins chuckled darkly. Someone muttered, "Forest eat lonely."
Mokh nodded once. "Yes."
Third finger.
"Watch always. Two eyes minimum. Day. Night." He jabbed the spear butt against the platform. "If sleep on watch, Boss cut pay."
Someone snorted. "What pay?"
Mokh's lips twitched—not quite a smile. "You breathe. That pay."
Laughter rippled through the tribe, sharp and nervous. It felt good to laugh. Even at that.
Fourth finger.
"Food ration." Mokh's voice dropped. "We eat small. We eat smart. No waste. No fight over bone."
A scavenger groaned theatrically. "Boss hate fat goblin."
Mokh glanced at him. "Fat goblin fall loud. Metal-men hear."
The scavenger shut up.
Then Mokh raised his whole hand.
"And last," he said. "We need more goblins."
The words hit like a dropped log.
For half a second, there was silence.
Then the platforms exploded.
"HAH!""Boss say hump?""Now? Here?""Three Crowns shaky!""Who hump who?"
Crude laughter bounced between trunks. A few goblins made exaggerated pelvic thrusts. Someone shouted, "Boss volunteer first!"
Mokh waited.
He waited until the laughter burned itself out, until the jokes turned hollow and the fear underneath started to show.
Then he slammed the spear butt down hard enough to rattle the lashings.
"Not joke," Mokh growled.
The tribe stilled.
"We lost many," he said. "Forest take. Metal-men take. If we not make more goblins, tribe end. Simple."
A few goblins shifted uncomfortably. Reproduction wasn't romantic here. It was duty. It was risk. Pregnant goblins needed food. Needed safety. Needed others to protect them.
Drukk Ear-Torn stepped forward from the edge of the platform, his torn ear twitching. "Many danger now," he said. "Making small goblins make us weak."
Mokh's gaze slid to him. "Having no goblins make us dead."
Drukk bared teeth. "Weak goblins die first."
"And strong goblins die too," Mokh snapped. "Ask Grub."
That shut Drukk up—for now.
Mokh gestured with his spear. "Pairings decided by elders and need. No fighting over mates. No stupid."
Groans. Complaints. But no outright rebellion.
Fear had teeth now.
Mokh lowered his hand. "Work assignments."
Eyes sharpened. This mattered.
"Scouts," Mokh continued, "map water edge. Not touch reeds. Not anger bog-water folk."
A scout swallowed hard and nodded.
"Scavengers," Mokh said, "fish traps. Bone hooks. Learn lake."
Scavengers perked up. New food source meant hope.
Mokh's gaze finally landed on Vark.
"You," he said.
Vark straightened instinctively.
"You make pits. You make tricks," Mokh said. "You train trappers. Reinforce platforms. No fall. No creak."
A few trappers glanced at Vark, expressions mixed. Some wary. Some grudgingly impressed.
Drukk Ear-Torn snorted. "Weird-head make law now?"
Mokh didn't look at Drukk. "Weird-head keep us alive. You want fall, Drukk?"
Drukk growled but stepped back.
Mokh finished, "Meeting done. Work."
The tribe scattered quickly—fear turned into motion. Goblins climbed, hauled, argued, lashed vines, tested knots. The Three Crowns filled with the sound of rebuilding: wood on wood, bone chimes clinking, quiet curses.
Vark let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Mogrin popped up beside him, eyes bright. "Boss give Vark job!"
"Yes," Vark said. "Which means Boss blame Vark if things break."
Mogrin frowned. "That bad?"
"That means it matters," Vark said.
They moved along the platforms, checking lashings. Vark showed the trappers how to angle supports so weight traveled into the trunk instead of the branch. How to weave vine in a crisscross instead of straight lines. Simple engineering. Goblin-proofing.
A trapper scratched his head. "Like web."
"Yes," Vark said. "Web strong."
"Web catch fly," the trapper nodded solemnly. "Good."
They worked until dusk.
When night fell, the lake turned into a sheet of black glass. Mist crept in thicker, curling around roots and lower branches. The reeds at the shoreline rustled softly.
No one went near them.
That night, the forest stayed quiet.
Too quiet.
Morning came gray and cool.
Mogrin was the first to notice.
He was perched on a lower branch, feet dangling, gnawing dried fish when he froze mid-bite.
"Vark," he whispered. "That… that not there yesterday."
Vark followed his gaze.
On the shore, just at the edge of the reeds, stood a shape that hadn't been there before.
A totem.
It was simple—three reeds bound together with dark cord, planted upright in the mud. Small bones hung from it, clicking softly when the breeze touched them. Symbols were scratched into the reed shafts—curving lines, spirals, marks that felt… old.
Not goblin.
Not human.
Bogkin.
A ripple of unease moved through the platforms as others noticed.
"Bog-water sign," someone hissed.
"They mark land."
"They warn."
Boss Mokh emerged onto the central platform, took one look at the totem, and growled low in his throat.
"Good," he said quietly. "They speak first."
Drukk Ear-Torn scoffed. "They threaten."
"They watch," Mokh corrected. "That better than attack."
The totem stood all morning.
No Bogkin emerged. No croaking voices. Just the reeds, whispering, and the lake breathing.
Then, near midday, a scream cut through the village.
High. Sharp. Young.
"CHILD!"
The word tore through the platforms like fire.
Vark's head snapped toward the sound.
Mogrin was already moving.
A goblin mother stumbled onto a branch bridge, eyes wild. "My small! My small gone!"
Instant chaos.
Scouts leapt into motion. Trappers grabbed weapons. Scavengers shouted over each other.
Boss Mokh roared, "QUIET!"
The noise died instantly, but fear stayed thick.
"When?" Mokh demanded.
The mother sobbed, words tumbling. "This morning. Play near water. I look away—just blink—and gone!"
Vark's stomach dropped.
Near the water.
Near the reeds.
Near the totem.
Mogrin looked at him, face pale. "Bog-water take?"
Vark didn't answer.
Boss Mokh turned, eyes blazing. "Scouts! Fan out! Quiet! No fire!"
Drukk Ear-Torn snarled, "I say it! I say bog-water bad!"
Mokh shoved him aside. "Not now!"
Vark grabbed a spear and a coil of rope without thinking. His hands moved on instinct, body already leaning toward the shoreline.
Mogrin was right behind him.
"Stay close," Vark said.
Mogrin nodded hard. "No shiny. No loud."
Below, the lake waited—still, dark, and patient.
And somewhere near its edge, a small goblin was missing.