I moved as quickly and as quietly as my body would let me.
Getting away from this place was my number one priority. I hadn't counted how many goblins had surrounded me at the time of my death, but I knew it had been a lot—far more than I could ever hope to fight on my own in one go.
I stayed low, keeping my body crouched as I headed for the tree line, putting distance between myself and the place the goblins thought of as theirs. Every step away felt like tearing loose from something horrid and grotesque. Every step was a relief.
The forest thinned as I went. The air smelled cleaner. Less rot. Less smoke.
My feet no longer hurt. The pain was completely gone after my revival. So was my hunger—well, mostly. I would still kill for a burger amd fries right about now, but I didn't need food just yet.
I hated myself a little for thinking it, but… this power was kind of incredible. Dying sucked. Not dying was even better. I couldn't deny it.
Just as I finally reached the edge of the trees—almost free of it all—I heard voices.
Not the guttural grating of goblins.
Human voices.
My body reacted before my mind did. I dropped low and slid behind a fallen log, my heart slowing instead of racing. I hated that part of myself now—the way fear no longer spiked, only settled. Like it had found a comfortable place to live.
I edged forward and peered through the brush.
Four people.
Three men and a woman.
Their wrists were bound with rough rope, hands pulled tight behind their backs. Their clothes were worn but practical—leather scraps, travel cloaks, boots that had seen miles. One of the men still had a broken sword hilt tied to his belt. Another limped badly, favoring one leg.
Adventurers?
Mercenaries?
Bandits?
I couldn't tell.
It didn't matter.
Six goblins surrounded them—at least six that I could see, maybe more just out of sight. They prodded the captives forward with spear shafts, chattering excitedly, arguing among themselves like children fighting over a toy.
The woman stumbled.
One of the goblins yanked her upright by the hair, hissing in her face.
My stomach twisted.
I knew where they were being taken.
I knew exactly what would happen to them.
Blood.
Ritual.
Death.
The thought of their wrists being cut open for some sick ritual made me feel physically ill. I leaned back against the log and forced myself to breathe slowly—even though I didn't need to. My thoughts crashed into one another anyway.
I should leave.
That was the smart choice.
I didn't know these people. I didn't owe them anything. I was lost, injured, and alone. I had no idea how many goblins lived in this territory or how fast they would adapt once they realized I wasn't staying dead.
If they saw me alive again… they'd know something was wrong.
Going back meant dying again.
Probably more than once.
And dying wasn't free.
Each time I came back, something slipped. A little warmth. A little fear. A little me.
I pressed my fingers into the dirt until they hurt.
If I do nothing, I thought, they'll die anyway.
That was the part I couldn't escape.
I had survived because I was different—because I came back.
They wouldn't.
The woman looked over her shoulder then, eyes wide and frantic, scanning the forest like she was praying for something—anything—to jump out and save them.
Nothing did.
The realization hit her, plain on her face, and it was heartbreaking.
My heart beat once. Slow. Heavy.
"I can do this," I whispered. "What's a few more deaths?"
I had killed two goblins before. I had died to them once.
I watched the goblins more carefully now. They were careless. Relaxed. Already thinking about what came next. They didn't expect resistance—not here, not now. Their prey was already tied up.
I wasn't sure I could save all four on the first try.
I wasn't even sure I could save one.
And that terrified me more than dying ever had.
Because if I rushed in and failed—if I made things worse—then my attempts would get them killed faster.
I would have to be careful. Precise.
As if that was even possible.
I hated myself for not knowing what to do. For not having the experience to handle a situation like this. But I knew one thing for certain:
I couldn't live with myself if I walked away.
I exhaled slowly, letting the cold settle deeper, quieting the part of me that wanted to panic.
"If I'm going to do this," I murmured, barely louder than the wind, "I can't half-ass it."
I waited until the goblins moved again, herding the captives down a narrow path I recognized—one that led toward a tunnel in the ground. I hadn't been conscious enough before to notice the route, but now it was obvious. Past the corpse pile. Toward the cave.
I rose silently and followed at a distance.
Not heroic.
Not confident.
Just stubborn enough to keep going.
Because even if it took me many tries—
even if it cost me pieces of myself I couldn't get back—
I couldn't walk away knowing exactly how this ended.