The air inside the stone house had eased—if only slightly.
A scrap of dried horse meat and a bowl of water had done just enough to quiet the sharpest edge of desperation.
In the darkest corner, far from the firelight, Finney curled into himself. The fox-man had devoured his portion in seconds and was now licking the last traces of grease from his fingers, savoring it like a feast.
Hunger had retreated.
Survival had taken over.
He looked at the three figures before him—dangerous, silent, watching—and understood that every word he spoke would decide whether he lived or died.
"The North Mountain Mine… is hell."
His voice was hoarse, but steady now—stripped of panic, filled instead with numb fear.
"We went down before dawn every day. The tunnels… narrow, unstable. They could collapse at any moment. We dug like animals, with blunt tools, breaking ore harder than stone."
"The overseers carried barbed whips. If you slowed down…" He trailed off, unconsciously touching his back. Even through the torn fur, old scars crisscrossed like a map of pain.
"The food… moldy bread. Soup with worms. Many didn't die from beatings… they starved."
"And the sick?" His voice dropped. "Thrown into a pit. Left to rot."
Lina turned away, pale.
Goff's fists clenched until his knuckles cracked.
Colin said nothing.
But his eyes darkened.
He gestured for Finney to continue.
"I escaped during a collapse," Finney said quickly, as if afraid silence itself might kill him. "I didn't dare take the roads… so I came here. I know the forest is dangerous, but… it's better than waiting to die."
For a moment, hope flickered in his eyes.
Goff leaned forward slightly.
"Anything unusual lately? Among the guards?"
Finney frowned, forcing his exhausted mind to recall.
Then—
"Yes! There was something!"
"The guards were replaced. The new ones were… weak. Old. Injured. They complained that all the strong soldiers had been sent south."
"South?" Colin's voice sharpened.
"Yes!" Finney nodded quickly. "I heard them talking. Something about 'bears being worse than wolves'… and that the Earl wanted to wipe them out. Skin them… make carpets."
The words landed heavily.
Colin and Goff exchanged a glance.
They both knew.
The Brown Bear Tribe.
A fierce, powerful clan far to the south.
And now—Earl Raymond's main target.
For Colin, the implication was immediate.
Time.
The Earl's attention was elsewhere.
Which meant—
The outpost wasn't his priority.
Not yet.
"Anything else?" Colin pressed. "About the forest."
Finney hesitated, shrinking slightly.
"There's… a place. Deep inside. An abandoned mine."
"It's huge. Bigger than anything we dug. I thought I could hide there, but…"
His expression twisted with fear.
"Monsters."
"Monsters?"
"Green. Short. Sharp teeth. They carry crude weapons—knives, sticks. They chatter constantly." His voice trembled. "I got close once. They saw me… started throwing stones. I barely escaped."
Goblin.
The word surfaced instantly in Colin's mind.
An abandoned mine.
Occupied.
Dangerous—but valuable.
The thought took root quietly.
Not useful now.
But one day—
It might matter.
"That's all I know," Finney said, his voice dropping as he looked at Colin, waiting.
Judgment.
Colin didn't answer.
He stood, exchanged a glance with Goff, and stepped outside.
"What do you think?" Colin asked.
"The information is valuable," Goff admitted. "Especially about the Earl's forces."
He paused.
"But the fox-man is a problem."
"There's barely enough food as it is. Another mouth is a burden. And fox-men…" his eyes narrowed, "…they're known for cunning. Cowardice. Can we trust him?"
"What if he's a spy? Or worse—what if he betrays us the moment it benefits him?"
It was the safest approach.
The most cautious.
Colin didn't answer immediately.
He looked out over the sleeping outpost.
Thirteen lives.
Barely sustained.
Every resource stretched thin.
Let him go?
He would die within days—or worse, be captured.
And if he was captured…
Everything would be exposed.
Kill him?
The thought surfaced.
Then vanished.
Cold logic dismissed it.
If he killed someone seeking refuge—
What would he use to unite others later?
Fear?
Suspicion?
That path led nowhere.
Colin exhaled softly.
"We keep him."
Goff frowned slightly, but Colin raised a hand.
"I understand the risk," Colin said calmly. "But letting him go is handing the enemy a blade. Killing him costs us more than it gains."
He turned, meeting Goff's gaze.
"If you can't eliminate risk—control it."
"Starting tomorrow," Colin continued, "he works. Hard labor. With Thomas' group."
"Minimal rations. Keep him hungry—but alive."
"Watch him at all times. No exceptions."
"We use him. His labor. His knowledge."
"If he wants to live, he earns it."
Goff stared at him.
Something shifted in his expression.
This wasn't the thinking of a hunter.
This was something else.
Something broader.
Colder.
Stronger.
"I understand," Goff said at last.
Colin returned inside.
Finney shrank back instinctively.
"Do you want to live?"
"Yes! Yes!" Finney nodded frantically.
"Good."
Colin's voice was iron.
"Your life belongs to me now."
"I will feed you. I will keep you alive."
"In return—you work. And you tell me everything."
He crouched down.
Leaned close.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"But if you lie… or betray us…"
Colin picked up a fist-sized stone.
And crushed it.
Easily.
Fragments crumbled between his fingers.
Finney froze.
His pupils shrank.
Fear overwhelmed him completely.
"I understand… I understand…!" he stammered, voice breaking.
Colin stood.
Turned.
Walked out.
The night wind swallowed the killing intent that lingered around him.
Finney's arrival had disturbed the still waters of the outpost.
Hope.
Risk.
Opportunity.
All at once.
Colin looked into the darkness beyond the walls.
The world was expanding.
More dangerous.
More complex.
Brown Bear Tribe.
Abandoned mine.
Goblins.
For the first time—
This wasn't just survival.
This was the beginning of something larger.