We moved through the forest without resistance. The goblins followed close behind, now quiet, now cautious. Their eyes still flicked toward me often, but not out of fear. It had shifted. They walked like men who had seen something they didn't understand, and weren't sure if they should be grateful or afraid.
Around midday, one of them finally spoke.
"I-if you are hungry," he began, voice dry, "we're not... delicious."
I stopped.
The others froze.
The speaker—a wiry goblin with one eye slightly larger than the other—clutched his stomach like it might protect him. He looked up with something between fear and resignation.
I turned slowly, looked down at him, then grinned.
"That's a shame," I said. "I was looking for something crunchy."
He made a noise that might've been a whimper. The others tensed.
Then I laughed. A short breath through the nose. The tension broke. The goblins blinked, looked at each other, then stayed quiet. Not amused.
The march continued. By the time we reached a clearing near a shallow ridge, they no longer flinched when I moved. They didn't speak freely, but the weight had shifted. Not fear, but distance. Curiosity.
The same goblin walked up beside me later, still a little unsure.
"Are you... some kind of ogre?"
"No."
"But your power... you threw a spear of magic. You made fire without fire. You killed a Thunder Boar with one hand."
"I'm not a ogre."
He paused.
"Then... what race are you?"
I glanced sideways.
"Goblin."
They all stopped.
No one moved. Even the wind seemed to hesitate. Their eyes darted between each other, then back to me. One of them opened his mouth, closed it. Another stepped forward and looked at my arms, my face, my height.
"Not... goblin," one said. "Too tall. Too sharp. Too strong."
"I was one," I replied. "Still am. I evolved."
Silence.
One of them finally asked the next question.
"Do you have a name?"
I shook my head. "Not yet."
They didn't understand. Not fully. But they accepted it. A few nodded quietly. One of them muttered something about names giving power. Another whispered that the world must've shifted while they were sleeping.
We kept walking.
The trees grew thinner ahead. The air turned colder. We were getting closer to the Eastern Ruins.
They didn't know what we were walking toward.
I did.
And something else did, too.
Behind us, far from the trail, the Greater Fen Wolf moved through a dry ravine, its nose low to the dirt. Its ears twitched.