The massive oak table before me still bore the scars of countless goblin feasts and fights, deep gouges telling stories I was glad I hadn't witnessed.
I massaged my temples, feeling the weight of the coming expedition settling onto my shoulders like a physical burden. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows across the chamber's walls, dancing in rhythm with the slight draft that whistled through the cracks in the stonework. We'd need to address those before winter came, I noted absently.
[Task Added: Improve Council Chamber Insulation]
[Settlement Points Required: 5]
I dismissed the notification with a thought. Another item for an already overfull agenda.
A slight rustle beneath the table caught my attention. The sound was almost imperceptible—a whisper of fabric against stone that most would have missed. But my heightened Perception attribute picked it up clearly, and I felt my lips curve into a knowing smile.
Pretending I hadn't noticed, I stretched dramatically and then bent to retrieve a nonexistent dropped item. Ducking my head beneath the massive oak table, I came face-to-face with a pair of glowing yellow eyes peering at me from the shadows.
Lia had wedged herself into the narrow space, her small goblin body folded into an impossibly compact position that would have left me with cramps for days. Her hands were pressed over her mouth to stifle her breathing, and she'd even covered her feet with a scrap of cloth to prevent them from making noise against the stone floor. The sophistication of her stealth techniques was impressive for one so young.
"Very good, Lia," I said softly, genuinely impressed by her improvement. "You didn't get caught."
The transformation that came over her face was immediate and complete. The tension in her body melted away as a smile split her features, revealing the small, pointed teeth that marked her goblin heritage. Her eyes, which had been narrowed in concentration, now widened with delight, glowing like twin harvest moons in the dimness beneath the table.
[Relationship: Lia Lucas]
[Status: Deeply Attached]
[Trust: 97%]
[Morale: Extremely High]
I extended my hand, palm up, in a gesture of invitation. Lia didn't hesitate, scrambling forward and taking my offered hand with her much smaller one. I helped her climb out from her hiding spot, lifting her easily with my enhanced strength.
"Did I do good, F-Father?" she asked, still stumbling slightly over the human word. The way she said it, with such earnest hope, made something in my chest constrict painfully.
"You did excellent," I affirmed, ruffling her coarse black hair with genuine affection. The texture was unusual to human hands—thicker and more wiry than human hair, but softer than it appeared. "Your concealment technique is improving dramatically. I barely heard you this time."
Her face lit up at the praise, her yellow eyes practically glowing with pride.
[Skill Progress: Lia's Hidden Observer]
[Progress to Level 1: 78%]
[Requirements: Successfully observe 3 more council meetings undetected]
I studied the notification with interest. So the System was recognizing her stealth efforts as skill development. Given her natural goblin affinity for darkness and her small size, she might develop into quite the scout or spy with proper training.
"The shadows helped," Lia explained excitedly, gesturing to the darkened corners of the room. "They're like… like friends. They hug me tight so no one can see."
I nodded thoughtfully. Her description had an almost mystical quality to it, suggesting a deeper connection to darkness than simple concealment. Perhaps there was a shadow-based class path in her future.
"Those are good friends to have," I agreed. "But remember what we discussed about council meetings?"
Lia's expression immediately sobered, and she gave a serious nod that made her look like a miniature adult. "Important things. Secret things. Not for little ears."
"That's right," I said, impressed by her recall. "Some of what we discuss here is—"
"She's been there since before the meeting started," came Elara's amused voice from the doorway.
I looked up to find my Captain of the Guard leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her leather-armored chest. The torchlight caught the copper highlights in her auburn hair, setting it ablaze with golden flame. Her mouth was curved in a knowing smirk, one eyebrow raised in that particular expression that always made me feel simultaneously challenged and charmed.
[Relationship: Elara]
[Status: Trusted Ally]
[Bond: Battlefield Telepathy Active]
[Trust: 94%]
[Respect: Extremely High]
"I know," I replied, unable to keep the hint of defensiveness from my voice. "I was going to extract her after everyone left."
Elara's smirk widened into a genuine smile as she pushed away from the doorframe and approached us. "No, you weren't. You just noticed her thirty seconds ago."
I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it again. There was no point trying to lie to Elara. Between her Ranger's instincts and our telepathic bond, she could read me like an open book.
"Fine," I conceded with a theatrical sigh. "My Perception check failed miserably against her Stealth roll."
Lia giggled at this, clearly delighted to have outwitted me. She released my hand and scampered over to Elara, who crouched down to meet her at eye level.
"How long did you know I was there?" Lia asked, unable to contain her curiosity.
Elara tapped the girl gently on the nose. "Since you slipped in behind Leo when he was complaining about the goblin conscripts. You used his bulk as cover. Smart move."
Lia's eyes widened with amazement. "But that was before the meeting even started!"
"Mmm-hmm," Elara nodded, her expression serious but her eyes dancing with amusement. "Rule number one of successful stealth: always assume someone is watching. Rule number two: it's probably me."
The little goblin girl nodded solemnly, absorbing this wisdom like a sponge. The intensity of her focus was almost comical on her small, green face.
"What's rule number three?" she asked eagerly.
Elara pretended to consider this deeply. "Rule number three is… always have an escape route." She leaned in conspiratorially. "That's where you could improve. You were trapped under that table. If anyone hostile had found you, you'd have been cornered."
I watched this exchange with a complex mixture of emotions. Pride in Lia's quick learning. Gratitude for Elara's willingness to mentor her. And a deep, persistent unease about tomorrow's expedition. The latter must have leaked through our mental bond, because Elara's eyes flicked up to meet mine, her expression softening.
"Lia," she said, still looking at me, "why don't you run and find Lyra? I think she was looking for you earlier. Something about practicing your letters."
Lia's face scrunched up in obvious displeasure. "Letters are hard," she complained. "The symbols wiggle when I look at them."
That caught my attention immediately. "The symbols move?" I asked, crouching down beside Elara to look Lia directly in the eyes. "What do you mean by that?"
Lia shrugged, suddenly self-conscious under our combined scrutiny. "They… dance. Like they're alive. Especially when I'm tired."
I exchanged a significant look with Elara. This sounded like dyslexia, but it could also be something more. In this world, with its System and magic, such a visual disturbance might indicate an affinity for runic magic or some other arcane talent.
"I want you to tell Lyra exactly what you just told us," I instructed gently. "It's very important, Lia. It might mean you have a special gift."
Her yellow eyes widened. "A gift? Like your glowing symbols?" She pointed at my arm, where the faint outline of the Rune of Unraveling pulsed beneath my sleeve, a constant reminder of both my power and its price.
"Maybe," I said cautiously. "But different. Now go find Lyra, and we'll talk more about this later, alright?"
Lia nodded vigorously, suddenly eager now that letters might be more than just a tedious exercise. She darted toward the door, then paused, looking back at us with unexpected solemnity.
"Will you come back?" she asked, her voice small. "From the mountain people?"
The question hit me like a physical blow. Children in this world grew up fast—they had to—but sometimes her perceptiveness still caught me off guard. Of course she'd understood exactly where we were going, despite my careful phrasing during the council meeting.
I crossed the room and knelt before her, placing my hands on her small shoulders and looking directly into her luminous eyes.
"Listen to me, Lia Lucas," I said, using her full name to emphasize the seriousness of my promise. "I will always come back to you. Always. Do you understand?"
She studied my face with an intensity that belonged on someone much older. Then, apparently satisfied with what she saw, she nodded once.
"I understand," she said simply. Then, with the resilience of childhood, her solemn expression vanished, replaced by a mischievous grin. "Can I practice sneaking up on Torvin while you're gone?"
I laughed despite myself. "You can try, but remember he has a battle-axe and startles easily."
"I'll be careful," she promised, then darted away, her bare feet barely making a sound on the stone floor as she disappeared into the corridor.
The silence that followed her departure felt heavier somehow. I remained kneeling, staring at the empty doorway, suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of responsibility I'd taken on—not just for a settlement, but for that one small life in particular.
"She'll be fine," Elara said quietly, moving to stand beside me. "Torvin would die before letting anything happen to her. So would Samuel. So would any of them."
I nodded, rising to my feet. "I know. It's not that." I hesitated, searching for words to explain the tightness in my chest. "It's just… I never expected this. Any of this. Certainly not… her."
Elara's hand found mine, her calloused fingers intertwining with my own in a rare gesture of physical comfort. The warmth of her touch radiated up my arm, spreading through my chest and momentarily displacing the cold knot of anxiety that had taken up residence there.
"None of us expected any of this," she reminded me. "But here we are. And that little girl adores you, Kale. You're her whole world."
I squeezed her hand gently before releasing it. "That's what terrifies me."
Elara's expression grew serious, the playfulness she'd shown with Lia replaced by the focused intensity of my Captain of the Guard. "Then let's make sure this expedition succeeds. The stronger our position, the safer she'll be."
I nodded, straightening my shoulders and pushing the personal concerns aside. She was right, as usual. Everything I did now—the alliances, the expansion, the power-building—it all served a greater purpose. Protection. Security. A future.
"Dawn tomorrow," I confirmed. "Make sure the Gutter-Guard is ready. Full armor, best weapons. We need to make an impression."
Elara gave a crisp nod. "They'll be ready. Will you?"
The question hung between us, laden with meanings beyond the obvious. Would I be ready to face other human leaders? To negotiate from a position that wasn't desperation? To represent our settlement to strangers who might become allies—or enemies?
I thought of Lia's absolute trust in my return. Of the council's acceptance of my leadership. Of the responsibility I'd taken on, willingly or not.
"I'll be ready,"
The warmth vanished.
One moment, her hand was in mine, a rough, calloused anchor of reality in the swirling chaos of my own thoughts. The heat of it, the simple, solid pressure of her fingers intertwined with my own, had been a grounding force, a silent conversation that said more than a thousand of my carefully chosen words ever could. Then, it was gone. She let go, and the cold of the cavern seemed to rush into the empty space between us, sharp and sudden.
She took a single step back, a small, deliberate movement that put a universe of distance between us. She faced me, her arms falling to her sides, her posture relaxed but ready. The flickering torchlight caught the sharp line of her jaw, the fierce intelligence in her emerald eyes, the faint, white tracery of an old scar just above her brow. The Lurker-hide armor, black and severe, hugged the powerful lines of her body, a second skin forged from the monster she had helped slay. She was a weapon. A beautiful, terrible, and utterly perfect weapon.
And I stared.
You have to be realistic about these things. A man in my position, a leader, a so-called prophet with the weight of forty-odd souls resting on his shoulders, had no business staring. There were plans to review, patrols to schedule, a thousand logistical nightmares to wrestle with. But the Scholar's mind, the part of me that was supposed to be in charge, had apparently clocked off for the night. It had been replaced by a more primitive, more honest part of me, a part that was simply… looking.
I looked at the way the firelight caught the copper strands in her hair, turning them to threads of molten gold. I looked at the steady, confident set of her shoulders, the way she held her head, a queen surveying her territory. My gaze drifted lower, to the curve of her hip, to the powerful line of her legs, and a sudden, unwelcome heat coiled low in my gut. My mind, a traitorous bastard, supplied a flicker of a memory: the feeling of her body pressed against mine in the stinking darkness of that goblin alley, the shared warmth, the surprising softness beneath the hard muscle.
By gods. Or well, Goddess.
I tore my gaze away, turning my head so fast my neck protested with a sharp twinge. I stared intently at a particularly uninteresting patch of stone wall, my face feeling hot and tight. I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks, a traitorous, boyish blush that I prayed the dim, forgiving light of the torches would hide. I was the Blessed One, the Tyrant-Slayer, the Speaker for a god I'd half-invented. And I was blushing like a schoolboy who'd just been caught staring at the prettiest girl in the village. It was pathetic.
I could feel her watching me. I didn't need to see her. I could feel her gaze on the back of my neck, a physical pressure, sharp and knowing. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, filled only by the crackle of the fire and the frantic hammering of my own heart. I was a fraud, a charlatan, and she saw right through me. She saw the clumsy, awkward academic hiding beneath the layers of authority I had so carefully constructed.
And then, something else.
A feeling, faint and strange, brushed against my mind through the quiet, humming channel of our bond. It wasn't words. It wasn't a thought. It was… a sensation. A wave of something warm, like embers stirred in a cold hearth. It was amusement. A deep, fond, and utterly disarming amusement. And beneath it, something else. Something softer. A flicker of… affection? A current of shared, unspoken understanding. It was her reaction to my sudden, clumsy embarrassment, and it was not mockery. It was not pity. It was… acceptance. The feeling was so unexpected, so profoundly unfamiliar, that it made the air thick and hard to breathe.
Back to the work. The work was safe. The work was clean.
"I'll deal with the goblin conscripts," I said, my voice coming out a little too loud, a little too fast. I cleared my throat, forcing myself to turn back to her, my face arranged into what I hoped was a mask of professional, leaderly focus. "They need to be formally integrated. Contracts drawn up. It's time they were full citizens."
I gestured to the massive, brutal greataxe strapped to her back. The weapon was a piece of crude, Orcish iron, a tool of artless destruction that she had, through sheer force of will, made her own. "And… give me your axe."
She raised an eyebrow, the knowing smirk returning to her lips. "Give you my axe? Planning on doing some chopping yourself, boss?"
"A modification," I clarified, ignoring the jibe. I needed to be on solid ground, the familiar territory of my own skills. "I think I can make a modification. Most weapons, the crude goblin steel, the iron Leo is forging… they can't handle a runic inscription. The metal is too impure, the structure too weak. The magic would tear it apart."
I stepped closer, my eyes fixed on the weapon, on the work. "But that," I said, reaching out, my fingers hovering just above the pitted, stained surface of the Orcish steel, "is different. It's old. It's dense. It was forged in a different kind of fire. It's strong enough. I think… I think it can handle the words." I finally met her gaze, the awkwardness gone, replaced by the pure, clean excitement of a scholar with a new, fascinating problem to solve.
"I think I can make it sing."