The days that followed slipped into a steady rhythm. Training at dawn, crafting at midday, and quiet evenings by the fire. For a tribe that had once known nothing but fear, the peace felt almost unnatural—yet the goblins embraced it hungrily, as though afraid it might vanish.
Luminus drifted at the center of it all, watching. He no longer thought of himself as merely a protector. These goblins were becoming something else. A people.
One morning, Kairn approached him with a solemn expression.
"Great One, our tribe has grown restless. Many are eager for names of their own, like those you bestowed upon us."
Luminus tilted slightly. "Names, hm? I can try, but it drains me. Too many at once, and I'll pass out like before."
Kairn bowed. "We understand. But… the others look to names as a sign of belonging. A sign that we are no longer forgotten monsters."
The slime pulsed softly. So it's not just strength. It's identity.
"Very well. Bring them to me—one at a time. I'll do what I can."
That day turned into a strange ritual. Goblins gathered before Luminus, nervous but eager. One by one, he reached into that strange well of energy within him, bestowing names.
The young spear-wielder became Tarin, evolving into a taller, sharper-eyed warrior.
The timid cook became Mira, her body straightening, hands deft with new confidence.
A goblin child, barely able to walk, giggled as she was named Lina, glowing softly before collapsing into her mother's arms.
Each naming drained Luminus a little more. His body dimmed, his thoughts slowed. Yet the joy on their faces kept him going. By dusk, nearly a dozen had received names, and the village felt transformed.
"Enough for today," he said at last, voice heavy. "The rest must wait. I need time to recover."
The goblins accepted his words without complaint. They had seen how his glow dimmed with each naming. Gratitude outweighed impatience.
That night, they sang around the fire—songs rough and clumsy, but full of warmth. Luminus, half-asleep, listened with something like pride.
In the days that followed, new roles began to form.
Tarin took charge of the hunters, leading patrols with keen instincts.
Mira transformed the village's meals, experimenting with herbs and roots that had once gone unnoticed.
Lina's mother, now named Sera, organized the women, teaching them weaving and stitching.
The village was no longer a loose band of survivors. It was becoming a community.
Even Rugo's wolves adapted, learning to guard livestock—though more than once, Luminus had to scold them for snacking on the goats they were meant to protect.
One evening, as the fire crackled low, Luminus felt a presence stir within him—the Ethereal Guide.
[Notice. Mana levels in surrounding area increasing. Source: human activity detected beyond the forest border.]
Luminus jolted. "Humans?"
The voice was calm, almost indifferent.
[Correct. Adventurer parties probing nearby territories. Current threat level: Low, but increasing.]
The slime fell silent, absorbing the news.
Humans. He had once been one of them. But what would they see now, if they came across his village? A monster leading other monsters. Would they treat him as a threat? Or worse… would they harm the goblins before asking questions?
He glanced at the fires, at the goblins laughing, wolves sprawled lazily beside them. His people.
No, he thought firmly. I won't let them be taken from me.
The next morning, he called the village together. Goblins and wolves alike gathered, sensing the gravity of his tone.
"Listen well," Luminus began. "There are whispers of humans near the forest. They may not come here soon, but one day they will. We must be ready."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd—fear, curiosity, determination.
Kairn stepped forward, voice steady. "Then we will prepare. With your guidance, Great One, we will not falter."
Luminus's glow pulsed, strong and steady. "That's right. From this day on, we will grow—not just strong, but wise. So when outsiders arrive, they will not find prey. They will find a people worth respecting."
The goblins cheered, wolves howled.
And somewhere, far beyond the forest, the faint echo of boots on earth carried closer with every day.