The forest woke up in layers.

  First came the insects, a soft, constant buzz hidden in the undergrowth. Then birds, sharp calls cutting through the canopy. Then the wind, stirring leaves that were fuller now than they had been a few weeks ago. Spring was still early, but it was gaining confidence by the day.

  Their camp was already cold ash by the time they set out again.

  Sable padded ahead at a steady, controlled pace, her sleek shoulders rolling smoothly beneath dark fur. She could have run them ragged if she wanted to, but she kept herself deliberately slow, matching Orion’s stride. Every so often her nose dipped toward the ground to taste a scent trail before lifting again, eyes scanning the narrow path.

  Grub walked near her flank, his staff tapping lightly against roots and stones as they moved. The familiar weight of it in his hand kept him focused. Orion followed just behind, his own staff in hand, steps unhurried and efficient despite the uneven ground.

  After a few minutes of silence, Orion spoke. “Before we get much farther, we should begin your lessons. The translation spell comes first.” Grub nodded immediately. “Good. Walk me through it.” Orion slowed just enough to let Grub fall into step beside him. “Watch closely,” he said. “This spell is less about power and more about structure.”

  He lifted two fingers to the edge of his skull mask and traced a small sigil in the air. The motion was smooth, practiced, like writing a symbol he had drawn a thousand times. His voice followed, calm and measured, the cadence even and precise. The magic settled over Grub in a soft ripple. Sound sharpened. Meaning aligned.

  Grub blinked once. “Okay. Yeah. I can feel that.” “It should feel like nothing,” Orion corrected mildly. “Translation magic is meant to align, not announce itself.”

  Grub raised his own hand and mimicked the motion, fingers stiff with concentration. He traced the sigil carefully. Nothing happened.

  The shape wavered, then collapsed like mist under sunlight. Grub frowned. “Again.” He tried once more, slower this time. The sigil formed more cleanly, then fractured and vanished before the incantation could finish.

  Orion watched without interrupting. After the third attempt, he reached out and adjusted Grub’s wrist. “Like this,” he said. “You are forcing the second curve. The spell resists pressure. Let it flow.”

  Grub exhaled, loosened his grip, and tried again as they walked. The pattern hummed faintly in his mind, close enough to feel but still refusing to settle. “When you speak the words,” Orion continued, tapping his staff lightly against a thick root as they passed, “you must match the rhythm of the movements. Think of it like steps in a dance. Miss one, and the pattern breaks.”

  “Magic dances,” Grub muttered. “Not literally,” Orion said, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice. Grub grinned at him. "Let me have my metaphor."

  They settled back into an easy walking rhythm. Overhead, birds flitted between branches, their calls bright and sharp. The forest still carried signs of goblins, but the markers were thinner than they had been closer to the river. Older. More scattered.

  “This spell takes most apprentices weeks to learn,” Orion said after a time. “Do not be discouraged.” “I’m not discouraged,” Grub replied. “I just don’t like failing at something that’s supposed to be basic.” Orion chuckled softly. “That I can see. You're picking it up quite quickly though, I must say.”

  Grub gave a short nod and kept practicing the sigil in the air as they moved. It failed again, but it lingered a heartbeat longer before breaking.

  Orion noticed, and cocked an eyebrow. “Closer,” he said. “Much closer.” Grub grunted, satisfaction slipping through despite himself.

  They walked on for another stretch, and Orion’s gaze began to drift more often to the trees. Not nervous, exactly. Watchful.

  “Have you noticed,” Orion said finally, “how little trouble we’ve had?”

  Grub followed his glance. There were birds, insects, the rustle of small animals fleeing through brush. But no prowling shapes. No stalking silence. Nothing trying to test them.

  “Yeah,” Grub said. “That’s likely Sable’s doing.”

  Orion tilted his head slightly.

  Grub jerked his chin toward the dire wolf’s back. “In this part of the forest, she’s basically the apex predator. Most things out here aren’t looking for a fight they can’t win, and they can smell what she is. They don’t get brave unless they’re starving or stupid.”

  Orion nodded slowly. “That would explain a great deal. Traveling this far without incident is… uncommon. It's interesting.”

  “She’s very good at making the forest behave,” Grub said, and Sable’s ears flicked once as if she heard the praise.

  Ahead of them, the trail pressed north through the dense green canopy of the forest. The air was warming as the sun climbed, and the woods felt alive in that early-spring way, restless and hungry but not yet harsh. Grub kept practicing the motion as they walked, failing and failing again, but each time the shape held a little steadier.

  The day had barely started, and already he could feel the spell’s structure beginning to settle into his hands.

  The forest had settled into a steady rhythm by the time the sun climbed overhead. Warm light filtered through the canopy in shifting patterns, dappling the narrow trail. Sable padded ahead of them with unhurried confidence, her presence heavy and unmistakable.

  They had been walking in silence for a while when Grub spoke up.

  “So,” he said, tone casual, eyes still on the path. “I’ve got a couple questions for you if you don't mind.”

  Orion glanced over, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “That sounds dangerous already.”

  Grub ignored the comment. “First one’s simple. Who are you, and what exactly is the Harvest?”

  Orion slowed slightly, not stopping, just matching Grub’s pace more evenly. He considered the question for a moment before answering.

  “I’m Orion,” he said. “That part’s easy. As for the Harvest… we’re a group that believes the human kingdoms are rotting from the inside out.” Grub listened as they continued their slow and steady march, and inclined his head to signal Orion to continue.

  “I was born outside this forest, in the city of High Reach, and trained as a scholar,” Orion continued. “I spent my life studying history, governance, languages, magic. I spent years close to administrative and noble circles. Close enough to see how decisions were made. Close enough to see who really benefited from them.”

  “And you didn’t like what you saw,” Grub finished for him.

  “No,” Orion replied. “Villages being ignored because they weren’t profitable. Monster incursions dismissed because acknowledging them would cost someone influence. Laws bent so often they stopped meaning anything at all.” His voice stayed level, but there was weight behind it. “At first, I believed reform was possible. That if the right people were shown the right evidence, things would change.”

  “And they didn’t,” Grub said. He could see where Orion was going.

  Orion shook his head. “No. Because the system wasn’t broken. It was working exactly as intended.”

  Sable’s ears flicked, but she kept moving.

  “The Harvest formed around that realization,” Orion went on. “People from different walks of life who came to the same conclusion. That meaningful change does not happen through polite appeals or slow reform. Power only moves when it’s forced to.”

  Grub glanced at him. “So, what? You’re revolutionaries?.” “If you want to simplify,” Orion said. “Yes.”

  There was a short stretch of quiet as they walked. Then Grub asked his second question.

  “Alright,” he said. “So how do you fit into the Harvest?” That earned a faint, almost wry smile.

  “I’m not one of the people giving orders,” Orion said. “If that’s what you’re asking.” “I figured as much,” Grub replied.

  “I’m somewhat removed from the core,” Orion continued. “Useful, but not central. I was assigned to the northern frontier when I joined.” Grub’s eyes sharpened slightly. “Doing what?”

  “Destabilization,” Orion said plainly. “Indirect. The kingdoms can’t spare attention for the Northwild, but they could if the trouble is... human in nature. They can’t afford chaos along their borders. Goblin raids strain resources. Disrupt patrols. Force bad decisions.” He glanced sideways at Grub. “My role is to communicate with tribes along the southern edge of the Northwild. Offer coin. Supplies. Information. Encourage pressure where it hurts.”

  Grub nodded slowly, filing that away.

  “I don’t oversee the work,” Orion added. “I’m simply a tool. A strategist. I speak languages most people don’t bother learning. I can negotiate. I can recognize patterns.” He paused. “It keeps me distant from the rest of the Harvest, but close enough to believe in what we’re trying to do.”

  The forest swallowed his words as they continued north. After a few steps, Orion asked, “Why ask all that?”

  Grub shrugged. “If I’m gonna travel with someone, it’s probably a good idea to get to know them.”

  That drew a short laugh from Orion. “Fair enough.”

  He studied Grub for a moment. “Alright then. My turn.”

  Grub glanced over. “Your turn?”

  “You asked who I am,” Orion said. “So, who are you?”

  Grub’s shoulders rose and fell. “I’m just another goblin.”

  Orion laughed outright at that, the sound bright and disbelieving.

  Grub shot him a look. “What?”

  “No,” Orion said, still smiling. “No, you’re not.” Grub frowned. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because. I’ve met goblins,” Orion replied, amusement fading into certainty. “I’ve dealt with raiding packs in the kingdoms. I’ve negotiated with tribal leaders here in the North Wilds. You, Grub, are different. You don’t think or act like any of them. And your tribe doesn’t either.”

  Grub didn’t answer.

  “The Ironfang are disciplined,” Orion continued. “Organized. They think in terms of logistics and territory. That alone is unusual. And you,” he added, studying him, “you think like someone who doesn’t quite belong.”

  Grub exhaled quietly. “Yeah. Well. I got unlucky.”

  Orion raised a brow. “Unlucky?”

  “I was born in a tribe,” Grub said. “Same as any goblin. But I was different. That didn’t sit well. So they kicked me out.” “Into the forest,” Orion said. “Into the forest,” Grub confirmed. “Either I survive or I die. That’s how tribes solve problems.”

  His tone stayed flat, practiced.

  “I would’ve died,” Grub went on. “Probably should have. We goblins are quite weak on our own. Strength in numbers and all that. But the Ironfang found me a few days later. They captured me. Took me in. Thought I’d be useful as a slave.”

  Orion studied him for a long moment.

  Grub felt the familiar tension coil in his chest. The story was close enough to the truth to hold together. Born here. Alone. Nearly dying. Taken in by the Ironfang. He had left out what he had to, but sprinkled in enough truth to anchor the lie.

  Orion didn’t press.

  Instead, he asked, “So, how does a slave end up in tribal leadership?”

  Grub kept his eyes forward. “I made myself too useful to ignore,” he said. “At first they kept me because I could work. Then they kept me because I could fix problems. After that…” He shrugged. “Eventually it stops making sense to keep the guy solving your problems in chains.”

  Orion nodded once, like he was filing the answer into a neat mental box. “Sure.”

  They walked on, warm spring air pressing in around them, the forest quiet under Sable’s steady lead. Orion was silent for a few steps, thinking.

  Then he glanced at Grub again.

  “You mentioned earlier,” Orion said, “that you could tell me about goblin tribes. About how things work in the North Wild.” His tone stayed light, but his interest was real. “I’d like to hear it. The long version, if you’re willing. We have the time.”

  Grub answered Orion’s question without slowing his pace.

  “You want to know how goblin tribes usually work,” he said. “Not just us.”

  Orion nodded. “Yes. I know the basics, things that human scholars have learned from observation. I’ve seen the aftermath of raids. But that’s not the same as understanding how a tribe actually lives. You know things we don't. Hearing from an actual goblin should give me a new perspective.”

  “Fair,” Grub said. “Then I’ll start with the normal way. The way most goblins grow up in.”

  They walked beneath widening gaps in the canopy, sunlight warming the forest floor. Sable moved ahead of them with easy confidence, her presence pressing outward like a boundary line the forest itself respected.

  “In most goblin tribes,” Grub began, “life revolves around a solitary goal; survival. Strength is everything. Not skill. Not planning. Strength.”

  Orion listened closely.

  “Every goblin is a fighter,” Grub said. “That’s not a saying. It’s a rule. If you can stand and hold a weapon, you fight. It doesn’t matter if you’re sick. Or wounded. Or pregnant. Or exhausted. If you’re upright, you’re useful.”

  He paused briefly, then added, “In bad times, even the children fight. Not because anyone really wants them to, but because tribes don’t survive by holding back weapons from a desperate fight.”

  Orion’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt. He nodded at Grub to continue.

  “The sick and wounded aren’t taken care of,” Grub went on. “Not really. If you’re hurt, you’re pushed to the edge of camp. Given nothing extra. If you recover on your own, you’re welcomed back. If you don’t, then you don’t. No tribe is going to waste food or effort nursing someone when those resources could go to a goblin who can still fight today.”

  “That’s… brutally pragmatic,” Orion said quietly. “It has to be,” Grub replied. “Most tribes don’t last long enough to be anything else.”

  They continued walking, the sounds of the forest steady and unthreatening.

  “Leadership works the same way,” Grub said. “Every tribe has a chief. It's usually a hobgoblin, or in rare cases a Bugbear. If not, then the strongest or meanest goblin around has control. The one no one else wants to challenge.”

  “And if someone does challenge?” Orion asked.

  “Challenges are a ritual for goblin tribes. They can happen at any time. The challenger and the Chief fight to the death in a clearing, or circle, with the tribe watching. Then either the challenger dies,” Grub said, “or the chief does. If the chief dies, the challenger becomes the new chief, simple as that. Loyalty switches pretty much instantly. Not because goblins are fickle, but because strength proves worth. If you were strong enough to kill the old leader, then you’re strong enough to lead. Until the next challenger appears.”

  Orion nodded slowly.

  “Bigger tribes sometimes have lieutenants,” Grub continued. “But not like officers in an army. They’re essentially enforcers. They carry out the chief’s will. They keep the chiefs order by fear and violence. Smaller tribes don’t bother. Chiefs don’t like sharing power.” Orion chuckled, "Yeah, I noticed."

  Grub glanced sideways at Orion. “That’s the baseline. That’s how most goblin tribes work.”

  “You say most, implying your tribe is different." "We are." "So we've seen. What makes the Ironfang stand out?” Orion asked.

  Grub exhaled, then shifted his grip on his staff.

  “We’re different,” he said. “Not because we’re nicer. But because we plan. We think. We do things no other goblin tribe would consider.”

  Orion’s attention sharpened.

  “We take care of our wounded,” Grub said. “If someone gets hurt, we don’t toss them aside. We pull them back. Treat them. Give them time to heal. A trained warrior is worth keeping alive, even if they can’t fight for a while.”

  “That alone would change survival rates,” Orion murmured.

  “It does,” Grub said. “And it’s not just luck. We have healers. Real ones.”

  Orion glanced at him. “Healers.”

  “Combat medics,” Grub corrected. “A group of goblins specifically trained for it. In battle they stay back, then rush in to pull wounded goblins to safety and treat them. Outside of battle, they tend to the tribe. They know how to wrap wounds properly, how to splint a limb, how to stop bleeding fast. They use poultices, herbs, things you can find in the forest. Some of it is basic. Some of it actually works better than you’d expect. They treat sickness too, when we can. Fever, rot, infections. Stuff that would normally just kill goblins in other tribes.”

  Orion’s eyes narrowed with interest behind the mask. “So you’ve built a system for recovery.”

  “Yeah,” Grub said. “Because dead warriors don’t help us win the next fight.” Orion nodded.

  He continued, voice steady. “Another thing thats different is that our pregnant females don’t fight. Our children don’t fight, not until they're grown and ready to contribute to the tribe. They’re kept back. Fed properly. Protected. Not because we’re soft, but because they’re the future of the tribe. Losing them weakens us long-term.”

  Orion shook his head slightly. “That is almost unheard of, as far as I know.”

  “Yeah,” Grub said. “It is. But it works. And that's all that matters to us, to Dravak.”

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  They passed a stretch where old goblin trail markers had faded into nothing, the signs of Red Tusk territory thinning with every step.

  “And it’s not just medics,” Grub went on. “We have builders too.”

  Orion looked over. “Builders as a role, or builders as in everyone does it?”

  “As a role,” Grub said. “True non-combatants, kept out of fights. Not useless, but not trained for the front line. Their job is different, but no less important. They help build our defenses and logistics. Trenches. Walls. Watch posts. Storage pits. Traps. If we’re going to hold land, we need more than spears. We need places that are hard to take.”

  Orion was quiet for a moment, then said, “That sounds very close to how humans think.”

  Grub snorted once. “It’s close to how winning works. You don't have a monopoly on effective strategies.”

  Orion laughed. “And your leadership is different too,” Orion said, following the thread.

  Grub nodded. “We still have a chief. Dravak is strong enough that no one questions that. But he doesn’t rule alone.” “You mean the lieutenants.” “We have a council,” Grub said. “The lieutenants aren’t enforcers. Dravaks leadership is secure enough that nobody disobeys. The lieutenants fulfill another role entirely. They plan. They share ideas. Decisions get discussed before they’re acted on. And once a plan is decided upon, the lieutenants each lead things in their own way. One, Kesh, handles the scouting. Throk handles training warriors and drilling. Rika commands the Fangs of Winter. Each leads independently, but the direction if the tribe is unified.”

  “That requires a lot of trust,” Orion said. "Something goblins aren't exactly known for."

  “It does,” Grub agreed. “And Dravak is unusual because he allows it. He listens. That’s not common among goblin chiefs.”

  He hesitated, then added, “It’s also not common because most chiefs who try it get killed. Dravak doesn’t. Because he’s not just smart. He’s strong.”

  Orion tilted his head slightly. “How strong?”

  Grub’s mouth curled, not quite a smile. “He’s probably the strongest person or creature I’ve ever seen.”

  “That is saying something,” Orion said.

  Grub nodded. “He fought a dire wolf alpha in one-on-one combat,” Grub said. “Not a normal wolf. A real dire wolf, big as a horse. The pack leader. He killed it on his own.”

  Orion’s eyes widened a fraction behind the mask. “And when we took the Red Tusk, he went straight for their bugbear chief. Killed him too. And the hobgoblin bodyguards that tried to jump in and save him. He's scary strong.”

  Orion let out a slow breath. “So the tribe follows him because he’s unbeatable.” “Pretty much,” Grub said. “But they also follow him because he uses that strength the right way. He doesn’t just bully people into obedience. He actually wants the tribe to grow, and everyone can see that. I said earlier that loyalty shifts quickly when a chieftain is killed. Dravak might be the exception to that."

  Orion looked ahead, then back at Grub with a thoughtful expression on his face. “And the wolves,” he said. “That part is… new. I’ve never seen goblins do that. Ever.”

  Grub’s eyes flicked toward Sable’s back as she padded ahead, ears up, completely unbothered by the conversation about her. “Yeah,” Grub said. “That one was my idea.” Orion’s head turned. “Your idea.”

  Grub shrugged, like it was obvious. “Wolves, especially dire wolves, are the strongest thing in this stretch of forest. We were invaded by a large pack of dire wolves just before winter hit. That's when Dravak killed the alpha. We decided to raise the pups with the tribe. Train them. Figured it would be useful.”

  Orion laughed, a short burst of genuine amusement. “You don’t say.” Grub glanced at him. “What?”

  Orion shook his head, still smiling. “Nothing. It just… explains even more.”

  Grub didn’t respond to that. He just watched the forest ahead, where the old paths were thinning into nothing. Orion spoke again, quieter now. “The Harvest watched you deal with the Bonegnashers,” he said. “We saw the discipline. Coordination. Restraint. Things most tribes we deal with are either lacking or incapable of.”

  Grub nodded. “You saw some of it then. We didn’t just wipe them out. That's wasteful. We baited them into a trap, and killed their leader. Remember what I said about goblin loyalty earlier? When Skarn died, they lost the will to fight. So, we took them in and made them part of our tribe. Not out of mercy. Out of strength.”

  Orion grunted. "Under normal circumstances, inviting prisoners of war to join your side would be a good way to get stabbed in the back. But I suppose goblins are uniquely suited for that kind of thing. Grub couldn't help but agree. He looked ahead into the deepening forest. “Don't get me wrong. We’re still goblins. We raid. We kill. We do what we have to. But we think beyond the next fight.”

  Orion let out a slow breath. “You’re building something sustainable.”

  “That’s the goal,” Grub said.

  They walked on, spring air warming as the sun shifted westward, the forest quiet under Sable’s steady lead. The trail bent around a low rise, then leveled out again. Sunlight poured through a gap in the canopy and warmed Grub’s shoulders before the branches swallowed it up. Sable kept them moving at an even pace, nose low, ears flicking to every small sound. The forest stayed quiet.

  Grub walked for a while after finishing his explanation of goblin tribes, letting Orion sit with it. He could feel Orion’s attention lingering, like the human was still turning details over in his mind and fitting them into some larger picture. After a few minutes, Grub spoke again.

  “Alright,” Grub said. “I answered your questions. I told you how goblin tribes work, and how we’re different.” He glanced sideways at Orion. “So it’s your turn again.”

  Orion’s eyes shifted toward him behind the mask. “My turn?.”

  “My turn to ask,” Grub clarified. “Your turn to explain. Tell me about the world outside this forest.”

  Orion let out a quiet breath that might have been amusement. “Fair.” He adjusted his grip on his staff. “How much do you know already? About what’s outside the forest, I mean.”

  Grub didn’t hesitate. “Pretty much zero.”

  That earned him a brief, searching look, then a nod. “Alright,” Orion said. “Then I’ll start from the top.”

  They walked on as Orion spoke, his voice settling into the measured tone of someone used to lecturing.

  “The world is called Edras,” he said. “Most people don’t use the name unless they’re scholars, but that’s what it is. The continent we’re on is called Aurel.”

  Grub listened, committing the names to memory without comment.

  “The largest parts of Aurel are held by the three human kingdoms,” Orion continued. “They aren’t united. They argue, trade, raid, and posture like you’d expect. The whole north of Aurel is the North Wild, which presses against all of them like a wall that refuses to stay quiet. There are two smaller kingdoms as well, with dwarves and elves.”

  He paused briefly, then went on.

  “The largest of the human kingdoms is Valdarin. That's where I was born, and where I live. It sits in the center of the continent. Lots of farms, rivers, and rolling hills. Villages scattered everywhere, connected by roads that are supposed to be protected but often aren’t.”

  “And the capital?” Grub asked, keeping his question simple.

  “High Reach,” Orion replied. “Stone walls, towers, temples. Tens of thousands of people packed into one place. It’s the heart of the kingdom, for better and worse.”

  Grub nodded, picturing it without much trouble.

  “To the west of Valdarin,” Orion said, “is the kingdom of Kharvos. It has vast open plains, tall grass, and wide skies. Their people live very differently. Many of them move with herds of grazing beasts or caravans. Even their settlements feel temporary.”

  “They fight?” Grub asked.

  Orion gave a faint smile. “Constantly. Raiding is tradition to them. Fast strikes by mounted warriors. Valdarin’s western border is always tense because of it. Their mounted army is a constant thorn in Valdarins side.”

  He continued without prompting.

  “Then to the east is Talenor. It is smaller, calmer. They value order, balance, and restraint. Their people follow a spiritual tradition called the Radiant Path. They still have soldiers and walls, but they try diplomacy first whenever they can.”

  Grub absorbed that in silence as they walked.

  “South of the human lands,” Orion went on, “rise the mountains of Khazdumar. That’s the dwarven kingdom. Their cities are carved into the stone beneath the peaks. Vast halls, forges that have burned day and night for hundreds if not thousands of years. Their craftsmanship is unmatched by any other race.”

  “Their kingdom doesn’t touch the forest,” Grub noted.

  “No,” Orion said. “The human kingdoms lie between them and the North Wild. The dwarves are insulated from it, though they still feel its effects through trade and war.”

  “And the elves?” Grub asked after a moment.

  Orion inclined his head. “Selvariel lies to the northeast. A forest kingdom, but not like this one. Their cities are grown rather than built. Magic shapes their trees, bridges, and dwellings. Their borders near the Northwild are watched very closely.”

  “So, they border it too,” Grub said. “Yes,” Orion replied. “And they are very vigilant about it.”

  Grub cocked an eyebrow, but waited until Orion continued on his own.

  “When people outside the forest think of the North Wild,” Orion said, “they think of danger. Monsters. Goblins. A place where civilization ends.”

  Grub’s gaze stayed forward. “And goblins?”

  Orion didn’t hesitate. “In the human kingdoms, goblins are seen as pests. Vermin with weapons.” Grub’s expression didn’t change. “Most humans only ever encounter the southern goblins,” Orion said. “Small packs that are poorly equipped. They have no discipline, no order. They raid farms, kill livestock, maybe a few people, then scatter. Adventurers cut them down for coin and experience. To most villagers, goblins aren’t intelligent creatures capable of thought. They’re just a recurring problem, like a rat infestation that just won't go away.” He glanced at Grub. "No offense."

  Grub just shrugged. “And the northern tribes? How are they viewed?” Grub asked quietly.

  “Not much is known besides folktales and secondhand stories from adventurers. A few scholars have studied and observed, but from a great distance, so details are scarce and hard to verify.” Orion said. “But mostly the tribes of the North Wild are spoken of in hushed whispers and fear. Most humans never meet a true northern tribe and survive. When they do hear about one, it’s usually because a border settlement went silent.”

  Grub nodded once. “And I assume that that fear has a reason.”

  “Yes,” Orion said, his tone growing heavier. “The Nights of Falling Ash.”

  He looked ahead at the trees as he spoke, as if the forest itself was listening.

  “Hundreds of years ago, a massive goblin horde came out of the Northwild. Not raids. Not skirmishes. A unified force. Over a hundred thousand, by some accounts. Villages burned so fast the sky stayed dark with smoke. Ash fell for weeks.”

  Grub’s grip tightened slightly on his staff.

  “They say the shaman who led them wielded unnatural magic,” Orion continued. Sacrifices. Rituals. Things that didn’t behave like normal spells. Humans, elves, and dwarves had to fight together to stop it. Entire regions were devastated, and by the end, tens of thousands lay dead.”

  “And after,” Grub said.

  “After,” Orion replied quietly, “the goblin survivors were driven back into the forest. They were hunted without mercy. Half the forest burned. Tribes were completely eradicated. That memory never faded for the kingdoms. It’s why goblins are killed on sight. Why no one negotiates. Why fear turns into policy.”

  They walked in silence for several steps.

  “So if a goblin leaves the forest and walks into a human town,” Grub said evenly, “it’s not a conversation.”

  “If one even makes it to the walls,” Orion said, "They would be killed immediately.” Grub nodded once, as if confirming something he had already suspected.

  “Good to know,” he said.

  The light shifted as the sun dipped lower, warming into late afternoon gold. The trail ahead grew less distinct, goblin markings and old paths thinning as they pressed on into the north. They walked on, deeper into the North Wild, with the shape of the world beyond the trees now clearer in Grubs head, and far less forgiving than he had hoped. He had to admit to himself that he was not surprised though.

  They kept walking until the light started to thin.

  Orion’s explanation had left a weight in the air between them, not uncomfortable, just… real. The world outside the trees had shape now. Names. Borders. Old scars that still bled into the present.

  Sable didn’t care about any of it. She padded ahead like she owned the trail, broad shoulders rolling under her dark fur, occasionally veering off the path to sniff something and then returning without breaking her pace. The warmth of the sun sat on the forest like a soft blanket. Not hot, but no longer sharp either. The air smelled of damp soil, budding leaves, and last year’s rot.

  As the sun slid lower, the ground began to dip and rise more often. The goblin trail they’d been following grew less defined. Old claw-scratched marks on trunks appeared less frequently, and the little signs Grub’s eyes had learned to notice, scuffed bark, snapped twigs set as markers, the faint press of repeated feet, faded into the wild.

  Orion noticed Grub watching the trees. “The paths get worse up here,” he said.

  “We’re still in old Red Tusk ground,” Grub replied, “but we’re not close to where they liked to walk. The farther north we go, the less this stuff means.”

  Orion glanced toward Sable. “No trouble so far.”

  Grub hummed. "Yeah. For now. We can't rely on her protection forever though.”

  Orion’s eyes tracked Sable for a moment. “True.” He paused a moment before adding, "I have to admit it's convenient though." Grub chuckled. "Very."

  They pressed on, walking until the sky between the branches started turning orange. When the light dimmed to that soft, end-of-day haze, Grub finally lifted a hand.

  “Alright,” he said. “We stop before we stumble into a hole and break our legs.”

  Orion didn’t argue. He looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with simply not being built for this kind of travel. His pace had stayed steady, but his shoulders were stiffer now, and the way he rolled his feet suggested growing soreness.

  They found a shallow bowl in the terrain where thick roots curved up like a natural wall on two sides. Fallen branches lay nearby, dry enough to burn. Sable circled once, sniffing, then trotted off into the brush without waiting for permission.

  Orion watched her disappear.

  He began arranging stones in a ring, careful and methodical. Grub worked faster, slipping into a familiar rhythm. He had done this too many times to treat it like a project. Camp was just something you did.

  By the time the fire was crackling, Sable returned.

  Two rabbits dangled from her jaws, and a squirrel hung limp beside them. She dropped the pile at Grub’s feet like an offering and sat, chest proud, tail still.

  Grub stared at the neat arrangement of dead animals and shook his head. “You’re showing off.”

  Sable’s ears flicked once, and Grub swore he could see a grin on her face.

  Orion’s gaze lingered on the kills. “It really is that easy for her.”

  “For her?” Grub said. “Yeah. For us? It’s a gift.”

  He cleaned the rabbits with his dagger on a flat stone, hands working with practiced speed. He skewered meat on sharpened sticks and held them over the fire. Fat hissed as it dripped into the coals.

  While the meat cooked, Grub stepped a short distance away and returned with a few sprigs of bitter green leaves and a pinch of crushed, fragrant needles from a bush he recognized. He rubbed them between his fingers and sprinkled them lightly over the meat as it browned.

  Orion watched the process with interest. “You season your food?” “It tastes better,” Grub said, like it was obvious. “Also helps keep your stomach from turning on you.”

  Orion hesitated, then said, “You’re certain those aren’t poisonous?” Grub glanced up. “Yeah. I’ve got a skill for plants. Herbal Insight. It’s not perfect, but it’s good enough that I’m not dead.”

  “That is incredibly reassuring,” Orion said dryly.

  Grub handed Orion a cooked rabbit portion when it was done. He tore off a piece for himself and then tossed Sable a thick section of meat from the second rabbit. She caught it cleanly and began eating with slow satisfaction, like she knew she’d earned it.

  Orion took a cautious bite, then blinked. “That is… actually excellent,” he admitted. Grub grinned around his own mouthful. “Told you.”

  They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Night pressed in around the firelight, and the forest beyond their little circle became a wall of dark trunks and rustling leaves.

  When Orion finished his portion, he wiped his hands on his trousers and looked across the flames at Grub. “Alright,” Orion said. “You wanted lessons. We worked on the language spell today. Now we should start on the language, the actual words.”

  Grub’s ears perked up. “Yes, lets.”

  Orion reached into his satchel and pulled out a small, worn notebook. The pages were covered in tight handwriting. He flipped to a section and held it closer to the firelight.

  “We’ll start with basics,” Orion said. “Words you will use constantly. Simple nouns. Common verbs. Phrases for survival.” Grub nodded, visibly focused. Orion began speaking slowly, repeating each word twice. Grub repeated after him, mouth shaping unfamiliar sounds carefully. Some came out clean. Others didn’t.

  Orion corrected him without mockery, tapping the air with two fingers when Grub’s tongue placement was wrong, or when the cadence was off.

  They stayed like that until the fire burned lower and Sable had curled into a loose half-circle near Grub’s side, eyes half-lidded but ears still tracking the dark.

  Eventually Orion closed the notebook. “That’s enough for tonight,” he said. “Your head will start slipping if we push too long.”

  Grub didn’t look satisfied, but he nodded. “Fine. Tomorrow we do more.” Orion’s tone held amusement. “You learn like a starving man eats.”

  Grub shrugged. “It’s useful. So I’m going to take it.”

  They slept.

  Morning came warm and pale, sunlight filtering down in thin ribbons. Sable rose first, stretched, and shook out her coat. Orion looked stiff when he stood, but he hid it behind careful movements and a quiet dignity. Grub noticed, and told Orion he would return in just a few moments. He moved into the forest with Sable, searching out specific roots and herbs.

  When he returned, he made a small fire, then heated water carefully in his waterskin before adding in the herbs and small chunks of a root. When he was done, he handed it to Orion. "Drink." Orion looked skeptically at the proffered skin. "What is it?" "It's a remedy I found for stiff joints and aching muscles. Drink you'll feel better."

  When Orion didn't take the skin, Grub rolled his eyes and took a large swig. It was bitter, but he managed to not let it show on his face. He offered the skin once more. "If I wanted to poison or kill you, you'd be dead already," he said. "That's... a fair point," Orion conceded. He took the skin and took a cautious sip, his face scrunching up when he got a taste. "I know. Tastes bad, but it works. Trust me."

  Orion looked at Grub for a moment, as if searching for something. Then he shrugged and downed the whole skin. He shuddered for a moment, his whole body convulsing for a second. "Oof. That's... interesting," Orion said. Grub laughed, but dug in one of his pouches and tossed Orion a strip of dried meat. "Here, to get the taste out of your mouth," he said. Orion gratefully caught the strip and bit into it. He nodded in thanks.

  They broke camp quickly after that, and continued north.

  The second day passed without anything trying to kill them.

  No foxes shadowing the trail. No wolves circling. No pumas watching from branches. Nothing challenged Sable’s claim over the woods around them. The forest felt watchful, but it stayed at a distance.

  As they walked, Orion kept drilling vocabulary into Grub in steady doses. Names of body parts. Directions. Numbers. Food. Threats. Tools. Grub absorbed it with relentless intensity, repeating phrases under his breath between steps like a chant.

  After about an hour, Orion stopped suddenly. "What?" Grub asked him. "I feel... fine?" Orion tilted his head as if confused, and lifted his legs one at a time, as if discovering them all over again. "Yeah...? And that's a problem because....?" Grub offered. "Because before I was aching," Orion responded. "That little tonic you gave me worked well, and I barely noticed." "You're welcome." Grub laughed and continued walking after Sable. Orion grinned and hurried to catch up.

  Between the human speech lessons, Orion continued working him through the spell. He told Grub its name. Tongues.

  Every half hour Orion recast it, and every half hour Grub tried again multiple times.

  He traced the sigil in the air. He matched Orion’s cadence. He imagined the “bridge” Orion described, the subtle alignment of meaning, the way the spell was supposed to connect intent instead of sound.

  He failed.

  Over and over.

  But the failures changed.

  At first the sigil collapsed immediately, like smoke. Later it held for a heartbeat before twisting apart. Later still it hummed, almost stable, and then snapped like a strand pulled too tight.

  Orion noticed. “Your structure is improving,” he said around midday. “You are very close.”

  “I’m very close to being annoyed,” Grub muttered, and then tried again.

  Orion snorted. “That too.”

  They continued marching north through warm spring air, the forest thick and green around them. Old Red Tusk markings became increasingly rare now. Goblin paths had long since faded into guesswork. Grub found himself relying more on instinct and terrain than on any familiar sign.

  By late afternoon, the light was slanting again. Orion’s pace had slowed slightly, exhaustion finally catching him at the edges. Sable kept her steady, uncomplaining walk, but Grub could feel her impatience in the way her tail swayed.

  Grub tried the spell again.

  He traced the sigil.

  He spoke the words.

  He pushed mana in the pattern Orion had shown him.

  For a second, nothing happened. Then he felt it. The familiar feeling of the spell falling over him.

  Then a faint chime rang in Grub’s head, crisp and unmistakable.

  At the same time, a small notification appeared in the lower right corner of his vision.

  Grub’s steps stuttered. His eyes flicked down.

  Orion noticed immediately. "You did it?”

  Grub didn’t answer right away. He focused on the notification and opened it.

  A clean System prompt appeared.

  [New Spell Acquired: Tongues.]

  Grub’s mouth parted slightly. Orion slowed, watching him. “You did it,” he said, certainty in his voice. Grub nodded absently and opened the spell description.

  [Tongues: Tier 1 - Level 1 - 0%

  Use magic to create a bridge with nearby creatures. For the duration of the spell, you and target creatures may converse as if you speak the same language.

  Range: 30ft

  Cost: 10 Mana

  Duration: 15 minutes]

  Grub read it once, then again, then looked up at Orion. “My spell only lasts fifteen minutes,” Grub said, frowning. “Yours lasts thirty.”

  Orion’s eyes crinkled slightly behind the mask, a smile. “Because mine is at Tier 2.”

  Grub blinked. “That makes sense.”

  “Yeah,” Orion said. “Moving to the next Tier doesn't always change your spell. It can affect refinement. Efficiency. Duration, sometimes. My Tongues lasts longer and likely costs less mana than yours. You’ll get there if you keep leveling it.”

  Grub stared at the description again, then shrugged. “Fine. Fifteen minutes is still fifteen minutes.” Orion let out a short laugh. “Most people would be celebrating.” “I am, on the inside,” Grub said. “I’m just also planning.”

  He cast the spell again immediately, like he needed to prove it wasn’t a fluke. The familiar shimmer settled over them. Orion’s words felt slightly clearer, slightly sharper, the way they always did when he held the bridge.

  Orion shook his head, impressed despite himself. “You really are relentless.” Grub grinned. “I don’t like wasting time.”

  They kept walking until the light began to fade.

  Grub recast Tongues as soon as it dropped. Then again. And again. He watched his mana, paced himself, but he refused to let the spell sit unused now that he finally had it.

  Near the end of the day, the chime came again, softer this time, like a small acknowledgment rather than a breakthrough.

  Grub didn’t stop walking when he opened the prompt.

  [Level Up! Tongues has increased to Level 2.]

  He closed it and kept moving, but couldn't stop the smile from spreading. Orion noticed and made a quiet sound of disbelief. “You leveled it already.”

  Grub shrugged. “I used it. A lot.”

  “That is not how most people do magic,” Orion said flatly. “Most people aren’t me,” Grub replied.

  By the time the sky turned orange behind the trees, they found another place to camp, this one closer to a rocky rise where the ground was drier. Sable vanished into the brush without hesitation.

  Orion began setting stones again. Grub gathered wood and used a quick spark to coax the fire to life.

  Sable returned before the flames were steady.

  This time it was a rabbit and a fat, unfamiliar rodent-like creature with coarse fur and a thick body. Sable dropped them both and looked at Grub expectantly.

  Orion’s brows rose slightly. “She just… brings dinner back. I could get used to this.”

  Grub accepted the kills, then tossed Sable a strip of dried meat as a reward while he worked. “She likes earning it.”

  Orion watched Sable chew contentedly. “Traveling with a hunter like that is absurdly convenient.” “It is,” Grub agreed. “I’m not complaining.”

  He cooked the meat, added herbs again, and made sure Sable got her share first. Only then did he and Orion eat.

  The firelight flickered over their faces, one green and intent, the other hidden behind bone.

  As they finished, Grub stared into the dark beyond the flames and spoke quietly.

  “We’re getting close,” he said. Orion looked up. “Close to what?” “To the farthest I’ve ever gone north,” Grub replied. “Even with the tribe, even when we were pushing territory, I didn’t go much farther than this. Red Tusk ground is ending. The markings are gone. The paths are fading.” He glanced toward the trees. “Tomorrow, we’re stepping into new territory.”

  Orion’s posture tightened just slightly. “And you don’t know what’s out there.”

  “No,” Grub said. “Not a clue.”

  Sable chewed her meat with slow satisfaction, unbothered.

  Grub continued, voice steady. “So tomorrow we pay attention. More than we have so far. If the forest has been quiet because Sable scares off the usual predators, that doesn’t mean everything out there is normal.”

  Orion nodded once. “More vigilant.”

  Grub met his gaze across the fire. “More vigilant.”

  The flames crackled. The night deepened. And beyond the edge of their campfire light, the North Wild waited, patient as ever, for them to take one more step too far.