“They are building siege weapons.”

  Arin’s voice echoed through the chamber, sharper than he intended.

  “At the very least—ladders and siege towers,” he added, forcing the words out again, slower this time. “That is what we observed.”

  The reaction was immediate.

  Not outrage.

  Not denial.

  Fear.

  For the first time since the meeting had begun, the carefully maintained composure of the council fractured. Generals shifted in their seats. Pens were spun, tapped, dropped, then picked up again. A few officers leaned toward one another, whispering behind raised hands, while others stared straight ahead, expressions rigid with forced calm.

  They were trained for this—trained to hide uncertainty behind discipline and dignity. But even the best masks slipped when struck in the right place.

  And this… this struck deep.

  Because the truth Arin had spoken clawed directly at the unspoken foundation of their strategy.

  The goblins were dangerous, yes—but only because humanity had been caught unprepared.

  That was the belief.

  Once fortresses were built. Once supply lines stabilized. Once humanity had time to grow, adapt, and shed the comforts of the old world—numbers would no longer matter. The bridge chokepoints alone would render the goblins’ hordes meaningless. Let them pile up. Let them fall into the abyss below. Let ten thousand corpses become stepping stones for a hundred survivors—statistics would always favor humanity behind stone walls and steel gates.

  That was the plan.

  And now, a group of exhausted teenagers—survivors of what had effectively been a suicide mission—stood before them and said:

  That plan will not work.

  Because the goblins were learning.

  Because the goblins were building.

  Because the goblins were adapting.

  A lie would have been easier to swallow.

  A general from Bolivia slammed his hand against the table and rose halfway from his seat.

  “This is absurd!” he barked, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “What evidence do you have? Why should we believe a single word of this?”

  His eyes burned as they locked onto Arin.

  “And how,” he continued, nearly shouting now, “would goblins even acquire such knowledge? They are beasts! Numbers, not minds!”

  The room held its breath.

  Arin felt something inside him snap.

  He hadn’t slept properly in nearly two weeks. Cold ground. No sleeping bags. Constant movement. Constant fear. Watching friends die—sometimes twice. Hearing their screams echo in his head long after the fighting stopped.

  And now this man—this polished, well-fed man—was calling it absurd.

  Calling his dead friends liars.

  Calling their suffering a misunderstanding.

  Arin laughed once.

  It was sharp. Humorless.

  “Evidence?” he said, his voice low, dangerous. “No. I don’t have evidence I can hand you neatly wrapped in a report.”

  He took a step forward.

  “But you can send scouts. You can verify it yourself.”

  His gaze hardened.

  “As for why you should believe us?” he continued. “That’s your problem. I was under direct orders from Marshal Herman to scout a location. I was supposed to report to him first—he decides what reaches this council.”

  Several heads turned toward Herman.

  Arin didn’t stop.

  “And how they acquired that knowledge?” His lips curled. “They have a shop, you idiot.”

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  The word landed like a hammer.

  A collective gasp rippled through the chamber.

  “Wake up,” Arin snapped, his voice rising. “The Trail isn’t going to hand you victory on a silver platter while you hide behind walls and congratulate yourselves!”

  His hands trembled, but he didn’t care.

  “The goblins are acting suspiciously. They are preparing something. And you’re sitting here doing nothing—telling yourselves that if you just wait long enough, the fortress will save you!”

  His voice cracked.

  “Stop underestimating them!”

  Silence crashed down like a guillotine.

  Arin realized, belatedly, what he had just done.

  He had insulted a general.

  In public.

  In front of the entire world.

  He sat down heavily, his heart pounding so loudly he could barely hear his own thoughts.

  That was dumb, he thought numbly. I’m dead.

  Across the table, the Bolivian general’s face twisted—first with shock, then with rage. His hands clenched. His chair scraped backward.

  It was easy to imagine what would come next.

  Court-martial.

  Punishment.

  An example made.

  And then—

  Laughter.

  Loud. Unrestrained. Impossible to miss.

  Marshal Herman threw his head back and laughed openly, the sound booming through the stunned chamber. And if one looked closely—very closely—he was not the only one smiling. Some hid it behind hands. Others behind coughing fits or lowered gazes.

  Herman rose slowly.

  “Yes,” he said, still chuckling. “He’s right.”

  The room froze.

  “We have been cowardly,” Herman continued calmly. “Sitting here will not win us the Trail. Believing otherwise is idiotic.”

  The Bolivian general stiffened.

  “I would rather believe the report of soldiers who gain nothing from lying,” Herman went on, “especially when their claims are entirely verifiable.”

  He turned toward Arin.

  “You have had a long month,” Herman said evenly. “You are relieved.”

  He looked to Xian Mu.

  The chairman studied Arin for a long moment—then nodded.

  “We have heard enough,” Xian Mu said. “You have done your duty. On behalf of the council, thank you for your service.”

  He gestured toward Tian.

  “Escort them out.”

  The doors closed behind them with a heavy thud.

  Only then did Arin’s knees give out.

  He slumped forward, burying his face in his hands.

  “…Well,” he muttered, voice muffled. “That was incredibly stupid. I’m screwed.”

  “Yeah,” Bertho said, patting his back. “Not your brightest moment.”

  A pause.

  “But it needed to be said.”

  Arin let out a shaky breath.

  “Thanks,” he said quietly. “Let’s eat. Proper food. And maybe ask around about that scientist.”

  Tian laughed softly. “So you had to eat that too?”

  Arin groaned.

  “The test group didn’t fare much better,” Tian added. “But the scientist’s name is classified. For their protection.”

  He smiled knowingly.

  “And don’t worry. You helped us more than you realize.”

  Arin was too hungry to ask what that meant.

  Far away.

  Beyond space.

  Beyond logic.

  Something stirred.

  In the void beside the system bound to the human race, a faint glow pulsed—drawing in strange, unknowable energy. For a brief moment, something ancient strained against invisible restraints.

  Then the shackles tightened.

  And the light faded.

  For now.