The forest had become Ren's home, but tonight it felt like a cage. Every shadow seemed to press closer, every whisper of wind a warning. He moved silently through the goblin camp, his form shifting with the moss and moonlight, the weight of his secret growing heavier with each passing hour.
The goblins had accepted him, if not as one of their own, then as something useful—a spirit of the woods, a lucky omen, or perhaps just a monster that was on their side. He had become a fixture at the fireside, mimicking goblin jokes and stories, helping with hunts, and using his skills to hide the camp from prying eyes. The children, once terrified, now followed him with awe, daring each other to touch his shifting, shimmering surface.
But Ren's mind was not at ease. He remembered the humans he'd seen in the woods, their weapons gleaming, their faces set with grim determination. He remembered the words he'd overheard—no survivors. The memory haunted him, a cold echo that would not fade.
He watched the goblins prepare for the night. Grik, the scarred leader, barked orders as warriors checked their spears and knives. The older goblins whispered warnings to the young, who listened with wide, solemn eyes. The air was thick with tension, the scent of fear sharp and metallic.
Ren drifted to the edge of the camp, letting the night swallow him. He needed space to think, to breathe. He slid beneath a fallen log, the earth cool and damp against his body. He closed his senses, reaching inward, searching for answers.
The system interface flickered to life, its glow soft and insistent.
Skill Points Available: 3
New Skills Unlocked: Diplomatic Gesture (Lv.1), Enhanced Mimicry (Lv.1), Poison Resistance (Lv.1)
He stared at the choices, feeling the old ache of indecision. Could he really bridge the gap between monster and man? Could he use his skills for peace, or was survival only possible through violence?
He remembered his human life—brief flashes of laughter, warmth, and belonging. But he also remembered the loneliness, the fear, the pain of being hunted. The goblins had given him a place, a purpose. They were not heroes, but they were his tribe.
A twig snapped nearby. Ren's senses sharpened, every nerve on edge. He melted into the moss, watching as Grik approached, his silhouette broad and hunched.
"You worry," Grik said, his voice low. "You see danger?"
Ren hesitated, then nodded. "Humans. Close. Many."
Grik grunted. "We fight. We hide. We live. Always the same."
Ren tried to speak, to suggest another way, but the words caught in his throat. He envied Grik's certainty, his refusal to doubt. But Ren was not a goblin, not really. He was something in between—a shadow caught between two worlds.
The night deepened. The goblins gathered around the fire, sharpening weapons and muttering prayers. Ren watched from the edge, torn by fear and loyalty. He wanted to protect them, but he also feared what that protection might cost.
He slipped away, moving through the trees, senses stretched to their limit. The forest was alive with movement—rabbits darting through the undergrowth, owls gliding silently overhead. But beneath it all, he felt another presence—cold, deliberate, and human.
He found them in a clearing, their camp a rough circle of tents and firelight. Four humans, just as before: three men and a young woman, all armed and armored. They spoke in low voices, their words sharp and urgent.
"Tracks everywhere," one man said. "Goblins are close. We strike at dawn."
The woman nodded, her bow resting across her knees. "Orders are clear. No survivors."
Ren felt a chill run through his core. He wanted to speak, to plead for mercy, but he knew the risk. To them, he was just another monster.
He watched as the humans checked their weapons, their faces hard with resolve. He remembered being like them—afraid, desperate, willing to do anything to survive. He wondered if he could still understand them, if there was any part of him that belonged to their world.
He slipped back through the woods, his mind racing. He could warn the goblins, help them escape or fight. Or he could try to speak to the humans, to explain, to beg for understanding.
He reached the camp just as the goblins finished their preparations. Grik met him at the edge, eyes narrow.
"They come?" Grik asked.
Ren nodded. "Dawn. They attack."
Grik bared his teeth in a grim smile. "Then we fight. We show them goblins not weak."
The tribe gathered, warriors bristling with weapons, children and elders huddled in the shadows. Ren watched, feeling the weight of their trust. He was their secret weapon, their hope. But he was also afraid—afraid of what he might become if he chose violence, afraid of what he might lose if he chose peace.
He spent the rest of the night on the outskirts, watching the human camp, memorizing their routines. He practiced his mimicry, imitating their voices, their gestures. He wondered if he could fool them, if he could buy the goblins time to escape.
As the first light of dawn crept through the trees, Ren felt the tension in the air sharpen. The humans moved with purpose, weapons drawn, faces set. The goblins crouched in the shadows, ready to strike or flee.
Ren stood at the edge of the clearing, caught between two worlds. He could feel the system pulsing at the edge of his awareness, offering power, offering choice.
He thought of Grik and the tribe, of their rough kindness and fierce loyalty. He thought of the humans, of the fear and hatred in their eyes.
He knew he had to choose.
The humans entered the clearing, blades gleaming. The goblins tensed, ready to spring.
Ren hesitated, every instinct screaming at him to act.
And then, from the darkness behind the humans, a new figure emerged—a tall, hooded mage, eyes burning with arcane light.
"You will not harm them," the mage intoned, voice ringing with power.
The humans spun, startled. The goblins froze, fear and confusion rippling through their ranks.
Ren stared, heart pounding. The mage raised a staff, the ground trembling beneath his feet.
The first spell exploded in a shower of light, and the world erupted into chaos.
Ren's decision—his place in this war—would have to wait.