I left.
Looking back now, I can see how simple the choice was—how inevitable. But in that moment, curled up in my corner with my face still bleeding, it felt like the hardest thing I'd ever done.
The numbness lasted until the sun went down. Then my stomach woke up again—cramping, twisting, demanding. The others had scattered after the feeding. Some slept in clusters near the back of the cave. Others had gone out to hunt or scavenge or do whatever it was they did when they weren't beating me.
I sat in my corner and pressed my hands against my belly. It didn't help. Nothing helped. The hunger was a living thing inside me, clawing at my insides the way the others clawed at my face.
I could wait for tomorrow. Wait for the beating. Wait to be shoved away from the food again. Wait to curl up and watch and feel nothing.
Or I could go.
My legs were moving before I finished the thought.
The cave entrance yawned open ahead—a mouth of deeper darkness leading away from the dim light of our den. I'd never gone out alone before. I wasn't supposed to. Young goblins stayed in the cave while the adults hunted. We were fed. We were kept. We waited until we were strong enough to fend for ourselves.
But I wasn't strong enough. I never would be.
And I wasn't going to eat here. Not tomorrow. Not ever.
I stepped into the passage.
The walls pressed close on either side. My claws scraped against stone as I felt my way forward. The air changed—cooler, damper, carrying smells I didn't recognize. Earth and rot and something else. Something that made my mouth water even though I had no idea what it was.
Food. Had to be food.
I moved faster. My feet stumbled over loose rocks. My shoulder slammed into the wall and I bounced off, kept going. The passage twisted. Branched. I took the path that smelled strongest—following my nose the way I'd always followed it, the way every goblin did.
Hunger makes you stupid.
I didn't know yet that other things lived in the dark. Didn't know they hunted. Didn't know that a two-month-old goblin who'd never left the cave was walking straight into territory where he was the smallest, easiest prey. Looking back now, I can see how obvious it should have been—but I was too young and too desperate to see anything except that smell.
My stomach was screaming and my head was empty and all I could think about was meat.
Meat. Fresh meat. Close.
I rounded a corner and the passage opened into a wider chamber. Moonlight filtered down through cracks in the ceiling—thin silver lines cutting through the black. And there, in the center of the chamber, was a dead rabbit.
Just lying there. Untouched.
My legs carried me forward. I didn't think. Didn't question why a rabbit would be down here, alone, perfectly placed in a pool of moonlight like an offering.
I reached for it.
Light exploded around me.
Not moonlight. This was different—blue and cold and wrong. It wrapped around my body like rope, tightening, burning where it touched my skin. I screamed and tried to pull away but the light held me. Lifted me. My feet left the ground and I thrashed, clawing at nothing, at air, at the light itself.
"A goblin? And a young one at that."
The voice came from the shadows. Calm. Curious. Not goblin.
A figure stepped into the moonlight—tall, impossibly tall, wrapped in dark robes that dragged across the stone floor. His face was pale. Smooth. His eyes caught the blue light and threw it back at me.
Human.
The word hit me like a second trap. Weeks ago, they'd come to the cave—humans with fire and metal and that same blue light. The strong ones had fought them. Some didn't come back. The tribe had huddled in the deeper dark, and the word had passed through us like poison: human. Danger. Death. Run.
I'd never seen one before. Only heard the fear in Gor's voice when he spoke of them. Only felt the tribe's terror when they sealed off the upper passages.
Now one stood in front of me.
I couldn't run. Couldn't even move.
The human walked closer. He tilted his head, studying me the way I'd watched the others fight over food. Like I was meat. Something to satisfy him.
"So young," he muttered, more to himself than to me. "Core barely developed. It might take better this way—less established pattern to fight against." He reached up and touched the light binding me. It pulsed brighter, and I screamed again. "Yes. You'll do nicely."
He made a gesture with his hand, and the world lurched sideways. The chamber spun. My vision blurred—moonlight and blue light and darkness all mixing together until I couldn't tell which way was up.
Then everything went black.
When I woke, I was in a cage.