The air was thick with tension. Despite the patrols and extra precautions, the camp remained on edge. Leav could sense it—the way the goblins moved, the way their hands hovered near their weapons, the restless glances exchanged in the dim torchlight. The unknown figures in the eastern woods had unsettled them all.
Leav stood near the center of the camp, arms crossed as he watched the flickering flames of the main fire. He had given clear instructions—no unnecessary fights, no reckless movements. But the unease in his warriors was dangerous in itself. Fear could break them before a single enemy blade was drawn.
Footsteps approached, quick but controlled. Trek.
"Frot's back," Trek reported, his expression unreadable. "He wants to speak with you immediately."
Leav nodded and followed.
[Frot POV]
Frot was waiting near the edge of the camp, his expression a mixture of calculation and something close to excitement.
"They're getting closer," he said the moment Leav arrived. "I saw fresh tracks—deeper imprints. That means they've stopped moving carefully. Either they think we're no threat, or they're planning something."
Leav exhaled slowly. "How many?"
"Hard to say," Frot admitted. "But if they were scouting before, they're advancing now. I'd guess at least a dozen, maybe more."
Leav's grip tightened on his sword. This was no longer a mere encounter in the wild. If the figures were testing them, then it wouldn't be long before the test became an attack.
"Tell the warriors to be ready," Leav said. "I want shields at the perimeter and guards in shifts through the night. We don't attack first, but if they come for us…" His voice hardened. "We don't hold back."
Frot grinned. "That's more like it."
[Weal POV]
Weal perched atop one of the makeshift wooden barricades, sharpening a dagger against a whetstone. She listened to the sounds of the camp—low murmurs, the occasional snap of wood, the shifting of armor. The others were preparing for a fight, but she wasn't convinced it was the right approach.
Magic. That word kept coming up in whispers, especially since Trek's strange experiments had begun. If the creatures from the east really did have magic, then steel alone wouldn't be enough.
She glanced down as Trek approached, looking distracted as always.
"Have you figured it out yet?" she asked.
Trek frowned. "Figured what out?"
"How to do something useful with your little experiments," she said, smirking.
Trek sighed. "I need more time."
"Time might not be something we have," Weal muttered. "If we go up against magic-wielders with nothing but crude blades, we won't last long."
Trek didn't argue. Instead, he exhaled sharply and turned away. "Then I'd better figure it out fast."
Weal watched him go, shaking her head. Whatever was coming, she had a feeling it would change everything.
[Leav POV]
Night fell, and the camp was silent. Goblins stood watch in shifts, eyes scanning the darkness beyond their torches. Leav sat at the center, waiting.
Then, movement.
A faint rustle in the distance. A shadow flitting between trees.
Leav's eyes sharpened. They were here.
He stood slowly, signaling to Frot, who nodded and melted into the shadows. Trek stood nearby, tense. Weal was already gripping a blade.
Then—silence.
The figures had stopped.
Leav narrowed his eyes. Were they waiting? Watching?
A voice, soft and unfamiliar, drifted through the night. "We see you, goblin."
Leav's heart pounded. It was the first time these beings had spoken.
He stepped forward. "Then step into the light and face us."
Silence.
Then, laughter. Low and chilling.
"You are not ready," the voice whispered. "Not yet."
And just like that, the presence was gone.
Leav stood frozen for a long moment before turning to his warriors. "Stay ready. This isn't over."
Whatever these beings were, they weren't just passing travelers.
And they were watching.