Sleep had not come easily to me, and that was to be expected, but I had eventually forced myself to rest instead of spending even more of the limited time I had scribbling in my notebook. It was a trait that I was quickly learning to be a very dangerous habit, especially when I was crunched for time. I had a near never-ending urge to write in that notebook, and with the upcoming weeks, I would certainly be filling up dozens upon dozens of pages of information.
One of the few things that I had started to notice was that writing things in that notebook made my already prestigious memory become nearly photographic. It depended on detail, of course, but the more detailed a topic was, the easier it would be to remember. The correlation was undeniable—every entry I made seemed to crystallize in my mind with perfect clarity, as if the physical act of writing somehow carved the information directly into my brain's architecture.
But that was something I had to investigate another day, when I didn't have dozens of threats to my burgeoning kingdom already pressing against my consciousness like a constant, low-grade migraine.
I rose to my full height, making sure not to wake Lia from her overly comfortable sleeping position curled against my side. The little bugger was quickly gaining a habit of predicting my very stupid actions, and more importantly, the results of them. She was more persuasive than Elara, and both of them together could probably stop me from doing anything remotely resembling tactical stupidity. Which, given my recent track record, was probably for the best.
The sound of Lyra's voice flowing over the entire Grotto was what everyone had begun to use as an alarm of sorts, and I could hear her melodic tones now, carrying the gentle authority of dawn across our small but growing domain. Her ethereal voice had an almost supernatural quality that seemed to penetrate every corner of our cave system, reaching even the deepest workshops where Leo's hammer rang against heated metal and Maria's careful hands shaped wood into useful forms.
"Rise, children of the Grotto," Lyra's voice sang through the morning air, each word carrying the weight of divine authority that still made my skin crawl with unease. "The MourningLord's light touches the world anew, and there is work to be done."
I stretched, feeling the familiar ache in my shoulders from sleeping on stone, no matter how many furs we piled beneath us. The Rune of Unraveling throbbed with a dull, persistent pain where it had carved itself into my flesh, a constant reminder of the price I'd paid for power. Each use of that cursed ability left me with what the System called a "Soul-Scar," and I could feel the accumulated damage like a weight pressing against my very essence.
Lia stirred beside me, her small green fingers unconsciously grasping at where I had been lying. Even in sleep, she sought the comfort of my presence, and I felt that familiar tightness in my chest that I was beginning to recognize as parental affection. The little goblin had become far more than just another member of our settlement—she had become my anchor, my reminder that there was still goodness worth fighting for in this brutal world.
"Papa?" she mumbled, using the word that never failed to make my heart skip a beat. "Is it time for the big talk?"
"How did you—" I started, then caught myself. Of course she knew. The child had an uncanny ability to read the currents of tension and anticipation that flowed through our small community. "Yes, little one. It's time for the big talk."
She sat up, rubbing sleep from her large, expressive eyes. "The one where you tell everyone about the scary city and all the people trapped there?"
I nodded, marveling once again at her perceptiveness. "That's right. We need to discuss what comes next for our people."
"And Uncle Gnar will get angry, and Uncle Samuel will want to pray about it, and Mama Elara will tell you it's dangerous but agree anyway because she thinks you're right," Lia continued with the matter-of-fact tone that only children could manage when discussing complex political situations.
"You've been listening to adult conversations again, haven't you?" I asked, though there was no real censure in my voice. In a settlement this size, privacy was a luxury none of us could afford, and Lia's intelligence made it impossible to shield her from the realities we faced.
She grinned, showing her small, sharp teeth. "I'm very quiet when I want to be."
That was an understatement. The child had already demonstrated a natural talent for stealth that would make a Rogue weep with envy. Combined with her size and the fact that most adults automatically discounted children from important conversations, she had become an inadvertent intelligence network unto herself.
I stood fully, my bare feet finding purchase on the cool stone floor of our private alcove. The Grotto had grown considerably since our early days, expanded through a combination of Settlement Points and good old-fashioned manual labor. What had started as a single defensible cave had become a complex network of chambers, workshops, and living spaces that could comfortably house our growing population.
The main common area buzzed with the quiet efficiency of people who had found their rhythm. Leo's forge glowed with steady heat, the carefully constructed chimney system drawing smoke up and out through concealed vents that Elara had personally scouted to ensure they wouldn't give away our position. Maria worked at her expanded carpentry station, the smell of fresh-cut wood mixing with the more practical odors of cooking food and working bodies.
Samuel knelt in his small chapel, the consecrated ground glowing with a faint, warm light that spoke of divine favor. His morning prayers had become a cornerstone of our daily routine, and I could see several of the newer residents—former captives from Grul's camp—gathering around him with the desperate faith of people who had seen too much darkness.
The Hobgoblins moved through the space with military precision, their transformation from chaotic goblins to disciplined soldiers still occasionally catching me off guard. Gnar stood at the mouth of the main tunnel, his single eye scanning the forest beyond with the paranoid vigilance that had kept him alive through decades of violence. His massive frame filled the entrance, a living statement of defiance against any who might threaten our sanctuary.
But it was Elara who commanded my attention as she emerged from the shadows near the armory, her captain's bearing evident in every line of her body. She had been awake for hours, I realized, probably checking perimeters and reviewing security protocols. The woman never truly slept—she merely took tactical naps between bouts of protective vigilance.
Our eyes met across the common area, and I saw the question there. Today. The conversation we'd been building toward since Althea's arrival. The decision that would determine whether we remained a small, safe haven or became something larger, more dangerous, and infinitely more important.
I nodded slightly, and she inclined her head in acknowledgment. Without a word, she began moving through the Grotto, gathering our council members with the subtle efficiency of someone who understood exactly how to manage personalities and logistics.
"Lia," I said, turning back to my adopted daughter, "I need you to stay close today, but not too close. Can you do that for me?"
She tilted her head, considering. "You want me where I can hear but where the grown-ups will forget I'm listening."
"Exactly." I knelt down to her level, placing my hands on her small shoulders. "This conversation is going to determine the future of everyone we care about. I need to know that someone I trust completely is paying attention, in case I miss something important."
Her chest puffed out with pride at being given such a crucial responsibility. "I won't let you down, Papa."
"I know you won't."
Within minutes, Elara had efficiently assembled our leadership council in the largest chamber of the Grotto. The space had been carved out specifically for these kinds of gatherings, with stone benches arranged in a rough circle around a central fire pit. Runic sconces provided steady light, their soft glow reflecting off the polished stone walls that had been shaped through a combination of Settlement Points and careful manual work.
Leo arrived first, still wiping sweat from his brow and carrying the smell of hot metal with him. His transformation from a terrified survivor to master craftsman had been remarkable to witness. The man had found his calling in the forge, and the confidence that came with being genuinely useful had straightened his shoulders and steadied his hands.
Maria followed close behind, wood shavings still clinging to her apron. Where Leo had found confidence in strength and heat, Maria had discovered a more subtle mastery in the patient work of shaping living wood into tools and furniture that made our harsh existence more bearable. Together, they represented the industrial backbone of our growing settlement.
Samuel entered with the measured pace of someone accustomed to being the moral center of any gathering. His faith had been tested in fire and emerged stronger, more practical, less naive but somehow more genuine. The man who had once frozen in terror at the sight of goblins now commanded enough divine favor to perform miracles that would have been considered impossible just weeks ago.
Torvin stomped in with his characteristic lack of subtlety, the former Berserker's massive frame making even our expanded chamber feel cramped. His rescue from Grul's camp had been a stroke of fortune—we needed someone who understood violence on a visceral level but could also follow orders without question. His loyalty had been earned through blood and shared suffering, making it as solid as the stone walls around us.
Gnar arrived last, because of course he did. The Hobgoblin War-Chief had a politician's instinct for dramatic timing, and his entrance served as a reminder of exactly how much our little settlement had changed. Six weeks ago, the idea of a goblin sitting on my council would have been unthinkable. Now, I trusted his tactical judgment more than most humans I'd known my entire life.
"Silas sends his apologies," Elara reported as she took her place at my right hand. "Someone needs to maintain watch protocols while we're all gathered."
I nodded. The grizzled former soldier had volunteered for the role of perimeter security, and his paranoid attention to detail had already saved us from three potential ambushes by wandering monsters. His absence was felt, but his vigilance was more valuable than his council.
"Before we begin," I said, my voice carrying to every corner of the chamber, "I want everyone to understand that what we discuss here today will determine the next phase of our existence. We've built something remarkable in the Grotto—a safe haven, a functioning community, a place where humans and goblins can work together toward common goals."
I paused, letting my gaze sweep across each face in turn. Leo and Maria sat close together, their relationship having blossomed from shared hardship into something deeper. Samuel held his holy symbol loosely in his hands, not as a shield against fear but as a connection to divine purpose. Torvin's scarred features showed the patient attention of a man who had learned to think before acting. Gnar's single eye fixed on me with the intensity of someone whose loyalty had been earned through shared violence and mutual respect.
"But safety and comfort were never our ultimate goals," I continued. "They were stepping stones to something larger. We've proven that cooperation between species is possible. We've demonstrated that the System's mechanics can be leveraged to create genuine improvement in people's lives. We've shown that faith, properly channeled, can call down divine intervention in our darkest moments."
Lia had positioned herself in the shadows near the entrance, exactly where I'd suggested but somehow managing to be even less noticeable than I'd expected. Her presence provided a strange comfort—knowing that someone with her uncanny intuition was listening for details I might miss.
"The question before us now," I said, "is whether we're content to remain a single, safe settlement, or whether we're ready to take on the larger challenges that face humanity in this world."
Leo shifted uncomfortably. "What kind of larger challenges?"
"The Goblin City," I said simply, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.
Maria's hand found Leo's arm. "Kale, we've talked about this. That place is a death trap. Hundreds of goblins, dark magic, human sacrifices—"
"Hundreds of human captives," I corrected firmly. "Our people. Survivors who have been suffering in chains while we've been building our comfortable home. Men and women and children who wake up every day in cages, wondering if today will be the day they're tortured to death for someone else's entertainment."
Samuel's grip tightened on his holy symbol. "The suffering of innocents is an affront to divine justice," he said quietly. "Lathander's light cannot shine fully while such darkness persists."
"Exactly," I said, seizing on his support. "But this isn't about rushing in with swords and righteous fury. This is about building something large enough and strong enough to actually make a difference."
I stood, beginning to pace as my mind organized the strategic framework I'd been developing. "Our current population is what—thirty-seven people? Counting the Hobgoblins, counting everyone. That's not an army. That's barely enough to defend what we already have."
"So what are you proposing?" Elara asked, though I could tell from her tone that she already knew.
"Expansion. Aggressive recruitment. We use Corvus to scout for more survivor groups—not just close by, but ranging out in all directions. We find them, we rescue them, we integrate them into our growing civilization."
Torvin grunted his approval. "More people means more hands, more skills, more fighters."
"More mouths to feed," Leo pointed out. "More space needed, more resources consumed."
"Also more farmers to grow food, more crafters to make tools, more everything," I countered. "The System rewards growth, Leo. Every person we add to our settlement increases our Settlement Point generation, unlocks new building options, opens up advancement paths we can't even see yet."
I pulled out my notebook, flipping to the pages where I'd sketched out population projections and resource calculations. "Right now, we're sustainable but stagnant. We can maintain what we have indefinitely, but we can't grow beyond our current limitations without external input."
"And the second part?" Gnar asked in his gravelly voice. "You spoke of two paths."
I took a deep breath. This was where things got complicated. "We need allies who understand the local terrain, the local threats, the local opportunities. We need partners who can match our military capabilities while bringing different strengths to the table."
"More goblin tribes," Maria said flatly.
"Reformed goblin tribes," I corrected. "Groups like the Gutter-Guard were before their evolution. Outcasts, exiles, tribes that have been brutalized by the stronger groups and would welcome the chance for genuine improvement."
Samuel leaned forward. "You're talking about creating an army."
"I'm talking about creating a coalition," I said firmly. "Multiple settlements, multiple species, all working toward the same goals. Mutual defense, shared resources, coordinated expansion."
The chamber fell silent as everyone absorbed the implications of what I was proposing. This wasn't just about making the Grotto bigger—this was about fundamentally changing our relationship with the world around us.
"The risks—" Maria began.
"Are enormous," I agreed. "Every new group we contact is a potential threat. Every alliance we form creates obligations and complications. Every step we take away from simple survival makes us more visible to larger predators."
"But the opportunities—" Samuel said thoughtfully.
"Are equally enormous," I finished. "Right now, we're a curiosity. A successful experiment that proves cooperation is possible. But if we can scale that success, if we can demonstrate that our model works across multiple locations and multiple populations…"
"We become a force that can actually challenge the existing power structures," Elara concluded.
I nodded. "Exactly. We stop being potential victims and start being potential liberators."
Gnar's single eye gleamed with something that might have been anticipation. "The strong prey upon the weak because they can," he said slowly. "But if the weak become strong together…"
"The predators become prey," Torvin finished with a grim smile.
"There's another factor we need to consider," I said, turning to address the most difficult part of the proposal. "The timeline. According to Althea, the Goblin City is actively expanding its operations. More raiding parties, more captives, more territory under their control. If we wait too long to act, the problem becomes exponentially worse."
"How much time do we have?" Leo asked.
"Unknown," I admitted. "But probably measured in months, not years. Maybe less, depending on how aggressively they're moving."
The weight of that revelation settled over the council like a physical presence. The comfortable fiction that we could take our time, make careful decisions, avoid rushing into anything dangerous—all of that had just evaporated.
"So what's the specific proposal?" Elara asked in her Captain voice, cutting through the emotional complexity to focus on actionable details.
"Phase One: Systematic scouting and recruitment. Corvus ranges out in expanding circles, identifying survivor groups and potential goblin allies. We prioritize the most desperate cases—people who are facing imminent death without intervention."
"Phase Two: Rapid integration and training. Every new person we rescue gets immediate medical attention, psychological support, and vocational assessment. We determine their skills, their aptitudes, their potential contributions to our growing civilization."
"Phase Three: Strategic alliance building. We approach goblin tribes that are being oppressed by stronger groups. We offer them the same deal we gave the Gutter-Guard—evolution, equality, and protection in exchange for loyalty and cooperation."
"And Phase Four?" Samuel asked.
"Phase Four is when we have enough people and enough allies to seriously consider military action against targets like the Goblin City," I said grimly. "But that's months away, assuming everything goes perfectly."
A sharp cry echoed from outside the chamber—Corvus's distinctive call, urgent and demanding. The sound sent a chill down my spine, because my raven summon only used that particular tone when he had discovered something important.
Every head in the chamber turned toward the entrance as the sound of talons on stone announced the arrival of my scout. Corvus appeared in the doorway, his ancient eyes gleaming with intelligence and his feathers ruffled from hard flying.
"Well," I said, feeling fate settling around us like a closing trap, "it looks like we're about to get some new information."