The forest smelled like wet leaves and fresh earth. Atem walked carefully, listening to the small noises that told him where life hid: a twig snap, the flutter of wings, the distant bark of a beast. He kept his steps slow—after everything he'd been through, he'd learned how loud the world could be if you weren't careful.
Then the Oracle's voice slid into his mind, calm as always. <
Atem slowed and stepped into a hollow beneath a knotty root. He didn't call his summons; he lowered his aura instead. He didn't want to scare them more than he had to. Even folded, though, the faint echo of Veldora's presence still rubbed against the air. It was enough that anyone sensitive to such things would notice.
The goblins came out of the brush in a jittering little pack. They were thin—too thin—ribs visible through patched cloth, lips cracked, hair matted. Their spears were carved from sapwood; one had a rusted scrap of metal lashed to the tip. No armor, no banners, no names. They moved like people used to running from trouble and never quite catching a break.
When they spotted Atem they froze, and a visible ripple ran through them—the way mice stop when a hawk circles. One of the goblins, the tallest and a little braver from necessity, stammered first, voice trembling.
"Ooh—strong one, do you have business around here?" he asked, eyes wide.
Atem didn't answer right away. He walked slowly in a small circle so they could see he held no weapons and no tricks. He wanted them to understand that he was not a man with a torch. Another goblin, freckled and jumpy, blurted out, "When we were in the village we felt a strong power coming." His voice wavered like a rope in the wind.
A smaller, frightened one pressed forward and whispered, "Ooh strong one, can you help us? After our god disappeared few nights ago the monsters around the forest have been more active and harassing us..." His words came in a rush—hungry, raw, and very small.
Atem's chest tightened. He didn't need the Oracle to explain their words; he understood their language and the fear behind it. But the Oracle still nudged information into his mind: <
That hit him like a cold wind. He had taken Veldora into himself to free the dragon later, but he hadn't thought of the small lives that had learned to lean on that great storm for protection. For a second, responsibility settled on him as something sharp and immediate.
He looked at the thin faces—too many little hollows and too few smiles—and decided. "Fine," he said simply. "I will help you."
The tall goblin's whole body went still, like a string pulled taut. "Really? Strong one… you mean it?" he breathed, not daring to hope.
"Yes. I mean it," Atem answered, and the words were steady.
"Lead me to your village," Atem said. He folded his cloak tighter and waited.
The leader gave a short bark of a laugh that was half relief, half fear, and then he motioned the others to follow. They moved like a nervous tribe of children who had been allowed out on their own for the first time: quick, cautious, tripping over roots, then struggling to keep up with their own excitement.
The goblins led Atem through the dense forest, their steps hurried but unsteady. They glanced back at him every few moments, half in awe and half in fear, as though worried that if they blinked too long, he might vanish—or worse, turn on them.
Finally, after a while, the trees parted, revealing what they called their village.
Atem slowed his pace, his sharp eyes scanning the scene.
The so-called houses looked more like piles of rotting wood and mismatched branches, leaning dangerously to one side, as though they would collapse under a strong breeze. Holes yawned in the walls, letting in the cold, and tattered hides barely served as roofs. There were no watchtowers, no fences, not even a ditch for defense. It was less a village and more the ruins of survival.
The goblins lowered their heads in shame as they walked in, their ragged forms moving nervously around Atem. Some goblin children peeked from behind broken huts, wide eyes staring at him. Their limbs were skinny, their ribs visible, and their faces pale with hunger.
An old goblin with a hunched back, long ears drooping, stepped forward. His voice trembled, but he bowed deeply.
"Oh… Strong One… thank you for agreeing to help us."
Atem gave a small nod, his serious eyes observing everything.
"Is this… all the members of your village?" he asked.
The elder's wrinkled face darkened, sorrow in his eyes.
"No, Strong One… some of us were killed by the wolves. Others… others are injured. They are inside that tent, over there." He pointed to a lopsided structure covered with torn animal hides.
"Take me to them," Atem said firmly.
The elder quickly shuffled toward the tent, pulling the flap aside. The smell hit Atem first—a heavy mix of blood, rot, and despair. Inside, goblins lay sprawled across the dirt floor. Some clutched their sides where deep claw marks had torn into them, others wheezed weakly, their breaths shallow. None had the strength to rise. Their eyes lit up faintly when they saw Atem, but fear kept them silent.
Atem's fists clenched at his sides. He had seen suffering before—but something about their small, fragile forms stirred him. Before he could speak, the calm, clear voice of the Oracle of Eternity echoed in his mind.
<
Atem's eyes widened slightly. So that's what she had in mind back then.
But before he could move, the Oracle's tone shifted.
<
Atem frowned. "Compensation? From them?" he whispered under his breath.
<
He didn't like the thought—it felt cold, even manipulative. But the Oracle wasn't wrong. If he wanted to build strength and influence in this world, every step mattered. Atem exhaled softly and looked to the elder.
"So… tell me," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "How would you repay me if I heal your wounded and protect your people?"
The elder froze, his mouth hanging open. The other goblins gasped in fear, some trembling, others whispering among themselves. But after a moment, the elder straightened, his eyes clear despite the weight of his years.
"All we can offer you, Strong One… is our loyalty. We will swear it upon our lives. If you save us, we will follow you… forever indebted."
Atem studied him for a long moment. The sincerity was real, and the desperation undeniable. Finally, he gave a small, resolute nod.
"Very well. I accept. Then let me heal them first."
He stepped forward, raising his hand. A faint glow began to gather in his palm, bright and warm, like sunlight piercing through storm clouds. The injured goblins flinched at first, afraid of this strange light, but Atem's calm expression eased them.
The glow expanded, spreading across the tent, enveloping the wounded. The goblins' eyes widened as the warmth sank into their broken bodies. Wounds closed before their very eyes, bones realigned, breaths steadied. One by one, they sat up, no longer weak and trembling, but full of life.
"It's… it's a miracle…" one whispered.
Another goblin wept openly, hugging his healed arm.
The elder fell to his knees, tears brimming. "Strong One… no, Great One… we will never forget this kindness. From this day forward, we are yours to command."
Atem let his hand fall, the light fading. His face remained calm, but deep inside, he felt the weight of what had just begun. For the first time since entering this world, he wasn't just wandering—he was stepping into a role of leadership.
The Oracle's voice whispered in his mind, gentle and certain.
<