Chapter Three: The First Stones
The goblin hollow no longer felt like a stranger's camp.
Smoke rose from firepits at dawn, carrying the smell of roasting meat and earthy stew. Hunters returned with game, chattering in their sharp tongue. Children played between the huts, shrieking with laughter, while elders sat in circles weaving cord or mending hides.
And now, wherever Kael walked, goblins bowed their heads or thumped their chests in respect.
"War-chief," they called him. Always with that fierce glint in their eyes—equal parts awe and trust.
It made Kael uneasy. He had saved them, yes. But what he envisioned… it was far greater than a single battle. If they were to stand as the first stones of his nation, they would need more than spears and crude huts.
So, for the first time in his life, Kael became a teacher.
The next morning, he gathered the hunters by the fire. Raguk was among them, eager as ever, his scarred jaw stretched in a grin.
Kael pointed to the crude spears in their hands. "These break too easily. You stab once, they shatter."
Raguk tilted his head. "We make better?"
"Yes," Kael said. He knelt, drawing shapes in the dirt with a stick. "First, straighten the shafts. Use fire and weight." He drew lines for cutting grooves. "Then harden the points in flame. Or…" He tapped the rune-etched sword at his hip. "Stone. Bone. Even iron, if we find it. Weapons must last more than one strike."
The goblins crowded closer, ears twitching, eyes narrowed in concentration. Raguk mimicked Kael's motions, then barked something in their tongue. Several hunters rushed off, already gathering wood and stone.
Kael's chest tightened. They listen to me.
By midday, a row of spears leaned against a hut, their shafts straighter, their tips hardened black in fire. Crude, but better. The hunters tested them, stabbing at logs, grinning sharp-toothed when the points held.
That night, the elder approached him, her bone charms clicking softly.
"You change them," she said quietly. Her eyes glimmered in the firelight. "Not just spears. The way they think."
Kael stared into the flames. "If they're to stand with me, they must be stronger. Smarter. Prepared."
The elder gave a slow nod. "Then teach. They will follow."
Over the next days, Kael did.
At dawn, he led the hunters into the forest. He showed them how to track quietly, to notice the bend of a blade of grass or the faintest print in the mud. He taught them to move with the wind, not against it, and to strike with patience instead of frenzy.
When they returned, Kael gathered the young ones. He crouched in the dirt, pointing at objects—a rock, a tree, a spear—and spoke their names clearly in Common. "Stone. Tree. Spear."
The children mimicked him, tongues clumsy but eager. Soon, even the adults leaned close, repeating the words, laughing when they stumbled.
"Not 'we go kill deer,'" Kael corrected one evening, tapping Raguk's chest. "Say, 'We are going to hunt the deer.'"
Raguk scrunched his face, repeating slowly. "We… are… going… to hunt… the deer."
Kael smiled faintly. "Better."
The goblins grinned at each other, pride shining in their sharp eyes. The broken, snarling speech began to smooth, piece by piece, word by word.
Kael noticed the difference quickly. Their voices held less frustration, more certainty. They spoke to him in clearer Common, and among themselves they began to mix their tongue with his.
The change lit something in Kael's chest. They were learning. They were growing.
By the fifth day, the hollow itself began to shift.
New fire pits rose, built sturdier and cleaner. Huts were patched with bark and woven reeds to keep out the rain. Spears stood in neat rows instead of scattered piles.
Kael even guided them in shaping simple bows, bending supple branches and stringing them with twisted gut. The goblins' eyes lit with wonder when arrows flew farther than any spear could be thrown.
Children practiced with short sticks, mimicking the hunters. Women strung cord and sharpened stones. The village hummed with purpose it had never known.
And everywhere Kael walked, voices greeted him not with "War-chief" alone, but with halting Common.
"Good morning, Kael."
"We hunt deer today."
"Spears strong now."
Each word was rough, imperfect, but it carried meaning. Growth.
On the seventh evening, Kael stood on the rise above the hollow, the setting sun painting the huts gold. Smoke curled from chimneys, laughter drifted on the air, and the sound of goblins singing—clumsy but joyful—rose to the trees.
He felt it again, that ache in his chest.
This was what his people could be. Not scattered. Not enslaved. Not feared and hunted. Alive. Building. Growing.
The elder joined him on the rise, her staff tapping softly against the earth. She said nothing for a long while, only watching the village with him.
At last, her gravelly voice broke the quiet. "They are yours, Kael. You gave them more than strength. You gave them tomorrow."
Kael's jaw tightened. He remembered his parents, his village burning, the wolfkin fleeing his fire. He remembered the old woman in the woods, her words like prophecy.
Tomorrow.
He turned to the elder, his red eyes hard with resolve. "Then this is only the beginning."
The days stretched into a rhythm, and Kael found himself almost forgetting what it felt like to wander alone.
Every morning, goblins gathered around him, eager to learn. No longer did they clumsily jab with brittle spears; now they moved with formation, spears braced in lines, shields of bark lashed together to catch blows. He drilled them in turns and formations, forcing them to fight as one body rather than a scatter of snarls.
Their speech sharpened each day. Where once Raguk barked in broken words, now he stood straighter and spoke with pride.
"We are hunters now," he said one evening, showing Kael a line of deer strung for skinning. His words were not perfect, but clear. "We provide for the village. As you taught."
Kael clasped his shoulder. "You did the work. Remember that."
The goblin grinned, yellow eyes gleaming. "But you gave us the path."
And Kael could not deny it. They were no longer just a ragged cluster of outcasts—they were becoming a people.
It was on the eighth night that the howling came.
Kael had been sharpening his blade by the fire when the sound cut across the hollow—deep, bone-rattling howls that silenced every goblin voice at once.
The elder stiffened. "Direwolves."
Kael rose, his sword gleaming in the firelight. He had heard of them before—giant wolves, larger than horses, cunning as men. But the elder's tone carried more than fear. It carried awe.
The howling grew nearer. Shapes emerged from the treeline—massive wolves, fur bristling silver and black, eyes glowing in the dark. At their head strode one unlike the rest, taller by a head, its coat black as midnight, its gaze burning with cold intelligence.
The goblins panicked, children screaming, hunters raising their weapons. The elder cried out in their tongue, ordering the villagers into the huts.
"Form up!" Kael barked, his voice cracking through the chaos. "Shields front! Spears ready!"
The goblins obeyed—hesitant, but no longer frantic. They moved as Kael had drilled them, locking bark-shields and lowering spears in rows. Fear shone in their eyes, but they held.
The direwolves stalked forward, teeth bared, their growls low and rumbling. The black wolf at the head stopped just beyond the firelight, its golden eyes fixed on Kael.
Kael felt it instantly: this was no ordinary beast. The mind behind those eyes was sharp, deliberate. A leader.
The wolf's growl deepened, and with a snap of its jaws, the pack lunged.
The clash was chaos.
Wolves slammed into the shield wall, snapping teeth against bark and bone. Goblins screamed but held their ground, spears stabbing into fur and flesh.
Kael surged into the fray, his blade blazing with black fire. He cut through the first wolf that leapt at him, cleaving it in two, the flames consuming its body to ash. Another lunged, and Kael's hand shot out, fire erupting, blasting it backward with a yelp of pain.
But the black wolf did not attack. It circled, watching Kael with unblinking eyes, testing him.
The goblins fought harder than Kael had dared hope. Their training showed—they stayed in formation, spears thrusting in unison, pushing the wolves back step by step. Where before they would have broken and scattered, now they held like a true warband.
Raguk roared, driving his spear deep into a wolf's throat. "War-chief! We fight strong!"
Kael's chest surged with pride even as he fought, flames burning across his blade. But his eyes never left the black wolf.
At last, the beast moved.
It lunged straight for Kael, faster than lightning, teeth flashing for his throat. Kael barely twisted aside, its fangs grazing his shoulder, the force slamming him to the ground.
The wolf landed, spun, and came again.
Kael rolled, his sword whipping up in a fiery arc. The wolf dodged, unnaturally quick, its golden eyes glinting with cruel cunning.
For the first time in days, Kael felt the fire within him strain against its leash. Power surged, begging to be unleashed fully, to burn and destroy. His vision blurred red.
"No," he snarled, forcing it down, forcing control. He would not lose himself again—not in front of his people.
The wolf lunged once more. Kael met it head-on. Their clash was thunder, steel against fang, fire against shadow. The wolf snapped at his blade, fire scorching its muzzle, and it howled in rage.
Kael drove forward, black fire spilling from his hands, wrapping his sword in a storm of flame. He roared, his voice echoing across the hollow. "Submit—or burn!"
For a moment, the wolf resisted, snarling, snapping, eyes blazing. But then, something shifted. Its growl faltered. Its golden eyes met Kael's red, and in that instant, the wolf saw not prey, not rival, but dominance.
The wolf bowed its head.
The pack froze. Then, one by one, the direwolves lowered themselves, tails low, ears flattened. Submission.
The goblins stared in awe. Raguk dropped his bloodied spear, eyes wide. "War-chief… you… command them."
Kael stood, chest heaving, the black wolf crouched before him like a knight before a king. He laid his hand on its head, fire guttering out as he did.
"They are ours now," Kael said, voice steady. "Not enemies. Allies."
The goblins erupted in cheers, their voices rising into the night. "War-chief! War-chief!"
Kael stood amidst them, the black wolf at his side, its golden eyes glowing with loyalty now instead of defiance.
He had not just defended his people. He had expanded them. Goblins, wolves, fire, and steel. His nation grew with every battle.
And this—this was only the beginning.