Chapter Four: The First Settlement
The hollow no longer looked like a scattering of huts and firepits.
Two weeks had passed since Kael had first stepped foot in the goblin village, and in that time it had changed almost beyond recognition.
The huts were no longer crooked, half-falling things. Kael had guided the goblins in reinforcing them with bark walls and layered roofs of woven reed. The fires were ringed with stone instead of smoldering in dirt. Spears stood in neat racks, bows strung and ready, and racks of drying meat hung from poles.
And then there were the wolves.
The black direwolf—Kael had named it Umbra—patrolled the village's edge like a silent sentinel. Its pack lingered at the borders, keeping predators and intruders at bay. Children no longer screamed at the sight of them. Instead, they played daring games, racing to see who could get closest to Umbra before his low growl sent them shrieking with laughter.
The goblins had become a people with pride. They were no longer just surviving—they were thriving.
That evening, Kael sat by the fire with the elder. The night was warm, stars bright above the treetops. Goblins gathered in small clusters, talking in smoother Common, laughing as they roasted meat.
The elder sipped from a carved cup of bitter tea. "You have given them more than food. More than spears. You gave them meaning. A future."
Kael poked the fire with a stick, watching sparks rise. "It's only a start. A nation cannot live on meat and sharpened sticks alone."
Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "You mean to bring more."
"Yes," Kael said. His voice hardened. "If this is to be more than a camp in the woods, we need skills—real skills. Smiths. Masons. Tailors. People who can shape more than spears and hides."
The elder nodded slowly. "Goblins can learn. But not alone. They need teachers."
Kael turned his gaze to the village. He saw Raguk helping two younger hunters fletch arrows, his rough hands surprisingly careful. He saw children practicing words by firelight, mothers correcting them with patient smiles.
He saw potential.
"I'll find one," Kael said firmly. "A craftsman who can teach. A man or woman who doesn't care about kings or bloodlines—only the work of their hands."
The elder tilted her head. "Hard to find among humans. They see goblins as beasts."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Then I'll find one who's been cast aside, like us. Someone who's tasted exile. They'll understand."
The elder's eyes glimmered. "Then go, War-chief. Bring us this teacher. We will be ready."
The next morning, Kael gathered the goblins in the center of the hollow. Umbra sat at his side, the pack behind him, a living wall of fur and fang.
"My people," Kael began, his voice carrying across the square, "we have fought, we have bled, and we have grown. But this…" He gestured at the huts, the firepits, the racks of meat. "This is not enough. If we remain here, living only on what we hunt and gather, we will never be more than prey hiding from the kings of men."
The goblins murmured, shifting uneasily. Raguk frowned. "What more, War-chief?"
Kael's red eyes burned. "Trade. Craft. Wealth. A kingdom must have more than claws—it must have hands that build, minds that shape, and goods that others desire. We will not beg scraps. We will make our own strength."
He lifted a cured wolf pelt high, its black sheen catching the sun. "These hides, your weapons, the meat we hunt—these are worth gold and silver beyond these woods. We will sell them. We will buy iron, tools, cloth, knowledge. And we will rise."
The goblins' eyes widened, their murmurs growing louder. For many, the thought of holding coin, of dealing in markets like men, was almost unimaginable.
Raguk raised his spear high, his voice fierce. "Then we hunt more! We bring you hides, meat, all you need, War-chief!"
The chant spread quickly. "Hunt more! Hunt more!"
Kael let them roar before raising his hand for silence. "Yes. Hunt, craft, gather. But not blindly. With purpose. Every spear you make, every hide you tan, every arrow you fletch will serve the nation we are building. And when I return, I will bring the teacher who will raise you higher."
The goblins thumped their chests in unison, their sharp voices crying his name.
"Kael! Kael! War-chief!"
Umbra howled, his pack joining, the sound echoing across the valley.
And Kael stood at the center of it all, his heart burning with certainty.
This was no longer just a village.
This was the foundation of a nation.
The days after Kael's speech were filled with a new kind of energy.
The goblins no longer hunted simply to eat. They hunted with purpose. Hides were stripped and stretched on racks, scraped clean, and tanned with mixtures of ash and bark. Meat was salted and hung in stores. Bones were carved into tools and arrowheads, neatly bundled for use or trade.
Weapons no longer lay scattered. Spears and bows were lined in rows, each one sharpened and tested. Raguk himself oversaw a group of young hunters, their hands blistered but determined as they fletched arrows.
Even the women and children worked with fierce dedication. They wove cord from sinew, stitched hides into crude cloaks, and began shaping clay jars to hold grain and water. Every task, however small, became a stone in the foundation of something greater.
Kael walked among them daily, his gaze steady, offering correction where needed and praise when earned.
"You bind the cord too loose. Try again."
"Good—straight shafts, that will fly true."
"Yes, the hide is clean. Stretch it tighter, it will cure stronger."
The goblins listened eagerly, pride swelling in their eyes when he nodded approval.
One evening, Kael stood on the rise overlooking the hollow, Umbra at his side. Smoke curled upward from well-tended fires, and the rhythmic sound of hammers on stone echoed as goblins shaped crude grinding tools.
For the first time since his family's death, Kael felt something like peace. Not ease, never that—but purpose, solid and unshakable.
On the seventh morning since his speech, the elder came to him.
"The village is ready," she said, her voice calm but firm. "They have heard your vision. They believe it. Now, War-chief, it is your turn. Go find the teacher you promised."
Kael nodded slowly. He had known this moment would come. His people had shown their will. Now he had to prove his.
That evening, he gathered the goblins once more.
"I leave you now," he told them, his voice carrying across the hollow. "Not to abandon, but to bring back more. A craftsman, a builder, one who can teach you skills that will last generations. While I am gone, you will continue the work. Hunt. Craft. Stockpile. When I return, we will be ready to trade."
The goblins thumped their chests in unison, their voices fierce.
"War-chief!"
Raguk stepped forward, his scarred grin wide. "We will guard the hollow. Hunt more hides. Make more spears. When you return, you will see we are stronger."
Kael clasped his forearm. "I expect nothing less."
At dawn, Kael departed.
He wore a cloak of black wolf hide, the hood shadowing his face, the sword at his side hidden beneath the folds. At his heel padded Umbra, silent as a shadow, his golden eyes alert to every sound.
The goblins gathered at the edge of the hollow to see him off. Their cheers echoed through the trees as Kael stepped into the forest, his path leading east—toward the human kingdoms.
The woods were quiet at first, save for the crunch of his boots and the soft tread of Umbra. But Kael's thoughts were loud.
A craftsman, he mused. A teacher who will not spit at goblins, who will see them as worth the effort. Where will I find such a one?
Human kingdoms were near, yes. But men did not look kindly upon "monsters." If they knew who—or what—Kael was, they would brand him a threat, an abomination.
Still, he had no choice. To build his nation, he would have to step into their world.
And soon, the walls of a kingdom would rise on the horizon.