"I thought the youngest might be different," the Vice Captain said quietly. "Born in another environment. Raised seeing humans. Not buried in the depths like your grandfather."
He studied the trembling goblin.
"I thought you might have changed. That your way of thinking might not be the same."
A pause.
"At the end of the day, you were not born deep beneath the sea. You are not as ignorant as him."
His voice hardened.
"But it seems I was wrong."
The goblin's body shook violently, knees barely holding him upright.
"Unless you can prove otherwise," the Vice Captain continued, "I will dispose of you the same way I will dispose of your family."
The goblin swallowed, tears spilling freely.
"D-Devils should be disposed of," he whispered, voice cracking as he forced the words out, repeating what he had been taught.
Then he froze.
His breathing grew erratic.
"But… but if I lie," he said, shaking harder, "wouldn't I become exactly what you hate?"
His eyes lifted just enough to show fear, not defiance.
"I shouldn't lie," he said weakly. "I shouldn't say I'm different if I'm not. That would make me the same."
He clenched his hands.
"Yes… many times, I think my father is strange. Wrong. I don't understand him."
His voice wavered.
"But sometimes… sometimes he feels gentle. And that scares me even more."
He bowed his head.
"If I had to say what I feel most deeply… it's fear."
"Fear of this world. Fear of people. Fear that one day I'll wake up and realize I've become him."
His voice broke completely.
"Sir," he said, barely louder than a breath, "please tell me how I'm supposed to think. How I'm supposed to feel."
"I know my father's way is wrong."
"So please… teach me."
The vice Captain's expression twisted with open disgust.
"Scram," he said flatly. "I have no use for fools who refuse to think for themselves."
The words struck harder than a blow.
"The festival will be held in two months," he continued. "If you are truly different, you will prove it with your actions. Not with words."
He leaned back slightly.
"Between now and then, you will think. You will decide. And when the time comes, you will live, or you will not, by that decision."
His voice rose, sharp and commanding.
"Now get out. Send your father in."
A faint, humorless edge crept into his tone.
"I'm curious what he'll have to say."
The command echoed through the hall.
The goblin flinched as the sound struck him, pain ringing through his skull. He did not dare respond. He nodded, turned, and forced his legs to move.
The door opened.
Outside, his family was waiting.
Their faces were tight with fear, eyes searching his for answers.
"What happened?" someone whispered.
The young goblin swallowed hard.
"H-He wants Father," he said quietly. "He said… Father should go in."
All eyes turned at once.
His father's face had gone pale. Worry carved deep lines into it, but he said nothing. After a moment, he stepped forward.
The door closed behind him.
And the waiting began.
Seconds stretched into minutes.
No one spoke. No one moved. Every goblin stood rigid, nerves pulled tight, eyes locked on the closed doors, waiting for what would come next.
Then the doors opened.
The father stepped out.
He was crying.
They rushed toward him at once, voices overlapping, hands reaching for his arms, panic spilling out as they asked if he was hurt, if something had been done to him.
But then the sound changed.
The sobs twisted into laughter.
Not weak laughter. Not nervous laughter.
Loud. Unrestrained. Shaking.
The goblins froze.
They had never seen him like this. In their entire lives, they had never seen their father happy, never like this. His laughter echoed down the corridor, too loud, too full, so intense it felt wrong.
It went on far too long.
Then, suddenly, it stopped.
He wiped his face and looked at them, eyes shining.
"It all makes sense now," he said breathlessly. "Everything. Every single thing."
He laughed again, quieter this time.
"Why my father chose this place. Why we ended up here. Nothing was random. Nothing ever is."
He turned sharply toward the exit.
"Everything makes sense," he said. "Everything happens for a reason."
Then he hurried away from the Vice Captain's residence, almost running, his voice carrying behind him.
"I can't wait," he said. "I really can't wait for that day."
The goblins chased after him, confusion and fear colliding.
"What did he say?" one of them cried."Did he tell anyone else to enter?" another asked.
The father stopped.
Slowly, he turned.
He looked at his wife.
And without warning, he struck her.
The sound cracked through the air.
The joy vanished in an instant, replaced by something far worse.
Rage.
Pure, uncontrolled, unfathomable rage.
She fell.
He stood over her, shaking, voice hoarse as he screamed.
"What did he say?" he snarled. "Watch your mouth."
His eyes were wild now.
"He's our master," he hissed. "He's nothing like you. Show respect."
He turned back to the others, breathing hard.
"He told us to get out," he said. "Now move."
His voice dropped, sharp with urgency.
"Before he gets angry."
No one argued.
They ran.
And none of them laughed again.
-----
Back in the main hall, the Vice Captain sat alone.
His eyes were closed.
The noise had faded. The footsteps. The cries. The laughter. All of it had already passed from his attention, filed away like a resolved matter. He rested one elbow against the arm of his chair, fingers loosely touching his temple, as though in quiet contemplation.
Then he spoke.
"I have arranged the stage," the Vice Captain said softly, to no one in particular."Two sides. Two insignificant lives, sent to collide."
A pause.
"Insignificance has no bearing on the outcome."
"If one succeeds," he continued, voice calm and certain, "something will awaken."
His lips curved, just slightly.
"I will be watching."