Volk crouched low, his imposing frame balanced delicately to avoid intimidating the small creatures. The goblins—if they could even be called that in their current state—remained huddled together, their wiry forms still trembling. Their wide, glowing eyes flicked to him nervously as he knelt before them, his crimson gaze sharp yet unusually patient.

He rested his forearm casually on one knee, his other hand holding the torch aloft to keep the faint, flickering light steady. The shadows danced across the jagged walls of the small cave, giving the scene an eerie but oddly intimate atmosphere.

“You,” Volk said, his deep voice cutting through the tense silence. He pointed to the larger goblin, the one who had shown the most courage by stepping forward earlier. “Tell me. How did you survive down here?”

The goblin flinched at first, shrinking back slightly before steeling itself. It glanced nervously at its companions, then hesitated, its bony hands fidgeting in front of its thin chest. Volk tilted his head slightly, his gaze softening just enough to encourage the creature to speak.

“I… We… lived here,” the goblin stammered, its voice barely more than a whisper. “Deep under… away from the light.”

Volk narrowed his eyes. “Away from the light? Why?”

The goblin hesitated again, its yellow eyes darting toward the others as though seeking their approval. When none of them moved to stop it, the creature continued, its voice quivering but growing steadier as it spoke.

“It… it hurts,” the goblin admitted, its words slow and deliberate. “The bright… burns our skin. We can’t stay in it. Too much… and we—”

Another goblin, a smaller one with wide, fearful eyes, whimpered softly and buried its face in its thin arms. The larger goblin paused, its expression grim.

“We get weak,” it finished, glancing back at Volk. “The dark is… safe.”

Volk listened intently, his sharp mind absorbing every word. He nodded slightly, urging the goblin to continue.

“We hide,” the larger goblin said, its trembling hands gesturing vaguely toward the cavern walls. “In holes, under stones. Always close to food.”

“Food?” Volk repeated, his voice calm but probing. “What food?”

The goblin hesitated again, its thin frame shaking slightly under the weight of his gaze. After a moment, it pointed toward the scattered refuse on the cave floor—bones, scraps of unidentifiable material, and what looked like remnants of small animals.

“Rats,” it said quietly. “Bugs. Sometimes… mushrooms. When we’re lucky.”

One of the smaller goblins whimpered again, and Volk’s gaze shifted toward it. The creature shrank back under his scrutiny, clutching its bony knees to its chest.

“Keep going,” Volk said, returning his attention to the larger goblin. His tone was steady, patient but insistent. “How did you find enough? For all of you?”

The larger goblin’s gaze dropped to the ground. “We take turns,” it murmured. “One… two go out. Look for food. Bring back what we find. If it’s not enough… we share.”

“And if it’s still not enough?” Volk pressed, his voice low.

The goblin flinched at the question, its trembling increasing. “Then we wait,” it whispered, its words almost inaudible. “We wait for the strong to eat… so the rest can stay hidden.”

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Volk’s crimson eyes darkened at the admission. The survival of the fittest, even among their own kind. It was brutal, but not surprising.

“What about water?” he asked, his tone softening slightly.

The goblin pointed toward the far end of the cave, where a faint glimmer of moisture caught the torchlight. “There,” it said. “A crack… in the stone. Water drips down. Enough for us.”

Volk nodded slowly, his mind piecing together the grim reality of their existence. But there was more he needed to know.

“Why here?” he asked, his voice steady but firm. “Why this place?”

The goblin glanced toward the others again, its gaze lingering on the smallest one before it spoke. “The bird,” it said, its voice trembling anew. “It found us. Took us. Brought us here.”

Volk’s jaw tightened. “Why?”

The goblin hesitated, its trembling hands clutching at the tattered remnants of its clothing. “To eat,” it said finally, its voice breaking. “It took us… one by one. When it was hungry.”

The smaller goblins whimpered, their thin bodies curling in on themselves as if to hide from the memory. Volk’s grip on the torch tightened, the flame flickering as his knuckles whitened.

“How long?” he asked, his voice low and cold.

The goblin shook its head, its yellow eyes glistening. “We… don’t know,” it said, its voice barely audible. “Time is… dark. Always dark. No end.”

Volk exhaled slowly, his crimson eyes narrowing as he processed their words. Their lives had been nothing but fear and darkness, a constant struggle for survival under the shadow of a predator.

“And before the bird?” he asked, his tone softening.

The goblin blinked, surprised by the question. “Before…” it began, then trailed off, its gaze growing distant.

“We were… outside,” it said after a long pause. “In the forest. The trees… were big. Tall. We hid under them. Found food in the dirt. Dug holes to sleep.”

Its voice grew quieter, tinged with a strange mixture of nostalgia and sorrow. “The forest was… better. Safer. Until…”

“Until what?” Volk prompted.

The goblin’s gaze hardened, its trembling slowing as a flicker of anger replaced its fear. “Flying ones,” it said, its voice low but firm. “They came. Took us. Like the bird. But… worse.”

“Worse how?” Volk asked, leaning closer.

“They hurt us,” the goblin said, its words sharp and bitter. “Tied us. Beat us. Made us walk… far. To the bird. They gave us to it.”

The smaller goblins whimpered again, their frail forms trembling as the memories resurfaced. Volk’s expression darkened, a cold fury simmering beneath his calm exterior.

“The flying ones…” he murmured, his mind racing. The harpy people. They weren’t just threats—they were slavers, preying on the weak and offering them as sacrifices.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze returning to the goblins. “You don’t have to fear them anymore,” he said firmly. “They won’t hurt you again.”

The goblins didn’t respond immediately, their glowing eyes filled with a fragile hope that bordered on disbelief. But Volk’s tone left no room for doubt.

For the first time, the largest goblin straightened slightly, its trembling subsiding as it met Volk’s gaze. “Thank you,” it said quietly, its voice steady despite the tears that glistened in its eyes.

Volk stood in the dim cave, the weak light of the torch in his hand flickering against the uneven stone walls. His mind churned as he gazed at the trembling goblins before him. Were these creatures truly victims of the “flying people”? Could their memories of the attackers be trusted? He squatted again, lowering himself to their level, his crimson eyes narrowing in thought.

“Flying people,” he muttered under his breath. The term gnawed at him, scratching the back of his mind like a half-remembered nightmare. He exhaled deeply, his breath escaping in a visible puff of mist in the damp cave air. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Tell me more,” Volk said, his voice calm but probing. “These flying ones. What did they look like?”

The goblins exchanged nervous glances, their yellowish eyes flickering with uncertainty. Finally, the largest among them spoke, its voice hesitant but steady.

“They… have wings,” it said, gesturing weakly with its bony arms. “Big. Feathers.”

“Wings and feathers,” Volk repeated, his tone neutral. “What else? What about their faces?”

The goblin hesitated, its gaze darting away. “They… like us, but not like us,” it murmured. “Hard faces. Sharp eyes.”

Volk frowned, his brow furrowing. “Not like you? What do you mean? Were they larger? Smaller? Did they wear armor?”

The goblin shook its head, its thin frame trembling slightly. “Not larger. Same size. But… strong. They had… claws.”

“Claws,” Volk echoed, his voice thoughtful. He leaned back slightly, his gaze drifting to the cave’s ceiling. “And their voices? What did they sound like?”

The goblin’s expression darkened. “High,” it said. “Shrill. Like… screaming. Always screaming.”

A smaller goblin whimpered, covering its ears as if the memory of the sound was too much to bear. Volk tilted his head, his sharp eyes narrowing further.

“What did they scream?” he pressed. “Words? Or just sounds?”

The goblin hesitated, then shrugged weakly. “Words,” it said, though its tone was uncertain. “But… strange. Not ours. Couldn’t understand.”

Volk leaned forward again, his crimson eyes narrowing as he considered the information. So the flying ones were humanoid but winged, spoke in an unfamiliar tongue, and were predatory enough to enslave and offer goblins as sacrifices. But their motives still eluded him.

“What did they want from you?” Volk asked, his voice low and measured.

The goblin hesitated, its hands wringing nervously. “We… don’t know,” it admitted. “They took us. Gave us… to the bird. Didn’t speak to us. Only screamed.”

Volk exhaled sharply, his frustration mounting. There was something missing—some critical piece of the puzzle he couldn’t yet see.

“How many of them?” he asked, his tone sharpening. “Were there dozens? Hundreds? Did they come in waves or all at once?”

The goblin flinched at the sudden intensity of his voice. “Not many,” it said quickly. “Ten? Maybe more. But strong. We couldn’t fight.”

Volk’s gaze darkened. Ten or so flying warriors had been enough to overwhelm and capture an entire group of goblins. His horde had struggled against a single giant bird. What chance would they have against an organized force of aerial combatants?

He sighed deeply, rubbing his temple with one hand. The problem gnawed at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch. His horde was powerful, yes, but they were grounded—bound to the earth by their size and weight. They had no way to deal with threats that could attack from above.

“If only…” Volk muttered, his voice trailing off.

The goblins glanced at each other nervously, their expressions a mix of fear and curiosity. One of the smaller ones finally spoke, its voice trembling but audible.

“Our fathers…” it began hesitantly, its gaze fixed on the floor.

Volk’s head snapped toward the goblin, his crimson eyes narrowing. “Your fathers?” he repeated. “What about them?”

The goblin hesitated, its thin fingers fidgeting nervously. “They… used to build things,” it said finally, its voice barely above a whisper.

“Build things?” Volk echoed, his tone sharp with interest. “What things?”

The goblin shrugged, its expression uncertain. “Don’t know,” it admitted. “They… made wood into shapes. Put it together. Big shapes.”

“Big shapes,” Volk repeated, his voice thoughtful. He leaned back slightly, his sharp mind racing. “What for? Did they use these… shapes?”

The goblin shook its head. “Don’t know,” it said again. “We were… too small. But they worked all the time. Hammering. Cutting.”

Volk’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of realization sparking in his mind. He straightened, his grip on the torch tightening as he processed the goblin’s words.

If their fathers had been builders, skilled enough to create large structures or tools, then perhaps…

The goblin tilted its head, its yellowish eyes narrowing in confusion. “Why?” it asked hesitantly. “What do you need?”

Volk didn’t answer immediately, his mind too preoccupied with the possibilities. Finally, a slow, predatory smile spread across his face.

“There’s potential here,” he murmured to himself, his voice low but tinged with excitement.

The goblins flinched slightly at the sudden change in his demeanor, their nervous gazes darting to each other. Volk turned back to them, his crimson eyes gleaming with newfound determination.

“Your fathers may have been builders,” he said, his voice steady and confident. “But now, you will be the ones to rise.”

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