The night was still, save for the occasional crackle of the dying campfire. Two clusters of goblins lay sprawled across the clearing, their guttural snores blending into the soft rustling of the trees. This was the perfect moment. The plan was set. Now, it was time to act.
Finnian moved first, slipping through the shadows with practiced ease. He climbed the rocky outcrop that overlooked the camp, bow in hand, an arrow already nocked. From his vantage point, he had a clear line of sight to both clusters. A deep breath steadied him—he was ready.
I exhaled slowly, stepping forward with measured precision. My grip on the dagger tightened as I approached the first goblin. With a swift, fluid motion, I slid the blade across its throat, silencing it instantly. I moved to the next, then the next, striking with deadly efficiency. One by one, the goblins met their end, never waking from their slumber.
At the same time, Caden readied his long lance. He positioned himself at the center of the second cluster, carefully judging the best angle. With a controlled thrust, he drove the lance forward, piercing through the first goblin and into the next. He twisted the weapon, widening the wound, then yanked it free, letting the lifeless bodies crumple to the ground. Another sweeping strike followed, carving through the remaining goblins before any could stir.
Elyndor whispered an incantation, her hands tracing fluid motions in the air. Spheres of water formed, gliding toward the unsuspecting goblins. As each sphere settled over a goblin's head, the creature jerked slightly, its breath stolen away in silence. Within moments, the last of them had gone still.
It was nearly perfect. Until one of the goblins stirred.
I had just reached the last goblin in his cluster when it shifted, groggy eyes fluttering open. For a brief moment, confusion flashed across its face—before its mouth opened to shout.
A whistling sound cut through the air.
Finnian's arrow buried itself deep in the goblin's throat, cutting off its cry before it could escape. The creature gurgled, twitching for a second before falling limp. Finnian's gaze met mine, and I gave a small nod of thanks.
Silence returned to the clearing. It was done.
I wiped my blade clean, scanning the camp. No other signs of movement. The plan had worked, with only the smallest of hiccups. Now, we could move forward, deeper into the ruins.
The silence was oppressive as we stepped past the last of the fallen goblins. Their lifeless bodies were already cooling in the night air, but there was no time to linger. We had come here for a reason. If the goblins were guarding something beneath the ruins, we needed to know what.
Caden led the way, his lance held at the ready, while Finnian kept to the shadows, eyes scanning every crevice. Elyndor walked beside me, the faint scent of damp stone and decay growing stronger with each step. We approached the entrance—a jagged hole in the earth where remnants of a collapsed structure had given way to darkness.
A flight of worn stone steps led down into the unknown. The air grew colder as we descended, the flickering glow of our torches revealing the crumbling remnants of what had once been a great underground chamber. The walls were cracked, lined with faded murals depicting a time long past. Doorways that once led to other rooms were sealed beneath collapsed debris, leaving us with only one path forward.
"This place..." Elyndor murmured, running her fingers over the soot-stained walls. "It wasn't just a ruin. People lived here."
The weight of her words settled over us. This wasn't just some forgotten structure. This was a home—a place that had been abandoned or worse.
At the end of the chamber, we found it. A single room, untouched by time. A wooden rocking chair sat in the corner, its frame covered in dust but still standing. A shelf lined one of the walls, mostly empty, but a few tattered books remained. The bed, long decayed, was little more than a skeleton of wood and cloth.
There was something off about the room—an unnatural stillness, as if time itself had been forced to pause here. The dust seemed to settle in odd patterns, as though the room was reluctant to let go of what had happened. I could almost feel the weight of memories pressing in from all sides, an invisible current running through the air. It wasn't just the neglect of time; it was as though something—someone—had left this place with purpose, abandoning it only at the brink of something catastrophic. The walls held stories, and I felt the ghost of those stories tugging at my consciousness, urging me to listen.
Caden nudged a pile of old scrolls with his boot.
"If there's any truth to why the goblins were here, it's probably in this room."
I stepped forward, drawn to the bookshelf. Most of the books crumbled at my touch, but one remained intact. A children's book, its cover worn but still legible. I opened it, flipping through brittle pages—until something slipped free and fluttered to the ground.
A folded piece of parchment.
I picked up the parchment slowly, feeling its brittle texture under my fingertips. The ink had faded to almost nothing, but something about it—something about the way it had been hidden away—made me pause. I could feel the eyes of the others on me, the silence thick with expectation. My heart beat louder, almost drowning out the faint echoes of the room. I unfolded the paper, my hands trembling slightly, and as I read the first few words, a cold shiver ran down my spine. The ink was old, but the message was as sharp as ever. I read aloud, my voice low, carrying the weight of the past:
"They came in the night. Silent, merciless. We thought ourselves free—we thought we could exist beyond their rule. But the empire does not forgive disobedience."
The air thickened, as though the room itself was holding its breath. A heaviness settled in my chest, the scent of old stone and decay blending with something else—something faintly sweet, almost sorrowful. It wasn't just the past that lingered here; it was a presence, watching us, waiting. The walls seemed to hum with old memories, the flickering of the torchlight casting eerie shadows that seemed to move of their own accord.
"We had no warning. No chance. They cut down the men first, then the women. The children... they didn't even wake. It was over before the sun rose."
The room trembled. A flicker of movement danced at the edges of my vision.
"They will erase us. They will bury us. But if you are reading this... know that we lived. We were here. And we were free."
As the last words left my lips, the chamber around us shifted. The dust seemed to lift, the cold air replaced by something else—something warm.
Laughter.
Light flickered along the walls, golden and gentle. Shadows moved—not menacing, but joyful. Children ran through the room, their faces alight with laughter as they chased each other in endless loops. Their voices rang out in carefree delight, a melody of a time long lost.
In the rocking chair, an old man sat watching them, his face lined with quiet contentment. He didn't look at us. He only watched the children, as if making sure they remained safe, even now.
The vision lasted only moments.
Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone. The room was silent once more. The dust settled. The warmth faded, leaving only the chilling emptiness of the ruins.
Elyndor exhaled softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"They were happy."
Her words hung in the air, a quiet testament to the joy that had been lost. No one spoke at first. Caden's lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze distant as if he could still see the echoes of the children running through the room. I stood frozen, my mind racing. The vision, so vivid and real, felt like it had been meant just for us—to show us what had been taken, to show us what had been lost.
No one responded. There was nothing to say.
We had seen what had been lost. And we understood.
Caden finally broke the silence.
"The goblins must've felt it too. Maybe they didn't know what this place was, but they knew it was safe. That's why they stayed."