The air in Goblin's Hollow smelled of iron, moss, and the faint scent of sweat and fear. It had been a month since the battle, and the scars of war had become the foundation of something worse—order.
Reed stood atop the half-finished tower of the black stone fortress. Below him, the Hollow had transformed from a battlefield into a broken beehive. Smoke billowed from forges and hearths, while rows of mismatched huts stretched into the darkened treeline. Goblins, humans, and cursed hybrids toiled side by side—bound by necessity, not trust.
The system constantly updated information.
> DOMAIN STABILITY: 56%
> FACTION LOYALTY: 72% (GOBLIN), 44% (HUMAN), 29% (MIXED)
> SUB-FACTION ALERT: HUMAN CLERIC SEEN—UNREGISTERED
He dismissed the notice with a flick of his blood-stained glove.
"They're testing the limits again," he muttered.
