The wind whistled through the forest, its cold breath rustling the withered autumn leaves and causing the bare branches overhead to creak like old bones. Following Orin’s lead, we soon arrived back at the small, tranquil lake. The scene, which had hosted a desperate struggle for life and honor only an hour before, now looked deceptively peaceful beneath the fading light of dusk.

  “How did you say you killed the goblins again?” Orin inquired, his voice low and intense as he halted near the reeds, his hand resting warily on the hilt of his sword.

  I met his gaze steadily. “I haven't actually told you how I killed them yet,” I pointed out coolly. “But since you asked: I rammed my knife into one’s skull. For the other, I first tried to strike him with his own club, but the swing only caught his ear, and the weapon flew into the lake. After that, I punched him in the eye, and while he was stunned, I drowned him.”

  Orin’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at the brutal, matter-of-fact account, but he offered no comment, merely nodding curtly. “Show me where the bodies are.”

  Nodding in return, I scanned the area for Pip, spotting her digging enthusiastically in a patch of soft grass nearby. “Pip!” I called out. “Can you smell where the goblins are? Save us some searching.”

  Pip lifted her head, giving me an odd, critical look before she meowed. She then raised her head higher, her small nose twitching as she tested the cold evening air, and trotted off confidently along the edge of the reeds. Orin and I followed in her wake.

  As we walked, Orin glanced at my companion. “Say, does your cat actually understand what you’re saying?” he wondered.

  Hearing that, I couldn't help but chuckle, a brief, strained moment of levity cutting through the tension. “Magic…” I offered cryptically, just to gauge his reaction. Orin merely sneered slightly. Whoops. Maybe not the best time for jokes, I thought, letting the smirk drop from my face.

  We followed Pip for a few minutes until she stopped, meowed again, and pawed decisively at a thick clump of reeds before leaping through them. Pushing the reeds aside, I saw it—the first dead goblin, lying half-submerged in the mud, a gaping, ugly wound in its skull exactly as I’d described. Orin emerged behind me, his expression grim as his eyes fell upon the corpse. He approached it cautiously, knelt beside it, and examined the head wound closely. “Hm,” he grunted. “The wound matches your description... but how do I know it was you who killed it?” he asked suspiciously, his gaze still fixed on the gruesome corpse.

  A nerve twitched in my eye with annoyance. I was tired of the relentless doubt, tired of having to prove myself at every turn. Without a word, I pulled the crude goblin knife from my waistband and, with a sharp flick of my wrist, threw it hard into the ground right next to the goblin’s body. The blade bit deep into the mud, quivering from the sheer force.

  Orin flinched violently at the sudden movement, looking up at me with startled, almost horrified eyes. He quickly averted his gaze, staring instead at the knife vibrating in the earth. “That’s a goblin knife, I recognize the make,” he murmured, his tone unreadable. “But this is supposed to be the work of a child...?”

  I knelt beside him in the mud, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Look at me, sir,” I said firmly, my voice low and intense. “I’ve traveled far. Incredibly far. On that journey, I’ve been attacked by goblins multiple times. In those moments, it was live or die. And when it comes down to it, the strong survive, and the weak end up dead in the dirt.”

  With that, I stood up, stalked over to the water's edge, grabbed the second goblin's slimy ankle, and hauled its lifeless body out of the lake. With a grunt of effort, I threw it unceremoniously onto the corpse of the first one. Orin recoiled, a look of pure shock and disgust on his face.

  “Here,” I stated, pointing to the ragged bite mark on the second goblin’s calf. “That was Pip. That bite gave me the opening I needed. It was two against two—me and Pip against them. A fair fight, maybe. But bastards like these don’t care about fairness. The only thing they cared about was violating your daughter.”

  I started pacing, the anger I’d felt earlier boiling up inside me again, hot and acidic. “And this is the fucking thanks I get for saving your damn daughter! I, a kid, almost get killed by her own father,” I spat the words, glaring directly at Orin, “who couldn’t muster an ounce of reason or mercy! And now I have to stand here and be interrogated about how I fought not just for my own survival, but for hers too? For what?! It’s pathetic!” I spat on the ground in disgust, the sound sharp in the quiet.

  “My whole damn life,” I continued, my voice rising with a lifetime of frustration and neglect, “I’ve fought just to keep myself and Pip alive! I’ve slept in the dirt, eaten garbage, and been treated like something less than human. And the one time, the one single time I stick my neck out to help a complete stranger, expecting nothing in return—not even a thank you—this is what happens? It’s a fucking joke! Next time I see some woman getting attacked by goblins, maybe I’ll just walk the other way. Wouldn’t want to get killed for the stupidity of helping someone else!” I finished, breathing heavily, glaring furiously at him.

  His gaze dropped to the mud at his feet, and a deep, painful flush crept up his neck, coloring his skin a guilty red. He looked utterly ashamed. Seeing his reaction, my own righteous anger began to deflate, replaced by a sudden, crushing weariness. I turned away, shaking my head and letting out a long, heavy sigh. I’m so tired. Thank god I had Pip back, but it was already starting again. Life just kept throwing shit my way.

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  My gaze drifted towards the lake, the water’s surface blurring from the single tear that escaped and traced a path down my cheek. As if sensing my despair, Pip instantly pressed herself against my leg, a low, steady purr rumbling deeply in her chest. Yet, somehow, even her familiar comfort didn't reach the hollow ache inside me.

  I saw Orin’s reflection appear behind me in the water. Suddenly, strong hands gripped my shoulders, spinning me around. Before I could react, I found myself pulled into his… arms? Into a forceful hug?

  Confused and blinking, I looked up into Orin’s face and saw tears streaming freely from his eyes, cutting paths through the grime on his cheeks. “Son,” he stammered, his voice thick and choked, “I’m truly sorry… I wronged you. Greatly. I was so scared for my daughter, so blind with rage… I couldn't, wouldn't, believe your words could be true. I am sorry… so incredibly sorry.”

  In that instant, the world of the lake vanished. I was back in the sterile quiet of the vet’s clinic, the sharp, chemical smell of antiseptic in my nose, the cold steel of the table under my fingers, feeling my world shatter as the diagnosis fell upon me. “Liar…” I had called the vet, refusing to accept the truth, refusing to believe that the person I loved most was beyond saving. And now, seeing Orin’s raw grief and fear, I saw a reflection of myself. He couldn't handle the bitter reality any more than I could back then. His fear for his daughter had made him lash out, just as my grief for Pip had almost broken me.

  Shit. The tears I’d been holding back suddenly overwhelmed me. First furious, now crying, all because I knew exactly what this poor bastard was going through. Trying desperately to suppress my own sobs, I awkwardly patted his broad, trembling back. “It’s… it’s okay,” I managed, my voice thick. “When it comes to the ones we love… sometimes the heart overrules the head.”

  Orin pulled back slightly, keeping his hands on my shoulders. He looked down at me, tears still glistening in his beard, and then let out a sudden, watery chuckle that quickly turned into hearty laughter. “You talk like a wise old man!” he declared.

  I couldn’t help but grin back through my own tears. We both wiped our eyes awkwardly. Orin cleared his throat, his composure slowly returning. “Your name was Grim, right?” I nodded. “Grim,” he said, his voice now full of sincere gratitude and warmth. “Thank you. Truly. For saving my daughter. And I am truly sorry for how I treated you. I hope you can forgive me.” Another tear escaped his eye, and he quickly wiped it away with the back of his hand.

  I just nodded again, managing a small, genuine smile. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare bed,” I asked, deciding to press my luck, “or at least a dry, warm spot for the night? I feel like I haven't slept properly in centuries.”

  A little over half an hour later, we were back at the farmstead. The warmth of the house enveloped me as we stepped inside, a stark contrast to the damp chill of the forest. I found myself sitting at a rough, heavy wooden table in their main room with Orin and his son, Jory, the flickering firelight of the hearth casting long, dancing shadows on the walls. The air was warm, smelling of woodsmoke and the rich, savory aroma of stew bubbling in a large kettle. Pip was curled up blissfully on a rug nearby, soaking up the comforting heat. Only Willow, was missing; she was apparently resting after her ordeal.

  Orin’s wife, Vana—a woman with kind eyes but a frown of perpetual worry etched into her face—had introduced herself warmly. “Thank you again for saving our daughter, Grim. It was foolish of us to let her go off alone, especially with her illness.” Her frown deepened as she spoke. “There are days Willow feels better, brighter, and she loves swimming in the lake then. We've lived here for years, never seen anything more dangerous than a skunk… but goblins? So close to our farm? It’s truly unsettling.”

  Orin nodded in agreement beside her, his expression thoughtful. Jory, however, just slammed a defiant fist on the table. “Let ‘em come! I’ll smash ‘em all flat!” he proclaimed loudly.

  Sighing, Orin gave him a light pat on the back of the head. “You keep quiet, boy, or you’ll end up as goblin stew.” Vana chuckled softly, a brief, musical sound, and Jory pouted in response.

  The atmosphere, despite the earlier tension and the underlying worry, was strangely relaxed. A strange warmth spread through my chest, a feeling so foreign I almost didn't recognize it. Even though I barely knew these people, sitting here at their table, surrounded by the simple sounds of their life, felt deeply nostalgic. A family, talking, laughing, eating together… it was a memory I hadn't realized I missed.

  Vana stood up and went to stir the kettle, the wooden spoon clacking softly against the metal. Jory pulled a wooden practice sword from a corner and started swinging it around with fierce concentration, humming an imaginary battle tune. I watched the simple, everyday scene unfold, a quiet observer absorbing the comfort, until Orin spoke to me again.

  “So, Grim, where are you actually headed? What brings a young lad and his cat way out to this part of the land—”

  He was cut off as Vana turned from the fire. “I’m going to check on Willow,” she announced quietly to him. “Can you stir the stew now and then?” Orin nodded briefly, his focus shifting, and Vana disappeared through a doorway into what I assumed was Willow’s room, closing the door softly behind her.

  Orin looked back at me. “Were you heading to the capital city, perhaps?” he continued, picking up the thread of the conversation.

  The capital? Ithrak had just said 'north' would be a suitable place to start over… I looked around the cozy room, at the flickering firelight and the sleeping cat, tapping my fingers on the worn wood of the table as I considered the possibility.

  Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream ripped through the farmhouse, shattering the peaceful quiet into fragments.

  “OOOOOOOORIIIIIIIN!”

  It was Vana. Orin practically flew from his seat, his chair scraping loudly on the floorboards as he disappeared through Willow’s doorway in an instant. Pip startled violently, her fur bristling along her spine as she let out a low, guttural hiss of alarm. I scrambled to my feet, my own legs trembling beneath me. That scream… it went right through me, cold and sharp, making the hairs on my neck stand straight up. My heart pounding, I forced myself towards Willow’s door, moving cautiously, every muscle tense.

  Before I could reach it, Jory rushed past me and into the room. Peeking hesitantly through the doorway, I saw Orin and Jory standing frozen in the middle of the small bedroom. Vana was kneeling on the floor next to Willow’s bed, her body blocking my view of the young woman lying there. She slowly turned her head towards us, her face deathly pale, her eyes wide with a sheer horror that stole my breath. As she shifted, I caught a glimpse past her. Willow lay unnaturally still on the bed, her face chalk-white... and dark, sluggish blood was trickling from her eyes, her nose, and her mouth.

  Vana’s lips trembled violently as she whispered, the words barely audible but hitting me with the force of a physical blow:

  “Orin… she’s dying…”