Max made his way down to the beach with a head full of doubt. The night air was cool against his skin, carrying with it the tang of salt and the rhythmic crash of waves against the shoreline. The sound might have been soothing under any other circumstance, but not tonight. His mind was too loud, too restless.

  Can I trust this goblin? Will it even show up? Why would it help me, of all people?

  The questions buzzed relentlessly, a swarm he couldn’t swat away. Every possible answer seemed to circle back to the same conclusion: this could go horribly, horribly wrong.

  He reached the weathered log he’d chosen earlier as his meeting place, bleached bone-white from years of sun and spray. It leaned slightly, half-buried in sand, but it would do. Max sat, elbows braced on his knees, eyes scanning the treeline and cliffs. Every shifting shadow felt like a threat. Every rustle of leaves set his muscles coiling, ready to strike or defend.

  To pass the time—and to ground himself before doubt consumed him—Max turned inward. He closed his eyes, steadying his breathing, and reached for that invisible current within. Mana. It answered him like a living thing, warm and restless under his skin.

  He raised his palm, coaxing a flame into being. But this time he wasn’t interested in raw power. Instead of flooding the construct with energy, he fed it a thin trickle.

  The fireball sputtered. It flickered in and out, unstable, its heat barely noticeable. Max frowned, then nudged more mana into the weave. The skill responded instantly, drinking greedily, swelling into a proper flame that cast dancing shadows across the sand. He narrowed his focus, dialing the flow back down, and watched as the fireball thinned, shrank, and then winked out completely with a hiss.

  “Too little, and it collapses. Too much, and it gets… hungry,” Max muttered to himself. His fingers twitched, itching to repeat the process, to test again and again until he understood every nuance. About ten percent just to activate the skill and anything above that, it scales with the flow.

  Why did this matter? Why was he obsessing over it instead of sharpening his blade or scouting the cliffs? Max didn’t know. But something deep in his gut whispered that mastering this—really mastering it—would be vital in the trials ahead. Intuition, instinct, or something more—he couldn’t tell.

  A sudden crack of branches in the treeline snapped his eyes open. His reflexes moved before his thoughts did: mana shield flaring to life, blue-white light curving around him like a dome. His pulse pounded in his ears as he scanned the shadows, ready for an ambush.

  But it wasn’t a war party.

  It was a single goblin.

  The small figure crept into the moonlight, glancing nervously over its shoulder. When it spotted Max, it froze, raising its hands slowly.

  “I apologize for startling you,” the goblin said in surprisingly clear words, its voice quiet and careful.

  Max let the shield fade but didn’t lower his guard entirely. His hand stayed near his sword. “It’s fine. I was just… meditating.” He rose to his feet, brushing sand from his palms. “Were you followed?”

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  The goblin shook its head quickly. “No. I waited for the guard shift change. And tonight’s my turn off watch duty so no one should miss me until morning.”

  It stepped closer with hesitant, jerky movements, then extended a hand. Max stared for a moment before grasping it. The grip was surprisingly firm, though the fingers were bony and oddly jointed.

  “My name is Ben,” the goblin said.

  Max blinked, caught off guard. “Wait what? Your name’s… Ben?”

  A grin split the goblin’s face, revealing yellow, cracked teeth. “Bendrik, actually. But most shorten it, easier that way.”

  Max gave a short laugh. “Fair enough. I’m Max, nice to meet you”

  They shook hands, and though every instinct screamed at Max to recoil, he held steady. “Please take a seat. We’ve got things to discuss.”

  The two settled on the log. Max pulled a strip of dried meat from his storage ring and offered it over. Ben snatched it up eagerly, his sharp teeth tearing it in half before swallowing the pieces nearly whole.

  “Thank you,” Ben said, licking grease from his fingers. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring anything. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure I’d come until about an hour ago.”

  Then his gaze dropped to Max’s hand. His eyes went wide, locking onto the ring with a mixture of awe and hunger. “Is that… is that a storage ring?”

  Max raised a brow. “Yeah. Why?”

  The goblin’s voice turned reverent. “I’ve never seen one in person. The elders speak of them like holy relics. A single one could set a clan up for generations; storage alone, never mind the gems they’re made from.”

  “They’re that rare?”

  “Oh yes,” Ben said, tearing his gaze away with visible effort. “Rare, priceless, and dangerous to even possess. You’re… very fortunate.”

  “Maybe.” Max leaned forward, his voice sharpening. “But that’s not why we’re here. I need your help. I’ve been tasked with eliminating the goblin encampments on this island. That cave you came from is the last one. What can you tell me about its leader? Is there a way to deal with him without needless bloodshed?”

  Ben tilted his head, frowning in thought. “That explains much. Every clan has been forced here—the survivors of the camps you’ve already destroyed. The new leaders sit in the inner chambers now, scheming. And they are talking about you. To the rank and file, this was supposed to be simple: defend an island from one human, and in return, we would get enough resources to raise our clans to Tier Four.”

  Max’s brows furrowed. “Wait. You mean you chose to come here? On purpose?”

  Ben gave a weary shrug. “For some of us, there was no choice. Back home, someone like me has little chance to increase in level. But here? Dangerous, yes. But survivable, and the rewards are worth the risk. We knew it was a training ground, but the odds seemed good. Numbers, resources, unity. At least… that’s what the leaders promised.”

  Max sat back, trying to absorb it. He hadn’t considered what drove the goblins beyond mindless aggression. “Makes sense, in a way. Not everyone gets the same opportunities. You can only kill so many beasts before the world runs dry.” He let out a small, humorless laugh. “Back home we’d say, ‘When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.’”

  Ben squinted. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Max waved it off. “Tell me this instead, can those fractured groups inside be turned against each other?”

  Ben scratched his scarred cheek, thoughtful. “Possibly. They already distrust one another. A spark in the right place, the right time… yes. But you’d need to be inside the chambers before the fighting breaks out. Once it does, the guards will lock down every passage.”

  Max’s lips curved into a sharp smile. “Then I’ll handle the guards. Just worry about the spark.”

  They sat in silence for a while after that, listening to the tide pulling in and out. The weight of what they were planning pressed heavy on both of them, though neither voiced it.

  Finally, when the horizon began to pale with the first hints of dawn, they rose.

  “Thank you,” Max said quietly. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”

  Ben paused at the edge of the treeline, glancing back with a shadowed expression. “Don’t thank me yet. Survive tomorrow first. Then we’ll see what comes after.”

  With that, he vanished into the forest’s shadows, leaving Max alone with the rising sun, the crash of waves, and the dangerous plan they had just set in motion.