Skuggi had been walking the perimeter for three hours when he heard them.

  Not animal sounds. Human voices, low and urgent. The rustle of multiple people moving through underbrush without care for noise. The particular rhythm of exhaustion, stumbling footsteps, ragged breathing, and the occasional grunt when someone hit an obstacle they were too tired to avoid.

  He stopped. Let his senses map the approaching group. Five people, maybe six. Moving fast but not with the coordination of hunters or soldiers. Running from something rather than toward it.

  He positioned himself behind a thick oak. Waited.

  They came into view a minute later. Six of them… four adults, two children. All carrying implements that weren't meant for travel. A pitchfork, a woodcutting axe, a rusted sword that looked like it had been decorative before someone sharpened it, two long knives that might have been meant for butchering livestock.

  The man in front was maybe forty, built like someone who'd spent his life doing manual labor. Dirt streaked his face. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, bloodstained but the wound underneath looked shallow, already clotting.

  He saw Skuggi and stopped walking. His hand tightened on the pitchfork. The others clustered behind him, raising their own weapons.

  "State your business," the man said. His voice was hoarse.

  Skuggi stepped out from behind the tree, hands visible and empty. "I live near here. Heard you coming. You're not hunters, and you're not moving like you know the forest."

  "We know it well enough." But the man's grip on the pitchfork didn't relax.

  "You're running from something."

  Not a question. The man's jaw worked. Behind him, a woman, his wife, based on the way she positioned herself near him… shifted her weight. A girl, maybe fifteen, held a long knife and kept her eyes on the trees behind them, like whatever they were fleeing might appear any moment.

  "That's our business," the man said.

  "It becomes mine if it's following you into territory I'm protecting." Skuggi looked past them, scanning the forest. "How far back?"

  "We lost them two hours ago. Doubled back, crossed a stream, covered our tracks." The man finally lowered the pitchfork slightly. "They're not following. Not yet."

  "They?"

  The man hesitated. Looked at his companions. Some silent conversation passed between them.

  "Hobgoblins," he said finally.

  Skuggi had heard the word before. Torsten had mentioned them once, something about territorial monsters that sometimes raided outlying farms. But he'd never seen one and didn't know their capabilities or patterns.

  "How many?"

  "At our village? Fifteen, maybe twenty. They've been harassing us for weeks. Started with livestock… killed three cows, butchered them, and left the meat to rot to bring more predators with the smell. Then they killed old Brennan when he tried to chase them off. Then Sigrid's boy, just fourteen, went missing. We found..." The man's voice cracked. "Found pieces of him."

  The woman put her hand on his arm. He took a breath and continued.

  "Our chieftain decided to make a stand. Fortify the village, and train everyone who can hold a weapon. But some of us…" He gestured at his group. "We've got children. Elderly parents. People who can't fight. We're not soldiers. We're farmers. So we left."

  "Cowards," someone muttered from behind them. Not part of their group… Skuggi tracked the sound to where a boy, maybe eleven, stood with clenched fists. The man's son, based on the resemblance.

  "We're smart," the woman said firmly. "Staying meant dying. Your father chose to keep you alive."

  The boy's face reddened but he didn't argue further.

  Skuggi understood so far what their situation was. Organized raiders working at night. Smart enough to demoralize rather than just attack. Targeting the weak to spread fear.

  "Your village… how far?"

  "Six miles northeast. Near the river fork."

  Close. Too close to the settlement Skuggi's group was building… tought for himself…

  "The hobgoblins… they operate at night?"

  "Always. We posted guards, but they'd come from different directions. Set fires to draw people out, then attack from behind. They're might not be mindless, but someone's leading them, giving orders."

  That was worse. Organized monsters with leadership meant tactics, planning, and the ability to adapt.

  "What weapons do they carry?"

  "Our tools mostly. Taken from the dead or stolen from supply sheds. Axes, hammers, pitchforks. Some have clubs… just heavy branches studded with nails. And they know how to use them. Not trained fighters, but vicious. They go for throats, stomachs. They don't try to wound. They try to kill."

  The girl spoke up for the first time. "One of them spoke. not in a common tongue, just... strange. All the words twisted."

  Her father nodded. "The leader, we think. Taller than the others. He wore bits of armor… pieces looted from travelers, probably. He's the one giving orders. The rest follow him."

  Skuggi filed all of this away. Fifteen to twenty hobgoblins. Armed with improvised weapons. Led by something intelligent enough to speak and coordinate attacks. Operating at night, which suggested either a preference for darkness or vulnerability to daylight.

  "There's a settlement two miles west of here," Skuggi said. "People like you. Refugees building something new. You can rest there."

  The man's shoulders sagged. Relief, finally. "You'd take us in?"

  "It's not my decision alone, but we've taken in others. Three more won't make much difference."

  "Six," the woman corrected. She gestured at the group. "Me, my husband Aldric, our daughter Maren, our son Torin, and Greta and her grandson Leif."

  Skuggi looked at the older woman he'd missed initially. She stood behind the others, leaning on a walking stick, a boy about seven clinging to her skirt.

  "Six then. Come on."

  He led them back toward the settlement. They followed without complaint, too exhausted to do anything but put one foot in front of the other.

  They reached the village an hour later. The defenses were already taking shape… wooden stakes driven into the ground in a rough perimeter, gaps left for entry points that would eventually have gates. People were working, hauling logs, digging foundations for permanent structures.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Aionel spotted them first. He set down the post he'd been carrying and walked over.

  "Skuggi, who's this?"

  "Refugees from a village six miles northeast. They're running from hobgoblins."

  Aionel's expression shifted. "Hobgoblins? How many?"

  "Fifteen to twenty. Well-organized, attacking at night. They've killed multiple villagers, kidnapped at least one."

  Aldric stepped forward. "We're not asking for charity. We can work. I'm a carpenter by trade. My wife knows weaving, herbs. Maren can…"

  "We'll sort out who does what later," Aionel interrupted. Not unkindly. "Right now you look like you need food and rest. Materlyn!!" He called across the clearing. "Six more for dinner. Can you manage?"

  Materlyn emerged from near the cooking area. Took one look at the exhausted group and nodded. "They can help me prepare it. Keep their hands busy, give them something to focus on besides whatever they're running from."

  The new arrivals were absorbed into the village's rhythm. Aldric's family was given space near one of the completed shelters. Greta and her grandson were taken in by one of the women who'd lost her own family and had room to spare.

  Skuggi found Torsten and Jurgen near the defensive perimeter they established recently. Torsten was sharpening stakes. Jurgen was digging post holes. They were planning on making it a tower of sorts.

  "We have a problem," Skuggi said.

  He explained what Aldric had told him. Torsten stopped sharpening. Jurgen's hands went still in the dirt.

  "Hobgoblins," Torsten said flatly. "Of course. Because we didn't have enough to worry about."

  Jurgen signed rapidly: how organized?

  "Very. Night attacks from multiple directions. They're being led by someone who can speak, who wears armor. This isn't random raiding. This is coordinated."

  "And they're six miles away," Torsten said. "Which means they could find us any time they expand their territory."

  "Or follow the refugees here," Skuggi added. "If they're tracking them."

  Jurgen stood. His face had gone hard. He signed, "Need to attack first."

  "My thoughts exactly. But I need better intelligence. I need to know their numbers exactly, where they're based, and how they move."

  "You're going to scout them." Not a question from Torsten.

  "Tonight. They operate in darkness. That's when I'll find them."

  A voice behind them: "Take me with you."

  Skuggi turned. A young man stood there, maybe seventeen. Skuggi recognized him vaguely, one of the refugees who'd joined early on, before the children were rescued. He'd been quiet, kept to himself, and worked hard but never stood out.

  "Who are you?" Skuggi asked.

  "Erik." The young man straightened his shoulders. "I've been here since the beginning. I do my work, I don't complain. But I'm…" He searched for words. "I'm tired of being invisible. Of just existing. My coming-of-age ceremony was two months ago. I'm supposed to be a man now. But what kind of man just hauls wood and digs holes?"

  "The kind that keeps a village running," Torsten said.

  "I know. And it's important. But it's not..." Erik's hands clenched. "I want to be more than that. Want to do something that matters. Something people will remember."

  Skuggi studied him. Saw the desperation underneath the bravado. The need to prove himself, to be seen as valuable.

  He'd seen that look before. In terms of a closer experience, there were other alchemists who volunteered for dangerous assignments because dying with purpose felt better than living without it.

  "You have any combat training?" Skuggi asked.

  "I can use a spear. Killed a boar once when it charged my family's farm."

  "Once."

  "It's more than some people here have done."

  That was true. And they needed bodies. Needed people willing to fight if the hobgoblins came.

  But taking someone untested into a scouting mission… that was different from defending a position with support.

  "This isn't glory," Skuggi said. "It's not going to be a story people tell around fires. It's watching from darkness, staying quiet, maybe getting killed if we're spotted. There's no honor in it. Just information and survival."

  "I know."

  "Do you? Because you're talking like someone who wants to be a hero. Heroes die stupid deaths doing impressive things. I need someone who'll follow orders and stay alive."

  Erik's jaw tightened. "I'll follow orders."

  "Even if that order is to run? To hide while I handle a threat?"

  A pause. Then: "Yes."

  Skuggi looked at Torsten. "Can you spare him?"

  "We've got enough people for the work rotations. But Skuggi…" Torsten lowered his voice. "He's not like you. If things go bad…"

  "I know. I'll keep him alive if I can. If I can't, he made his choice."

  Jurgen signed something. Skuggi caught the meaning: too young, too eager, will get himself killed.

  "Maybe. But better he learns under someone who'll try to teach him than he goes off on his own trying to prove himself."

  Eric was watching them. Couldn't understand Jurgen's signs but clearly knew they were discussing him. His face held that careful blankness people used when trying not to show how much they cared about an outcome.

  "We leave at sunset," Skuggi said. "Bring a spear if you have one. Wear dark clothes. Eat well now because we won't stop for food."

  Erik nodded and walked away quickly, probably before Skuggi could change his mind.

  Torsten sighed. "He's going to be a problem."

  "He's going to learn or die. Either way, the problem solves itself."

  "That's cold."

  "That's realistic." Skuggi looked toward where Erik had disappeared. "He wants greatness. I'm going to show him what it actually costs."

  The rest of the afternoon was spent preparing. Skuggi checked his knife, made sure it was sharp. Found a dark shirt that didn't have obvious bloodstains. Ate dried meat and bread, drank water.

  Erik appeared an hour before sunset. He'd found dark clothes from somewhere. Carried a spear that looked newly made… Egil's work was probably commissioned or borrowed for this.

  "Ready?" Skuggi asked.

  "Yes."

  They left together. Torsten and Jurgen would stay to help defend the village. Aionel had been informed and had organized the remaining fighters into watch rotations. Everyone knew the threat now. Everyone was preparing.

  Skuggi led Erik northeast, following the general direction Aldric had indicated. Moved fast but not recklessly, checking their trail, watching for signs of hobgoblin scouts.

  As the sun dropped toward the horizon, painting the sky red and orange, Erik finally spoke.

  "Thank you for bringing me."

  Skuggi didn't slow down. "Don't thank me yet. You might die tonight."

  "Better than dying of boredom."

  "No. It's not. Boredom ends. Death doesn't."

  Erik was quiet after that.

  They walked on into the growing darkness. Toward a village under siege. Toward monsters that killed for sport and strategy.

  Toward whatever waited in the forest's depths.

  And Skuggi felt the familiar settling of focus. The way his body prepared for violence, for threat assessment, for the possibility of combat.

  He believed he was not made for building villages or forming connections or understanding human bonds.

  Just this. Walking into danger and coming out alive.

  He could work with that.

  “???????? ??? ???????... ?????? ???? ?? ???????? ?? ?????? ?? ??? ?? ?????????...”

  “Monsters are mirrors... showing only the darkness we refuse to see in ourselves...”

  How was it??