Chapter 3: The Forge of Will

Days bled into each other in the grim underworld of the goblin city, but with each passing moment, Eliana grew stronger. The exhaustion from the never-ending toil in the forge was nearly unbearable, but she learned to conceal the pain, to move through it with an unsettling precision. Her hands, once delicate and soft, now moved with the practiced efficiency of a seasoned laborer, despite their gnarled, clawed form. The sweat that dripped from her forehead no longer bothered her—it was just a part of the unceasing march toward survival.

Each morning, the overseer would shout at the workers, prodding them to greater speeds, each lash of his whip a reminder that failure had its price. But Eliana had learned to blend into the rhythm of the work, to keep her head down, her movements swift but deliberate. She knew the patterns now—the way the overseers favoured certain workers, the way the higher-ranking goblins turned a blind eye to the abuses of the lower ones, and the subtle dance of power and hierarchy that ruled the forge.

Her body was becoming more attuned to the harsh environment, though her soul struggled to hold on to any semblance of the woman she had once been. Her memories of the marble halls of House Valerius, the sweet scent of roses in the garden, and the warmth of her mother's embrace were growing fainter with each passing day. The transformation was not only physical; her mind, too, was adjusting. The sharp, calculating intellect that had once been the pride of Eliana's education now honed itself to a single focus: vengeance.

But the goblins were not easily fooled. There was one who had begun to notice Eliana's quiet determination—Vorn. He was a goblin of middling rank, larger than most, with scars crisscrossing his face from countless brawls and scrapes. His eyes were cruel but not entirely void of intelligence, and he had taken a particular interest in her from the moment she had arrived. He was not one of the overseers, but his cruelty was no less potent. He had a way of watching her, waiting for her to slip, waiting for her to falter.

One day, as Eliana struggled to lift an anvil, too heavy for her small, goblin frame, Vorn stepped in. His grotesque grin twisted as he approached her.

"Not so fast, girl," he sneered, his voice rough as gravel. "I think you're getting too comfortable here."

She didn't dare look up, but she could feel his eyes burning into her, could feel the sneer in his tone. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she steadied her breath, trying to maintain the appearance of submission. In this place, submission was survival.

Vorn's hand shot out, gripping her by the back of the neck and lifting her off the ground with a strength that made her knees buckle. She gasped for air, her clawed hands instinctively trying to pry his fingers from her throat.

"You think you're too good for this work?" he growled, shaking her like a ragdoll. "The other goblins think you're weak. But I see something else in you. You're hiding something. Hiding it well. And I'm going to find out what."

Her pulse hammered in her ears, and she fought the urge to lash out, to strike him down with the fury that was rising inside her. But she couldn't make a mistake. Not yet. Not until she was ready.

With a sharp twist, Vorn threw her to the ground, her back crashing against the rough stone floor. Pain flared through her body, but she bit her lip to stifle the cry that threatened to escape. Her eyes burned with the desire to lash out, to rip him apart. But she could not afford to make herself a target. Not yet.

Vorn loomed over her, his heavy breath hot against her face. "Keep working," he spat. "But if I catch you trying to run, if I see one sign of resistance, I'll make you regret it. Understand?"

Eliana nodded, keeping her gaze fixed on the ground. She had to survive. For now, that was all that mattered. Her body trembled as she rose to her feet, wiping the blood from her mouth, her mind churning with hatred.

Vorn's cruelty was not the first of its kind, but it was a reminder of the dangerous world she now lived in. Every goblin in the city seemed to sense her quiet determination, her unwillingness to break. It made them wary, made them curious. But it also made her a target.

As the days passed, the whispers around her grew. Her strange, silent resilience had started to garner the attention of other goblins, too. The more she worked, the more she adapted to their savage ways, and the more the goblins began to notice the sharpness in her movements. Some began to approach her with wary curiosity, others with thinly veiled contempt. But Eliana's mind had already begun to turn. She had learned to observe them all, to gather information, and to make note of their weaknesses.

She knew that her best chance for escape—and revenge—would come when she had built a network when she had learned enough of their twisted society to exploit it. The goblin hierarchy was brutal, but it also had cracks—places where ambition could slip through, where the hungry could rise.

And so, she began to play the game.

She started by befriending the weaker goblins, those who had no power, no standing, and those who had been crushed by the weight of the system. She gave them scraps of food, helped them with their labour when she could, and offered them the only thing they could offer her in return—information. They spoke of the goblin king, of the warriors who fought in the tunnels, of the underground markets where weapons were traded, and of the great, dark secrets hidden in the deepest parts of the city.

The more Eliana listened, the more she understood. The goblin king, a monstrous figure known only as Gorrak, ruled over all the goblins with an iron fist. His reign was built on bloodshed, on fear, and on the constant struggle for power. His inner circle, though powerful, was filled with infighting and jealousy. Eliana knew that if she could weaken them from within, she could create an opportunity to strike.

But it would take time. It would take patience.

Her mind, though clouded with rage, had become sharper. She had learned the intricacies of goblin politics—the subtle alliances, the shifting loyalties, the way a single betrayal could topple even the strongest. The goblins, despite their savagery, were not without rules, and Eliana would learn them all.

As the days turned to weeks, Eliana began to feel the first stirring of power within herself. She had become something else—a creature not just of survival, but of strategy, of cunning. And when the time came, when she had learned all she could, she would be ready.

Theron, the man who had destroyed her life, had no idea what was coming. Eliana, once Lady Valerius, would rise again—not as a noblewoman, but as something far more terrifying. The road to vengeance was long, but she was no longer afraid. The fire inside her had been rekindled, and this time, it would burn with a fury that would consume all in its path.