Chapter 29: Echoes of the Unknown

The camp was settling after the night's battle, but Leav's mind remained restless. The conversation with Trek about the old ways still lingered in his thoughts. If goblins had once wielded something akin to magic, then why had it faded? And more importantly, could it be reclaimed?

He sat by the dim glow of a campfire, his eyes on the crude map before him. The east. Something was stirring there. Frot's scouts had seen the tracks—not goblin-made. That alone made it a threat worth considering.

Footsteps approached. Leav didn't need to look up to know it was Frot. The rogue had a particular way of moving—silent but deliberate.

"They're getting closer," Frot said without preamble. "Scouts saw fresh signs of movement before dawn. Not enough to be an army, but more than a hunting party."

Leav tapped his fingers on the map. "Any idea what they are?"

Frot shook his head. "Not yet. But they don't move like humans. Too quiet. Too careful."

Leav narrowed his eyes. If they weren't human raiders, then what? The eastern lands were still largely unknown to him. Could it be another goblin tribe? Unlikely. Goblins weren't known for being cautious.

He exhaled slowly. "I want a closer look. Take your best scouts and find out who they are. Avoid conflict for now."

Frot grinned. "My favorite kind of job." Without another word, he disappeared into the night.

Leav turned back to the fire, his mind now occupied with more than just the immediate threats. If something new was approaching, then it could mean opportunity—or disaster. Either way, he intended to be prepared.

[Trek POV]

Trek sat cross-legged outside his tent, staring at his hands. The small flicker of energy he had used earlier had faded, leaving only an emptiness behind. He had learned bits and pieces about the old ways from stories passed down by elders, but none had ever taught him how to truly wield it.

And yet, it had responded to him. Faint, weak—but there.

"Still trying to work your little tricks?"

Trek glanced up to see Weal watching him, arms crossed, her ever-present smirk in place. She was one of the few who didn't mock his curiosity about the old ways, though whether that was because of genuine interest or simple amusement, he wasn't sure.

"I made it work earlier," Trek said, flexing his fingers. "But it's like trying to catch smoke."

Weal crouched beside him, watching his hands with a thoughtful expression. "Maybe you're going about it wrong."

Trek gave her a look. "Oh? And you suddenly understand the workings of magic?"

Weal snorted. "No. But I understand poisons. You don't just mix random things and expect them to work. You find the right ingredients, the right methods. Maybe what you're missing isn't power—it's knowledge."

Trek frowned. He had been trying to force the energy to work, as if strength alone would make it submit. But what if it needed something else? Something he hadn't considered?

A slow smile crept across his face. "You might be right."

Weal rolled her eyes. "I usually am."

[Frot POV]

The eastern woods were eerily silent. Frot crouched low, his breath steady, his eyes scanning the darkness. He had taken three scouts with him, each skilled in moving unseen. They had been trailing the unknown figures for hours now, careful to remain undetected.

And what they had seen was… unsettling.

Shapes moved in the distance, slipping between trees with unnatural grace. Not humans. Not goblins. Something else. Their outlines were hard to make out in the moonlight, but their movements were too smooth, too precise.

Frot motioned for the scouts to halt. One of the figures was closer now, just beyond the treeline. He could see more details—tall, lean, their bodies wrapped in dark cloaks. But what caught his attention most were their eyes.

Faintly glowing.

Frot's grip on his dagger tightened. This was no mere scouting party.

The figure paused, head tilting slightly, as if sensing something. Frot and his scouts remained absolutely still, blending into the shadows. Seconds passed, stretching unbearably.

Then, as silently as they had come, the figures moved on.

Frot let out a slow breath. Whatever they were, they were not human.

And now, Leav needed to know.

[Leav POV]

The camp was quieter than usual by the time Frot returned. The rogue moved quickly to Leav's tent, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

"We have a problem," he said as soon as he entered.

Leav set down the wooden dagger he had been sharpening. "Go on."

"They're not humans," Frot said. "They're something else. Taller than us, faster, and their eyes… they glow."

Leav frowned. "Elves?"

Frot hesitated. "Maybe. But not like the stories. They move like shadows, too coordinated for just hunters. Whatever they are, they're close."

Leav processed the information. If these were elves—or something similar—then their intentions were unclear. Were they here for them? Or was this mere coincidence?

He couldn't take that risk.

"Double the night patrols," Leav ordered. "And tell Trek to be ready. If these creatures have magic, we might need more than just steel."

Frot nodded. "And if they come for us?"

Leav's eyes darkened. "Then we find out if they bleed."

The night stretched on, but sleep eluded Leav. He sat by the fire, watching the flames dance, his mind racing with possibilities. This was the first real sign that the world beyond goblin tribes was starting to notice them.

And he would be ready.