Aester sat beside Terra, who lay on a roll-up bed made of what looked like cured cowhide.

  For now, she had insisted they be left alone in the tent. Mizzles had been sent off to fetch more of anything sour.

  Aester scanned every bruise and cut. This had been going on for too long—injuries that could have been prevented.

  “Killers hide behind the pretext of religion and God. Give them a murder and they call it righteous. We’ve seen this before. We need to stop it,” Pride said, firm and cold.

  "I agree with Miss Never-Left-the-Bootcamp,” Greed muttered, sarcasm thick in her voice.

  Greed—her instinct to hoard information, to stay three steps ahead—was always at odds with Pride, her personification of discipline and righteousness. One was born during a childhood trauma, shaped in quiet fear. The other rose from the noise of war, forged in fire and chain of command.

  They rarely agreed. Their voices clashed like swords inside her mind—metaphors for a soldier still torn between duty and personal survival.

  “If we help these people,” Greed said again, “we might be able to rely on them. Maybe even earn a place among them. Wouldn’t that be great?”

  Yes, it would be, Aester admitted to herself. Like the old days—before the accident, before the nerve damage, before everything. She remembered when her orders had weight. When her presence meant something. But that dream was gone now.

  “No. That’s not the truth,” Love interrupted gently. “You don’t miss command. You miss company. You miss people. Your trauma already tore you apart from everyone else. And for four years, you’ve chased nothing but closeness. Not kisses or hugs—you never had those to begin with—but approval, respect, understanding. Everything that you found in the Middle East.”

  Love always hurt her the most.

  An older version of herself would’ve dismissed those words, called them nonsense.

  But now… she knew they were true.

  Aester looked the wounded woman scanning her one last time before slowly whispering,

  "Sleep and rest for now. Don’t worry, your health is already improving."

  The green woman smiled. "Thank you, human. You are really kind," she said, closing her eyes, resting in sleep.

  Aester’s heart felt a little flush of glow and warmth from hearing those words.

  "See? That felt good, didn’t it?" Love remarked. She was right. Perhaps it wasn’t power that Aester was missing—it was the feeling of doing something right instead of feeding off of her retirement pay. Not that she minded. She did earn that privilege, after all.

  She stood up from her seat of the dirt floor and stepped out of the tent. Sunlight stabbed into her eyes, sharp and unkind. She squinted and turned to walk off—perhaps just to breathe soms fresh air. But she bumped into something. Someone.

  A goblin.

  Smaller than Terra, but taller than any of the others Aester had seen—reaching about her chest. Five feet, if she had to guess. The girl wore boiled leather, likely armor, and a dagger rested at her hip.

  “Oh—um... sorry. Excuse me, I need to talk to Terra,” the goblin stammered. Her voice trembled with nerves.

  “You can’t,” Aester replied immediately and flat. This was not up for negotiation. Terra was sick—too sick. Even turning her head caused pain now.

  “But I mus—”

  “Not now. She’s clinically sick. She needs rest.”

  “But I—”

  “No is no.” Aester’s tone carried the weight of command. “What do you even need to talk to her about? Tell me. I’ll relay it when she’s better.”

  “It’s jus— I need some advice from her on something.”

  “And that something is?”

  Silence. Five seconds of it. The goblin looked down, words struggling to form.

  “It’s... we have a problem. And we need Terra’s opinion on it.”

  “She’s persistent, and in a hurry. We can use that,” Greed whispered, opportunistic as ever.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “I know to you I may be just a stranger—an outsider with no real value. But I’m a problem solver,” Aester said plainly. She wasn’t an expert in everything—certainly not in things like baking—but she was versatile. Something she took great pride in.

  Another pause. This one longer. The goblin stared at her, weighing something invisible.

  The silence this time was not because of a lack of words, but trust.

  “Th-the...” The girl stuttered. Then finally—

  “The village is under attack. We need to move.”

  Pride echoed in Aester’s mind, voice calm and grim.

  “Even in exile, war finds us. Or is it just us who never left it?”

  “Attacked? By who—or what?” Aester’s voice dropped an octave. She didn’t mind the goblins, but risking her life for them? That required reason. If this was some national conflict, the last thing she needed was to become an entire nations new enemy.

  “Umm... wild boars,” the goblin replied.

  And just like that, the tension bled out of Aester’s chest.

  “They carry wooden spears, and she’s the only one armored. Their numbers are few, and their weapons fewer,” Greed whispered, amused. “They’re just as dumbfounded as you are.”

  Pride didn’t share the sentiment.

  “A sword does not choose the worth of its enemy—only how cleanly it cuts. Let fools laugh. We always prepare.”

  A third voice came from the tent. "Grinla, is that you?" Aester looked back to see Terra on two legs, slowly walking toward them.

  "And here I was under the impression I told you to rest."

  Aester exhaled through her nose.

  The goblin seemed to be trying her best to hide the pain of merely standing up.

  "Grinla... the village is under attack?"

  The goblin, in turn, nodded in confirmation.

  "Then you should seek not mine but her advice," Terra answered while gesturing toward Aester. "Human..." she let the last word drag along.

  It had dawned on Aester that she never really told anyone here other than Mizzles her name.

  "Aester..." the last word couldn’t exit her mouth. Was her last name even hers anymore? Ushinatta was her mother’s name. Torowara was her father’s. Neither of which accepted her.

  "Aester, I am truly grateful for your help to me, but I must ask you again to save us one more time."

  "Trust is a fragile thing. Easy to break, easy to lose, and nearly impossible to earn. So why does she trust us with the life of her people?" Pride questioned.

  That question lingered in her head. Why? She had given them some basic medicine, nothing over the top as well.

  As far as she remembers, she didn’t mention at all that she used to be a soldier—let alone a Sergeant First Class.

  "I know you may call this superstition. I have seen it in your eyes—you’re not the sort to have faith in the baseless," the goblin said, looking into Aester’s eyes, her own glimmering with innocence.

  She was right. Aester never trusted something unless it was in a report or seen by her own eyes.

  "...But I have seen it in a vision. When I was sick and started dying, I was sleeping through day and night. And in one of my dreams, I was reached out to by Miranda Melchinove. She told me of you."

  "Miranda? That’s a name we don’t know, maybe a god in thier pantheon" Greed stated but didn’t try to push the question, as it didn’t seem the right time to.

  "They are giving us something that should have taken months, if not years, to gain—trust. Let’s not waste it."

  But this was not the time for discussion. Aester scanned the goblin, and it seemed their god Miranda hadn’t healed any of her scurvy yet.

  "If you trust me so much, then please listen to me and lay down. Don’t try to walk," she commanded in a stern voice.

  The goblin gave a low bow and walked into the tent.

  Now Aester’s attention was on Grinla. She was grateful for the opportunity, but the fact that she was about to bother a dying woman on such a small topic didn’t sit well with her.

  "And why, exactly, do you need Terra’s opinion for this?” she asked in a cold voice, staring her down with the same gaze she gave the shaman. “If it’s just wild animals, you should be able to handle it yourselves.”

  "Well um... the boars we are talking about aren’t just beasts." The goblin was clearly shaken by Aester’s gaze. "They’re undead."

  Aester couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

  "More superstition. What are the odds that these ones were also created by the shaman?" Greed said, her voice thick with mockery.

  Aester didn’t believe in superstition, but she understood one thing: every lie has a truth behind it. What was it in this?

  Perhaps the beasts were just very violent. Perhaps there was a disease among them that made them look dead.

  There was also the small yet possible event that they were, matter of fact, undead. She had seen goblins and all sorts of other weird things. Perhaps zombies were the next big discovery for her.

  "And... where did you hear about these undead?" Aester asked with a drop of skepticism in her voice. "Was it a report by a civilian or scout? Is it confirmed, or is it hearsay? Do you have visuals as of now?"

  "Wha—uhh, it was by a scout, and we don’t have visuals right now but... um... they say the enemy is around the dozens."

  "Ok then... tell me: what’s the difference between a boar and an undead boar?" She needed to know more about the situation to work on it. It was rare that she was given such a ripe opportunity. She was certainly not going to waste it because of a lack of intel.

  "Umm... the creatures have an uncanny high constitution and do not respond to pain anymore. They are also a lot less reasonable. They aren’t the smartest, having their spirit rotted away from their body..."

  Aester rolled her eyes one more time as Greed mockingly commented on the topic.

  "She just described a regular ass boar."

  The goblin continued her report. "They are also immune to most natural poison and will explode in a mist of bile when killed. They are also very resilient to stabbing and bludgeoning with weapons without magic."

  "What the fuuk... now that’s new," Greed commented in a light mood.

  Pride didn’t share her tone. "Then they are not animals. They are disasters. Probably the result of a disease or drugs. Perhaps they ate some harmful plants that gave them these traits." Pride’s conclusion made sense—all up until the "explode into a fine mist of bile" part.

  "Wait... how did these animals get these traits? Are there any flowers in these woods that could give these sorts of properties?" Aester asked in a lighter, more curious tone.

  "No. There aren’t any that we’ve discovered yet, but that might be because we arrived here only eight months ago."

  "They’re nomadic, as expected. Let’s ask them why later," Greed suggested.

  "Okay so... what cards have we been dealt with? The amount of men, the level of experience, and the quality of their weapons?"

  It seemed Grinla was a little embarrassed with the answer she had in stock "umm.. we have 11 men who are... brave enough to join us" Aester noticed how she said brave and not trained "they have..... fought off some uhh.. animals before" she didn't state excatly what sort of animals "their weapon is hand made with umm.. the gifts of natur-"

  "Sticks, they are called sticks" Aester sighed, she knew they needed some great plan for this to work out in any way not a total defeat, lucky for her she had just that.

  "How fast can you gather these men of yours ?" Aestsr asked her patience thinning.

  Grinla looked around for a couple of seconds before calling over a young goblin carrying a bag of wet cloths.

  "Tell every one of the village hunters to meet us by the doto trees"

  The goblin nodded placing her basket down and went running around searching for these hunters

  "We're going to talk more about the situation," Aester told Grinla. "Every detail."

  ---

  The hunters were all gathered in front of the purple trees—Doto, as she had learned they were called. Sturdy and strong, with deep roots that anchored them against storms.

  The men, however, were anything but sturdy.

  They were a sight to behold—small, skinny, and lacking even a shred of discipline. Some were half-asleep while standing.

  Aester was certain not a single one of them could have made it out of boot camp. Not even the Navy’s weakest would’ve accepted them, let alone the Marines.

  Their gear was equally laughable—museum-worthy, labeled ancient if it were anywhere else. Most carried crude spears, just sharpened sticks. Their "ballistics" were slings the kind David used to kill Goliath.

  And the goblins themselves were So small, everything around them might as well be a Goliath.

  "So... you're the runts this village considers its best?" Aester called out, her voice sharp. She wanted to see who’d take offense—who’d show even a hint of spine.

  One goblin hesitantly raised his hand. He wore rags not made of wool but woven plant fibers, and he clutched a sling in both hands.

  "Um... why are we here?"

  Aester’s gaze cut to Grinla, who immediately looked away.

  She was furious. The goblin who she discoverd was the captain of the hunters hadn’t even briefed her men about the coming attack.

  "You are under siege!" Aester barked, her voice snapping some of the drowsy goblins to attention. "And from what I can see, not a single one of you is ready for it."

  Pride stirred within her. "There wasn’t time to turn these fools into full-fledged Marines—but they didn’t need to be soldiers.

  They needed fear. Directed fear.

  Fear is something all men have. The mistake is trying to root it out. What we need is simple: if there’s anything they should be afraid of—then let it be us."