Chapter 32: Small Steps

  The water spits me out like an unwanted meal, ejecting me through the collapsed archway with brutal force. I break the surface gasping, choking on marsh water that tastes of rot. My lungs burn as I cough violently, expelling the murky liquid while desperately gulping down air.

  Fortunately, the crystal lantern is still clutched in my hand, its steady glow seeming brighter in the natural light of the marsh. I immediately throw it inside my rags, hoping that the light will fade out without touch.

  Around me, the water churns with other bodies breaking the surface. Gnolls thrash and sputter, their heavy fur waterlogged and dragging them down. I see Gorvash's distinctive copper scales appear nearby, the warrior's powerful arms stroking toward the nearest solid ground.

  Kor'ik surfaces with a strangled croak, his throat sac expanded to impossible proportions as he struggles to stay afloat.

  And finally, the Bog Goblin pops up like a cork, its natural buoyancy and webbed extremities making it the most comfortable in this chaos.

  But someone's missing.

  I spin in the water, searching. The Gnolls are accounted for, even Hynnal still gripping his prize as he drags himself toward a stone platform. Gorvash, Kor'ik, the Goblin, the Stalker... everyone except…

  Silent Frogman.

  Those iron weights, even with the rushing current, most likely become an anchor dragging him to the bottom.

  I don't think. I just move.

  Diving back under the surface, I force my eyes open despite the murky water. My enhanced vision struggles against the sediment kicked up by our violent expulsion, but there, not far below and still struggling, I see his sinking shape, legs kicking futilely trying to drag the weights.

  I swim down, fighting against my body's desperate buoyancy. The Silent Frogman sees me coming and his eyes widen. He shakes his head violently, trying to wave me off even as he sinks.

  Stubborn bastard would rather die than accept help from a Lizardman.

  I ignore his protests and grab onto the iron weights around his ankles. They're heavy, far heavier than they looked on land, and secured with thick metal clasps. My claws scrape uselessly against the locks, finding no purchase.

  I can't break the locks, but maybe I can counteract their weight.

  I grip one of the weights and push upward with all my evolved strength. The Silent Frogman's eyes widen in understanding. He stops struggling against the sinking iron and instead begins kicking in rhythm with my efforts.

  Together, we fight the pull. His powerful legs, even hampered by the weights, generate incredible force. I push, he kicks, and inch by painful inch, we begin to rise.

  It's agonizingly slow. The weights want to drag us both down, and my lungs scream for air. But the Frogman's species are built for this. Powerful swimmers adapted for explosive movement. Even burdened, his kicks are stronger than anything I could manage alone.

  My vision starts to narrow, dark spots appearing at the edges. Just a bit further. Just a few more feet.

  The Silent Frogman's hand suddenly grabs my waist, and with one final, desperate burst of strength, his legs propel us both upward.

  We break the surface together, gasping and choking. The Frogman's powerful strokes carry us toward the nearest platform where Gorvash reaches down to haul us out.

  I collapse onto the stone, retching up marsh water while my regeneration works overtime to repair my oxygen-starved tissues. Beside me, the Silent Frogman does the same, his chest heaving with great, rattling breaths.

  When I can finally lift my head, he's looking at me. Really looking, not the dismissive glances he'd given me before. His throat sac pulses once, twice, and then he croaks a single word in Frogman.

  "Debt."

  I don't have the energy to respond, but I nod and he nods back. Not best friends but I call it progress.

  Everyone survived, though barely.

  The Gnolls fare worst of all. Three of them still cough violently, hacking up marsh water while their packmates pound their backs with brutal efficiency. One warrior lies on his side, barely conscious, his breathing shallow and labored.

  Hynnal himself looks diminished, his scarred face drawn with exhaustion. But his clawed hand never releases its grip on the core stone. Even near-drowning won't make him relinquish his prize.

  The Stalker has somehow emerged nearly dry, his adaptive fur apparently having some waterproofing property I hadn't noticed before. He crouches at the platform's edge, yellow eyes scanning our bedraggled group with calculating assessment.

  Gorvash shakes himself like a great reptilian dog, water spraying in all directions. His thick scales shed the moisture easily, leaving him merely damp rather than soaked. The warrior's eyes find mine, a wordless check. You good? I nod back. Yeah, I'm good.

  Kor'ik huddles near the center of the platform, as far from the water's edge as possible. His green skin has taken on a grayish tinge, and his hands won't stop shaking. The Frogman's earlier arrogance has been completely washed away, leaving only raw terror and exhaustion.

  The Bog Goblin seems physically fine—its species is built for aquatic environments—but emotionally it's shattered. The small creature rocks back and forth, making small keening sounds that hurt to hear.

  As my breathing finally steadies and the immediate panic recedes, my senses slowly reorient to the world around me.

  The first thing I notice is the smell. After the strange, sterile air of the trial chamber, the marsh's scent is almost familiar now. The decaying vegetation mixed with stagnant water feels overwhelming and even nauseating but paradoxically comforting.

  This is real. This is the world I know, brutal and putrid as it is.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  And looking back at the portal, I can see it's changed. The entrance is sealed now, no darkness or fluctuation, only an imposing archway of stone.

  The trial has closed itself, either waiting for the next group of challengers or perhaps simply done with us.

  We did it. We survived the first trial.

  But at what cost?

  ____________________________________________________________________________

  The journey back to our makeshift camp is silent. Even the Gnolls don't howl or bark. We're all processing what happened.

  When we finally reach the platform where we left our supplies, Hynnal immediately begins organizing his remaining warriors. The losses have clearly affected him, but his leadership holds. Discipline, orders, purpose, these things keep the pack together even in the face of horror.

  I collapse onto the stone, exhaustion finally catching up. Gorvash sits beside me, and for a long moment, neither of us speaks.

  We sit in silence again, watching the sun just start its descent. Despite all that deadly experience, only a few hours have passed.

  Somewhere in my mind, Magba's voice echoes. Words she spoke before I left her cave, cryptic warnings I didn't fully understand at the time.

  "Never forget what you truly are, little one. Neither mere Lizardman nor human who once was, but two worlds made one."

  I understand better now. The trial didn't just test our survival skills. It tested our identity, our ability to hold onto who we are when everything else is stripped away.

  And all of us failed that test, even if we survived it.

  "Brother," Gorvash says quietly, breaking my thoughts. "When darkness fell, I couldn't see anyone... I just… attacked. Like blind weapon."

  "You're more than that," I tell him though the words feel inadequate.

  "Am I?" He looks at his claws. "Only thing I know is to fight. They bred and trained me for this. Kill or be killed."

  I want to argue, to tell him he's wrong but there is truth in his words. He's not wrong about what he was raised to be.

  Still, admitting to it feels like surrender. I believe people can change, can learn. Be it humans or any other sentient being.

  "You saved my life in the marsh," I remind him. "You didn't have to help and put yourself in danger."

  There is no response from him, just more staring at his claws. I let the silence settle between us, knowing some realizations can't be forced.

  Kor'ik joins us, moving stiffly. The Frogman looks terrible, his usually vibrant green skin has a sickly pallor, and his eyes are sunken and haunted. His battered face shows every emotion he's feeling, be it fear or shame, and underneath it all, a desperate need for companionship..

  "I thought I was going to die," he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. His throat sac pulses irregularly, betraying his emotional state. "In the dark… I thought that was the end."

  "But it wasn't," I offer, trying to find something reassuring to say.

  "No." He shakes his head slowly. "But I wanted it to be."

  The raw honesty catches me off guard. This isn't the arrogant Kor'ik who lorded his translator status over other slaves. This is someone broken open, exposing wounds he'd usually hide behind superiority.

  "I just want..." he pauses, and I can see tears forming in his huge amphibian eyes. They roll down his face in thick drops, leaving trails on his skin. "I just want to go home. To my people and my family."

  His words hit me hard. Home… I also want to go home.

  Not here in this world but back to Earth, back to my lab and to my sweet Vict…

  I can’t. Not now. That human is long dead and gone, the Lizardman is still alive.

  I want to comfort him, but I don't know how. Like me, he's terrified and alone. He needs someone to acknowledge that his pain matters.

  But before I can figure out what to say, Gorvash speaks up.

  "You had home," the warrior says, his voice harsh. "Had safety, had family. I never have this. Born in cage, raised in cage, bred like cattle for war." His copper scales seem to darken with suppressed emotion. "You Frogmen did this to my kind. Made us weapons. Made us slaves. And now you cry because you miss your comfort?"

  The words hit Kor'ik like a truck. The Frogman flinches, his throat sac contracting.

  "I... I didn't... my family didn't..." He struggles to form words. "Not all Frogmen…"

  "All Frogmen benefit," Gorvash cuts him off. "My people have no choice. We fight or die. That is all."

  The bitterness in his voice is like acid. And I understand it, god help me. Gorvash's entire existence has been suffering. Why should he sympathize with someone who, from his perspective, is a collaborator?

  But this is the wrong path. I can feel it spiraling toward something ugly.

  "Stop," I say firmly, loud enough to cut through their building argument. Both of them turn to look at me, surprised by the authority in my voice. "Both of you, stop."

  Gorvash's eyes narrow. "This is not your figh…"

  "It's exactly my fight," I interrupt. "Because we're all in the same situation now. We're all slaves to these Gnoll bastards. We're all marked." I touch my forehead where the brand still pulses faintly. "We're all going to die in these ruins if we turn on each other."

  "He serves them willingly," Gorvash insists, pointing at Kor'ik with one clawed finger. "Makes himself, coordinator and profits from our suffering."

  "I survive!" Kor'ik's voice cracks. "That's all I do! You think I enjoy this? You think I wanted to be captured, to be marked, to watch people die?" His tears flow freely now. "I'm terrified every moment. Every single moment. And you judge me for finding any way to stay alive?"

  "Yes," Gorvash says simply. "Because your way helps them. Makes their slavery easier. Makes you traitor to all of us."

  I step between them before this can escalate further. "Enough. Gorvash, you're right that all this is broken. That Frogmen enslaved your people, bred you for war. That's injustice, and your anger is justified."

  The warrior nods, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

  "But," I continue, "Kor'ik didn't create that system. He was born and raised to feel scorn and hatred for us. Our fight should be to free our own, not kill every Frogmen or Gnoll because of vengeance.

  "But he collaborates…"

  "He does what he must," I cut him off. "We all do to survive."

  Gorvash falls silent, his expression troubled. I can see him wrestling with the concepts, trying to reconcile his justified rage with the more complex reality I'm presenting.

  Kor'ik wipes his eyes with webbed hands, looking at me with something between gratitude and shame.

  “The trial was like a mirror. It showed us what we are in the dark, just instincts and aggression made out of division, not much different from the conflict that nearly happened right here.” I say firmly.

  "It made us afraid. And fear makes us dangerous"

  Silence hangs between us.

  “But it also revealed that even in blind violence, we can overcome it. That we chose union instead of surrendering to our instincts. We pulled each other out. That’s what matters."

  After a moment of contemplation, Gorvash mutters. "I saw claw marks on Stalker's face… very vicious."

  I pause in incredulity. Is this big lump of a lizard teasing me?

  "He started it," I counter, and incredibly, he laughs. A short, harsh bark of sound, but genuine. Even Kor’ik seems to lighten up a little.

  This moment of levity may be quick, but it helps. A reminder that we're still here, still capable of humor despite everything.

  Small steps, I remind myself. But steps nonetheless.