I don't want to move. I want to stay by the fire, pretend the blood's not real, pretend the fang on the slab is just decoration and not proof that I nearly died over and over in a room full of teeth.
But the word is still echoing from the tunnel.
Help.
Dry. Weak. Not kobold.
I grab a rock.
Because apparently that's what I do now—build things, break things, and get volunteered into leadership positions I didn't apply for.
No one says anything as I walk toward the sound.
The hoarder watches like I've lost my mind. The female grips her shard. The old one—Stonebite, I guess—leans heavier against the wall but doesn't look away. The kid sits cross-legged, staring into the fla, like it has the answer. It doesn't.
I step into the tunnel.
It's darker here. Distant. The light from Ashring fades fast, like even the fire doesn't want to follow .
Then I see it.
A shape.
Not kobold.
Too tall. Wrapped in tattered cloth. One arm bent wrong. It's slumped against the wall like it forgot how to sit upright halfway through dying. But its eyes—too wide, too dark—find .
It doesn't move.
"Help," it says again.
Just that.
Flat. No rhythm. Like it learned the word from a crack in the wall.
I don't answer.
I circle slow, rock raised. Just in case.
[Sentient Entity Detected – Language Unmatched]
[Mimicry Thread Available – Witness Node Required]
[Threat Level: Unknown – Data Incomplete]
Its body is wrong. Humanoid, but the proportions feel off. Not twisted, just... adapted. Like it was made for so room I haven't seen yet. The cloth it wears is layered, stitched from scavenged wraps and wire. No visible claws. No scales.
But it's not afraid of .
That part's the worst.
It doesn't beg. It doesn't crawl. It just watches.
Like it's been waiting.
I should leave it.
Should tell the others it's dead already.
Should do a hundred smarter things.
Instead, I crouch beside it. Keep the rock between us.
"Why?"
No answer.
Of course not.
I try again. "Why help?"
It blinks.
Not understanding.
Not not understanding either.
I hate this.
I stand. Turn.
Then pause.
Because I know what happens next.
I'm going to drag this thing back to Ashring.
I don't know if it's a spy, a trap, or a dying stray.
But I do know one thing.
If this thing dies out here, it won't be the first corpse I buried. But it might be the first I chose.
Dragging the thing back is harder than I thought. Not because it's heavy—it's lighter than it looks, bones too close to the skin—but because it doesn't resist. It just lets .
No panic. No flailing. No groaning dramatic collapse.
Which is sohow worse.
I half-drag, half-guide it down the tunnel like I'm escorting a pile of wet laundry with trust issues.
By the ti we step back into Ashring, the fire's flickering low and the air feels tight. Everyone's still awake.
They see .
They see it.
Weapons go up.
The female's already circling, grip on her bone shard white-knuckled.
"We kill it," she says. No hesitation. Just fact.
The hoarder chis in, voice flat. "It followed you? That's enough."
The kid doesn't speak. Doesn't flinch either.
He steps forward, not toward the stranger—toward the slab.
He kneels. Drags his claw across the soot and ash.
New mark. Circular. Twisted. Closed in on itself. Then he adds a slash through the center.
Not a word, but I get it.
Not us. But not threat.
Or maybe just: watching.
The old kobold—Stonebite—leans on his good side and says nothing. Just watches .
No one's moving.
Which ans it's my move.
I clear my throat. Hate how dry it is.
"It said help."
Silence.
Then the system buzzes like it's been waiting for its cue.
[Decision Thread Locked – Witness Node Confird]
[rcy Shard Ford – Role Stability Adjusted]
[Proto-Path Triggered: Bridgebearer – Latent]
[Social Cohesion: Divided – Ritual Fire Node Strained]
Perfect.
Not only am I a firekeeper and a grave digger, now I'm a humanitarian aid service for twitchy dungeon bipeds.
I set the creature down near the edge of the firelight. Not close enough to burn. Not far enough to isolate. It curls into itself and doesn't make a sound.
No one sleeps.
The hoarder keeps sharpening a bone.
The female never sits.
Stonebite closes one eye, just one, like he's trying not to die mid-watch.
The kid walks a slow circle around the fla. Every so often he glances at the stranger.
Like he's checking if it's still real.
So am I.
I sit near the slab.
Watch the marks.
They used to be simple. Now they're layered. Symbols on top of anings we haven't finished building yet. So still make sense. Others just feel like they should.
The fire pops.
The creature stirs.
And for the first ti, I wonder—
Did it find the fire by accident?
Or has it been watching us this whole ti?
The system pings again. Quiet. Slow. Like sothing waking from deeper sleep.
[Symbolic Infection Spread – Source Unknown]
[Cultural Mutation Detected – Firekeeper Structure Drifted]
[Cross-Kin Thread Forming – Identity Node: Disrupted]
That's new.
That's bad.
But I can't do anything about it tonight.
So I close my eyes.
And listen.
Because if it talks in its sleep, I want to be the first to know if I need to kill it.
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