"Don't you dare tell me to run! I came here to lead this mission, and I won't leave until it either succeeds—or I'm dead!"
My personal guard, who somehow heard me over the screams and clashing steel, looked over my already numerous minor wounds. He answered in that same solemn voice I'd known for years.
"My lady… if you die, your father will kill us all anyway. There is no choice to be made here. For once, please set aside your stubbornness and report this fully to your father. This many goblins, this close to Arkhaven—it's urgent news."
Another scream echoed through the cave. Another soldier lost to the ruthless swarm of green bodies.
"We can hold them for ten minutes, no more. Our bodies can't buy you more time. I'm sorry, Mistress Alta."
Tears welled in my eyes as I stepped forward and hugged the blood-covered man who had watched over me for as long as I could remember. Startled, he smiled—then gently pushed me toward the cave entrance and turned back to face the seething mass of goblins.
A rumble tore through the ceiling above. Rock shifted. Earth cracked.
Even the goblins paused.
The ceiling split open—and something descended.
What looked to be a white golem, its surface gleaming like polished granite, dropped into the cavern. Its every part moved with purpose, its design so precise it felt more divine than constructed.
It slowly straightened, eyes glowing white, sweeping its gaze across both frozen sides of the battle. Then, with no urgency—no emotion—it spoke.
"Weph'nar detek'tor. Drav'nar weph'nos. Kom'plin'sah man'terek. Thret'zar ess'mak en'prosketh."
I didn't understand the words, but something in them—maybe the cadence, the tone—sounded like a command. My body refused to move, my mind frozen in the sheer otherness of its presence.
Several goblins broke the stillness, rushing toward the gleaming intruder to dismantle the strange "toy" that had fallen into their den.
They didn't make it far.
The golem moved—too fast for me to follow—and suddenly held something in its hands. It resembled a crossbow, but slimmer, sleeker.
Before I could even guess its purpose, the weapon cracked—four times. A sound like hooves on stone. One goblin flew backward, blue blood spraying across the cavern wall.
Apparently satisfied with the result, the golem began to move again—snapping its weapon from target to target with mechanical precision. Each burst of noise dropped another goblin. Another. Another. The cracks echoed like distant thunder.
Then the sound changed. The weapon stopped firing.
I stepped forward, ready to rally the remaining soldiers—to buy it time, if nothing else. But before I could speak, the golem reached over its shoulder. The weapon slid into a slot along its back with mechanical ease.
Two smaller devices dropped into its hands.
It spoke again.
"Saren'duhl"
I didn't know what the words meant.
But I was certain of one thing:
The goblins were already dead.
And maybe… we would be too.