Cyran and Vi’ira immediately fell into a battle stance at the sign of danger, as if they’d done it countless times before. He felt her back pressed against his, her physical presence a reminder that she was watching his back. In the shadows he could make out small figures darting back and forth, heard the laughter bouncing off the walls along with the sound of skittering claws.

Safe travels, indeed.

It was obvious that these homes weren’t of elven make, built into the stones jutting out from the cavernous ceiling. He could make out pale, flickering lights in the windows, barely enough to light their path. The sight of the civilization filled Cyran with a sense of dread, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. At least, he couldn’t until the goblins showed up, chanting about tin and knife-ears in their scratchy voices, and he could finally place why- anything elven here had died long ago.

This was an elven graveyard, and the goblins had stomped all over the remains.

He couldn’t help but fondly roll his eyes as Vi’ira egged the creatures on- he could have attempted to dissuade her but he knew he would sooner divert the ocean from its course. Besides, he had a feeling those goblins were none too keen on letting them past to get to the Sol Stone, or whatever they housed in these caves.

Just as the tension of the encounter was coming to a head, Vi’ira charged first- she was not someone who waited for the enemy to get the first blow. Cyran unsheathed one of his daggers- spell slicer, as he affectionately called it- ready to sprint after her, when one of the goblins watching the show from above jump down, attempting to get the drop on her while she was focused on the target in front of her.

“Oh no you don’t!”

Cyran raised his hand, finger extended outwards. From his blackened nail, a dark, swirling shadow extended outwards, nailing the goblin straight in the back.[1] Black lightning seemed to crackle around the wound, and the rot spread outwards, until nearly its entire back had been charred by the strange substance. The goblin was already unconscious before it hit the floor.

Good, a small, vindictive part of Cyran thought. It was rare that his cruel streak reared its ugly head, but he felt no pity when it came to those that hurt the people he cared about. Especially considering the promise he made to Vi’ira’s mother…

Well, those goblins didn't want to know what would happen if it got to that point.

Cyran pulled out his second blade, cold steel, and clutched one in each hand. While he may not have seemed assuming at first glance, with both of these weapons clutched in each hand, Cyran would make them regret the day they crawled out of their huts and tried to claim elven land as their own.

---

1. Chaos Bolt

Tam had never seen a goblin before, and the first impression was not nice. While the city had some charm to it, creatures occupying it evidently had something against elves. The feeling seemed mutual and she could feel the air around grow tense, weapons practically already pulled out.
Vi'ra attacked first, with Cyran joining soon after. Tam grasped her axe, not bothering about sword, and joined the fight.

It was the first time for her to face enemies shorter than her. So she couldn't really shine, most of her attacks were just vertical guillotine strikes. Socket and herself got closer together, much like the other pair.
Most goblins focused on Cyran and Vi'ra though, like if holding some kind of grudge. Helping them was the only reasonable move in that situation.

The fight was loud enough to lure more enemies nearby, the area around city entrance now surrounded by observers, a few joining the assault from time to time. Tamarind lost the count of how many they slayed already. This could be a village or a goblin nation capitol so the crowd around couldn't tell much.
One of the goblins jumped down the wall, aiming for Cyran's back, when he got engaged by a couple others. The creature got quickly eliminated, but the elf didn'ylt notice another one, diving just a couple seconds after the unlucky one. With no other options, she threw her axe at the goblin, severly wounding him and knocking off the course. She was not as good with the sword, but it will have to do for now.

As the pair of elves spoke to the Goblins, Socket took scope of the surroundings. The large room made for a wonderful ambush, with high sides and lots of hard to get to ledges and cover. Today would see their training pay large dividends, but first the party needed to make it out alive. As the talks turned to the sounds of battle, Socket moved closer to Tamarind, leaving them enough space to handle a few of the gibbering flesh balls whom launched themselves at the group recklessly. An arcane word, and they were surrounded by a protective barrier of electricity that would turn aside or destroy most projectiles.

Vi'ira and Cyran were engaged, the Goblins having some sort of bloodlust towards elven kind. Socket used this to their advantage as several of the force began to get shredded by the party. As the melee's din became a cacophony of blades clashing, Socket looked up at the walls, the embedded tombs that had been ransacked. Two green and twisted visages peered out in the gloom, one on each end of the hall. Knowing Lightning Lure's limits better now, Socket targeted the row of holes, conveniently having 5 larger spaces. A series of arcane words and 5 blue-white pillars of lightning appeared, one at the entrance to each of those hiding spots above.

In moments, the screeches of several Goblins trapped inside the pillar's zone by their own hubris preceded the smoking, twitching remnants of their failed ambush. Socket sidestepped, skidding a bit in the gloom, keeping close to Tam as the part deftly tore through the poor creatures. "Careful of the higher chambers, they seem to have developed a bit of an infestation. I didn't think this adventure would become an exercise in pest control." They remarked to the party, then took another quick scan of the area. More were pouring in, chittering back and forth between each other. 

"It would be wise to stop this fool errand little green ones, before you see your clan given to the wind, and touched by the storm." Socket boomed, a synthetic and odd sound that crackled between the words. Standing their ground, the echo of their declaration passed through the chamber. Tam's Axe sailed by and buried itself half into a charging goblin as the hall crowded. A sizzling sound, and a sickly green flash bounced off the edge of the Static Field. Socket took a quick glance, but was unable to pin down what had hit or it's source. 

It was absolute chaos around them.

Vi'ira charged towards the first goblin, her rapier held high in the air. The goblin hissed as it ran closer, a quickness in its step. It lunged at her and reached a decent distance off the ground. Vi'ira slid on the hard rock floor, holding the hilt of her rapier at the top of her forehead. Her blade, although thinner than most, rested on the thicker side of these blade-types. As the goblin flew above her, its stomach made contact with the edge of her sword, ripping the goblin open. It cried out as it immediately collapsed to the ground, wiggling around as it tried to grasp at any rocks and pull itself away. One down, many…many more to go.

Her head whipped around as the body of another goblin collapsed close by, and she saw Cyran’s finger outstretched, a shadow still emitting from it. The back of the goblin was rotted with darkness, and Vi’ira couldn’t help but shiver. As close as she was to Cyran, she never got used to the dark magic he used. She knew he would never hurt her–she truly knew that–but a voice in the back of her head teased her as tucked away thoughts came to the light when she was alone.

The dark will consume him, as it does to every breathing thing.

She didn’t believe that.

She locked eyes with him, nodded, and made her way closer. Her rapier dripped with goblin blood and trailed down to the hilt. Tamarind and Socket were handling themselves quite well. Tamarind wielded an axe, and tossed it around hitting the pests square in the back and in the middle of their skulls. As timid as they appeared, they were quite the opposite in combat. Socket was the same way, letting out streams of lightning beams to deviate the onlooking goblins from a chance at getting any closer to them. The cave grew brighter from the beams, light hitting all the jagged, sharp rocks and hanging bungalows. The goblin’s faces were much scarier now that they were fully lit.

Socket’s voice boomed, echoing off the walls. This did not stop the goblin’s movements whatsoever, only intensified the sound of their disgusting, sinister laughter. They made no plans to stop, almost as if they were under the command of a higher up, perhaps a general of the goblin army, or the leader of this strange civilization. Whoever they were, they were nowhere to be found. All those around the adventurers were small in stature and appeared similar in their garments and weapons.

Vi’ira stood in a battle stance as her eye caught a fast movement hurtling towards Socket. Three goblins clad in armor of leather and steel were fixed on her, one holding a large hammer. She raised her hand and a flood of wind intercepted them, and sent them flying into the cavernous pit underneath the bridge. They soared through the air, screeching and screaming. Vi’ira smiled to herself.

Cyran did not miss Vi’ira’s discomfort at his magic. It was slight- barely a tightening in her shoulders- but present nevertheless. He couldn’t blame her.

He didn’t like his magic, either.

But in the throes of battle, she would not say anything, and neither would he, and her worry would go unspoken until the time was right to speak about such things. For now, Cyran had to focus on the enemies in front of him.

Where Vi’ira, Tamarind, and Socket fought like warriors, raining down upon the goblins with weapons and magic, Cyran had to adopt a different strategy. To anyone that might have been observing him, Cyran moved with the grace of a dancer, ducking and weaving through the shadows, sticking close to the others to deliver well-timed deadly attacks where a goblin might sneak up in their blindspots. Of course, any observer would have a difficult time tracking him in the first place.

He did not expect Socket’s warning to work- goblins, while small, were ferocious creatures, and this batch seemed desperate to drive them out as if Solaria himself had demanded it. From the way they were acting, one might almost believe they had something in the depths of the cave worth protecting. But that was a ridiculous thought. Even if the Sol Stone really was here, there was no way the goblins could possibly know the value of what they held.

At least, that was what he thought, until one goblin in the crowd caught his eye.

They were no different from the rest in terms of size and stature, but something about them clearly demanded respect, as the other goblins immediately ceased battle, parting to let them through. Cyran’s eyes narrowed, taking in the natural reverence that the other goblins treated this one with. That in itself was not strange. Goblins were pack creatures, and naturally gravitated towards the biggest and the strongest of the bunch for guidance and instruction. But this goblin was neither big, nor strong. In fact, he looked quite old, with an especially wrinkled face and tattered robes that looked like they may have once been made of white and red fabric.

Now, the rags hung off of the goblin that approached them, at a surprisingly unhurried pace, almost as if it was intelligent. They raised a hand, firing off a beam of sickly-green energy, almost like a blast of poison, right for Socket. It bounced off the construct’s energy shield, thankfully, but by now, the goblin had already gathered the crowd’s attention.

“What is this? Invaders, in our home?” The goblin asked in a scratching voice that almost sounded slightly deeper than the others. The other goblins broke into raucous cheers at the leader’s declaration, raising broken spears and other weapons in excitement.

“Yes, yes! Sneaky elves and metal!”

“We hate elves!”

“Metal, too!”

The leader spoke again as the other goblins all descended into manic giggling, as if someone had said something particularly clever. “Elves come back to our cave? You seek our shiny things? Filthy, tricky tricksters like you should go back to the surface where you belong.”

Cyran stepped forward, clutching Spell Slicer. The goblin seemed to have magic, but if he could get close enough, then he could render the creature’s spells useless. “Your kind have no claim to these halls.” He said, voice a deadly calm that betrayed little of the anger that simmered underneath the surface. “Nor to anything housed in them. I would suggest that you give up your shiny and leave now, before we forcibly remove you.”

The goblin only clapped their hands together before pulling out something from its robes- a small, silver, disk-like object- and stroked it with clawed hands. “Never, never! We need the shiny, to find the sun, and then we will show those nasty elves fear! Fear, for forcing us to live underground!”

Realization dawned on Cyran as the other goblins began to chant and cheer in a guttural, foreign language he couldn’t understand. They were cultists.

But that didn’t make sense. Did they have the Sol Stone, or did they only covet it? They certainly seemed to worship it, but the way their leader spoke implied that they had some way to find it- or they believed they did. It didn’t matter now. They had to focus on getting their hands on whatever that goblin had in their hands.

Cyran glowered as he took another step forward, gaze chilly. As he moved, the shadows seemed to cling to him, nipping at his boots and leaving a lingering trail behind him. A few of the other goblins murmured to themselves, anxiously wondering what he was about to do, but none of them moving to step up and stop it. “Very well.” He said. “If that’s what you want, I’ll show you true fear.”

He pulled up his hood.^[1]

The darkness that the hood granted him contorted his features, shadows on his face that made Cyran appear more ghost than human, with gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes. He locked eyes with the goblin, and the cultist froze, paralyzed with whatever vision the Spectre’s dread form had shown him.

Cyran never knew what fears those that looked him in the eyes saw when he induced such visions. Some things were better off not knowing.

Seconds passed. The cultist’s legs gave out from under him, suddenly looking as if he’d been aged nearly ten years as he snapped out of the illusion, watching Cyran with a horrified, maddened, expression on his face. Cyran held out his hand, palm extended outwards.

“Now, will you surrender, or do you want me to make whatever you saw a reality?”

The cultist stared up at him, entire body nearly convulsing as he shivered violently. Rather than hand Cyran the artifact in his hands, the cultist let out an ear-splitting scream, pulled himself to his feet, and ran further into the cave, the other goblins at his heels.

Well. Somehow Cyran hadn’t expected to flee.

A sigh escaped his lips as Cyran lowered his hood, and the illusion was broken. He made sure he looked normal before turning to look at the others, a sheepish, almost sad expression on his face. “I am… sorry you had to see that.” He mumbled, voice low. While intimidation was a necessary tactic, he hated using it, especially knowing what kind of effect it had on others. He could not meet the others, especially Vi’ira in the eyes, as he stared down at his boots, face flushed.

“We should go after them- whatever artifact that goblin held must have some clue to the Sol Stone.” He said quickly, before turning on his heel and venturing further into the cavern after the goblins before anyone else could say anything.

---

1. Hood of Horrors

The fight calmed down a little, giving Tam a needed short break. Sword really was not her weapon. She backed out from the fight and soon realized why goblins left her alone for the time being. Every one of them was looking at an old goblin approaching them deliberately. The crowd parted before him, so did the warriors surrounding them. Then the old one spoke.

The conversation pretty much ensured Tamarind that goblins and elves had some unsolved interests and something was telling her it was not all about the cave they were in. But it was now confirmed that the place had something to do with solstone. The goblins listened like if hypnotized, laughing and spitting out mocking responses.

The fight would soon escalate once again, so Tam slowly, without any sudden moves, approached her axe, still sticking out of an unlucky jumper. Which led her close enough to Cyran to see a glimpse of what was beneath his hood as he wore it.

Tamarind woke up after a short while, kneeling and grasping her head. Not remembering what she saw and unable to send any understandable messages to her companions. Filled to the brim with shapeless fear, that slowly started to fade as the time went on. Soon she could stand up, but she still was too jittery to "speak".

Socket listened to the conversation, pondering the exchange as the goblin hordes appeared to shy away from Cyran. The goblins collectively conceded to whatever illusory horrors had been inflicted by Cyran's magic, and it seemed to have a devastating effect on Tam as well. Socket walked over by Tam, covering her as the throes of the spell faded and she began to recover. "It would seem our friend Cyran has some fancy illusions... powerful stuff." They remarked, glad whatever magics used hadn't swept them up as well.

As Tam moved to retrieve her weapon, Socket scaled the wall of the hallway, getting above and away from the path of others. There, suspended near the ceiling, they safely discharged the Lightning Lure spell. A crackling pop of electricity and the pillars dispersed. With that complete, Socket hopped back down to the ground landing with barely a sound among the others. All through the hall, the goblins had either given flight or given up, and hearing Cyran say someone was getting away was all the prompting Socket would need to take action.

The construct's metallic structure strained and crackled with electricity, an unnatural breeze whipping through the hall as they leaped forward and activated Bullet Dash, carrying them forward with the speed of wind and lightning. A bit of feline grace and training allowed them to land effortlessly in front of the fleeing old Goblin, and block off the hallway. "Cowardly gremlin, leaving so soon? Our conversation is just getting started..." They pined, glancing sidelong down the hall toward the party before grinning in a disturbingly sinister fashion. An arcane word whispered from their lips, and flippantly they brushed the air as if shooing away a fly. Gust Thrust tossed the old curmudgeon down the hall as if it were no more than a bug, tumbling arse over end back the way it came. Socket wasted no time in stalking forward, cutting off the route as the panicking and sniveling creature skidded to a halt barely a few feet from where it had stood before running.  

Vi'ira stiffened as the goblins parted before them, lowering their weapons and snarling as they backed away. She moved over to Cyran, his eyes locked on an old goblin that stood in tattered robs. A small wall of creatures stood around him as if protecting him, and Vi'ira pieced together that he must be a leader of some sort.

Cyran and the old goblin began to converse as the chorus around him chimed & whispered. When he raised his hood…that’s when it got interesting. The goblins began to shriek in terror, some running behind their peers while other fell to their knees. Whatever it was they saw, Vi’ira wanted no part in it. She had faced it once before, and never, ever, wanted to experience something like that again.

Socket was the first to take charge, dashing towards the creatures and scaling the wall. She had to hand it to them, they were quick on their feet. The terrified goblins hadn’t made it much farther into the cave before Socket dropped before them, stopping them in their tracks. Before they could even catch their breath, Socket sent the elder cultists and surrounding goblins flying back. Vi’ira noted in her mind to discuss the Sky Domain with them when things weren’t so highstake, perhaps they could teach one another a thing or two. The elder soared through the air landing squarely on his back. Air rushed out of his lungs as he began to cough and squirm. He was mumbling under his breath, most likely praying.

Vi’ira moved over to him where he laid clutching the strange artifact around his neck, his knuckles growing whiter as his grip tightened. She swung her leg over and stood above him, one leg on each side of him.

“We’ll be takin’ that then,” she held out her right palm, her eyes narrow and furious. Her left hand clutched onto her rapier as she pointed the tip at the old goblin’s chin, pressing into it and drawing a bit of blood. What cowards to not only claim a home and item that isn’t theirs, but to run away when finally asked to defend it. Vi’ira thought they were despicable.

She was startled by a sudden weight on her back as a goblin snuck up and jumped onto her back. It quickly wrapped an arm around her forehead, and secured her arms down by wrapping its feet around her shoulders. A coldness on her neck caused her to shiver. He held a jagged dagger to her neck, whispering. She felt breath against her hair, and she froze, sure to make no sudden movements.

“The elf doesn’t like the sword turned on them, huh!” A wicked laugh followed. She looked to Tamarind, and then to Cyran, her eyes showcasing the fear she tried to keep hidden from the goblin himself.

He didn’t have time to feel sorry for himself long before socket sent the goblins tumbling back in their direction with a powerful gust of wind. Vi’ira confidently marched up to the leader, demanding the artifact he was holding. Perhaps he was still distracted by his own guilt, or preoccupied with the goblin wearing the artifact, but he didn’t notice the lone goblin sneaking from the shadows and jumping on Vi’ira’s back, taking her hostage with a dagger pressed to her neck.

And Cyran saw nothing but red.

The fear in her expression was palpable as the blood slowly drained from her face. She held utterly still, unwilling to risk its ire. That fear gripped at Cyran, prevented him from conjuring any rational thought, only the worry for Vi’ira’s life preventing him from walking over right then and there and dispatching of the goblin with his dagger. He’d shown them mercy, and this was how they repaid him, by taking one of his hostage and flaunting it in his face-

He would not lose her, too.

“Vi’ira? Don’t move, dear, I’m going to take care of this. Everything’s going to be okay.” Cyran’s worry, the seething, cold anger simmering under the surface was only betrayed by the slight tremor in his words.

The goblin laughed, refusing to let up its grip on the knife pressed to her neck. “Elf thinks it can stop us? I have its precious thing’s life in my hand to end as I please!”

“If you valued your last living breaths you would release her right now.” Cyran warned. He made no movements to draw his dagger at risk of spooking the goblin, though he was ready to move at a moment’s notice, waiting for his opportunity to make a move. He’d given warning once- he would not be so kind this time.

As the goblin cackled, clearly pleased with this turn of fortune in his favor, Cyran silently cast a spell, conjuring a horrible, ear-splitting screech at a high enough frequency to force the goblin to drop the dagger in his shock, clapping his hands over his ears.^[1] That was when Cyran made his move, barely a blur in the shadows, yanking the goblin off Vi’ira’s shoulders and suspending the small creature in the air. With Cold Steel, he carved a single, precise cut along the goblin’s neck- quick, efficient, and precise.

He let the goblin drop, immediately turning his attention, beside himself with worry, Vi’ira was strong, and more than capable of caring for herself, but Cyran was now beside himself with worry, checking her throat for any injuries. “Are you alright? It didn’t get you anywhere, did you?”

---

1. Minor Trickery

As Tam got herself together entirely, she noticed Vi'ra being held hostage. Her first instinct was to bust in and save her, but the goblin could easily end her life the moment Tamarind twitched. So instead she backed out behind a stalagmite and circled the entire scene unnoticed, all eyes on the endangered elf and the goblin.

Including the head goblin, who seemed to regain his courage.

When Cyran managed to free Vi'ra, Tam was already behind him. As the cultist tried to flee again, he bounced off of her, standing in the way. Which saved him from her axe that could crack his skull in half if he didn't move.

The goblin managed to keep his balance and replied with a dark bolt. She had no time to dodge, so instead blocked it with her arm, dropping the sword. Her axe went flying again, but she missed and only hit the cultist in the leg, but it was enough for the next bolt to miss. At that point others joined, surrounding the cultist.

Tamarind picked up her sword with an undemaged hand and approached him to finish his life. No more opportunities for him to gain hostages.

The cavern grew hushed, the old cultist's struggle to fend off creatures the goblins viewed as weak in turn increasingly weakened it's own position. Socket kept vigil in the tunnel, securing the position and preventing escape. A few bold younglings darted into the doorway, only to toss themselves clumsily back out again when they spotted the construct. The Static Field's effect still shimmered, causing little arcs of electricity to pop and crackle the air harmlessly nearby... but no one would tell the little creatures otherwise. 

The warriors were bolder, but also able to understand that Socket was a capable combatant, and in a narrow space would have an overbearing position to assail. The rest were agape in the various nooks and around the corners of the main room, seeing Cyran, Tam, and Vi'ira barely have a scratch. "Lessons learned the hard way are often the least helpful, and the most impactful on all life they touch..." The construct thought aloud. 

Another loud crackling, and the magical protection of the Static Field dissipated. Turning toward the source, Socket saw one of the goblins had tossed a small dagger, probably from one of their fallen companions, the smoldering hilt lay a few feet away. "Tricksy machines, gross elves, go away... this is our cave!! OURS!!" the creature shouted.

Socket laughed heartily, then squatted down lower, looking every bit like a large, stalking cat. They glowered over the poor creature, then spoke, loud enough to carry to the other goblins. "Your home... no little goblin, you may have been born here, but no goblin built this home... I've met goblin builders, real ones... this is no goblin structure, your ancestors thought themselves clever for trying to take this place... little did their short sighted thinking know that act, it would bring harm to their futures... to your present. Look around you, no goblin here has the understanding needed to create this place... This isn't your home, and now, my friends and I grow weary of reminding you over and over again of this truth."

They stood up once more, hoping the others would finally stop the senseless fight. So much of the construct's being wanted to fight, but after countless wars and military engagements in their previous timeline, as well as the nature of their current life, conflicted with the starting point of their persona. Socket stood still as a statue, a distant and unsettling calm falling over them. Things would either calm down, or the construct would be alert and respond.

Vi'ira stood as still as she could, sure to make no sudden movements to act as a catalyst for the goblin holding a knife to her throat. Cyran was quick to react, comforting Vi'ira before instantly threatening the goblin, a fierce glint in his eye. The wicked cackle echoed in the cave as it’s grip held firm onto the knife held to her throat, however, this was quickly interrupted by an ear-splitting scream. The goblin dropped the knife, his hands covering his ears as he groaned and screeched. Before she knew it, the weight of the creature was lifted off her back as Cyran hoisted it and slit its throat.

“Are you alright? It didn’t get you anywhere, did it?”

She had only sustained a slight cut to the throat from the goblin’s startled reaction to the high frequency scream. Cyran tilted her chin up and studied it, as if assessing how to clean up the wound to assure she was returned back to perfect health. She lightly grabbed his hand and placed it in a sandwich between hers.

“I’m alright, Cyran. I’m alright.” She wasn’t sure what else to say. Now wasn’t the time to pour out her gratitude nor did she feel she even had enough time to give him a proper hug. That would be dealt with when the bigger matters at hand were concluded, and they weren’t surrounded by rageful goblin cultists.

Socket was doing quite well for themselves holding off the goblins with a field of electricity, weakening them with every blow. As they grew more tired, Socket announced to them that they had no place here, and best stop this battle or suffer the consequences. Vi’ira admired their bravery, and their ability to command a room. She wasn’t sure how they got their voice to echo so loud, but she was thankful for it.

The elder leader of the cultist was alone now, separated from Cyran comforting Vi’ira and Socket blocking off the cave. He was shaking, enough to tell from even a far distance. It was obvious that he hadn’t dealt with a conflict from outside his home in a very, very long time. He stood at the very corner of a ledge, clutching the artifact in his wrinkled, clawed hands.

“No elf deserves the key. The Sun will never be yours.” Time seemed to slow as the elder leaned back and began to descend into the cavern, the silver disk held to his chest. Vi’ira dropped Cyran’s hands and ran. This couldn’t be how it ends: The goblin’s without a leader and the adventurers without the Sol Stone. Vi’ira never liked losing, and she certainly wasn’t going to let this slip away from her. She sprinted to the ledge and watched as the cultist fell into the dark…except he had lost his grip on the artifact. It spun rapidly as it journeyed down, and without second though, Vi’ira reached out and sent a gust of wind flying in her direction in order to propel the artifact towards her¹. The disk soared through the air at a fast pace, and Vi’ira grabbed a hold of it as it almost dashed past her. She held onto the chain and breathed out, turning back around to face her foe as she dangled it in front of her.

“Ye’ve lost. It’s over.”

---

1. Push/Pull

Socket protected the two of them with a crackling static field while Cyran assessed Vi’ira’s injuries, still frantic that she might have been hurt in the process. But then Vi’ira grabbed his hand, and calmly assured him that he was okay, and the frantic beating of Cyran’s heart slowed to a crawl.

“Okay.” He whispered, voice hoarse. “Okay. Good.”

There would be more time for reassurances later, and plenty of thanks to Socket for watching their back- she was no doubt a powerful ally, and he was endlessly grateful that she had managed to watch their backs while Cyran tried to help Vi’ira. Yes, once this was all said and done, there would be plenty of words to exchange, Vi’ira to hug and take care of, and Socket to pay back for her help. But first, they had to deal with this leader. The cultist looked like it would finally have the sense to surrender- but then it only proclaimed its hatred of elves for all to hear, and made one, final attempt to spite them. Cyran stood, but Vi’ira was faster, dropping his hand and sprinting after the goblin, too slow to reach it in time before it went spiraling over the edge-

And then Vi’ira called the wind to her aid, as he’d seen her do many times before, and pulled him back up to the ledge. She snatched the artifact from it, dangling it triumphantly overhead while the goblin collapsed to its knees.

“Ye’ve lost. It’s all over.”

“No…” that was the only word the goblin managed to muster, a tiny pitiful sound that almost made Cyran feel sorry for the creature. That pity didn’t last long, though, as the memory of Vi’ira’s injuries were all too fresh in his mind. Cold Steel still gripped in his hand, Cyran pointed the dagger at the leader. Calling out loud enough so that Socket- and the rest of the goblins that might try to get past Socket, who was standing with militaristic confidence and poise, waiting to see if any of the other goblins might engage.

“You should all stand down now. We’ll be taking this artifact ourselves. You have the choice to surrender peacefully, or to continue to engage- which would be a foolish decision on your part.” He leg Socket and Vi’ira’s eyes, nodding to both of them. This artifact didn’t look anything like the Sol stone, but it would have to do for now. A tactical retreat would be necessary while they tried to figure out exactly what they’d obtained from their cultists, and what their next steps would be.

The elder goblin's resolve finally crumbled as it looked around at the devastation, and at how easily the efforts of it's clan had been thwarted. Overcome with the grief of it's own responsibility, it gave up the artifact without another word. Socket backed away from the group, made room for the goblins who'd stayed out of the fighting to leave with their things.

"Your clan will live on, be sure to teach those who come after you that taking what isn't yours only invites a terrible future from those you've taken from." The automaton's words were hollow, devoid of emotion in a way that spoke to the amount of times they'd been in a similar situation. Socket handed the artifact to the others, then moved off to a quiet spot to reflect on the day's events. Though they had been created as an emotionless watcher, having done so for an immeasurable amount of time had taught them all too well about the long reach of actions, of the echoing waves of consequence and choices.

When the goblins finally had cleared out, they sat down on an ancient dusty chair and entered a trance-like state for a few minutes, letting their body relieve some of the heat and strain that had built up within, which made the air around their head and shoulders swirl with heat refraction and bits of condensation in the musty cave.

"What is sadness like? Are there emotions to explain the folly of one's choices, ways to rebuild the trust and cooperation between groups who seek the destruction they wrought?" They asked to the walls, to no one in particular quietly, pondering again the disjointed existence they were given.

Vi’ira stood eerily still clutching onto the artifact as her fellow adventurers stood their ground around her. Socket’s last words to them were cold, but the harshness was enough to finally get the message across to the cultists.

It didn’t take long for them to recoil from their defeat. None of them muttered a single word, only letting out quiet hisses and growls. No matter how hideous the noises they made actually were, to Vi’ira, it felt like music to her ears. Their faces crunched in disgust and anger as they looked around at one another hoping someone was brave enough to start another fight. Slowly but surely, the goblins began to slither into the darkness, stepping into the dark shadows before disappearing entirely. Vi’ira inhaled deeply. It felt like this was the first full breath she had taken since the moment they had stepped into the abandoned elven city. Her surroundings still felt heavy, as if her ancestors were warning her of where she stood, urging her to leave wherever she was. She did her best to calm whatever worries were still whispering in the back of her mind: The threat was gone. They were safe.

Everyone was safe.

As Socket wandered off away from the rest of them, Vi’ira took this as her chance. She turned to Cyran and just looked for a moment. He stood straight up with his dagger still held firmly in his hand. She always wondered how he managed to come across so poise, even post-battle. Her shoulders fell.

Cyran was safe.

She sprinted towards him and without second thought had her arms thrown around him. Vi’ira would never describe herself as a hugger, especially not to her crew or her father’s. She had always kicked herself for never being as hard-shelled as those she grew up with. Her mother taught her to be loving while Torkum taught her to be strong, and oftentimes she found it difficult to find a balance. Affection allowed for vulnerability which led to weakness, something an old pirate had told her when she was young, but she couldn’t help herself. She grasped onto her hands behind Cyran’s back, not allowing him to break away, even for a moment. She really wasn’t sure what had come over her, but in a way, she felt like she was hugging family.

Socket’s voice brought her back, reassuring her that everything truly was over, and letting go of Cyran wouldn’t make him disappear.

It was a peculiar question from a peculiar individual, but the curiosity excited Vi’ira. Socket was the type to ask questions no matter the bluntness or silliness of it for they just wanted to piece the world together. Vi’ira laughed to herself. She pondered answering, not really sure if she could find the right words for such a question.

“Sadness is…like a defeat, except you lose more of yerself rather than a battle. Or…it’s like a battle within, where yer 'eart strings tug and yearn to be mended. A temporary, yet forever, feeling.” She turned to look at Cyran once more, hoping his wise words would be much better than her young ones.