Ren had never expected to find a place among monsters. Yet, as days passed, he became a familiar presence in the goblin camp—a patchwork gathering of crude tents and scavenged odds and ends, hidden deep within the ancient forest. The goblins lived simply and fiercely, their lives dictated by the cycle of hunt, feast, and flight from stronger predators. They were wary of outsiders, but Ren's mimicry and strange abilities had earned him a sliver of respect, if not outright trust.
He watched as the tribe's routines unfolded each day. The strongest led the hunts, returning with rabbits, squirrels, or the occasional stolen chicken from a distant farm. The cleverest set traps along the game trails, using snares woven from roots and animal sinew. The smallest and youngest goblins, quick and nimble, were tasked with gathering eggs or scavenging for edible roots and berries.
Their culture was rough and pragmatic. Arguments were settled with shouts or brawls, and the pecking order shifted constantly. The tribe's leader, Grik, ruled by strength and cunning, but even he could be challenged if another proved themselves more capable. Ren saw how the goblins followed the strong, but also how they looked after their own, sharing food and shelter with those who contributed.
At night, the camp came alive with stories and laughter. Goblins boasted of their exploits, exaggerated tales of daring raids and narrow escapes. Sometimes, they sang—rough, guttural chants that echoed through the trees. Ren listened, fascinated, and practiced mimicking their voices, earning startled laughter when he managed a convincing goblin phrase.
He learned their customs: how they prized cleverness as much as strength, how they honored those who brought food or loot, and how they viewed the world as a place of constant danger and fleeting joys. There was little talk of tomorrow—only the next hunt, the next meal, the next threat.
Ren contributed where he could. His camouflage helped the tribe avoid predators and ambush prey. His sticky grasp made setting traps easier. He even helped the goblin children gather mushrooms and roots, using his senses to find hidden patches of food. Slowly, he felt the suspicion around him fade, replaced by a grudging acceptance.
One evening, Grik sat beside him by the fire, gnawing on a roasted squirrel. "You… not goblin. Not beast. Why stay?" he asked, voice low.
Ren hesitated, searching for words. "Alone… before. Tribe… good. I help. You help."
Grik grunted, satisfied with the answer. "Good. Tribe needs all help. Hard times come. More monsters. More humans. War soon, maybe."
The words lingered in Ren's mind as the fire died down. He wondered what he would do if war truly came. Would he fight for the goblins—his new kin? Or would he seek out the humans, hoping for understanding from those he once called his own?
Days passed, and the forest grew tense. Strange tracks appeared near the camp—large, clawed prints, and the unmistakable marks of boots. The goblins grew restless, posting extra sentries and moving their camp deeper into the woods.
One night, as Ren patrolled the outskirts, he sensed movement beyond the trees. He stilled, blending into the moss, and watched as a group of humans crept through the undergrowth. They moved with practiced stealth, weapons drawn, eyes scanning the darkness.
A cold uncertainty settled over Ren. He felt the old pull of his human memories—of firelight, laughter, the comfort of language and civilization. But he also remembered fear, rejection, and the pain of being hunted.
The humans drew closer, their voices hushed but urgent. "Tracks here. Goblins nearby. Orders are clear—no survivors."
Ren's core twisted. He could warn the goblins, help them escape or fight. Or he could reveal himself to the humans, try to speak, to explain. He hovered in the shadows, torn between two worlds.
As the humans disappeared into the gloom, Ren remained hidden, his mind racing. He knew he could not avoid this choice forever. The line between monster and man had never felt so thin.
Who am I now? he wondered, watching the moon rise above the trees. And who will I become when the next dawn breaks?