I was here for its life.
But even as I raised my sword, heart pounding like a war drum, something unexpected echoed louder than the Mooncat's growl—my own words.
"You'll pay for touching my wife."
Wife.
Wife.
Wife.
Wife.
The word echoed in my head like a dropped stone rippling across still water.
I hadn't meant to say it. Not consciously. But in that split second—when rage had overridden caution, and instinct took control—my feelings had slipped free, unfiltered and raw.
I turned toward Zarah, half-dreading the look on her face.
She groaned softly, clutching her side as she tried to rise. Her bow dangled from her fingertips. She didn't seem to have caught what I'd said… or maybe she had, but didn't understand it.
Did goblins even use the word wife?
Probably not. They weren't exactly known for romance or marriage ceremonies. Their culture was more about survival and dominance. But that word—it had come from me, from the human I used to be.
