He moved stealthily through the halls, keeping low and quiet, careful not to make the same mistake twice.
The walls reeked of damp rot, and the light was thin—barely enough to track shadows.
Suddenly, someone bumped into him.
Instinctively, he raised his fist—then stopped inches from the creature's head.
A child.
A goblin child.
Tiny. Barely four feet tall. Hunched over. Skin stretched too tightly over bone, ribs pushing outward like cracked blades. There was no weight to him, no light in his eyes. He looked worse than dead.
Josen lowered his hand, frowning. "Hmm... you're not worth killing. And you look young."
He stepped back. "Well. Goodbye."
As he turned to go, a weak hand grabbed the strap of his bag.
"Pl—please... sir, help! Help!
Mom... Captured... big! Bad!
Save h-her!"
He froze.
"You want my help?"
The goblin nodded quickly, desperate and shaking.
Josen sighed. "We can't stay here. Someone might stroll by. Get on my back."
The frail thing climbed on slowly, gripping weakly. He felt light—too light. It was like carrying a shadow. The kid was half-dead already. He needed food, fast.
"Hey, boi. Where's a good place to hide?"
The goblin lifted a thin hand and pointed toward a nearby shed. Josen scanned the hallway—no traps, no patrols—and slipped inside.
The room was dusty, dark, and cold. An old brown table had been pushed against the door like a makeshift barricade.
He set the goblin down and dropped beside him.
"Ahh... this is tiring." He ran a hand through his hair. "Hey, what's your name?"
"Zi... Zigmo," came the weak reply.
"Zigmo, huh?" Josen smiled faintly. "Nice to meet you. You must be starving."
He dug into his bag, rummaging through compartments until he found a preserved ham leg.
"Here."
Zigmo stared at it for a second, then began to eat. Slowly, cautiously. Each bite brought more color to his face. His body started to fill out. A little weight. A little life.
"There, there. Eat up," Josen said, watching. "You looked like you needed it."
Suddenly, Zigmo stood and gave a deep bow.
"Th-thank you, kind sir! For restoring my strength. I—please—"
"Whoa, chill," Josen said, holding up a hand. "You're too hyper. Just eat."
He waited a moment, then let the silence stretch before asking,
"What happened to your mom?"
Zigmo stiffened. His gaze dropped to the ground. He didn't answer right away.
"She... didn't do what they wanted."
Josen raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
"She was important," Zigmo muttered. "People used to cheer when she sang. She fought too."
He paused.
"But she picked my dad. Someone they didn't like. Said he was wasting her potential."
Josen leaned forward. "What happened to him?"
"They sent him to war," Zigmo said softly. "And kept sending him. He never made it back."
There was a bitter quiet.
"After that... they took her. Said she broke the rules."
His voice trembled, but his eyes were dry.
"People who spoke up? Gone. Or worse."
He lifted his shirt slightly to show an old scar near his ribs—jagged, purple at the edges.
"They did this when I tried to find her."
Josen stared.
"They poisoned me, I'm currently being Hunted. ," Zigmo whispered
He looked up again. And now there was fire.
"She's still alive. I know it. I just... need help."
Josen said nothing at first.