Ragnar trudged back toward the tribe, boots sinking slightly into the soft earth after the rain.
The familiar smell of woodsmoke and damp moss greeted him long before the first huts came into view.
His chest felt tight, not from the walk, but from the invisible weight that had settled there the moment the system's words burned into his mind.
He ducked under the low branch that marked the edge of the clearing and stepped into the open.
Sarah was already running.
The chief's youngest daughter moved fast, tail whipping behind her for balance, scales catching the late-afternoon light in flashes of dull bronze.
She skidded to a stop inches from him, breathing hard, eyes wide and searching his face.
"Ragnar, are you hurt? Tell me right now. Did something happen out there?"
He felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward despite everything.
Same old Sarah. Always the first to notice when he came back looking even slightly wrong.
The original Ragnar had never caught the way her gaze lingered; this one did. He swallowed the almost-smile and kept his voice steady.
"I'm fine. Really."
She didn't look convinced. Her claws flexed at her sides like she wanted to grab his shirt and shake the truth out of him.
Behind her, slower and far more deliberate, came Kalia.
The tribe's healer moved with the calm weight of someone who had already seen every wound the world could offer.
Her scales were darker, richer, the deep green of old forest shadows, and the simple healer's tunic did very little to hide the generous curves that had made more than one young warrior stutter in the past.
She stopped a few paces away, arms folded, studying Ragnar the way she studied a broken bone, quiet, thorough, certain.
Sarah spun toward her mother without waiting.
"He needs to be checked. Right now. He won't tell me anything useful."
Kalia raised one brow ridge, then nodded once toward the healer's tent.
"Come with me, boy."
Ragnar followed. Sarah hovered at his elbow for a few steps before Kalia gave her a look that said *enough*.
The younger kobold fell back reluctantly, tail lashing once in frustration.
Inside the tent the air was warmer, thick with the scent of dried herbs and the faint metallic bite of salves.
Kalia let the heavy woven curtain drop behind them, sealing out the sounds of the tribe. She pointed to the low wooden chair.
"Sit."
He did. The seat creaked under him.
Kalia stepped closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth coming off her.
She rested one hand lightly on his thigh, just above the knee, fingers pressing in a slow, clinical sweep.
"Where does it hurt?"
Ragnar's throat worked. He glanced toward the thin slit in the tent wall that served as a window.
Sunlight sliced through in a narrow bar across the dirt floor.
"We… shouldn't do this here," he said, voice lower than he meant it to be.
Her hand slid an inch higher. Not far. Just enough.
"Afraid someone will notice?" she murmured.
He met her eyes, bright, amused, dangerous in the way only someone who knew exactly what she was doing could be.
Then she laughed softly, the sound warm and rough at the edges.
"Heh. Relax. I was joking. You didn't actually think I was trying to seduce you, did you?"
Heat crawled up his neck. He forced a shrug, trying to look unbothered.
"Right. Of course not."
Inside his head the thought flickered traitorously: *Wish you were.*
Kalia's fingers moved again, this time properly clinical, pressing along his ribs, his shoulders, the line of his collarbone.
She worked in silence for a minute, then stepped back.
"Nothing broken. Nothing torn. You're fine."
He exhaled through his nose and started to rise.
Her hand caught his wrist. Not hard. Just enough to stop him.
"Ragnar."
He froze.
"If anyone asks what happened here," she said quietly, "what will you tell them?"
He swallowed again. His pulse felt loud in his ears.
"Nothing. It was just a joke."
She studied him another long second, then let go.
"That's the right answer."
He nodded once and pushed through the curtain before the air in the tent could choke him.
Outside, the normal sounds of the tribe rushed back, children shouting, someone splitting wood, the low murmur of evening talk.
He walked straight to the small hut he shared with his aunt and Val, head down, trying to look like a man who hadn't just had his entire future balanced on a knife-edge.
His aunt was outside, stirring something over the fire. The moment she saw him her face softened.
"Ragnar." She crossed the distance in three steps and pulled him into a hug that smelled of smoke and rosemary. "What happened to you out there?"
He hugged her back, awkwardly at first, then tighter.
"Got lost in the forest. That's all."
She searched his face, then nodded slowly, the way she always did when she didn't quite believe him but wouldn't push.
"Eat something soon. You look pale."
He gave her a small smile and ducked inside.
Val was sitting cross-legged near the door, sharpening a knife with slow, careful strokes.
He glanced up, met Ragnar's eyes for half a second, and gave the tiniest lift of his chin, greeting and questioning all in one.
Ragnar nodded back. Said nothing.
He crossed to his corner of the hut, the narrow pallet shoved against the wall, and dropped onto it.
The thin blanket scratched against his back. He stared up at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head.
His best bet was Aria.
The goblin chief's eldest daughter, who was the only one who might listen without immediately reaching for a spear.
She thought before she struck. She weighed words.
If he could just talk to her, explain without sounding insane, maybe there was still a path that didn't end in blood.
But a thought wouldn't settle down in his mind.
If he failed the quest…
If he said the wrong thing, trusted the wrong person…
The system wouldn't care whose fault it was. It would simply wipe him out.
And when the two tribes finally tore into each other, when both Val and his aunt died, he would be the spark. The reason that started that.
His chest squeezed hard enough that it hurt to breathe.
'Please,' he thought, staring at nothing. 'Don't let me be the one who ruins everything.'
He closed his eyes.
The fear stayed right there with him, heavy as stone, pressing down until sleep finally took him.