Lost in Another World
The distant cries of the wounded goblins mingled with the crackling of dying flames. Lance clenched his fists, his knuckles white against his dirt-smeared skin. Every fiber of his being screamed to him to run, to escape this madness, yet his legs refused to obey now that he needed them the most.
The female goblins had pushed back their attackers, but the cost had been staggering. Dozens of their own lay lifeless amidst the wreckage, their small forms twisted unnaturally in death. Lance could see their leaders moving among the wounded, barking orders in sharp, ordering tones. He couldn't understand why their words resonated so clearly in his mind, but his instinct told him to stay hidden.
The relief of their victory was short-lived. As the chaos settled, the sharp-eyed goblins began searching the camp for survivors.
"Spread out! Search the outskirts!" one of them shouted, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.
Lance's heart sank. He pressed himself lower to the ground, his breathing shallow. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves felt like the roar of thunder in his ears. He clutched onto the broken spear, more out of desperation than hope, knowing it would do little against the deadly efficiency he'd witnessed in the fights.
A shadow loomed over him before he could react.
"Here!"
'FUCK! I'm done for!' Lance swallowed hard, bracing himself for whatever came next.
A female goblin lunged from the underbrush, her movements as fluid as a predator's. Her yellow eyes gleamed with suspicion as she pointed a jagged dagger at Lance's throat.
"Wait!" Lance shouted, instinctively raising his hands.
The goblin froze, her expression shifting to confusion.
"You speak our tongue?" she hissed, her eyes narrowing.
"I—" Lance began, but the words died in his throat. How was this possible? He hadn't meant to speak their language, yet the words flowed effortlessly from his lips. There was absolutely no way he could explain this, not even to himself!
The goblin's momentary shock turned to suspicion. She barked a command to the others that were with her, and within seconds, several others emerged from the shadows, their weapons drawn and their gazes murderous.
"Who are you?!" demanded another goblin, her short, spiked hair bristling like a wild animal's. "A spy? Were you sent by those bastards to scout us out?"
"Perhaps he is their prisoner and they put him out here for that purpose." Another theorized.
"No! I don't even know where I am! I'm not with anybody!" Lance stammered, his hands still raised in surrender.
The goblins exchanged glances, their distrust evident.
"Bind him," the first goblin ordered, her voice cold and decisive.
Two others stepped forward, grabbing Lance's arms and pulling him roughly to his feet. They tied his hands tightly behind his back with coarse rope, the fibers biting into his skin.
The goblin camp, now eerily quiet, felt like a different place entirely. The fires had been extinguished, leaving behind smoldering ash and the acrid smell of burnt wood. Lance was marched through the camp, past rows of wounded goblins who glared at him with a mixture of fear and hatred.
He caught snippets of their whispers.
"Is he one of them?"
"Looks too soft. Maybe he's a spy…"
"What's a human doing here?"
The word human struck Lance like a hammer. He hadn't even considered what he looked like to them. He was a foreign entity in their world, an anomaly.
They dragged him to the center of the camp, where a crude wooden cage stood, its splintered beams smeared with dried blood. Without ceremony, they shoved him inside and slammed the door shut.
Hours passed.
The moon hung high in the sky, its pale light casting faint luminescence over the camp, through the light covering. Lance sat with his back against the bars of the cage, his wrists aching from the tight bindings. His thoughts raced as he tried to make sense of his situation.
How could he speak their language? How had he even gotten here? And what was he supposed to do now?
"Who are you?" A voice said o Lance, drawing him out of his thoughts.
The voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet like a whip. Lance looked up to see a goblin standing outside the cage. She was taller than the others, her presence commanding. Her long, dark hair was tied in a braid, and her piercing yellow eyes seemed to bore into his very soul.
"I… I'm Lance," he said hesitantly.
"And what are you doing here?" she asked, her tone dripping with suspicion.
"I don't know. I woke up in the forest and saw the battle. I'm not your enemy, I swear it!" he said, trying to keep his voice steady.
Her gaze didn't waver.
"You're human. Your kind doesn't belong here. And yet, you speak our language. How is that possible?"
"I don't know!" Lance snapped, frustration bubbling to the surface. He immediately calmed himself before speaking again. "I don't know how I got here or why I can understand you. I'm just… I'm just trying to survive."
The goblin leader studied him for a long moment before stepping back.
"You say you're not our enemy," she said slowly. "But the fact remains, we don't know what you are. You could very much be a spy or any other thing, sent by the bastards who attacked us…"
Lance's heart sank.
"You might even be from the human side, and are just good at acting innocent. Now, that's a likely possibility." The goblin said with narrowed eyes as she looked at Lance.
After observing him for a while longer, she turned and walked away, leaving him alone in the cage once again, with some goblins watching him closely from a distance.
As the hours dragged on, Lance listened to the murmur of voices outside. The goblins were debating his fate, their voices rising and falling in heated argument.
"We should kill him. Better safe than sorry."
"What if he's telling the truth? Killing him might bring bad luck."
"He's a spy. Look at him. He doesn't belong here."
"Let's not rush, I don't believe he is with them."
"Oh? And how would you know that?"
Each word felt like a nail in Lance's coffin.
Finally, the tall goblin returned, flanked by two others. She opened the cage door, her expression unreadable.
"We've decided," she said. "At dawn, you'll be executed."
Lance's blood turned to ice.
"But—"
"No pleas," she snapped, cutting him off. "This is for the safety of the tribe."
She turned and left without another word, leaving Lance alone with the cold weight of her verdict.
He sat in the dark, his mind racing for a way out. But no matter how he turned it over, the answer eluded him.
As the first rays of dawn crept over the horizon, Lance knew one thing for certain, if he didn't act soon, his second chance at life would be over before it even began.
'This is so ridiculous!'