The mine were a hive of muted activity, goblins scurrying like shadows in the dim lantern light. The air hung heavy with the scents of damp earth from the blood soaked into the ground from days back, sweat-soaked bandages, and the faint metallic tang of blood from wounds still healing. Murkfang sat on a low crate in a quiet alcove, his own bandages tight around his chest, each breath a sharp reminder of his brush with death. Gribnox paced nearby, organizing supply lists, but Murkfang's mind was elsewhere—fixed on Byung.
The goblin had always been kind-hearted, the goblin who mended tools with a patient smile, who shared inventions to ease the burden on the weak and weary. But now... something had shifted. It wasn't just the physical transformation, though that was jarring enough: Byung's body had elongated, his frame broader, features sharpened into something almost human-like, as if he had reforged.
