Chapter 23 – First Elven Blood
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The cave reeked of blood. Goblins moaned in pain, bandaged with leaves, many gasping their last.
Lila and Mira scrambled to tend them, hands slick with blood. Infants cried, frightened by the smell of death.
Seraphina's cold voice pierced the chaos. "You call this victory? Nearly ten dead. That isn't victory. It's suicide."
Altair stood silent for a moment, crimson dripping down his arm. Then his eyes hardened. "You're wrong. Their blood was not wasted. Because elven blood has finally touched this ground. That is the beginning of our rise."
Even she fell quiet at the steel in his tone.
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By dawn, rations were gone. Corpses could not be eaten—disease lurked there. The pack was hungry, their eyes dull.
Altair rose. "We hunt."
He pointed. "Kael, Kyren, Davj, Varz—front with me. A handful of healthy goblins behind. Arden, signal. Lyra, rope. Silas, snares. Neriah, shadows."
They nodded grimly.
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The hunt began, cautious, deeper into the woods. But before they found prey, Altair froze. His nose caught the floral sting again. Elves.
From the undergrowth, four emerged—two archers, one spearman, one swordsman. Their movements sharper, wary after losing comrades.
"There," one hissed, pointing at the goblins. "This is the place. Slay them before they breed further."
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An arrow flew, piercing a goblin through the chest. He collapsed instantly.
"Formation!" Altair roared.
Kael and Kyren braced against the spearman, though blood spurted as blades cut them. Davj shielded the rear, trembling but holding.
Arden struck stone—tak! Lyra yanked a rope. A log swung down, smashing one archer aside.
Silas snapped a snare—an elf spearman tumbled, legs bound. Neriah darted past, scattering smoke from a dropped torch.
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The swordsman cut through the haze, blade flashing. Two goblins died screaming. He raised his sword for Altair—
Tak! Arden signaled again. Silas hauled the snare—ropes tightened, dragging the elf off balance.
Lyra lunged, tiny yet fierce, jamming a sharpened spear into his gut. The elf screamed, staggering.
Altair leapt, stone edge slashing his throat. Blood gushed hot, staining the ground red. The swordsman fell.
The archers loosed, one arrow tearing into Kyren's shoulder. But Neriah tackled the shooter, plunging a crude knife into his eye until he ceased moving.
The trapped spearman shrieked, finished by a dozen thrusts from goblins.
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When the smoke cleared, four elves lay dead.
Seven goblins had fallen, three more writhed on the earth. But it was done.
Altair stood tall, body streaked with crimson. He raised his voice, ringing through the clearing.
"Listen well! The first elf blood has been spilled beneath our fangs. This is not the end—it is the beginning. From now on, elves are not gods of this forest. They are prey!"
A ragged chorus of roars answered, raw and savage.
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But Altair's eyes narrowed. He knew the truth. Two scout groups gone. More would come.
This was only the spark. A storm will follow.
His fist clenched. So be it. Let them come. The sooner they descend, the sooner I prove that goblins can defy the world.
The forest held its breath. The war with elves had truly begun.
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