Aira didn't even know how long she'd been here.
A week? Maybe two? It could've been a month. It all blurred together after the first few days.
The cave stank. Sweat, piss, blood, and goblin musk mixed into one thick, rotten smell that never went away.
She sat curled up against the crude cage's wooden bars, her knees hugged to her chest, her chin resting on them. Her silver hair—greasy and tangled—clung to her face. It wasn't even silver anymore; it was more like grayish, dirty straw.
The other women huddled nearby—two humans—barely adults—and another who didn't talk much.
None of them talked much anymore.
Aira had been stupid enough to think being an adventurer meant something. Run around with a few humans, take low-rank jobs, chase a little coin, and try and get famous like they weren't complete amateurs.
The guild called a "simple Goblin nest clearing" low risk.
It turned out goblins were a bit more organized than expected.
Her party never made it out. She didn't like thinking about the details.
The goblins kept them alive for one reason, and it wasn't because they felt charitable.
She didn't cry about it anymore. No point.
But today was… different. Normally, when they woke up, it was to Goblins pouncing on them, but it was eerily quiet.
Aira squinted through the bars as a big goblin approached. He was definitely bigger than the others, and his eyes seemed to show intelligence when he crouched down in front of the cage, head tilted, studying us.
The other women pressed back instinctively. Aira didn't bother. I just sat there, watching.
He made a noise — low, garbled goblin speech. All growls and clicks. Completely incomprehensible.
Then he pointed at them. He pointed at himself and dragged his claw across his throat.
"Yeah. Let's get this over with," she muttered, her voice hoarse and dry.
The goblin stood and stepped forward, claws gleaming faintly under the firelight.
Aira didn't flinch. She didn't close her eyes.
Cold across her throat. A faint sting.
Everything faded quickly after that.