Chapter 6: Chicken Hunt, Blood Sigils, and the Goblin Who Knew My Name
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There are moments in life that shape your destiny.
A battle. A death. A prophecy.
This was not one of those moments.
This was a chicken hunt.
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> “Explain to me again why we’re chasing a poultry criminal,” I asked, panting.
> “Because he stole my lunch,” said Aelira, holding her open spellbook upside down. “And because he’s a menace to society.”
> “He’s a chicken.”
> “He’s a war criminal with wings.”
Ravian rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe this is my party.”
> “You’re not in our party,” Aelira and I said in sync.
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Our First “Quest”
Technically, we weren’t registered in any guild yet.
But when the village posted a flyer that read:
> “LOST: Sir Cluckles — mentally unstable chicken. Last seen stealing bread, feathers glowing faintly green.”
Aelira declared war.
Ravian insisted on tagging along “to make sure she didn’t burn another forest.”
And me? I followed because, well… I had nothing better to do.
Also because I had a gut feeling.
Something was off.
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The Woods Felt Wrong
The further we got into the trees, the quieter it became.
No birdsong. No wind. Just stillness.
Even Sir Cluckles' insane squawking had gone silent.
> “I don’t like this,” I muttered.
> “You don’t like anything,” Ravian replied.
> “Correction. I don’t like you.”
Aelira suddenly raised her hand. “Wait… listen.”
We paused.
Then we heard it.
Not clucking.
Not rustling.
A low, guttural growl.
> “Goblin,” Niris whispered. “Just one.”
> “How do you know?”
> “Because he just marked you.”
> “WHAT?!”
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The Ambush
From behind a tree, a single goblin stepped out.
Not a big one. Not armored.
But it had markings.
Red sigils drawn across its chest and eyes. Pulsing.
> “Aelira, behind me!” I shouted.
She raised her spellbook. “Already charged!”
> “Ravian—!”
> “Way ahead of you.”
He drew a dagger. Magical. Dull white light traced its edge.
The goblin didn’t attack right away.
It looked at me.
And in a voice that was clearly not its own, it said:
> “You should not exist here, cursed child.”
The air went cold.
> “I don’t like that he said that,” I muttered.
> “I hate that he said that,” Ravian agreed.
Then the goblin lunged.
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My First Real Fight
Everything blurred.
I drew Niris. She pulsed in my grip like a heartbeat.
The goblin’s claw came straight for my neck.
I ducked. Spun. Swung wild.
Missed.
> “You’re too slow,” Niris hissed.
> “Then move for me!”
Suddenly, my vision doubled — my body moved on its own.
My arm slashed sideways, just enough to nick the goblin’s shoulder.
The red sigils flared—
And the goblin exploded.
Literally. In a cloud of red smoke and ash.
We all coughed.
> “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!”
> “A sigil-bound,” Niris replied. “A puppet… speaking someone else’s will.”
> “Someone… knows I’m here.”
> “They knew the sword,” Aelira said, stunned.
> “They knew me,” I whispered.
> “But why would a goblin know your name?” Ravian asked.
> “Because this isn’t just about the sword anymore,” I said.
> “It’s about who I used to be.”
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Aftermath
We never found Sir Cluckles.
Aelira believes he was abducted by the goblin and is now leading a rebel force in the west.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her he probably got vaporized.
Ravian just complained that his cloak got singed.
But I?
I sat by the stream that night, watching the water ripple.
Niris rested across my knees.
> “That goblin,” I said. “It wasn’t strong.”
> “But it knew your scent.”
> “My scent?”
> “Your soul. Someone has begun to stir. And they do not like that you're alive.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
So I asked the one question I was afraid of.
> “How long do I have?”
> “If you're lucky?”
“Long enough to make them regret it.”
