?Dawn gasped, her lungs burning as if she had just surfaced from the depths of the ocean. She was back in her bedroom, the air dry and smelling of her own laundry instead of salt spray and harpy filth. She instinctively clutched her side, but the jagged holes from the Matriarch’s talons were gone, replaced by smooth, unscarred skin.

  ?She grabbed her phone immediately. "Please tell me they did it," she whispered.

  ?She opened the app. The home screen greeted her with a new milestone: Successful Clears: Ten. A wave of relief washed over her. The boatmen had followed her instructions to the letter. She swiped to the stat page, eager to see if they had done what she asked with the harpy parts. The stat page did not disappoint. The Sovereign-class creature was worth the near-death experience.

  ?Attributes:

  ?Strength: ninety six.

  ?Agility: Ninety one plus twenty one.

  ?Endurance: ninety six

  ?Resistance: eighty eight

  ?Arcane: eighty three plus sixteen.

  ?Perception: ninety.

  ??"Wow," she breathed. Her Agility had skyrocketed past the hundred-point mark, and her Arcane was sitting right on the edge of triple digits. She felt light, her body buzzing with a frantic, anxious energy that made the room feel too small.

  ?She thought about her mental to-do list. She’d used the bow plenty by now. She felt comfortable with it as long as the target wasn't too far away. She still truly desired a Grand Sage or Supreme Spellcaster to show her the full extent of some of these abilities. She needed a real teacher, and she needed to finish this list before Xander would teach her more.

  ?She navigated back to the Restoration tab, noticing a new update. The system was being more generous with details. Now, alongside the environment, there was a Recommended Ability tag.

  ?One entry caught her eye:

  ?Environment: Cave, Subterranean.

  ?Recommended Ability: Dark Manipulation.

  ?Dawn’s face lit up. She missed the fluid, shadow-stepping grace of her time as a kitsune. "Darkness? I can do darkness," she muttered, tapping the accept button.

  ?The white void of the Lobby felt almost like home now. The alien chill was gone, replaced by the familiar anticipation of the grind. Dawn turned to the avatar creation display, expecting to see the Fox Spirit or perhaps a dark spirit.

  ?Her smile vanished. The only option available was Goblin.

  ?"You've got to be kidding me," she groaned. She pictured the hunched, green, wart-covered creatures from the stories. After being a hulking orc warrior and a sturdy dwarven hero, being a "gross" goblin felt like a step backward. She hovered her hand over the 'Exit' button.

  ?Then, an image of Mina flashed through her mind. Mina, who had been a monster but had the heart of a saint.

  ?I'm judging them before I even give them a chance, Dawn realized. Grogmar was an orc, and he was the best father I've had. Maybe a goblin isn't just a monster. Orcs were viewed as savage, but the tribe she had been a part of felt normal. More aggressive than humans, but mostly normal.

  ?She took a calming breath, steeled her nerves, and locked in the Goblin avatar with Dark Manipulation.

  ?The first thing Dawn felt was the cold. Then, the smell—a thick, nauseating soup of damp earth, stale blood, and rot.

  ?She opened her eyes, seeing through the milky, oversized pupils of a newborn goblin. She was in a heap of wriggling, green-skinned infants. Some in the heap weren't moving. Nearby, the remains of what looked like human travelers were piled in a corner, stripped of anything useful. Torchlight flickered against the cave walls, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to cackle along with the distant, high-pitched laughter echoing from the tunnels.

  ?There were no parents. No warm blankets. Just a litter of scavengers left to survive in the dark.

  ?For hours, Dawn lay there, her human mind reeling with disgust while her goblin body screamed with hunger. Finally, a taller, scarred goblin marched into the nursery. He was carrying a rusted iron shield piled high with chunks of raw, dripping meat.

  ?The scent hit her. Her human soul recoiled, but her goblin instincts took over. Her mouth watered. Her stomach let out a violent growl.

  ?She didn't wait. Instinctively, she reached for the shadows. Darkness bled from the corners of the room, coiling around her tiny limbs like a second skin. She slipped into the floor, becoming a flat, moving silhouette that raced across the stone.

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  ?She erupted from the shadow beneath the shield, snatching a large hunk of meat before the other newborns could even blink.

  ?The adult goblin froze. He squinted down at the tiny, shadow-drenched infant. "A Void Walker?" he rasped in a guttural tongue that Dawn found she understood perfectly.

  ?Before she could take a bite, the adult lunged. He snatched her by the leg and hoisted her into the air. Dawn dangled upside down, the hunk of meat falling out of her mouth.

  ?The goblin let out a sharp, barking laugh and pointed a yellowed fingernail at her. "The King will be interested in you, little one. A crawler with the darkness? Rare. Very rare."

  ?He didn't put her back. He turned and sprinted down the tunnel, carrying her like a prize toward the heart of the mountain.

  ?The adult goblin didn’t slow down, his long, spindly legs eating up the distance through the damp tunnels. Phantom dangled from his grip, the world a dizzying blur of torch-lit stone and the smell of ammonia.

  ?Finally, they burst into a wide, vaulted chamber. At the far end, seated on a throne made of mismatched stones and polished skulls, was the King.

  ?Murk-Gnasher was not the bloated, fat goblin Phantom had expected. He was lean, his muscles like coiled wires beneath leathery green skin. He wore a tarnished gold crown that sat slightly crooked on his brow, and his forearms were encased in heavy iron bracers that looked like they had been ripped from a human knight.

  ?"My King," the adult goblin rasped, bowing low while still holding Phantom by the leg. "A Void Walker. Harvested from the morning litter. She moved through the deep-dark before she even tasted blood."

  ?Murk-Gnasher leaned forward, his predatory yellow eyes locking onto Phantom. A slow, toothy grin spread across his face, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth.

  ?"A Void Walker so soon?" the King grunted, his voice a low scrape. "Take her to Lot One with the others. Let them teach her how to crawl before she tries to fly."

  ?He waved a dismissive hand and sank back into his throne. The adult goblin turned without a word, heading down a side passage that felt even colder than the main tunnels. At the end of the path sat a heavy iron-grate door. Multiple torches sat around the entrance, ensuring no gap for the shadows to connect to the door. The guard shoved it open and finally let go of Phantom’s leg.

  ?She hit the cold stone floor with a thud, rolling instinctively to her feet.

  ?The room—Lot One—was a stark contrast to the nursery. There were four moth-eaten cots in one corner and a row of crude training dummies stuffed with straw and old leather in the other. But what caught Phantom’s attention was the smell coming from the table in the center.

  ?Three other goblins sat there. Each would later introduce themselves: the first, a newborn like Phantom named Twitch, his eyes darting around with frantic energy as his fingers compulsively drummed against his legs; the second was slightly larger, just over two feet tall, named Skitter; the third, a female who was the tallest at three feet, named Kora, sat at the head of the table with a weary, hollow expression.

  ?In the center of the table sat the prize: a pile of raw, red meat.

  ?Phantom’s goblin instincts screamed. Without a sound, she let the darkness rise up around her ankles. It felt different in this body—lighter, more responsive. She didn't just step into the shadows; she felt like the shadows merged with her. She dissolved into a smudge of ink on the floor, reappearing instantly on the edge of the table. The adult goblin wasted no time in shutting the door and leaving.

  ?She snatched a thick chunk of meat and shoved it into her mouth. The three young goblins didn't fight her. They looked at her—and then at each other—with a crushing sorrow.

  ?"That's four," Kora whispered. "A full team. The King has been waiting for this."

  ?"Waiting for what?" Phantom asked, her voice a guttural rasp as she swallowed.

  ?"The Arena," Kora said, reaching under the table and pulling out a bundle of jagged, rusted daggers. She tossed a pair toward Phantom. "Murk-Gnasher doesn't trust any that command an element for his army. He wants us for the Games. We are just entertainment, little one. The crowd likes to watch us suffer. They envy that which they cannot have. Our power is the source of our confinement."

  ?Over the following months, the dimly lit room became a grueling training camp. Kora was a hard teacher. She showed Phantom how to hold the daggers—low and reverse-gripped, meant for the soft spots between armor plates. Kora showed Phantom how to throw a dagger so the tip would hit its mark every time.

  ?Phantom found that her previous experience as a kitsune gave her an edge that the others lacked. Her control over the darkness was terrifyingly fluid. She could sink into the floor and reappear behind a dummy faster than Kora could track. While Twitch struggled with his anxiety, often fading in and out of shadows accidentally, and Skitter focused on pure speed with the daggers, Phantom became the silent heart of the group.

  ?"You have the potential the King fears," Kora noted one evening, watching Phantom weave through the shadows of the training dummies. "But remember, the Arena is not this room. There, the light is your enemy. We can only sink into the shadows if they are connected. If the shadows do not touch, we have to expose ourselves. That's what gets us killed. If you want to live, you will have to fight." Kora let out a sigh. "Though they will probably kill us before we become hobgoblins like the one that put us in here."

  ?That must be the second stage for goblins, Phantom thought to herself.

  ?The day finally came. The heavy iron gate of Lot One ground open with a screech that set Phantom’s teeth on edge. A squad of heavily armed goblin guards stood there, their spears leveled and torches held high, leaving no place for shadows.

  ?"The King grows bored!" the lead guard grunted. "Lot One! To the Arena!"

  ?They were marched through a series of widening tunnels until the air began to vibrate with a low, rhythmic chanting. They emerged into a massive subterranean cavern. In the center was a wide, smooth floor of packed earth and stone. High above on the cavern walls, hundreds of crude spectator boxes had been carved out, filled with hooting, cheering hobgoblins.

  ?Murk-Gnasher sat in a central high-box, his stolen crown gleaming under the torchlight.

  ?Phantom stood with the other three children in the center of the floor. On the opposite side of the cavern, a massive iron gate stood embedded in the stone wall, flanked by two roaring torches. Something slammed against the gate from the other side, making the iron groan.

  ?"Stay close," Kora whispered, her daggers drawn. "Wait for the shadows to grow. If you get caught in the light, you're dead."

  ?The crowd’s roar reached a deafening fever pitch as the heavy chains on the far gate began to rattle.

  ?"What is behind that door?" Phantom whispered to Kora.

  ?Kora shrugged. "It’s whatever they have caught recently, or a hobgoblin that needs punishing."

  ?Whatever was behind that gate was about to find out that being small didn't mean being weak.