Chapter 63 - 62

Chapter 63: Chapter 62 After the night of celebration, the village quickly returned to its rhythm. The sound of hammers striking wood replaced the clanging of weapons, and laughter was now paired with labor. Houses were being rebuilt, the palisade walls reinforced, and the training fields echoed once more with the grunts of soldiers honing their skills. At dawn, after his usual morning training with Jen, Lumberling rolled his shoulders and headed toward the construction site. He had finished drafting new blueprints for several key structures, larger barracks, reinforced storehouses, and expanded living quarters. He knelt beside a group of goblins laying out timber near the east wall, correcting measurements and explaining load distribution. ’The plan to build another base deeper in the forest will have to wait,’ he thought, glancing at the half-finished walls. ’Most of the stockpiled wood was used here... and we’ll need to restock weapons and armor soon. I’ll have to visit Turpan City again.’ He let out a breath and moved to the scaffolding. No time to rest. ... At the Animal Shelter, Later That Morning The sun was climbing above the treetops when Jen wandered near the shelter where Karnark had been raising the dire wolf and her six pups. She’d never dared to go too close before, not out of fear, but respect. The mother wolf, Lunira, was strong and proud, and Jen knew better than to spook her. But today was different. She heard soft whines; playful, curious, she peeked around the edge of the low fence. One of the pups, a chubby grey-furred ball of mischief, had escaped the straw-lined pen. It sniffed the ground, tail wiggling. Jen froze. The pup froze too. Then, without warning, it bounded straight toward her, tripping over its oversized paws and tumbling into her shins. "Whoa!" she gasped, catching it instinctively. It looked up at her with wide amber eyes and let out a questioning whimper. "You’re not so scary," Jen whispered, gently scratching behind its ear. The pup huffed contentedly and nuzzled into her lap. Behind the pen, Lunira growled low, protective, wary, but Karnark appeared a moment later. "She came to you?" he said, surprised. Jen looked up, sheepish. "I didn’t mean to... it just ran over." Karnark studied the mother wolf. Lunira’s hackles were raised, but her growl softened the longer she stared at Jen and the pup. "She’s watching," Karnark murmured. "But she’s not attacking. That means she accepts you." Jen blinked, wide-eyed. "Really?" "Really," Karnark nodded, kneeling beside her. "They can sense intent. Yours is pure." The other pups began to stir, peeking over the hay to see where their sibling had gone. One of them gave a tiny bark. "Want to meet the rest?" Karnark asked with a grin. Jen beamed. "Yes!" He opened the pen slowly, keeping a careful eye on Lunira. The mother wolf gave a low snort, then turned her head away, allowing it. Soon, Jen was surrounded by wiggling pups, their soft fur and curious eyes crowding around her. She giggled as they pawed at her boots and tugged on her tunic. Lumberling, passing by on his inspection route, stopped when he saw the scene. Jen kneeling in a ring of wolf pups, laughing. Lunira watching with calm, amber eyes. And Karnark, kneeling close, gently guiding the little ones with a quiet authority. He smiled faintly, then turned to get back to work. There was still a long way to go. ... The construction continued for three weeks. During that time, the village began to hum again with quiet strength. The clang of hammers and the rasp of saws echoed across the village. Smoke rose lazily from the forges, mixing with the scent of pine sap and freshly cut wood. It was a familiar hum of labor, organized, purposeful. Lumberling stood at the edge of the scaffold where a half-built watchtower creaked with fresh beams. Skitz knelt beside a support post, checking the base angle with a piece of string and a carved wooden wedge. "You’ve got a bit of builder’s blood in you?" Lumberling asked, eyebrow raised. Skitz shrugged, wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. "You’re full of surprises," Lumberling muttered, amused. "That angle’s good. Reinforce it, then let the others finish this level." Skitz gave a mock salute. "Aye, foreman." ..... Krivex stood near the village storehouse, flipping through a tattered logbook. Two goblins stacked bundles of rope and jugs of oil behind him. "Double-check the timber count. We used more than we planned for this wall section," Krivex said without looking up. One scout saluted and ran off. Lumberling approached. "How’s the supply?" "We’ve enough for one more house and two more sections of wall reinforcement," Krivex replied. "But if we plan to send a caravan to Turpan soon, we’ll need to collect more oakwood and charcoal first." Lumberling nodded. "Then I’ll leave the logistics to you. Prioritize what we need for village defense." "Already ahead of you, my Lord." Later that afternoon, under the central pavilion, Lumberling gathered several of his key officers. His tone was calm but firm. "Tarnix," he said, looking to the blacksmithing kobold, "prepare a materials list for the forge upgrades. I want your furnace fully repaired before we head to Turpan." Tarnix nodded, scribbling into a clay slate. "Zarn, how are the soldiers?" The medic saluted. "No infections. Skitz is recovering, and the worst we’ve got is bruised ribs and sore backs." "Good. Do another round of checks. Make sure everyone is fit before they resume full duties." Lumberling turned to Gorrak and Vrak next. "Reassign your squads. Focus the younger ones on carrying timber and moving stone. Let the experienced ones continue training." "Yes, my Lord." Lastly, he faced Takkar. "Lead a sweep of the outer woods. Nothing serious, just make sure we don’t have any beasts sniffing around." Takkar grinned. "My claws are already itching." Lumberling exhaled slowly, looking at the line of his captains and lieutenants, all standing straight, all ready. ..... Night fell. The village slumbered, blanketed in the quiet hum of crickets and the occasional clink of armor from the night watch. The fires had long died down. Lumberling lay on his back, arms folded beneath his head, eyes closed. His breath was steady. Controlled. Until Darkness. Then cold. Then He was running. Not on two legs. Four. Claws scraped against stone. Dirt and moss tore beneath him. His breath came in snarls, low, guttural, inhuman. Around him, shadows moved: webs above, chittering. Wingbeats thudded through the gloom. The growls of wolves echoed nearby, not behind him, but beside him. He was not one. He was many. His heart pounded, no, hearts. Dozens. Each beat thudding like a drum inside a beast’s chest. Then He saw himself. Lumberling. Standing alone in the center of the void. His spear glinted in dim light. His eyes were unreadable. Cold. Focused. He lunged. ’No—wait.’ Steel pierced fur and flesh. Pain erupted—pure, vivid, and endless. Again. And again. A shade-stalker fell, impaled through the skull. A giant bat shrieked, its wings torn from its body. A dire wolf crumpled, blood pooling as its final howl died. A human soldier collapsed, his blade half-drawn before the spear struck his throat. And through it all... he was there. Not just watching. Living it. Their fear. Their confusion. Their pain. Their dying thoughts. "Why?" "Run—run—" "My mate—" Then the dream shifted. He fell. Lumberling—his real self—watched as his dream-self hit the ground. A corpse. He looked down at the spear still in his grip. And heard his own voice, whispering from all around. "You are us now." He woke. Gasping. Drenched in sweat. He reached instinctively for his spear, only to grasp empty air. His breath hitched. He wasn’t in a tunnel. There were no wolves. Just firelight. Just silence. He blinked. Firelight danced weakly in the corner of his hut. The embers crackled, indifferent. He sat up, palm to his forehead. Bits of memory swirled behind his eyes, alien, vivid: A bat’s tunnel-sense. A spider’s vision of web vibrations. A wolf’s hunger. The terror of prey cornered. They weren’t dreams. They were memories. Not his. But now a part of him. He stared down at his trembling hands. And whispered— "What was that...?" The Next Morning Skitz watched his Lord carefully as they ate breakfast. Jen chatted happily beside them, but there was a coldness in Lumberling’s gaze, an unnatural stillness. Something was wrong. "My Lord... is everything alright?" Skitz asked. Lumberling stirred from his thoughts, then shook his head slightly. "We’ll talk later," he said. "Let’s finish breakfast." Skitz didn’t press. But Jen tilted her head in concern. "I’m sorry, Jen," Lumberling said softly. "I won’t be able to train with you today." Jen’s eyes softened. She didn’t ask questions. She just nodded and squeezed his hand. "Come back safe, okay?" ..... Outside the Village A lone wolf bolted through the underbrush, but it didn’t get far. Skitz blurred ahead of it, landing a precise blow that sent the beast tumbling. Its legs buckled. Lumberling approached calmly, spear in hand. With practiced ease, he drove the weapon into the wolf’s chest, binding its essence. As the power surged into his body, he closed his eyes, focusing—listening—not just to the energy, but to the fragments of thought that followed. Bits of instinct. A flicker of memory. Then... nothing strange. He exhaled. "Hm. It feels... normal. I don’t sense anything unusual," he muttered, brows drawn in a slight frown. "My Lord," Skitz said gently, stepping to his side. Silence settled between them. Then Lumberling finally spoke. "You know how my ability works. When I absorb essence, sometimes I catch flashes of memory. Just fragments. Emotions. Impressions." "That’s right, my Lord. I’ve seen it firsthand, your ability is incredible. It’s what makes your power so unique." "That’s what I used to think too," Lumberling said, voice low. "But last night... I had a nightmare. Not just a dream. I saw the monsters I killed. I was them. I felt everything. Their fear. Their confusion. Their dying thoughts. I saw myself through their eyes as I ended them." Skitz stiffened, taken aback. "You mean... the ability has side effects?" Lumberling gave a slow nod. "Maybe it didn’t happen before... or maybe I’ve absorbed so many essences that it’s finally catching up to me. This was the first time, but it didn’t feel like a dream. It felt real. Too real." Skitz tried to offer reassurance. "It might’ve been stress, my Lord. We’ve fought so much these past months. The mind..." "I already thought of that," Lumberling interrupted quietly. "But this wasn’t my mind playing tricks. Their emotions, those were real. The panic of prey. The rage of beasts. Even their last desires. I felt all of it." Skitz fell silent. His jaw clenched as he processed the weight of it. "So... what will you do?" he asked. Lumberling stared out at the trees. The wind rustled softly, as if waiting for his answer. "I’ll find a solution," Lumberling said, conviction burning in his eyes. "This is the greatest skill I possess, it has brought me this far, shaped everything I’ve become. I can’t afford to give it up. I need to understand it. Master it." He paused, jaw tightening. "But for now... it’s safer not to use it." The thought clawed at him—being forced to set aside the very power that had carried him through so much. He needed answers. And soon. Skitz nodded slowly. "Understood. And I’ll help however I can, my Lord." Lumberling offered a faint smile. "Thanks." As they turned back toward the village, Lumberling spoke again, more thoughtful this time. "I asked because... I’ve passed essence to you before. Any dreams? Nightmares?" Skitz shook his head. "None so far. And I’ve been watching the others too. No one’s acting strange." Lumberling’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Then maybe it only happens after absorbing thousands of essences... like me." He looked ahead, mind already racing. Power always has a price. And he was just beginning to understand how high his might cost him.