My name is Sasha.
The day I turned eighteen winters old, the elders of my tribe finally granted me permission to leave the boundaries of our territory and undertake my first hunt.
I should have felt honored. I should have felt proud.
But instead, a faint bitterness settled in my chest.
Normally, gnolls carry out their first hunt at thirteen, when we are considered adults in the eyes of the tribe. Being forced to wait five more years was not an honor—it was a sign of distrust. A silent reminder that they did not see me as they saw the others.
I belong to the Klo Tribe, one of the few gnoll tribes still standing after the constant attacks of the Pig Men. Our survival was never a gift; it was the result of blood, fangs, and hard decisions.
When I was six years old, I lost my father.
Pig Men killed him without mercy.
From that day on, I swore to become strong. Not for glory. Not for recognition.
But for revenge.
I trained until my muscles burned and my hands bled. I ignored the mating advances of the males of my tribe. I had no time for that. My entire life revolved around combat—learning from the most veteran warriors, absorbing every lesson with hunger and determination.
Among all weapons, I chose the bow. Silent, lethal, patient… like me.
When the day finally came to prove my worth, I believed I was ready.
How naïve I was.
Our first prey was a group of goblins. The leader assured us it was the safest option: weak, cowardly creatures, barely worthy of being called enemies. With prey scarce in the region, the tribe had decided to include them in our diet.
But from the moment we crossed the entrance of their cave, something inside me twisted.
The air was heavy.
The darkness, far too silent.
I tried to warn my companions, but they laughed. They told me I was exaggerating, that nerves were normal during a first hunt. I scolded myself—if I couldn't face a few simple goblins, how did I expect to one day take revenge on the Pigmen?
So I clenched my teeth and kept moving forward.
It was a mistake.
The trap closed around us like the jaws of a starving beast. By the time we realized it, it was already too late. Our leader reacted quickly and ordered a retreat, but regret does not stop blades.
One by one, my companions fell.
In the end, I was alone.
Alive… only to face a fate worse than death.
When despair was about to devour me, when I believed hell was my only answer, he appeared.
A goblin.
But not like the others.
There was something different in his gaze: intelligence, control, an unnatural calm for someone of his race. When the other goblins lunged at me, he stepped forward and stopped them.
He protected me.
He fought for me.
He was even injured to save me.
My heart pounded as I watched him. My cheeks burned when I saw the determination in his eyes. For a moment, I wanted to run to him, fight at his side… support him.
But everything ended as quickly as it began.
He took me in his arms with surprising care, as if I were a princess, and carried me away from that cursed place.
He asked if I was all right.
His voice… clear, firm, articulate.
It was the first time I had ever heard a goblin speak with such fluency.
When we reached what seemed to be his base, he set me down and told me I was free to return home.
But I refused.
I do not run away without paying my debts.
If there was no way to repay it, I would stay by his side for as long as necessary. Besides, what home awaited me? My family was dead. I had never been close to my tribe. My only connection to them had always been training.
He hesitated. I even noticed a faint blush beneath his green skin.
He remained silent for a long time… until he finally spoke.
He confessed his desire to form a family.
A great tribe.
A tribe composed solely of his children.
His request took me by surprise. I hesitated.
But then I remembered something important: he was my savior… and he was also a goblin. And as a goblin, he possessed certain advantages.
So I accepted.
I offered him my support.
And I promised to give birth to two hundred and ninety goblin babies.