My name is Sasha.
On the day I turned fifteen winters old, the elders of my tribe finally granted me permission to leave the borders of our territory and embark on my first hunt.
I should have felt honored. I should have felt proud.
Instead, a faint bitterness settled in my chest.
Gnolls usually undertake their first hunt at thirteen, when the tribe recognizes us as adults. Being forced to wait two 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 surviving after the constant attacks of a strange Pigman tribe that had emerged years ago. They attacked any tribe that refused to join them—even other pigman tribes.
My father and I managed to escape and join the Klo Tribe. Though they kept us at a distance, they never expelled us.
But things did not improve. They grew worse.
When I was only six years old, I lost my father.
The Pigmen killed him and devoured him without mercy.
All they left behind were his blood-soaked clothes for me to bury.
From that day on, I swore to become strong. Not for glory. Not for recognition.
For revenge.
I trained until my muscles burned and my hands bled. I ignored the mating advances of the males in 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.
Of all weapons, I chose the bow. Silent. Lethal. Patient.
When the day finally came to prove my worth, I believed I was ready.
How naïve I was.
Though I had trained to exhaustion, I had never seen blood.
Our first target was a group of goblins. The leader assured us they were 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 the moment we crossed the entrance of their cave, something inside me twisted.
The air felt heavy.
The darkness… too silent.
I tried to warn the others, but they laughed. They told me I was exaggerating, that nerves were normal on a first hunt. I scolded myself—if I couldn't face simple goblins, how could I ever hope to avenge my father against the Pigmen?
So I clenched my teeth and moved forward.
I even tried to encourage myself, telling myself everything would be fine. I imagined that when we returned, I might give a chance to the gnoll who had been watching over me throughout the journey. I even pictured the wonderful future awaiting me once I returned to the village with the prey and trophies earned from this hunt.
It was a mistake.
The trap closed around us like the jaws of a starving beast. By the time we realized it, it was 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.
That disgusting look from the goblin who had destroyed my last hope. The lust in his eyes. That horrible face—
But… I…
(Something began to shift inside me.)
Strange. Why did I think his face was ugly?
Wasn't it charming? Heroic, even?
Yes… I remember clearly now.
There was no disgusting look.
When despair was about to consume me, when I believed hell itself was my only future, he appeared.
A goblin.
But not like the others.
There was something different in his gaze—intelligence, control, an unnatural calm for one of his kind. When the other goblins lunged at me, he stepped forward and stopped them.
He protected me.
He fought for me.
He was even wounded to save me.
My heart pounded as I watched him. My cheeks burned as I saw the determination in his eyes. For a moment, I wanted to run to him, to fight at his side… to support him.
But it ended as quickly as it began.
He took me into his arms with surprising gentleness, as if I were a princess, and carried me away from that cursed place.
He asked if I was all right.
His voice… clear, steady, articulate.
It was the first time I had ever heard a goblin speak so fluently.
When we arrived at what appeared to be his base, he set me down and told me I was free to return home.
But I refused.
I would not leave without repaying my debt.
I had killed many of his people. He must have felt sorrow for that. I had to atone for my mistakes.
Besides… even if I returned, what home awaited me? My entire family was gone. I had never shared a close bond with my tribe. My only connection to them had been training.
I told him I felt guilty for invading his home and killing his kind, and I expressed my wish to repay him.
He remained silent for a long time… until he finally spoke.
He confessed his desire to form a family.
And that I could help him build a clan.
A clan made up solely of his children.
His request surprised me.
And filled me with happiness.
It was not a task.
It was a gift.
Just when I believed I no longer had a family, the answer appeared before me: create your own.
So I accepted.
I offered him my support.
And I promised to bear hundreds of goblin children—not only to repay my debt, but to build my family.