"All I ask from you is simple. Keep your claws off my goblins. That is the only thing I require of you. Beyond that, I don’t care what you do. I’m not interested in this bond, nor in forcing your loyalty."
She frowned at my words, the corners of her mouth tightening as though she had bitten into sothing bitter.
"If you can’t manage sothing that simple," I said evenly, letting none of my own unease bleed into my voice, "then it’s best you leave. There’s no rule that says we have to remain in close proximity, is there?"
The words hung between us like sharpened blades, deliberate and unyielding.
Beyond the twenty percent essence share, there was little risk to if she walked away.
In fact, distance might even make things easier.
If she left, I wouldn’t constantly have to glance over my shoulder, second-guessing her intentions. I wouldn’t need to waste half my focus wondering whether her gaze on my goblins was one of casual amusent... or hungry calculation.
But as I watched her, hesitation flickered in her eyes. It was subtle, but there—an unspoken battle pulling at her expression, pride colliding with sothing I couldn’t yet put into words.
I had offered her the chance to go.
Yet I knew, even before she parted her lips, that she wouldn’t take it.
For reasons still wrapped in mystery, she needed close.
She had pushed before to cut away the others—my goblins, my clan. She had tried to strip of those bonds, urging toward isolation.
I hadn’t fully understood why, not then, but the truth was obvious enough: they stood in the way of sothing she desperately wanted.
And that goal... whatever it was, it mattered to her more than her pride.
Which was why I doubted she would ever truly choose to split paths with .
And, as expected, she relented.
"Fine... if that’s your only term, then I can accept it," she said at last. Her tone was clipped, asured, but it carried the subtle rasp of bitterness, as if each word was ash she had been forced to swallow.
But I didn’t buy it. I couldn’t.
Believing her would have been naïve, and naïveté was a luxury I couldn’t afford—not when the lives of my clan rested on the strength of my decisions.
She might have been reckless in challenging , yes. But she wasn’t stupid.
Prideful, absolutely.
Dangerous, beyond question.
And dangerous things didn’t simply fold because you asked them to.
It was like placing a lion in the middle of a flock of sheep and trusting it when it promised not to feast. That was foolishness, plain and simple.
If I let my guard down, if I allowed even the smallest window, she could strike the instant it suited her. And that was a risk I would not, could not, take.
So I leaned forward, eyes narrowing, refusing to grant her any room for misinterpretation.
The choice before wasn’t one of courtesy—it was necessity.
Either I forced her hand into binding herself to rules she could not twist, or I gambled the lives of my people on her self-control.
Guess which I chose.
"Swear it."
Her head tilted sharply, ears twitching at the edge of hearing, her expression shifting to mild irritation.
"Swear what?" she asked, voice sharper than before, though beneath it was a thin thread of confusion.
I held her gaze, lowering my voice until it was iron wrapped in calm.
"Swear in the na of Drugar—the one that protects us all—that you will suffer crippling pain the very mont you even think about harming or any mber of my clan."
The silence stretched after my demand, heavy and suffocating. Even the forest beyond seed to pause, the faint rustle of leaves halting as though it too waited for her reply.
I had chosen crippling pain deliberately.
Instant death was out of the question; our lives were bound too tightly together. If she ever grew desperate, suicidal even, she could drag us both into the grave with a single reckless act. That was a card I couldn’t afford her to hold.
But pain—pain was different.
Pain was an anchor, a deterrent carved into the marrow. Pain was insurance without providing her the release of escape.
Her ears twitched again, and for a heartbeat, I thought she might lash out. Instead, she frowned, then gave a small shrug as though my demand were little more than an inconvenience.
"Alright... if that’s what you want."
Her voice settled into a steady rhythm, deliberate, ritualistic. Each word seed to echo against the air, sinking deep into places I couldn’t see.
"I swear that I, in the na of Drugar, will not harm any mber of your clan. And if I do, may the penalty described by this goblin fall upon ."
There was a pause, deliberate and heavy. Then she tilted her head slightly, lips curling upward in a mockery of a smile.
"Happy now?"
Her tone dripped with casual mockery, as if the oath was nothing more than a ga, so elaborate trick designed to humor .
But what she didn’t realize—what she couldn’t realize—was that the oath she had just spoken wasn’t empty.
"Are you satisfied now, gob..."
Her words strangled into silence, cut off mid-breath.
Her body jerked violently, a gasp escaping her throat before it collapsed into a raw, guttural screech that clawed at the air.
She fell, claws raking at the dirt, her body convulsing as though gripped by invisible fire. Muscles seized and locked, forcing her to arch against the ground. Heat radiated from her in uneven bursts, flickers of fla sputtering from her skin in chaotic pulses.
And then I saw it.
Chains.
Greenish, translucent chains coiled tight around her chest, invisible yet undeniable. They shimred against her form, spectral bands that bound her heart in a rciless grip. Each tightening pulse glowed with blistering heat, branding her from the inside out.
Her body bowed under the pressure, eyes stretched wide, unblinking, glassy with agony. Every surge of heat forced another shriek from her throat, sharp and jagged enough to make the air tremble.
This was the punishnt.
This was the safeguard—the binding truth behind her words.
The pain she would endure if she so much as thought about treating one of my goblins like prey.
After several harrowing monts, the chains loosened and then dissipated, vanishing like smoke into the air. Her body slumped back to the ground, trembling, every breath harsh and ragged.
Her gaze snapped toward almost imdiately, burning with a fury so intense it could have carved stone. But beneath that fury, beneath the sharp edges of her confusion, I glimpsed sothing else.
Fear.
A flicker, yes, but real. And no matter how quickly she tried to bury it, no matter how she masked it with venom, it was there.
"You... what did you do to ?" she hissed, voice hoarse, raw, as though the words themselves had been torn from broken glass.
I couldn’t help the grin that stretched across my face.
Truth be told, I hadn’t...
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