The next day...

  I was trying to extract an iron ore embedded in the cave wall. As my small hammer struck the stone, its deep, rhythmic sounds echoed and faded into the cold air of the cave.

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small piece of flint, checking it briefly. I had gathered quite a bit of material today: some iron ore, a few pieces of coal, and even traces of copper I found in the corner.

  Just as I was focused on my work, I heard a faint rustling sound.

  I turned around immediately and saw a small silhouette moving in the shadows.

  A goblin.

  It was watching me.

  For a moment, I tensed up, my hands instinctively reaching for my knife. But then... I noticed its posture. It wasn’t aggressive.

  Its head tilted slightly, watching me with a wary but determined expression.

  It took a step forward. Its small, bare feet made no sound on the stone floor. It raised its hand and waved at me.

  “What do you want?” I whispered to myself. The goblin, of course, didn’t respond. It simply extended its hand, gesturing for me to follow.

  Curiosity overtook my caution.

  I packed my hammer and gathered materials into my bag, then followed the goblin.

  We walked deeper into the cave.

  Our footsteps echoed in the narrowing space. Every so often, the small goblin glanced back, making sure I was still following.

  The darkness grew heavier, and the stone walls closed in. But after a few minutes of walking, we arrived at a small campsite.

  The tents were still in disarray. Torn pieces of cloth hung from wooden stakes, scattered wood and piles of bones littered the ground. But something was different:

  A large goblin stood in the center.

  Smaller goblins had gathered around it, all watching in silence.

  In front of the large goblin was a pile of wood and branches. It was rubbing sticks together, striking stones against one another.

  But to no avail. Not even a spark appeared.

  Suddenly, the small goblin grabbed my hand.

  Its rough, calloused fingers pulled me forward, guiding me to the center of the camp, right before the large goblin.

  My heart started pounding.

  The massive goblin stood before me, its huge form casting deep shadows in the dim cave light. But those enormous hands were only gripping fragile sticks.

  It looked at me.

  Its deep, reddish eyes held something strange—neither anger nor hatred.

  Need.

  And... the desire to learn?

  With a heavy, gruff voice, it uttered broken words:

  “Food.”

  It inhaled. Its chest, as vast as a mountain, rose and fell.

  “Warm...”

  I frowned. What was it talking about?

  Then my eyes landed on the pile of wood.

  And like a lightning bolt striking my mind, I understood:

  It was trying to start a fire.

  It was trying to learn how to cook food.

  I hesitated.

  These creatures… they wanted to learn from me.

  In their eyes, I was a teacher.

  A strange feeling twisted in my stomach. For the first time… I wondered if peace was truly possible.

  But first... they needed to learn fire.

  And whether or not I helped them was entirely up to me.

  A heavy silence hung over the cave, like a thick, suffocating blanket. The small goblins sat in the corners of the camp, their wide eyes fixed on me. The large goblin remained on its knees, its massive form towering over me. Its muscular arms trembled slightly, its breath echoing through the stone walls like a deep, low rumble.

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  I looked at the pile of wood, then into the large goblin’s eyes. They were tired but attentive. It was trying to understand what I would do next.

  Slowly, I took a step forward.

  A sudden growl echoed.

  A deep, warning sound rumbled from the large goblin’s throat.

  Its hands clenched into fists, and its gaze locked onto my knife.

  It saw me as a threat.

  It was on edge.

  A shiver ran down my spine. This massive creature could crush me in an instant if it wanted to.

  But it didn’t move—only warned me.

  I slowly raised my hands and removed the knife from my belt, carefully placing it on the ground.

  “Alright, alright... Look, no weapon,” I said in a calm, measured voice, keeping my hands raised, palms open.

  The large goblin’s eyes flickered from my knife to me.

  It didn’t move from its spot, but the tension in the air was palpable.

  I took a slow breath and crouched beside the pile of wood.

  “I’ll show you...”

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out the flint. Gently, I placed dry leaves beneath the sticks.

  The small goblins watched with cautious curiosity from the shadows.

  I struck the stones together.

  Snap—

  The first spark touched the leaves but quickly faded.

  I tried again. This time, a thin wisp of smoke curled up.

  On the third try… the spark caught.

  A flicker of flame began to rise.

  I immediately added small twigs and blew gently. The fire grew.

  Golden-orange light flickered against the cave walls, shadows dancing wildly.

  The large goblin didn’t blink. It was holding its breath. The small goblins peeked from behind the rocks, eyes reflecting the flames.

  Aside from the crackling fire, the cave was utterly silent.

  After a while, one of the small goblins couldn’t resist anymore.

  With trembling hands, it reached toward the fire, drawn by its warmth.

  But it didn’t know what it was doing.

  Just before its fingers could touch the flames, I quickly grabbed its arm.

  The goblin flinched in fear.

  But the real fear belonged to someone else:

  The large goblin suddenly rose to its feet.

  Its head nearly scraped the ceiling.

  A deep roar erupted through the cave.

  Its knees pressed into the stone floor. It leaned forward, hands planted firmly on the ground.

  It had instantly moved to protect the small goblin.

  My heart pounded.

  It could tear me apart in a single motion.

  But I didn’t run.

  I immediately raised my hands.

  "Wait! Wait!" I whispered, but my voice echoed in the cave.

  "No harm! Only protection!"

  The big goblin didn’t move.

  His eyes burned like fire.

  I slowly took a long stick from my bag and held it over the fire.

  The stick instantly caught flame. Red-orange fire danced at its tip.

  I turned to the big goblin.

  I lifted the stick into the air and showed it to him.

  "Fire is hot," I said.

  I pressed the stick against the stone ground, and the fire went out, leaving a burn mark.

  "No touching."

  The big goblin stared at the fire in silence. His breath steadied.

  Slowly, he pulled back his long fingers.

  With a heavy, raspy voice, struggling to form words, he said:

  "No... touching."

  The small goblins jumped excitedly.

  They gathered around the fire but didn’t get too close.

  They watched, mesmerized by the flickering flames.

  The big goblin sat back down.

  But this time, he seemed more at ease.

  The first bridge of trust between us had been built.

  And that night, in the depths of the cave, under the dancing light of the fire, a silent agreement was formed between human and monster.

  Days turned into weeks.

  At first, I spent my nights sleeping at the cave’s entrance, listening only to the crackling of fire and the distant sounds of animals from the forest. But over time, I started hearing other sounds within the cave—cheerful goblin murmurs, twigs snapping, the scraping of stones.

  I found myself visiting the cave nearly every day.

  At first, I only came to gather minerals. But soon, I noticed that the small goblins were following me. Silently hiding, watching what I did, trying to understand my movements.

  Like a child’s pure curiosity.

  When I realized their eagerness to learn, I decided to share what I knew.

  The first thing I taught them was fire-making.

  Each time, we carefully gathered small branches and spread dry leaves on the ground. I had to show them how to use a spark stone. When I struck the stones together, the tiny sparks seemed like magic to them.

  When a spark landed...

  When the fire rose...

  They all froze in awe.

  Even the big goblin tilted his head, eyeing the fire with suspicion.

  But in time, they got used to it. The small goblins learned to start tiny flames through trial and error. And each time they succeeded, they clapped their hands with joy—they no longer feared fire.

  One day, one of the small goblins returned from the forest with a bare fish in its hands.

  It was crushed by a rock, covered in mud.

  At that moment, I decided to teach them how to hunt properly.

  We stripped thin branches and sharpened their tips with stones to make sturdier spears. I slowly demonstrated the carving process. Their little hands were clumsy but determined.

  Then, we went to a small pond near the cave.

  I explained how they needed to be quiet so they wouldn’t scare the fish.

  How to keep their spears steady, how to watch the fish’s movements.

  At first, they failed. They fell into the water countless times, broke their spears.

  But a few days later… they caught their first fish.

  Their joyful cries echoed through the cave.

  I will never forget that moment.

  Finding food in the forest was dangerous. Some berries were poisonous, while others provided hidden energy.

  So I showed them, one by one:

  ? Red-leaved bushes: Poisonous.

  ? Yellow buds: Healing.

  ? Thin-skinned purple berries: Sweet.

  I taught them how to test smells. To stay away from things with a strange scent. To touch with their hands first and watch their skin—if they felt tingling, they shouldn’t eat it.

  A few weeks later, the small goblins could go into the forest on their own and return with edible herbs.

  I even taught them how to make stone axes.

  We attached sharp stones to makeshift wooden handles, securing them tightly with fibrous plants.

  Stronger spears, sturdier pickaxes...

  The cave was no longer just a shelter—it was turning into a small community.

  The big goblin noticed everything.

  He watched in silence.

  Every day, he sat by the fire, observing the small goblins' progress.

  Sometimes, he stared at me for a long time before nodding and turning away.

  But I knew he was learning too.

  One day, I saw him improving the grip on his own axe.

  He was imitating my binding technique.

  He was learning.

  Now, they could gather food better. They could use their spears to hunt small prey in the forest.

  They had learned to make fire, cook food, and hunt.

  Some nights, I sat by the fire, small goblins silently eating beside me.

  The big goblin watched from afar, making sure everything was safe.

  I couldn't help but wonder:

  What was I doing?

  I was teaching monsters how to survive.

  But… were they really monsters?

  This cave was their home.

  They were just trying to live.

  And I realized—

  Their survival made my survival easier.

  A balance had formed.

  A silent agreement between us.

  But deep down, I felt a fear:

  How long would this peace last?

  And what lay deeper in the cave?

  Because in the big goblin’s eyes,

  I saw a hidden fear.

  A fear I had yet to understand.