The creature stepped out of the shadows with a deliberate, haunting slowness. Mud clung to its wiry body, still slick from the morning's rain, and its skin—an sickly greenish-gray—was smeared with dirt and streaks of drying blood. Its left ear hung in a jagged, half-torn ruin, and its yellow eyes glowed with a feral, concentrated hatred.
The goblin's lips peeled back in a crooked grin, revealing uneven yellow teeth as saliva dripped from the corner of its mouth. Around its waist hung a ragged strip of animal hide, but it was the weapon in its hand that commanded Arin's attention: a rusted, notched knife.
The blade trembled slightly as the creature lifted it. Then, the goblin unhinged its jaw and let out a piercing, bone-chilling shriek that echoed through the narrow alley.
"SKREEEEE!"
For half a heartbeat, Arin and Tomas stood paralyzed, their minds struggling to process the nightmare before them. Then, the goblin charged.
"RUN!" Tomas shouted, finding his voice first.
They bolted. Their boots slapped against wet stone as they sprinted through the twisting labyrinth of the city's lower district. Wooden houses loomed on both sides like silent giants, and rainwater dripped from the eaves into their eyes. Behind them, the rapid, scratching footsteps of the goblin grew louder. It was fast—impossibly fast.
Arin risked a glance over his shoulder. The creature was gaining, its knife raised and eyes blazing. They turned sharply around a corner, hoping for a main thoroughfare, but instead, they found a wall.
A dead end.
For a moment, neither boy spoke. Their ragged breathing was the only sound in the narrow space. They looked at each other, and in that silent exchange, the realization took hold: there was no escape. They would have to fight.
Tomas stepped forward instinctively, placing himself between the goblin and Arin. Arin's eyes scanned their surroundings with frantic precision, landing on a discarded trash barrel. He grabbed the heavy wooden lid and raised it like a makeshift shield.
The goblin lunged.
"Wind Slash!" Tomas yelled, throwing his hand forward.
A blade of compressed air tore through the alley, but the goblin moved with the fluid grace of a wild animal. It twisted sideways, letting the wind slash scream past to carve a deep gouge into the stone wall. The creature didn't slow down; it slipped past Tomas and rushed Arin.
CLANG!
The rusted knife slammed into the wooden lid. The impact rattled Arin's teeth and sent a numbing shock up his arms. The goblin tilted its head, realizing Arin couldn't see past the shield, and its grin widened. It raised the knife again, aiming for Arin's exposed legs.
"Tch—!" Tomas reacted instantly, his boot slamming into the goblin's stomach.
The creature flew backward, rolling across the wet cobbles, but it scrambled to its feet almost immediately. Its yellow eyes were no longer just hateful—they were incandescent with fury.
The goblin rushed again. Tomas raised his hand and a rock shot forward like a bullet, but the goblin rolled beneath it. Tomas was already chanting again. "Wind Slash!"
This time, the blade struck. A deep cut opened across the goblin's chest, splattering blood against the alley wall. But the wound was shallow. The creature didn't fall; it only grew more enraged, attacking Tomas with a series of wild, desperate knife swings.
One slash. Two. Three. Tomas stepped back, the third strike ripping open the front of his shirt and missing his skin by a fraction of an inch. Arin saw his opening and kicked the goblin's head, sending it slamming into the wooden wall of a nearby house.
The creature lashed out blindly, its knife tearing across Arin's shirt near his waist. Arin twisted his body and shoved the wooden lid forward with everything he had, causing the goblin to stumble. Both the knife and the shield clattered across the ground.
For a brief moment, the world stopped. The boys backed away, gasping for air. Arin's mind was racing, analyzing the "logs" of the fight so far. They were outmatched in a physical grind. They couldn't win a war of attrition.
"Tomas!" Arin barked.
"What?!" Tomas gasped, his face pale.
"Give me some time!" Arin shouted. The goblin was already scrambling toward its fallen knife. "Even one minute!"
Tomas turned his head slightly. He saw the cold, burning determination in Arin's eyes—the look of a man about to execute a dangerous line of code. Tomas faced forward again and cracked his neck.
"You've got one minute," Tomas promised.
Arin dropped to his knees, his hands trembling. He pulled a folded sheet of paper and his rune pen from his pocket. The first line of the runic circle wavered, and he forced himself to breathe. Focus. Synthesize. Execute.
Ink flowed across the page. Symbols began to take shape.
Meanwhile, the goblin reclaimed its blade and rushed.
"Wind Slash!" Tomas shouted. The goblin dodged immediately, but nothing came. It was a feint. A real rock projectile shot forward a second later, striking the goblin's head with a sickening crack.
The creature staggered, dazed. Tomas gathered every drop of his remaining mana. A powerful, visible blade of wind formed in the air. "Wind Slash!"
The attack hit home, severing the goblin's left arm. Blood sprayed across the alley, but the creature didn't stop. Its rage had overridden its nervous system. It charged again, one-armed and screaming. Tomas forced out one final, desperate slash that sliced across the goblin's thigh.
The creature stumbled, but it kept coming. Tomas collapsed to one knee, his mana reserves completely empty. The goblin reached him, raising its rusted knife for the final blow.
"Tomas, move!" Arin yelled.
Arin stood, the paper rune clenched in his hand with a small magic stone pressed into its center. He had folded the paper into a tight, dense ball. He threw it with every ounce of strength he possessed.
The paper ball struck the goblin squarely in the face. At the moment of contact, Arin triggered the mana flow.
BOOM.
A violent, concentrated flash exploded outward. It wasn't a massive blast, but it was perfectly focused against the goblin's skull. Bone cracked, and a burst of smoke filled the alley. The creature collapsed instantly, its momentum gone, its life extinguished.
Tomas slumped forward, slipping into unconsciousness. Arin stared blankly at the body of the goblin, the smell of burnt ozone and blood filling his lungs. Then, his legs finally gave out, and he sat heavily on the cold, wet stone.
Heavy footsteps echoed down the alley minutes later. City guards arrived first, followed by a tall figure in a deep blue officer's coat. Silver buttons glinted in the lantern light, and on his shoulder rested the metal badge of a griffin.
Captain Dorian Holborn of the City Watch scanned the scene with sharp gray eyes. A dead goblin. Two exhausted boys. Scorch marks on the stone.
"…Interesting," he murmured.
Later that evening, the night air was still thick with the scent of ozone and rain as the heavy doors of the orphanage office creaked shut. Inside, the atmosphere was stiflingly tense. The warm, amber glow of the rune lanterns flickered against the dark wood walls, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to jump every time someone moved.
Caretaker Marta sat behind her desk, her fingers interlocked so tightly her knuckles were white. Her face was a mask of barely contained anxiety. Across from her sat a man who seemed to take up more space than should be possible—Captain Dorian Holborn. His deep blue officer's coat was immaculate, the silver buttons gleaming, and the metal griffin on his shoulder—the symbol of the Kingdom of Valerion—caught the lantern light with every slight movement.
Two guards stood behind him like statues carved from iron. On two small wooden stools sat Arin and Tomas. They looked small, exhausted, and covered in the grime of the city's underbelly.
"These boys were involved in an incident earlier this evening," Captain Halborn began. His voice was steady and authoritative, the kind of voice that demanded a room's full attention without ever having to raise it.
Martha's brows knit together immediately. "What kind of incident, Captain?"
Halborn's expression remained composed, almost clinical. "A goblin."
For a split second, Marta simply stared at him, her mouth opening slightly but no sound coming out. Then, all the color drained from her face. "A… goblin?" she whispered, her voice cracking.
Her eyes snapped toward the boys. "Tomas! Arin!"
She stood halfway out of her chair, her hands hovering as if she wanted to reach across the desk and grab them. "Are you hurt anywhere? Show me your arms—did it cut you? Were you bitten? Those creatures carry filth on their blades!"
Tomas raised both hands quickly, trying to project a confidence he clearly didn't quite feel yet. "We're alright, Miss Marta. Truly. A bit dusty, maybe a few bruises, but nothing's broken."
Arin nodded quietly, his eyes fixed on the desk. "We're fine, Madam."
Martha slowly sat down again, though she remained perched on the edge of her seat. The worry hadn't left her eyes; it had merely transformed into a simmering protective fury.
Halvorn watched the exchange with a keen, observant gaze before turning back to the boys. "I am Captain Dorian Halborn of the City Watch. And according to the reports from my men who arrived on the scene… you two didn't just survive an encounter with a goblin."
He leaned forward, his gray eyes narrowing. "You killed it."
Tomas scratched the back of his head awkwardly, glancing at the floor. "Well… yes. It seems that we did."
Halborn nodded once, a slow, deliberate movement. "Then I would like to hear exactly what happened. Start from the very beginning. Leave nothing out."
Tomas looked at Arin, but Arin remained silent, letting his friend take the lead. Tomas took a deep breath, his hands moving instinctively as he began to recount the night.
"We were returning from the market," Tomas said, his voice gaining strength. "Miss Martha asked us to bring magic stones for the lanterns. The rain had stopped, so we decided to take a shortcut through the lower streets near the alleyways." He exhaled slowly, the memory clearly playing back in his mind. "And then… the goblin came out. Just stepped from the shadows like it had been waiting for us. It must have crawled up through the sewers."
Captain Halborn folded his arms over his chest. "That matches our suspicions. The heavy rain likely flushed the creature through the main sewer tunnels. Continue."
Tomas described the chase—the frantic slapping of boots on wet stone, the realization of the dead end, and the cold dread of having to fight. "I tried to keep it away from Arin," Tomas explained, his pride peeking through his exhaustion. "I used everything I had—wind slashes, rock projectiles. I managed to sever one of its arms, but it didn't care. It was like the creature didn't feel pain. It just kept coming."
Martha gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth. "It lost an arm and kept fighting?"
"Yes, Miss Martha," Tomas said solemnly.
"And then?" Halborn prodded. "What happened next?"
Tomas paused, his eyes shifting toward Arin. A strange look of awe crossed his face. "Well… that's when the explosion happened."
Captain Halborn leaned forward even further, his interest visibly piqued. "Yes. That is the part that interests me the most. When my men arrived, they found the goblin's skull shattered and the upper half of its face charred. What caused that?"
Tomas tilted his head toward Arin. "That… was him. All him."
The shift in the room was palpable. All eyes—Marta's wide with shock, the guards' with skepticism, and Halborn's with intense curiosity—settled on Arin. Arin sat quietly for a moment, gathering his thoughts as if he were preparing to explain a complex bug fix.
"I got the idea earlier today," Arin said, his voice calm and level. He lifted a finger and pointed toward the rune lantern sitting on Martha's desk. "That lamp."
Martha blinked, looking at the familiar object. "This one? What does this have to do with a goblin?"
"When I saw it earlier," Arin continued, "you explained that the rune inside channels energy from a magic stone to produce light. You showed me how the mechanism rotates to regulate the flow. It's a control system."
Martha nodded slowly. "That's correct. It's basic rune-work."
"So when we went to buy the magic stones," Arin said, "I kept thinking about that mechanism. I had paper and my rune pen with me. I realized that the magic stone is just a power source. The rune is the instruction."
Captain Halborn's eyes sharpened. "You drew a rune circle… in the middle of a life-or-death struggle?"
"Yes," Arin replied simply.
"And the magic stone?" Halvorn asked.
"I placed it in the center of the rune to provide the mana," Arin explained. He paused briefly, then added, "But I changed the symbols."
The reaction was immediate.
"What?!" Martha gasped, her face turning even paler. One of the guards behind Halvorn actually took a half-step forward in surprise.
"You changed the rune structure?" the guard muttered, his voice full of disbelief. Even Tomas turned to Arin with wide, unblinking eyes.
Halborn slowly raised a hand, silencing the murmurs in the room. His gaze remained fixed on Arin, unyielding and intense. "You altered the symbols? You realize that is how apprentices lose their limbs, boy. How did you change it?"
Arin didn't flinch. He pointed at the lantern again. "That rune is designed for a slow, steady release. It has 'limiters' built into the geometry to ensure the mana is converted into light over a long period. It's like a dripping faucet."
He traced a small circle in the air. "I removed the limiters. I redesigned the release pattern so that the rune wouldn't regulate the flow at all. I instructed it to release every bit of stored energy in the stone at the exact moment of contact."
Silence filled the room, thick and heavy.
One of the guards leaned down toward Halborn's ear, whispering urgently. "Captain… we did find a partially burned scrap of paper at the scene. And there were fragments of cracked magic stone crystals embedded in the wall near the blast mark."
The guard straightened, looking at Arin with a newfound respect—or perhaps fear. "The explosion wasn't large in terms of radius. It was just… concentrated. It was a shaped charge. Strong enough to kill a goblin that had already been weakened by the other boy's wind magic."
Halborn nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Arin. For several seconds, he simply studied the fourteen-year-old, looking for a sign of a lie or a boast. He found neither.
The Captain leaned back in his chair, a faint, genuine smile appearing on his weathered face. "Well," Halborn said softly. "That explains quite a lot. And it is entirely insane."
Martha was still staring at Arin as if he were a stranger. "You experimented with rune logic… during a battle? Arin, if you had misplaced a single stroke, you would have blown yourself up along with that monster!"
Arin scratched the side of his head, looking a bit sheepish for the first time. "It seemed like the only logical option at the time, Madam. We were out of mana and out of space."
The captain chuckled quietly, a deep sound that rumbled in his chest. "Most people spend their entire lives copying runes from dusty old books, terrified of the very idea of change. Very few have the mind—or the nerve—to treat magic like a puzzle to be rewritten."
Halborn stood up, his cape sweeping behind him as the guards snapped to attention. "You two showed immense courage tonight. And you," he looked directly at Arin, "showed a level of ingenuity that the Kingdom could use."
Later that night, the adrenaline had finally left them, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion. Martha had brought them a quiet meal of bread and cold meat, which they ate in the silence of their room.
Neither boy spoke for a long time. The only sound was the flickering of the small lantern on their bedside table. Finally, Tomas muttered from his bed, his voice muffled by his pillow.
"…That goblin was terrifying, Arin. I thought we were dead."
Arin nodded, staring at his hands. "Yes. It was."
Silence returned, but Arin's mind was still spinning. He thought about the explosion. It had worked, but it was inefficient. He had been lucky his lines were straight while his hands were shaking.
He realized then that the fight had only been won because Tomas had bought him time—the one thing he wouldn't always have. In a real encounter, he couldn't be a programmer writing code on a live server. He needed pre-compiled scripts. He needed a library of "applications" he could trigger in an instant.
Arin closed his eyes, his path finally clear. He wasn't just going to learn magic. He was going to optimize it.