Strum arrived at the hideout, considerably more worn after the hectic morning. It was miraculous they stole the mirror, but the toll of using his mana to halt the fight sunk in deep. That and mounting pressure. All of their futures rested on his shoulders, they needed him to outmaneuver Rurk and Mallik.

He walked into the cave, greeted with overwhelming noise. Loud screeches from the twins combating the off-note singing of Jilde as she whittled a pointed stick. Yrx and Pox violently struggled in their corner, desperate to get her to stop. But she didn’t, her voice carried completely through the cave. No tune or rhythm to it. If he were not looking to convert them to his side, it'd be almost comedic. Instead, he cleared his throat.

Jilde cut off the song, a blush crept onto her face. “Strum!”

“I uh, sorry for being gone so long. They get on your nerves?”

“Oh-gosh-yes! Worse than most-of-the-tribe! Going-on-about me being half-goblin! Then telling me I’ll ‘be-condemned-from-the-Ground-Fathers-love’—only to get meaner, and say nasty things! Like my teeth being too pointy!” She paused, squirming, before deciding to pull back a lip and expose her fangs. “This isn’t-too-pointy?! Right, Strum!? You-don’t-think-so!? Be honest!”

He blinked and ignored the volcano of insults still hurled from the tied twins. Strum set a hand on her shoulder. “Ignore them. They’re uh, well, not exactly of sound mind, they've been stuffed in this cave for weeks. You look fine, er—“ he cut himself off as she looked hurt, “Better than fine! The uh, the—loveliest goblin in the entire tribe!”

Jilde's bright smile competed with the sun. Perhaps that was too far? Oh well. “I knew-you-didn’t think so, if you did you wouldn’t be muttering my-name-in-your-sleep!”

Strum worked his jaw, unsure how to react to that statement. Did I mention her in my sleep? He decided to redirect the conversation instead, focusing on the recruitment of the twins to free up his resources; they'd waste no more time with goblin-sitting.

“You uh, did a fine job. I’m proud of you. As a reward, you’re free for the rest of the day, I’ll handle these two—neither of us should need to watch them anymore.”

“I don’t-want-to-leave!”

“I uh, really?” she nodded her head. With her here, the twins will be on edge… “Listen, uh, as much as I’d like that, maybe there’s something else you can do instead…”

“That’s-not-fair! I’ve-been-wanting-to-spend-some alone time with you for-awhile—you’ve been so busy lately!” Jilde kicked a rock, letting out a small sigh.

“I uh, know. How about…” What’s going to work here? The idea snapped into place. Oh, Ground-Father have mercy, what am I going to get myself into. “You catch some game, I’ll cook it, and we can uh, have a one-on-one dinner.”

She brightened, a wide smile on her face. “Done!” She practically shrieked, before grabbing her bow and racing out of the cave to catch food. Strum tucked that problem away for later.

Even if they despised everyone other than the Ground-Father. He'd set the ideal conditions for this conversation. He put in the time to break past their initial disgust of him, turning their disposition into more of a low-burning distaste.

Strum slowly made his way to them, cautious as their open taunts transformed into a low hum of whispers between one another. No time like the present. Strum whipped out the black leather-wrapped mirror and took a seat near them.

The whispering cut off. Their expressions said all he wanted to know, they were familiar with the mirror. With that last bit of confirmation, he leaned forward; the twins did their best to squirm away, but there was nowhere to go. They exchanged desperate glances at one another then settled their attention on the mirror.

He let them sweat. To throw them further off ease, before yanking out a knife and slicing the rope that bound them.

Despite all of ‘attempts’ at escape, neither leapt up or reacted to the sudden chance at freedom. Instead, Yrx hesitantly pulled away from Pox, rubbing his rope burns—Pox narrowed his eyes.

Pox broke first. “Sinner! Hand over the sacred artifact! Your hands defile it, a weak-willed blasphemer swayed by the mad dungeon will ruin it! See the error in your ways, hand it over now. You’ve done well so far in freeing us from those bindings, even if it took far too long.” Pox puffed his chest up, trying to feed his brother confidence Strum knew he didn’t feel.

“I made a promise to you,” Strum said carefully, setting a hand on the edge of the obsidian leather, as he slowly began to unwrap the mirror.

They tensed. “Halt! You cannot do this—only the sacred hands of the Shaman may touch the divine artifact! You will bring ruin upon us all!”

“…R-ruin… we will all die!” Yrx wrung his hands together. Yet neither ran. They leaned forward, tense as a war party before a fight, transfixed as the leather came free.

He revealed the brass edge of the mirror, the glint of metal alone caused a sharp gasp. The world didn’t erupt in an explosion, rocks didn't fall on their heads, and the hand of the Ground-Father rose to crush them from below. That tension eased, though they remained huddled together. Glued in place. They were being presented with the possibility of interacting with a divine artifact. Even if it was a lie he meant to expose.

The rest of the mirror came free; Pox’s eyes trained on its reflective surface, while Yrx shook like a leaf. “As you see. A simple mirror. Same one Mallik talked to the ‘Ground-Father,’ with, correct?” Strum asked

“H-heathen… he doesn’t answer… because you’re a sinner!” Yrx asserted as he shrank further behind his brother.

“Vile trick! It only looks the same, a replica of the divine artifact! I’ve personally heard the Ground-Father’s voice through the real mirror” Pox yelled.

“Where uh, do you think I’d be able to get the exact same mirror as the Shaman?” Strum asked. Their tribe was incapable of fine craftsmanship.

“H-he stole it! The Ground-Father must know and refuses to answer! H-he’s going to punish us!” Yrx shrieked.

“Ah! Of course! He’s not worthy! That is why.” Pox bobbed his head up and down. Latched to the first excuse.

“If I told you that I could uh, make it do the same as Mallik? I’ll show this is no divine artifact of the Ground-Father. Mallik tricked you with magic. I hate seeing you two deceived and used, it’s disgusting. Look into your hearts. You know I’m right.”

They shut their mouths, firmly rooted in place by the seed of doubt planted days ago. Designed to entangle them and ironically provide what they required to break out of the Shaman’s web of lies. Even if it was a manipulation designed by Strum—similar to Mallik’s own strategy, creating their reality, and shaping it to his benefit.

Strum closed his eyes, a steady flow of mana pulsed through his body in waves; his mana felt far weaker than earlier today. That fight cost him, and he had to be careful about expending too much at once in the future. Strum slipped into a state of hyper-awareness, then felt the tug of hunger from the mirror. It wouldn’t take much to activate it, a steady supply of mana into the object.

Long way to go before he'd be proficient with his mana, but Strum got the sense the mirror wasn’t designed for advanced magic users. Even the most rudimentary of magic possessing creatures could activate it.

With firm guidance he directed his mana outward, letting the mirror feed. It sank its fangs into the wave of mana. Strum’s eyes opened and the twins gasped—the surface of the mirror rippled like liquid metal. Stilling and revealing the image of a barren war room, and the backside of a dreadfully familiar kobold. Phizos scratched his ass, a cigar hanging out of his lips and looking the opposite direction from the mirror, seemingly busied with reviewing papers on a table.

“H-he’s broken the artifact!” Yrx wailed, causing the kobold on the other side to jump in place. Phizos spun about, bushy brows shooting to his forehead as his neck twisted to-and-fro.

“Aw, fuck, those dimwits got it to work? Gods damn it.” Phizos muttered as Strum took great care to position himself away from the mirror. “Hey, dumb-asses. Go and find your Shaman, and hand this mirror back to him.”

“Who are you! That kobold from the camp!?! Blasphemer! This mirror belongs to the Ground-Father! Not a profane half-lizard! I shall bury you in the ground! I’ve trained under the guidance of the Shaman, my skills are honed through years of prayer and dedication—you’ve made a massive blunder in tainting the divine artifact! I will find you, and when I do—“

“Yada, yada. Listen, green-skin. I’m the Ground-Father’s secretary, yeah? If you don’t hand this mirror back to your Shaman in the next five minutes, I’ll—well, hell, no—the GROUND-FATHER will collapse that cavern of yours on the heads of your entire dumb-ass tribe!” Phizos took another deep puff of the cigar, bursting into a phlegmy cough.

Strum cut the connection to the mirror, the angry kobold vanished. Without hesitation and with great pain to keep his face away from the reflection, Strum wrapped the mirror back up. Letting the twins have their rushed and harsh conversation. Yrx expressed concern about their tribe’s impending death, while Pox seemed to be having the unpleasant realization that something wasn’t right about all this.

“Mallik deceived you.” Strum interrupted the mirror now safely bound. Their sprawling line of thought needed correction to fit his narrative. Objective truth first, so the lie was easier to swallow.

“I-Impossible… he has the ear of the Ground-Father!”

“Why would he lie?! I don’t understand!” Pox slammed a fist against the dirt cave ground.

“He took you for foolish goblins. Idiots he could force into labor that would go along with his plots, willing to abuse you and expose you to whatever danger he required. I bet he even promised to teach you magic.” Strum drilled in each point like a knife. Their mouths hung wide open in shock. He had no proof about the magic claim, but given their expressions, he felt correct. “Each night, he laughed with Rurk about using you, never intended to teach you more than he required to get what he needed from you.”

“I-I was… to learn to speak… to the G-ground-Father.” Yrx’s head sunk, tears streaming from his eyes.

Pox frowned, taking a long ponder at his brother. He cracked, setting a hand on Yrx’s shoulder, before swiveling his head to meet Strum’s eyes. A fire burned in that gaze. “He deceived us!?”

“Yes. Because you let him, fell right into his trap and, let him use you he wished. Even worked for the Dark Lord—tell me, do you think the Ground-Father below desires you bowing your head in reverence to someone other than him?”

“N-no. He wishes us to thrive! To overwhelm the world in goblins! Each cave packed w-with our flock!” Yrx also turned a hopeful gaze to Strum. They fed off one another, using each other as support. Climbing out of that bog of betrayal, just needing an offered hand to yank them free.

“I offer you the chance to fulfill the Ground-Father’s will. The Shaman’s trick is exposed, it’s not too late to make things right. Get back at him. Actually serve the Ground-Father—you’ve accused me of being Regis’s puppet, that he’s a mad dungeon, but do you think he’s sworn me into his service like your Shaman? Do you think he believes himself to be above the Ground-Father?” Of course he does. Yes to both of those. That crystal definitely considers himself above a goblin god. However, he kept his expression sincere as they searched it, despite the blatant lie.

Finally, Pox sighed. “Not even that blasphemous dungeon dares such madness. If that sinner of a Shaman lied about the Ground-Father, then what else has he lied about? How far have we been misled? The dungeon fed many, and the Ground-Father preaches strength. What is strength if not the ability to put food in the mouths of the Ground-Father’s flock?”

“H-he lied to us. W-we don’t forget.” Yrx nodded his head sagely.

“Join us, I give you my word that the dungeon will find a place for you, somewhere that you can serve the greater good for the tribe. You’ll be uh, free to deepen your bond to the Ground-Father, we shall not stand in your way or deceive you. Unlike Mallik. All I need is for you to tell me what the liar’s been tasking you with—especially with the Dark Lord’s army. From there, we can speak of the future.”

Inevitably, both of them conceded. Explaining in rapid succession all they recalled with their operations for the Dark Lord. Mostly they had performed simple guard jobs in the fort—reporting what they saw and learned directly to Mallik. Occasionally, they transported parchment with unknown ‘squiggles’ between the Shaman and the fort. Once they even hauled a mysterious package. They also explained the cavern, detailing the existence of a hidden crack that extended deeper underground; tucked away in the Shadow-Axe home. They vowed to show it to Strum soon once they reflected and had time to seek the guidance of the Ground-Father.

Strum sent them on their way. Taking a steadying breath as they fled. There was a chance they’d run directly to Mallik, either to confront him or reveal Strum's deceit and the mirror thievery. Perhaps it’d escalate the Shaman’s timeline. Unfortunately, in terms of the collusion between Mallik and the Dark Lord, Strum didn’t get as much as he wanted. Left with more questions than answers. He’d take the chance on those two, both of them tragically cultivated as willing servants.

He knew the pain in their eyes. Felt their betrayal. His offer stood firm and he hoped they saw things his way, that they’d convert to his side and work for Regis. They were in a way, like him. Regis went on at length about restaurant ‘positions’, requiring waiters, hosts, and busboys. Even more than that. All of the terms were foreign to Strum, and perhaps the dungeon explained them with a manic demeanor. But the dungeon’s madness benefited him so far, so he’d follow it to the end.

There was no other option, really. He’d tied his fate long ago.