Chapter 416 She Wasn’t Here to Care.

“Kaka...” Hermit whispered, his voice breaking as he turned to look at his father. Kaka’s milky eyes met his, filled with a quiet, resigned sadness that made Hermit’s chest ache. The old goblin’s body was so thin, so fragile, and Hermit felt a surge of guilt so powerful it nearly knocked him to his knees.

“I... I’m sorry,” Hermit stammered, his voice trembling as he rushed to Kaka’s side. He dropped to his knees, his hands shaking as he reached out to touch Kaka’s frail body. 

“I’m so sorry, Kaka. I didn’t... I didn’t mean to forget. I just... I got so caught up with the hatchlings, and I... I...”

His words trailed off as tears streamed down his face, his chest heaving with silent sobs. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Kaka’s frail chest, his hands clutching at the tattered blankets.

 “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Kaka let out a weak, raspy sigh, “It’s... alright, my son. You are... doing your best. I... I understand.”

But Hermit shook his head, his tears falling. 

“No, it’s not alright. You’re my Dada. You’ve done so much for me, and I... I forgot about you. I left you here, starving, while I... while I...”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. The guilt was too much. He had been so focused on the hatchlings, so consumed by their needs, that he had neglected the one person who had always been there for him—the one person who had sacrificed everything to keep him alive.

 Kaka lay bundled in filthy cloth, barely conscious, his eyes fluttering open every so often, only to squint from the pain. 

Hermit held a cracked wooden spoon in his hand. He dipped it carefully into the thin stew Suzuka had given him—mostly broth, with a few soft chunks of potato and a bit of meat that had nearly melted from the simmering. Lifting the spoon gently, he leaned in close.

"Open up, Kaka. It's warm... you like warm things, don’t you?"

Kaka didn't respond at first. His lips were cracked, his breath wheezing. Hermit hesitated, then softly tapped the spoon against his father's chin, coaxing it open. Bit by bit, he spooned the broth into Kaka’s mouth. The old goblin swallowed weakly, a tear slipping from his eye.

Hermit smiled through his own tears, wiping the corner of Kaka’s mouth with the back of his hand.

"I’m sorry… I should’ve been here sooner. You always protected me when I was little… now it's my turn."

Kaka said nothing, but he didn’t need to. The faintest groan from his throat, the way he turned ever so slightly toward Hermit—that was enough.

Hermit kept feeding him, slowly, steadily, like it was the only thing that mattered in the world. Each spoonful was delivered with care, a little whisper, a little hum. And with each one, the cold of the shed felt just a bit less sharp.

His body was weak, starved, and broken, but somewhere deep within, the goblin’s regenerative powers worked slowly, painfully, to restore what had been torn from him. It would take time—days, weeks—but Kaka would heal. His limbs would regrow. His strength would return, as it always did.

Suzuka stood at the threshold of the rickety shed, her hand resting lightly against the doorframe, her eyes hidden in the shadows. The scene in front of her was... unbearable. Hermit fed his father, his movements shaky, as if he had nothing left to give but this. The cold, the storm, the darkness of the room—it was as if the air itself was choking her.

Her lips tightened into a thin line as she watched. She had seen many things in her time, seen creatures of every kind brought low by fate, or by the cruelty of others. But goblins—these goblins—were different. They were no better than the beasts of the forest, destined to suffer and perish in the muck of their own filth. To her, they were creatures bred for servitude, made to endure punishment, to be subjugated. They weren’t even truly alive in the same way humans were—they were just... remnants of a race that had outlived its purpose.

A wave of disgust rose in her chest as she watched Hermit feed the crippled Kaka, his father’s eyes distant, devoid of the fire that marked his existence. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t.

She shifted her gaze from the father, still too weak to even drink the broth, back to Hermit. His despair... it clung to him like the cold. She knew he saw Kaka as his only family, his only reason for existing. But what was this, really? Was this just the cycle of misery she had always known to be true about goblins? How long could they live like this, in the dirt, without purpose, without a future?

 These goblins had no honor, no dignity. They were filth. And here, this creature, Hermit, was trying so desperately to cling to the illusion of hope, of love, as if those things could ever belong to someone like him.

Suzuka’s lips curled into a sneer, but only in her mind. She didn’t let it escape, not where they could see it. Her hand tightened against the doorframe. 

"Pathetic."

But she didn’t say it aloud. She couldn’t. Not to his face. Not to Hermit who was, in some twisted way, trying to care for the creature that had given him life.

The howling winds outside seemed to scream through the cracks of the rickety shed, but the sound that filled the air now came from something far more unsettling. A soft scurrying, followed by the frantic rustle of tiny bodies, reverberated against the cold, uneven floor.

Her attention was slowly drawn to the noise, the frantic scurrying of tiny feet. A dozen hatchlings, no larger than mice, had emerged from the dark corners of the room, drawn irresistibly to the pile of food Suzuka had discarded earlier. Their tiny bodies wobbled as they rushed forward, their dull little claws scraping against the floor in an eager, stumbling dash.

The hatchlings weren’t hungry with malice. They didn’t know what hunger meant in the way grown creatures did. Their instincts, though strong, were simple. They were driven by the need to consume, to eat, to fill the emptiness in their tiny, fragile bellies.

One hatchling, smaller than the rest, let out a squeaky, high-pitched sound as it tumbled forward, its tiny hands reaching out for a scrap of bread. It snatched at it, but before it could sink its teeth into the piece, a slightly larger sibling shoved its hand into the smaller one’s mouth with a clumsy splat.

“Ouchie!” the smaller hatchling squealed, pulling away in surprise, but there was no malice in the way it squealed. It wasn’t angry, just confused. A moment later, the same sibling that had pushed its hand in the smaller hatchling’s mouth was now reaching for the bread, but it couldn’t quite grab it, its hands too small, too fumbly to secure the piece. It waved its hands in frustration, only to have its own mouth suddenly filled with a half-chewed crumb from yet another hatchling. It blinked in confusion, chewing slowly.

“Oh!” another hatchling giggled in a high-pitched voice, as it pushed its way past its siblings to get closer to the food pile. It was all a blur of squirming bodies—none of them understood the concept of waiting their turn. None of them understood sharing. All they knew was that the food was there, and they needed it. Now.

The hatchlings’ little hands tugged and shoved in a messy, tumbling heap, each one trying to claim the scraps as its own. They didn’t know what to do with the food once they got it—just stuffed it into their mouths as fast as their tiny teeth could manage, making soft, silly “Mmm-mmm!” sounds, their faces covered in crumbs and spit.

One hatchling, in its excitement, tripped over another and landed with a small thud, tumbling forward into the pile. The others didn’t pause for a moment. They simply reached over its squirming body to snatch up what they could. The fallen hatchling let out a tiny, surprised squeal, rubbing its head as it sat up.

 “Ouchie!” 

But there was no real pain in its voice—just the innocent cry of one who had never been taught the difference between pain and play.

The bigger hatchlings grabbed at the pieces of potato, their little fingers scrambling and tugging, stuffing food into their mouths and dripping crumbs down their faces. Some of them managed to pull off whole chunks of meat, while others struggled to bite through the crusty bread, only to accidentally knock it away when they shoved their tiny mouths in the wrong direction.

Suzuka stood there, frozen, her eyes wide as she watched the bizarre scene. The hatchlings weren’t fighting—they weren’t trying to hurt each other. They were just... being goblins, unaware of anything beyond their hunger. The sight of their silly, innocent desperation twisted something inside her. These were the very same creatures she had been taught to look down upon, to believe were born for nothing but to be evil. Yet, here they were—small, helpless things, living on instinct alone, their only crime being born into this cycle of hate.

One hatchling, still clumsily chewing, looked up at Suzuka with wide, curious eyes, a piece of food hanging from its mouth. It let out a soft “Goo-goo?” and giggled, before turning back to the food pile to tug a piece of meat away from its sibling.

Suzuka’s throat tightened. The scene was so absurd, so heart-wrenching, that for a moment, she forgot where she was. These tiny, helpless creatures—how could they have been born into such a brutal world? How could they have been destined for nothing but pain, hunger, and suffering?

Hermit didn’t seem to notice her reaction. He was still focused on his father, trying to coax him into eating, trying to bring him back to life with the last bit of strength he had. Suzuka wanted to look away, to return to her purpose here, but the image of the hatchlings remained etched in her mind, like a terrible, inevitable truth. These creatures, too young to know violence, too innocent to comprehend hatred, were born into a world that had no place for them.

And they were eating, eating, because that was all they could do.

She swallowed hard, her breath quickening as she fought to keep her emotions hidden. Her lips were tight, her hands clenched at her sides. 

The hatchlings didn’t stop. They continued to eat, their small bodies nearly disappearing in the chaos of limbs, claws, and gnawing teeth. In the dim light of the shed, the horrific image of them—tiny, broken creatures caught in the cycle of greed and suffering—was burned into Suzuka’s mind. She knew these creatures would never know kindness. They would only know hunger and pain. They were born for it, bred for it, and they would die in it.

She quickly smothered the feeling, pushing it deep down, away from the surface. Her hand trembled as she adjusted her grip on the doorframe. She wasn’t here to pity them. She wasn’t here to be weak.

She wasn’t here to care.