Vikka stood at the threshold of Mirys' den, a cavernous hollow nestled beneath the twisted roots of an ancient banyan tree. Her pack rested lightly across her shoulder, but her spirit was weighed down by the impending farewell.

Mirys was putting together a package of traditional kobold treats and remedies for Vikka to take back to the others. By the entrance, Rukrin stood vigilant, more out of habit than necessity. Nisik busied himself in his private little nook, his tiny claws scrabbling through the chaotic pile of trinkets that he'd hoarded during their foraging rounds, each seed, shell, and gleaming bauble arranged by some private system only he understood.

A part of Vikka resisted the goodbye, unwilling to step away from the deep calm and comfort she'd discovered amid these sheltering vines. Yet she knew she had to return and face her responsibilities. The others were counting on her.

Nisik scurried over, tugging at her hand. She looked down to see him holding up a ring of weathered metal.

"Vikka! I found this loop thing near the river," he chirped, puffing his chest. "It's much too small to fit on my claw now, but perhaps your Shy friends can use it. Are they really just as small the tips of our tails?"

Vikka smiled, kneeling so she was level with his eager face. She accepted the ring, feeling its worn surface. Heavy despite its modest size, the band bore faint and tiny etchings, worn away by the currents of time, hinting at a story lost to the river.

"Thank you, Nisik," she said. "And yes, I believe even the biggest among the Shy would barely be taller than our tails are long."

Vikka sighed, glancing around the den, absorbing every detail—the patterns of moss on the walls, the scent of kobold cooking and herbal concoctions. "I know I need to get back to the others. But I'll miss you and this place," she admitted to the gathered family. "These past few days with you, sharing your nest—it's changed something in me."

Mirys traced a claw along a thick root that stood as the very wall of their home. "The Veilwoods has its own way," Mirys explained. "It finds its way into you, revealing what's hidden, reshaping what's broken. I arrived here lost, like you. At first, I merely survived. But then, slowly, I learned to sense its rhythms, its secrets. The forest granted me strength, taught me its subtle ways: how to shift a predator's trail, mask a friend's scent, even confuse an enemy's path. It's a delicate balance, but it allowed me to protect what matters."

"Like your family?"

"Yes," Mirys agreed, glancing fondly at Rukrin and Nisik. "And whoever needed sanctuary—even strangers who crossed our paths. Like your friends, the Shy and the human. They entered as wounded souls, beyond my direct aid. But I felt we should intervene..."

Vikka considered this, flexing her fingers as she imagined the forest's energy flowing through them. "Do you think I could get good at that too?"

Mirys' gaze softened. "You already have a power greater than what the forest only lends me, Vikka—the bonds and trust of your tribe."

Vikka paused, considering her words. "You think I'm ready?"

"You wouldn't be leaving otherwise." Mirys gently squeezed her shoulder. "Remember, you don't need a crown to lead, only courage and compassion. The rest will follow. And when the time comes that you really need us, or we need you…" she gestured around the den. "…so will we."

"I'll hold you to that promise. I… look forward to seeing you all again soon," Vikka bowed as she moved towards the exit. The familiar phrases of goodbye somehow felt inadequate.

Rukrin waved her on with soft yips of farewell. Nisik embraced her legs tight, his tiny arms barely fitting around them. She had to lead him, hopping, back to his hoard of precious treasures to convince him to let go.

At last, Vikka stepped out of the den. She turned one last time, meeting Mirys' eyes. With a final nod, she walked forward, embracing the path shown her.

As Vikka traversed the woods west towards the river, she remembered her invisible tether, tugging gently towards someone waiting for her to reconnect.

Vikka paused, leaning back against a tree trunk as she closed her eyes and opened herself to the bond, sending her thoughts outward. Sylven?

Sylven responded in a moment, his relief palpable.

Vikka! Been hoping you'd reach out! He sounded calm, but she could sense his concern.

I'm on my way back. Vikka assured him. I've learned… a lot.

You've changed. I can feel it. Sylven said, acknowledging her evolution. His curiosity was obvious, yet tempered by respect.

Vikka appreciated the Shy being mindful of their boundaries. His gentle tact made her smile.

I'm not at the cave. Sylven continued. We Sunbraves headed northwards, upstream to scout some ruins Jerrik found.

Did any of the kobolds go with you?

They all wanted to wait for you to come back, the Shy explained. Anyway, we believe this area is a better place for us Shy to lie low. It's more secure than the cave, so we've been fixing up the site.

Vikka absorbed the news, considering her route. Can I… meet you there? I think I need some time. Before facing the others back at camp. I'm not ready for all their questions just yet.

She felt Sylven's empathy across their connection, easing some of the tension she'd carried with her. Of course. Take the time you need. We'll be waiting.

Together, they exchanged swift impressions of their positions, precise and clear as shared memories. Vikka adjusted her course accordingly.

She walked in silence, the trail to the river unwinding before her, marked by patched of edible ferns and mushrooms carefully tended by the kobold family with the Veilwoods' blessing. Each step pulled her away from the peace of Mirys' Nest toward the yoke of leadership. Yet the weight now felt less like a burden, and more like an anchor, grounding her. She mulled over Mirys' calm strength, drawing from her communion with the forest and the love of her family.

She touched the small metal ring Nisik had gifted her, hanging from a leather cord against her chest. Her chest filled with warmth as she remembered Nisik's earnest eyes and the way Mirys had looked at her—like one queen recognizing another. Her, a queen? To think, not that long ago, she couldn't even be bothered to tend to her first egg! Yet now, it felt like there was a path opening before her, one she couldn't deny, whether or not she fully understood it yet.

She pressed forward, the woods seeming almost to guide her steps. So Mirys had been right after all. By communing with the Veilwoods, it had embraced her, shifting from obstacle to ally.

She had to get ready to step up. Whatever she could draw from the forest, from the tribe she'd forged—it would carry her forward. The Shy may have their arclith, but kobolds had their own sources of raw power, right on tap.

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The Shy were close now, Sylven's presence pulling gently at her through the bond like a beacon. With renewed purpose, Vikka quickened her pace, feeling the forest welcoming her home.

As Vikka approached the riverside ruins, the canopy began to lose cohesion, allowing more gaps through which sunlight could filter through. Moss-covered stones and bricks, undisturbed for ages, once again found themselves put together with purpose. The team of Shy moved industriously among the remains of their possible ancestors. They were cleaning and piling up the rubble, fortifying walls and support columns, and gathering resources for both construction and cultivation. It was a show of communal cohesion to rival any kobold hive.

Uiska, sensing an intruder, stopped to sniff the air, then bounded forward on his nimble paws. Recognizing Vikka, he turned quickly, scurrying back to alert the others of her arrival.

From beneath a half-collapsed dome, Sylven appeared, dumping out a bundle of gravel easily half his weight. Brynnal followed, arms caked with clay, his default stern expression softening into visible relief as he caught sight of Vikka. The others, including Sela, Ilkin, and Jerrik, emerged behind them, their figures slightly outsized by the structures they were refurbishing.

Sylven clambered up and balanced atop a broken column, but still needed to look upward to address the kobold. "You made it! I hope the trek was worth it."

Vikka knelt before the Shy, her tail curling around her feet as she lowered herself closer to their eye level. "It was. And I have so much to tell you, and the others."

Sela stepped forward, speaking in a mix of Kobold and Shyspeak simple enough for Vikka to understand.

"Meet our new ally," Sela gestured excitedly toward a sleek, agile creature paddling around in the surrounding pools. "That's Warby—our team water rat. He's a strong swimmer and forager. He's even started building a dam across the small stream that splits from the river."

Vikka turned her attention toward Warby, noting the creature's powerful teeth and attentive gaze. At about half a kobold's length, the rat seemed monstrous next to the tiny Shy warriors. Under Sela's tutelage, he had adapted well to his new circumstances. The warriors worked alongside him without fear, some even riding on his broad, sleek back as he swam.

"Good thing I got to face him now, and not back when Veyran shrunk us down!" Vikka remarked in her best Shyspeak.

Brynnal chuckled softly, brushing dust from his hands. Sylven translated for him. "We think Warby could help us rebuild the ruins, especially with his talent for constructing dams and digging."

"As long as we keep Warby fed, he's eager to help—though by now we're not sure who eats more, Warby or Uiska!" Ilkin quipped, getting some digs in. "One 'borrows' food when we're not looking, and the other steals it when we are!"

The group laughed, prompting Uiska to squeak in protest, figuring out through his bond with Sylven that they were making fun of him.

Sylven moved closer to Vikka, sensing something across their shared mental link. "You've got something with arclith on you. It's just an old, weak shard, but it's there."

"It was a gift I received along the way," Vikka explained, showing them the ring on the cord around her neck.

"Could we take a closer look?" Sylven asked. The other Shy gathered curiously around.

Ilkin stepped forward, examining the ring before slipping it carefully onto his head. It fit perfectly. "Just the right size around a Shy's head," he noted, studying the worn metal. He squinted at the faint etchings, tracing a finger along the faded band.

"The script is really old-fashioned… and terribly worn," he said, turning it around in his hands. "I can't make it out."

Sylven took a closer look. "Veyran would know what this is," he said quietly. "If he were here."

"You can keep it," Vikka insisted. "My friend wanted you Shy to have it."

She looked around at the ruins filled with bustling activity and renewal. The group's energy fed into her own growing resolve.

As the first fingers of morning light stretched across the mossy stonework, the time had come for the expedition to report back. The Sunbraves were gathering up their packs, layering leaves and branches to camouflage the structures they'd already fixed up. Amid the bustle, Sela approached Sylven and Brynnal. Her expression looked serious, even as Warby ambled dutifully behind her, his wet nose occasionally bumping against her back.

"I've been thinking," Sela began. "It'll be better if I stay here for a while. Warby's coming along quickly, but he's still too unpredictable."

As Warby gnawed a stick into splinters, Sela eyed his twitching tail. "Yesterday, he mistook Ilkin's pack for a snack and swallowed it whole. The little ones wouldn't stand a chance. I don't want to risk bringing him near them until he's better trained."

Brynnal nodded, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "That makes sense. He's clever, but still more wild than tame."

Sela gestured toward the partially formed dam near the stream's edge, where sticks created a lattice through which water burbled in controlled channels. "He's started shaping a proper spillway. If he keeps this up, we could set up real water defenses here. Something that lasts."

Sylven tilted his head back, taking in the collapsed arches and walls with fresh eyes. The sunlight illuminated possibilities—defensible positions, sheltered chambers, watchtowers that could spot danger long before it arrived. "You really think we should make this a permanent outpost?"

"With enough hands, shards, and time? Yes," Sela replied. "Warby and other water rats could help manage the water flow. Maybe even expand the stream into a channel."

"What happens when we go back to the caldera?" Ilkin asked.

"It's crossed my mind that…" Sela crossed her arms, her eyes darkening with memories of their time in Greyhold. "Even if we go back, the humans might just keep trapping Shy or kobolds who get close to the rim. I think we need to fight back. Or at least help give other captives a better fighting chance at escaping. But first, we'll need more shards, and a secure base. This place… if our ancestors built it, that means they meant to hold it but had to give it up. Now we have a chance to reclaim what they lost."

Ilkin sidled up to the group with feigned nonchalance, though his ears had clearly been angled toward their conversation the entire time. "If you're staying, then I will too. Someone needs to make sure Warby doesn't chew up our shelters! And he still owes me for that pack. He better forage double to make up for the rations!"

Sela gave him a grateful look. "Thanks. I could use the help."

Sylven studied them both for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. We'll let the others know. We can talk about long-term plans later. But don't risk yourselves. If something too big and dangerous comes, you should hide, don't fight, ok? We'll check in with you soon."

Sela smiled. "I'll keep Ilkin in line. Good luck getting back without Warby to scare off the frogs."

That drew a snort from Brynnal. "We'll take our chances."

With the decision made, the group split. Sela and Ilkin turned back to the task of reinforcing the ruins, searching for shards, and training Warby. The others headed south downstream along the Greystone River, its rushing waters now feeling more like a familiar guide than an imposing threat.

As they walked, Vikka wrestled with thoughts she'd long avoided—the thorny notion of leadership with all its tangled expectations, and her reluctance to fully step into a role she'd never sought. She watched Sylven easily guide and support his team, but never overtly asserting himself.

She voiced her bewilderment within her mind. Sylven, I've been watching you lead the other Shy. But I don't think you've ever truly claimed the role. Why's that?

Sylven glanced up at the kobold, responding quietly through their bond. "I'm not a leader—not really. It's Mara who we all turn to for the big decisions. I simply… step in when things need doing."

"But they go along with your ideas, what you say should be done," Vikka pointed out.

Sylven shook his head. "They follow because I act, and they agree with what I'm doing, not because I think I know best. Leadership doesn't mean bearing every burden. Sometimes, it's just being the one willing to point out the next step."

His words resonated deeply with Vikka, prompting a shift in her thinking. Leadership could simply mean acting decisively when necessary, trusting herself and others—no longer a heavy crown, but a compass pointing forward.

She felt a new source of strength being unlocked by this acceptance. As Mirys had taught her, Vikka consciously connected with the subtle energies of the Veilwoods around them, seeking its protection.

From the highest point of the rocky outcropping overlooking their cave camp, Alvon stood vigilant. His vantage point offered clear sightlines stretching far into the distance, perfect for spotting trouble long before it reached their sanctuary.

As he scanned the horizon, he spotted a shadow moving steadily upstream. Narrowing his eyes, Alvon stepped forward, gripping his spear for balance. The distant shape resolved into a single rider approaching, the dark figure striking against the white foam of the river rapids.

Alvon scrambled to the cliff's edge, securing his rope harness to a metal hook driven into the stone. He began the rapid descent down the sheer rock face, swinging deftly in controlled arcs as he rappelled down. Within moments, his feet touched down onto the ground at the base of the outcropping.

He sprinted toward the cave's main entrance, weaving between the clusters of kobolds who barely noticed his passing. He slowed as he approached Mara and Garret. The two were discussing something quietly by the firepit, their figures starkly contrasting: Mara scarcely taller than a blade of grass, Garret towering above them all, seated yet still enormous.

"Mara!" Alvon called out. Several nearby kobolds and Shy paused in their work, sensing the shift in atmosphere.

"What is it?" Mara asked calmly, but already rising from her seat.

"A rider—human—approaching from downstream. Still distant, but coming upriver fast," he reported, catching his breath. "The horse looks tired, though. They're slowing, struggling with the terrain."

Garret frowned, leaning forward with a groan as he shifted his weight off his injured leg. "Did they see you?"

Alvon shook his head. "No," he pointed out his camouflaged and compact frame. "You think a human could spot this from that far?"

Garret scratched his head, "Oh, right."

Mara exchanged a worried glance with the human. "The rocks will slow them. But we should prepare for an encounter."

The human nodded grimly, one massive hand reaching for the staff he used as both walking aid and weapon. "We'll need to get everyone in position, either way. If they do reach us—"

"—We'll be ready."

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