The Goblin’s Bride - Chapter 1.1

The soft crunch of footsteps echoed through the moonless forest, breaking the heavy silence. A young girl walked hesitantly, her face streaked with tears.

“Mom… Mom… where are you?”

Her trembling voice called out, but the only reply was the rustling of leaves and the ominous darkness pressing around her.
“Mom…” she whimpered, her voice cracking.

Suddenly, there was a rustling sound—snap.

“Mom!” she screamed, her terror rising as she began to run blindly.

“It’s a tiger! A tiger!”

The stories she’d heard countless times echoed in her mind. They said the forest at night belonged to tigers, their heavy paws padding silently until it was too late. To her frightened ears, the simple sound of an acorn falling from a tree seemed like a tiger’s approach.

“Mom! It’s coming for me! The tiger!”

Her imagination ran wild. Maybe the tiger had already devoured her mother, and now it was coming for her. Her sobs grew louder, her feet stumbling over roots and rocks. She could barely see through the tears flooding her eyes.

“Mom!”

Her frantic running came to an abrupt halt as her foot caught on a jagged stone. She fell forward with a cry.

“Ahh!”

Clutching her scraped knee, she sobbed harder, her tiny body heaving with fear and pain. And then, amidst the sound of her own crying, she heard it—closer now—the rustling of leaves. It was near.

The bushes before her shook violently, and from the shadows, something enormous emerged.

Striped fur glinted faintly in the dark, and glowing blue eyes pierced through the night. It was unmistakable—a tiger.

“AAAAHHH!”

Frozen in fear, the girl couldn’t move as the beast bared its sharp teeth and prowled toward her, its eyes locked on its prey.

“Help me! Please, help me!” she screamed, waving her small hands in desperation.

And then, just as the tiger lunged, something changed. She felt no claws, no teeth. No pain.

‘Is it Mom?’ she thought as she hesitantly opened her tear-filled eyes.

What she saw made her gasp.

The tiger was on the ground, flattened under the foot of a towering man who stood above it. The man’s shadow loomed large, and his expression was calm, almost indifferent, as though holding down a ferocious tiger was no more difficult than pinning a kitten.

The beast that had seemed unstoppable now whimpered under his weight, unable to move.

“Even if the mountain offers you no food, how could you target such a small child?” The man’s voice was low, scolding.
Through her tear-blurred vision, the girl stared up at him in awe and confusion. Who was this man who could subdue a tiger so effortlessly?

“Are you hurt?” he asked, turning his sharp gaze to her.
She sniffled and shook her head.

“Good. Then go home now,” he said firmly.

The moment he lifted his foot, the tiger scrambled away, vanishing into the brush. The girl watched its striped tail disappear into the darkness, her body finally relaxing as a wave of relief washed over her.

“Let me see…”

The man knelt in front of her, his size overwhelming, yet oddly, she didn’t feel afraid. There was something warm about his presence, something steady.

“You’re bleeding.”

He gently lifted the hem of her skirt to inspect her scraped knee, the torn skin glistening with fresh blood.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” he asked, his tone exasperated.

“I… I didn’t feel it,” she murmured, her voice small. The truth was, she’d been too scared to notice the pain.

“How old are you?”

“Seven…”

“A child this young shouldn’t be wandering the forest at night. Didn’t your parents tell you there are tigers here? Where are they?”

“My mom… I can’t find her,” she said, her voice trembling.
“You came here with her?”

She nodded.

The man sighed deeply. “What kind of mother leaves a child alone in the woods…”

Without another word, he pulled a cloth from his wrist and began wrapping her injured knee with practiced care. Then, he turned and crouched, offering his broad back.

“Get on.”

“Who… who are you?” she asked hesitantly.

The man glanced over his shoulder, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

“You don’t know?” he teased. His smile revealed sharp, pointed fangs, and she instinctively flinched.

“Your teeth…”

“I’m a goblin,” he said simply. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you? The forest belongs to goblins too.”

She hesitated, her small hand reaching into her pocket. After a moment, she pulled out something and held it out to him—a single acorn, sitting delicately in her palm.

The man raised an eyebrow, then chuckled softly. “For me?”

The girl nodded, her wide, tear-streaked eyes locked on his.
The goblin’s laughter echoed warmly through the forest as he gently took the acorn from her hand. “Well, aren’t you brave?”
The man looked at the acorn the girl held out, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement.

Dongyi had picked up a handful of acorns earlier, stuffing them into her pocket as she wandered. She now offered one to him, recalling an old tale: goblins love acorn jelly.

“Here, you can have this,” she said with an earnest look.
“Thank you,” the man replied, taking the acorn from her outstretched hand.

He placed it in his mouth, chewing it with a loud crunch. The bitter taste wasn’t to his liking, but how could he refuse a gift from a tearful seven-year-old?

“Now, climb onto my back,” he said, crouching down and offering her his broad shoulders.

Without hesitation, Dongyi scrambled onto his back, her arms wrapping tightly around him as he stood to his full height.
“Hold on tight,” he instructed, his tone steady. “I’ll climb to the top of the trees and look for your mother.”

Dongyi clung to him with all her strength as he leaped into the air. She gasped as he bounded effortlessly from branch to branch, his feet barely touching the wood before propelling them higher. At last, they reached the highest tree in the forest, where he stood firmly on a sturdy branch, surveying the world below.

From this vantage point, the entire forest stretched out before them, cloaked in darkness. The absence of the moon didn’t bother him—his eyes were unimpeded by the night.

She’s gone, he thought grimly.

There was no trace of human presence nearby. The faint scent of another person lingered in the air, but it was old and distant, indicating they had left the forest long ago.

The child’s mother had abandoned her.

“Do you see her? Do you see my mom?” Dongyi asked, her voice trembling with hope.

“Do you know the way to your house?” he asked in response.

“If we leave the forest, I can find the path once we’re at the edge,” she replied, nodding.

“You’re a smart girl,” he said softly.

He already knew what he had to do.

“Alright,” he continued. “I’ll take you home. Show me the way when we get there.”

“What about my mom?”

“She’s probably already at the house, waiting for you.”

“She left me all alone?”

“Perhaps she thought you’d find your way back,” he replied, his voice calm but noncommittal.

“Do you think so?”

“Let’s go find out,” he said gently, avoiding the real answer.
As they descended through the trees, he asked, “Is your father at home?”

“My dad’s in heaven,” she whispered.

“Any other family? Siblings?”

“No… just my mom.”

The man’s face grew somber. He didn’t need to ask further—he’d seen it before. In times of famine, parents often abandoned their children, unable to feed them. Even wild animals rarely abandoned their young, but humans, driven by desperation, sometimes did.