Gribble stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the shattered remains of his once-beloved hut. The weight of his loss bore down upon him, crushing his spirit and stealing the very breath from his lungs. Tears streamed freely down his face, carving trails through the dirt and grime that clung to his skin. The pain of seeing his hard work and dedication reduced to nothing more than Gribble gaped at the shattered remains of his beloved sanctuary, shock freezing him in place. The precious hut he had painstakingly crafted with his own small hands - gone. Demolished. Utterly destroyed by Griz and Krub's callous cruelty. 

Fat, hot tears welled in Gribble's eyes. They spilled down his cheeks, carving clean trails through the ever-present grime. A wrenching sob tore from his throat, the force of it doubling him over. His slight body shook with the force of his grief, the pain of this fresh betrayal a white-hot knife in his heart.

Gribble's knees gave out. He crumpled to the loamy forest floor, heedless of the splinters and debris that dug into his skin. With trembling hands, he reached for a shattered plank. It had been part of the cleverly woven wall, a portion of wicker he had been particularly proud of. Now it was kindling, like all the rest. 

Memories flashed through Gribble's mind as his fingers closed around the jagged wood. The hours upon hours he had dedicated to this hut. The splinters he had pulled from his fingers, the sweat that had dripped from his brow, the satisfied ache in his muscles at the end of a long day's work. All of it for nothing. All of it dust, thanks to Griz and Krub. 

Gribble curled in on himself, hugging his knees to his chest. He wanted to disappear, to sink into the earth and never resurface. Surely this pain was too much for one small goblin to bear. Surely his heart would give out from the sheer weight of this betrayal.

But even as that thought flickered through Gribble's mind, something else stirred in his chest. A spark, buried deep beneath the crushing grief. An ember, glowing red and angry in the darkness of his despair. 

Gribble latched onto that ember with the desperation of a drowning man. He fanned it with the bellows of his broken heart, feeding it with the tinder of his pain. And slowly, surely, it began to grow.

The tears on Gribble's cheeks dried, leaving behind salty tracks. His sobs quieted, replaced by ragged, shuddering breaths. And as the grief receded like a tide, something else rushed in to fill the void.

Anger. Rage. A seething, roiling fury that burned white-hot in Gribble's gut. It seared away the last of his tears, turned his veins to molten iron, set his teeth to grinding. 

How dare they? How dare Griz and Krub violate his sanctuary, destroy his hard work, shatter his peace? What gave them the right, the wretched, bullying, pea-brained oafs? 

Gribble's hands clenched into fists, the rough edges of the plank biting into his palms. He welcomed the sting, used it to hone his rage to a keen and deadly edge. He would make them pay for this. He would have his vengeance, his justice. He would-

Gribble's train of thought screeched to a halt as a sudden realization doused his anger like a bucket of icy water. He was weak. A runt. He had no weapons, no allies, no clever schemes. How could he possibly hope to stand against Griz and Krub, let alone make them pay?

Despair welled up again, threatening to drown Gribble anew. But even as it lapped at his chin, an idea flickered in the depths of his mind. A desperate, dangerous idea, born of grief and rage and reckless abandon.

His powers. The strange, secret abilities he had gained from consuming that glowing beetle. He had been practicing with them in secret, honing them, marveling at the way they made him feel strong, fast, untouchable. Maybe, just maybe...

Gribble surged to his feet, his heart pounding a wild staccato in his chest. His eyes darted around the wreckage of his hut, searching for a clear space. There, near the base of a towering redwood. It would have to do.

With purposeful strides, Gribble crossed to the tree. He planted his feet in the soft loam, squared his narrow shoulders. Then he closed his eyes and dove inward, chasing the elusive flicker of power that lived beneath his skin.

It was easier to find now, that strange energy. It leaped to Gribble's call like an eager hound, swirling through his veins, dancing along his nerves. It filled him to bursting, thrumming in his bones, sparking behind his eyelids. 

Gribble's eyes snapped open. They blazed with an eerie green light, the same color as the beetle's carapace. His lips peeled back from his teeth in a feral grin. The rage was still there, simmering in his gut. But now it was a tool, a weapon, fuel for the fire raging inside him.

Gribble bent his knees, coiling like a spring. He sucked in a sharp breath, tasting loam and sap and his own scorched anger. Then, with a wild whoop torn from the depths of his soul, he leaped.

The world blurred around Gribble as he rocketed upward, the power of his high jump ability propelling him like a stone from a sling. The wind screamed in his ears, tore at his threadbare tunic. Branches whipped at his face, but he barely felt the sting. He was flying, soaring, untethered from the woes of the world below.

Up and up Gribble climbed, the forest canopy falling away beneath him. The redwood's needles brushed his passing feet, then vanished into the receding green. Cool mist kissed Gribble's cheeks as he punched through a low-hanging cloud. For a breathless, glorious moment, he hung suspended in a world of white, soft and silent as a dream.

Then gravity reasserted its hold, and Gribble began to fall. His stomach swooped as the wind reversed direction, now roaring up past him as the earth rushed to meet him. The fog shredded around Gribble like gauze, and suddenly the forest was laid out beneath him like a rumpled green carpet.

Even from this height, Gribble could pick out the ugly scar of his ruined hut. The sight sent a fresh jolt of rage through him, but it was tempered now by the sheer exhilaration of flight. For this one perfect moment, Gribble was untouchable. Unbound. Free in a way he had never been before. 

If only it could last forever, this feeling. If only he could leave his troubles far below, dwindle them to specks and then nothing. If only he could live in the sky, make his home among the clouds and the birds. 

Alas, the ground was rushing up to meet Gribble far too quickly for such idle fantasies. He streamlined his body on instinct, angling himself feet-first. The wind whipped tears from his eyes, pasted his tunic to his scrawny chest. His heart roared in his ears, every bit as loud as the howling air. 

The forest canopy swelled to fill Gribble's vision, a sea of green rushing up to swallow him. He picked his landing spot - a ragged gap in the branches where some ancient tree had fallen. He aimed for it like an arrow seeking a bulls-eye, every fiber of his being focused on nailing the landing.

At the last possible second, Gribble jackknifed his body, bringing his feet under him. He hit the ground in a perfect crouch, knees flexing to absorb the impact. The loam cratered under his feet, but he felt no pain, no shock. The power was still singing in his veins, cushioning him, strengthening him.

For a heartbeat Gribble remained frozen, savoring the fading rush of his power, the thrill of a flawless landing. A fierce grin split his face, a crow of triumph bubbling up his throat. He had done it. He had flown, he had landed, he had-

Gribble's celebration died a swift and silent death as a sudden prickle raced down his spine. The hairs on his arms stood straight up, and his grin melted like frost under a harsh sun. He wasn't alone. Someone was watching him. 

No. Not just someone. Gribble knew, with a certainty that turned his bowels to water, exactly who was watching him. He could feel the weight of that gaze like a physical thing, heavy and hot as a blacksmith's hammer. 

Slowly, feeling like a puppet jerked by invisible strings, Gribble raised his head. His eyes met a pair of gold-flecked emerald orbs, alight with a terrible, hungry fascination. Grimrock.

The chieftain stepped fully into the clearing, seeming to unfold from the shadows like a nightmare made flesh. He towered over Gribble, a veritable mountain of a goblin. Jagged tattoos marched across his brawny green arms, pulsing with a fey light. His gold-studded armor glinted in the mottled sunlight, every bit as fierce as the primal light in his eyes. 

Gribble's mouth went dry as week-old bread. His tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth, suddenly too thick and clumsy to form words. Not that he had any idea what to say. What possible lie could explain what Grimrock had just witnessed? What desperate plea could quench the calculating greed that burned in the chieftain's gaze?

There would be no hiding now. No more secrets, no more quiet practice sessions in the forest. Grimrock knew, and that knowledge was as good as a death sentence. Or worse, a leash. A chain. A yoke of servitude that Gribble would never escape, not until his bones were dust and his spirit long fled.

As if summoned by Gribble's dark thoughts, Grimrock's elite guards materialized from the foliage. They melted out of the dappled shadows like wraiths, eerily silent despite their bulk and their bristling weapons. They formed a loose ring around the clearing, their spears leveled at Gribble's chest. Trapped. He was well and truly trapped.

Grimrock's lips peeled back from his tombstone teeth. Calling it a smile would have been too kind - it was a predator's grin, cold and pitiless and full of dark promise. When he spoke, his voice was the rumble of a distant avalanche, heavy with threat.

"Well, well. What have we here? The runt, playing at flight." Grimrock's eyes glittered like chips of flint. "Explain yourself, whelp. And pray your answer pleases me."

Gribble's mind whirled like a leaf caught in a maelstrom. Explanations and excuses raced each other round and round, each more feeble than the last. He opened his mouth, but all that emerged was a thin, whistling breath. 

In that moment, caught between his chief's merciless stare and the spears of the guards, Gribble saw his future unspool before him. He saw himself chained in Grimrock's lodge, saw his power bent to Grimrock's will. He saw himself harrying Grimrock's enemies, thieving and spying and slaying at the chieftain's behest. He saw his dreams crumble to ash, his hopes wither to dust, his very self erased beneath the weight of Grimrock's ambition.

No. No, he could not, would not live that life. Even if it killed him, even if it meant leaving behind everything and everyone he had ever known, Gribble would not surrender his power, his future, his self.

The choice crystalized in Gribble's mind between one blink and the next. It was no choice at all, really. Live as a slave, or die free. When put like that, the path was laughably clear.

Gribble's gaze darted past Grimrock, to the tangle of bushes and brambles that choked the far side of the clearing. A wild, impossible idea kindled in the depths of his mind. It was madness, utter madness, but what was madness to a goblin who could leap over trees?

Gribble coiled like a spring, his body humming with tension. He dragged in a deep breath, tasting loam and fear and the bright-copper tang of desperate hope. This was it. His one chance. His only chance. 

Grimrock's brow lowered, his eyes flashing dangerously. His mouth opened, no doubt to bark the question again, to demand Gribble's submission. 

Gribble moved. His body uncoiled like a whip, power flaring through him in a blinding green rush. He didn't aim for height this time, but for speed, for distance. 

Gribble hit the wall of startled guards like a cannonball, scattering them like ninepins. Jagged speartips snatched at his tunic as he barrelled past, but they only managed to snag threadbare cloth. Then Gribble was through, bursting from the circle of guards like an arrow loosed from a bow.

Shouts of alarm and rage erupted behind him. Grimrock's bellow rose above it all, shaking leaves from the trees, making the very earth tremble. But Gribble was already gone, a streak of green disappearing into the labyrinth of the Wild Woods. 

Branches lashed Gribble's face, thorns bit at his arms and legs. Roots tried to snag his ankles, tried to drag him down into the hungry loam. But Gribble was too quick, too nimble. He danced over the roots, ducked under the branches, wove through the undergrowth like a fish through water.

Crashes and curses sounded behind him, drawing closer with each frenzied heartbeat. Grimrock's trackers, expert woodsmen all. But this was Gribble's domain, his kingdom. They were big and strong, but he was small and swift and cunning. 

Gribble's pulse roared in his ears, drowning out all other sound. His breath sawed in his lungs, hot as forge-smoke. But he didn't slow down, didn't falter. He couldn't. To stop was to die. Or worse, to be caught.

So Gribble ran. He ran until the angry shouts faded to echoes, until the crashes of pursuit dwindled to whispers. He ran until the Wild Woods enveloped him completely, embraced him, hid him in her tangled skirts. He ran until his lungs burned and his legs trembled and the world narrowed to the ragged rhythm of his flight. 

Only when the forest was utterly silent behind him did Gribble finally slow. He staggered to a halt in a small dell, collapsing at the base of a gnarled oak. His chest heaved like a bellows, his limbs shaking with exhaustion. But his eyes, when they fluttered open, were filled with a fierce, wild light.

He had done it. Against all odds, he had escaped. He was free.

For now, at least. Gribble was no fool - he knew this was only a temporary reprieve. Grimrock would not let this go, would not rest until he had run Gribble to ground. The chieftain had seen Gribble's power, and he would move heaven and earth to possess it.

But that was a problem for another day. For now, Gribble had his wits, his powers, and the Wild Woods to hide him. He would run deeper into the forest than any goblin had dared before, find secret places to hone his skills. If he had to spend the rest of his days looking over his shoulder, then so be it. It was a small price to pay for freedom.

With a grunt, Gribble pushed himself upright. His body ached fiercely, but it was a good ache. An ache of defiance, of survival. Gritting his teeth, Gribble forced his legs to carry him deeper into the welcoming gloom of the forest. 

This was just the beginning, he knew. The start of a new chapter, a new life. One filled with danger and uncertainty, yes, but also with promise. With potential. 

For he was Gribble, the flying runt. Gribble, the survivor. And no matter what the future held, no matter what challenges he faced, he would meet them head on. With his power thrumming in his veins and his wits as sharp as a flint, he would not just survive, but thrive.

And someday, when he was strong enough, cunning enough, he would return. He would face Grimrock and all the rest, and he would show them what true power looked like.

That thought warmed Gribble from the inside out as he limped through the forest. It was a small flame, guttering and weak, but it was there. A spark of hope, of determination. 

It would be enough. It would have to be.

With a small, fierce smile, Gribble turned his face to the depths of the Wild Woods and pressed on into the unknown.