Reincarnated as a random race, of course I got goblin.

Chapter 85 - A Sense of Foreboding

Somewhere in Feyloche
As Witnessed by the Divine

The room is silent save for the whirring and occasional clicks and beeps of the extensive machinery keeping the Undead Noble alive. Everyone in the room, save for the Noble themself, are frozen in abject horror, hardly daring to breathe in fear of the motion provoking Aurellium.

They've just been informed of the death of the Harmekian Queen, and the subsequent repeal of cooperation between Harmek and the Hand of Aurellium. A low wheezing sound emanates from their lips, building in strength before finally becoming recognizable as a manic sort of laughter.

Some of those present have heard a similar type of laughter before. The kind of unhinged laughing someone who has realized the futility of their situation might let out as their grip on sanity loosens ever so slightly in a desperate bid to perhaps conceive of a way out of their perceived doom.

Most often, those unfortunate Palm members who have been informed that they've been found unsatisfactory and are facing steep reprisals make that same noise. To hear their boss laugh like that... Those present are deeply perturbed by this reaction. They'd normally expect rage, a lashing out against the unfortunate messenger perhaps, but not this.

"H-heh..." Their stamina exhausted, the laughter dies down. "To think, they believe it an accident!" Aurellium exclaims, adding further confusion. "If they're capable of this, then all is for naught. Let's hope I'm wrong, for all our sake." Their voice trails off as they doze off. Even if sustained by all this machinery, their outburst drained all their stamina, and the Undead Noble will be asleep for quite some time.

Those tending to Aurellium quietly resume their duties, whilst two guards escort the messenger out of the room. Messengers are appointed on a case by case basis, depending on the news being delivered. For particularly bad news, lots are drawn, loser has to deliver the news. In return, surviving the meeting with the Noble earns them the right to be excluded from any subsequent drawings. 

???
???

Huh, finally they're asleep. 

I reach out towards their mind. Luckily, their sleep is the deep kind. Stable and, unlike meditation, entirely mine to do with as I please. Still, immense care is necessary. My very presence might cause severe damage to their already flimsy psyche. 

Ah, how quaint. 

As I approach their dream, it takes the form of a cozy cottage. Smoke lazily drifts from the chimney, and deep snow covers everything. I peer inside via a rime-frosted window. There they sit, quietly reading as their father tends the fire. In a rocking-chair nearby, their mother gently sways back and forth as she knits.

Perhaps, this is their most treasured memory, their safe haven where they retreat to be restored mentally.

After all, they've just received grave news. 

No doubt, they'll be desperate for a way out. 

I press against the outer wall of the cottage, willing myself inside. Slowly, as if made out of molasses, it gives way, and I sink through. My form changes as I enter. I become soft, small, harmless.

"An Other?" The small Photian child asks as they peek up from their book. "I have no business with you. Begone." Their tone becomes cold, and their father turns to face me. 

Hollow, eyeless sockets bore into my soul as the grim manifestation reaches for the fire-poker. 

"P-Please! We have a common goal!" I beg, making myself appear small and desperate. They're the one in power, and I am but a meek visitor begging a favor. 

How wrong.

The childs expression changes into one of intrigue. "Go on?" They glance at their father, who seems to soften and shrink as he goes back to tend the fire. 

"M-my master is raising an army, augmented by Malice, yet still in control. However, the Monarch has proven to be a great thorn in my master's side. I-if you and my master joined forces-"

The child's expression hardens once again, and the cold outside seems to seep into the cottage as both mother and father reach for weapons. "Do you take me for a fool? I've lived long enough to learn that dealing with that vile substance is both more expensive and more dangerous than it's worth."

Their tone is unlike their small form, betraying the actual age of the mind I'm visiting. 

"I'd hoped you'd play along." 

I stop pretending. 

Tendrils of my own making slither around the child, tethering them to the spot. Gently, I subdue the mother and father, stringing the memories up in front of their owner.

"The fun thing about memories like these is that if they die by my hand, you'll forget them forever."

I fashion sharp claws, and gently caress the neck of the mother. 

"N-NO! P-Please!" Tears well up in the childs eyes as they face the oblivion of never again recalling the face of their mother. "I-I'll do- I'll do anything!"

"Then obey me. Believe me, we do share the same goal."

"..." The child wishes to retort, but a glance at their precious memories makes them think better of it. I'm sure they see through my half lie. After all, one doesn't attain such high control of ones own dream without learning a thing or two about discerning the truth along the way.

"Send your servants to me. I will grant them my Gift." I instruct. 

"And afterwards?"

... 

"Leicher will decide what happens afterwards." I release the child, but retain my grasp on the parents. Leaving behind a piece of myself here, I'll be able to retain control of the key to success.

The cottage fades along with the dream, but I'll remain latent in their mind, my claws pressed against the throats of their memory of their parents.