"What? How could they all be dead?"
In the American goblin enclave, Elder Nass paced anxiously within his private chambers, his clawed fingers twitching with unease.
The goblin who had come to deliver the news stood stiffly before him, his head bowed low, face taut with barely concealed fear. He, too, had participated in the recent attack on the Saints, having joined forces with the Wizarding Congress in an effort to reclaim their headquarters.
Unlike the wizards, however, he had received a second, secret order from the goblin council: to hold back.
At first, he had dismissed it as a mistake, some cruel joke whispered by a paranoid official. But upon verification, he realized the command was legitimate. Though the decision made little sense to him, he had obeyed without question.
Everything had gone according to plan. The Saints had been lured into a trap, surrounded at the critical moment. Then, right on cue, Grindelwald had arrived, effortlessly driving the wizards into retreat while the goblins quietly withdrew.
For their kind, it had been a flawless victory.
And yet…
Half a day later, every wizard who had participated in the operation was dead.
It wasn't just death—it was something far worse.
The corpses had been discovered in a state of unimaginable horror. Every orifice bled profusely, their features twisted in agony. Blackened, decayed skin was overtaken by grotesque growths—tiny black fungi, sprouting in clusters across their bodies. The mushrooms, though minuscule, formed a thick, suffocating mass, giving the deceased the appearance of grotesque, rotting plants.
If not for the fresh blood still seeping from their flesh, one might have mistaken them for something otherworldly, something no longer human.
Even the most hardened goblins had recoiled at the sight.
The only mercy—if it could be called that—was that none of their kind had been afflicted by the curse. Whatever dark magic had been unleashed had claimed only wizards.
There was no doubt—this was the work of a devastating curse, one that bore all the hallmarks of deep, forbidden magic.
A curse of this caliber could not have been cast lightly.
If there was even a shred of doubt before, there was none now: Grindelwald himself must have been responsible.
Even the Auror Director, Sammer, a wizard of immense power, had not been spared. He had endured the longest, suffering excruciating agony before succumbing to the inevitable.
If a wizard of his caliber had perished in such a gruesome manner, then what chance did the others have?
Panic had already begun to spread among the goblins involved in the battle. Some regretted their involvement entirely, fearing that Grindelwald or the Saints would soon turn their wrath upon them. Others had taken extreme measures—hoarding protective talismans, fleeing to distant sanctuaries in a desperate attempt to evade whatever unseen force had obliterated their allies.
The goblin before Nass was no different. He had come not only to report but to seek reassurance, to beg for protection against the unknown.
But Nass's mind was elsewhere.
Unlike the messenger, he was not concerned with curses.
In fact, if it had been a simple matter of dark magic running rampant, it would have been a blessing in disguise. The goblins and wizards could have united under a shared tragedy, strengthening their fragile alliance in mutual horror.
But this?
This was something far more sinister.
The sequence of events was too precise, too well-timed.
Not long ago, they had deliberately leaked intelligence to Grindelwald, hoping to manipulate events in their favor.
And now—this.
This wasn't just bad luck.
This was a calculated maneuver.
A deliberate attempt to sow discord.
Nass's expression darkened. His instincts screamed at him, an oppressive weight settling in his gut.
Grindelwald had struck at the heart of their fragile alliance, and he had done so flawlessly.
For the first time in decades, Nass felt something rare—fear.
Tread. Tread. Tread.
Hurried footsteps echoed through the halls, growing louder by the second. A familiar sound, but one that sent a shiver down his spine.
Before the goblin outside could knock, Nass flicked his wrist, and the door swung open.
A goblin in blue robes stood at the threshold, panting heavily from his desperate sprint.
"Elder! It's terrible—horrible!" His voice wavered, his panic tangible. "The Fairy's Eye—It's broken!"
A deafening silence filled the chamber.
For a moment, Nass felt as though his mind had been split open, his vision blurring. The room seemed to tilt, spinning in chaotic disarray.
The Fairy's Eye.
The most sacred artifact of their lineage.
It was not as omnipotent as the legendary Disk of Fate, but for the American goblins, it was their greatest treasure. An artifact honed over centuries, its magic designed to discern friend from foe, to expose hidden ambitions, to uncover the motivations buried deep within men's souls.
Through it, they had been able to shape alliances, manipulate the Magic Congress from the shadows, and maintain an iron grip on their survival.
And now—
Gone.
Shattered.
Ruined.
The ramifications were unfathomable. Without it, they were blind. Vulnerable.
And worst of all—
He would be blamed.
The other goblin elders, the ruling council, even the clan leader himself—they would all demand answers.
Swallowing hard, Nass forced himself to remain calm.
"Tell me everything," he ordered. "Who did this? Was it an attack? An accident?"
The blue-robed goblin stammered, his words spilling out in a frantic mess. "I—I don't know! There were many witnesses! Wizards, goblins—Deputy Speaker Chenos was there too—"
Nass's fingers twitched in irritation. The panicked rambling was of no use to him.
"Enough." His voice was cold, clipped. "Lead me there. Now."
Half an hour earlier—Wizarding Square, Magic Congress Headquarters.
Deputy Speaker Chenos strolled across the vast square, his sharp gaze sweeping over the mingling wizards and goblins. His expression was unreadable, his steps measured.
The current state of affairs?
Entirely his doing.
And for that, he felt nothing but pride.
In the Muggle world, the United States was the greatest power on Earth. Yet even they had never solved the issue of racial division.
But he had.
He had crafted a tale of cooperation, a narrative of unity between goblins and wizards against a common enemy.
And in doing so, he had seized power.
Every goblin elder bent to his will. Every wizard in Congress listened when he spoke. The influence he wielded was intoxicating, unparalleled.
Soon, his title would no longer be Deputy Speaker.
But before that, one final obstacle remained.
Raising his gaze, he stared up at the grand entrance to the Magic Congress—the ornate, ever-blinking, dark green Goblin's Eye.
==============================================
Support me at [email protected]/goldengaruda and check out more chapter of this or more early access chapter of my other fanfic translation.
=============================================