The Goblin Rider and the Morning Rooster

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The first rays of sunlight fell through the dense trees as a strange sound filled the silent forest: the crowing of a rooster, loud, proud, and so powerful that even the squirrels paused. But it was no ordinary rooster standing there on the forest path. Its feathers shimmered in flames, its crest rose into the sky like a red banner, and on its back sat a small rider—a Green-Eared Goblin with pointed ears, a pointed hat, and a backpack almost taller than itself. His name was Lero, and he was on a journey few of his people would have dared to undertake. The Green-Ears were curious, playful, sometimes daredevil—but they rarely ventured beyond the boundaries of their valleys. Lero, however, had always heard in his grandfather's stories of distant cities, forgotten castles, and secret paths revealed only to the brave. And when he found the rooster one morning—big as a pony, wild, yet filled with wise eyes—he knew his journey had begun. They called him the Morning Cock, for he crowed only when the sun first appeared, never afterward. A creature of the twilight, they said, a sentinel who kept the boundary between night and day. Lero hadn't tamed him; rather, it was as if they had chosen each other. "Onward, Morning Cock," Lero murmured, patting the creature gently on the neck. The rooster shook his feathers, the colors flashing like fire in the wind, and set off. The path led deeper into the forest, where mist hung over the roots and the birdsong sounded timidly. In his backpack, Lero carried a small map, no more than a scrap of parchment, on which a winding line was drawn. It led to a place called the "Hall of the First Cry." There, it was said, the very first rooster in the world crowed, calling light into the darkness. Whoever found the place, it was said, would understand how to dispel the darkness themselves—not just the darkness of the night, but also that in hearts and minds. But the path was dangerous. Soon Lero heard the cracking of twigs behind him. Shadows scurried between the trees. They were the fog wolves, creatures of gray and smoke that fed on the weakness of travelers. Morning Cock ruffled his feathers, his crest stood erect, and he let out a caw so piercing that the shadows receded. "Well done, my friend," said Lero, his heart pounding. He now knew why the rooster was at his side: not just as a mount, but as the guardian of the path. Hours passed, and when they finally came to a clearing, they saw old stones in the ground, overgrown with moss. In their center rose a pillar, engraved with a symbol: a rooster, its beak wide open. Lero dismounted, placed his hand on the stone, and felt something vibrate within him—a force that was neither entirely light nor entirely dark, but both at once. Morning Cock crowed, louder than ever before, and the forest answered.