The farmer stepped forward, hat in hand, his boots scuffing against the cold stone floor. He bowed before the throne — not deeply, not out of reverence, but as if it was a habit long ingrained. His shoulders sagged slightly, the slump of a man who had grown too accustomed to disappointment.
"Your grace..." His voice was thin, hoarse. "I come before you asking for help. My crops were plundered by a group of bandits... they made off with nearly half my yield."
The king's gaze swept across the room. The gathered crowd of D and E-tier commoners stood in grim silence — no murmurs, no pleas of agreement. Only tired faces staring back at him, as though they already knew what he would say.
"So many of you," Richard muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "It seems these bandits are becoming a severe problem."
The farmer twisted his hat in his hands, but his voice remained calm — lifeless, almost. "They've hit my fields twice already this month," he said. "If I lose any more... my family won't make it through the winter."
Queen Oriana leaned closer, her voice low but firm. "He's an E-tier, your grace. His crops need extra protection."
The king stroked his beard, his mind elsewhere. His fingers dragged along the coarse hair like a man stalling for time — searching for a better answer than the one he knew he'd give.
"These bandits…" he murmured. "They've struck too many times in too many places."
His gaze returned to the farmer. "I can spare you two guards," he said at last. "No more."
The farmer's face barely changed. He gave a stiff nod, his voice flat. "Thank you, your grace."
But as he turned to leave, a quiet voice cut through the room — a voice soft as silk, yet colder than the stone beneath their feet.
"Perhaps this is as it must be," the priest murmured.
The man in pale robes stepped forward, clutching a wooden staff topped with the sunburst sigil of the Divine Law. He smiled faintly — a thin, bloodless smile — but his eyes gleamed with quiet satisfaction.
"The gods do not burden us without reason," the priest continued. "If this man's crops were taken… perhaps the gods meant to test his faith."
The farmer's gaze shifted toward the priest. There was no outrage in his eyes, no bitterness — only something worse.
Acceptance.
The farmer's head dipped slightly — not in agreement, but in surrender.
King Richard's hand tightened around the armrest of his throne.
"And if the gods saw fit to burn half my fields," he said coldly, "should I let my kingdom starve?"
The priest's smile remained. "Perhaps they are meant to starve, your grace. Perhaps those who cannot endure are not meant to."
The room was silent.
Then Oriana spoke, her voice cutting like a blade. "You know what they're doing," she said quietly. "The Temple lets these people suffer because it keeps them weak. Broken men cling to faith harder than whole ones."
Richard's hand flexed once more against the armrest. He turned his gaze back to the farmer, watching that familiar weight hang over the man — not anger, not grief — just dull, hollow resignation.
"Two guards," Richard said again, quieter this time. "I'll send no more."
The farmer dipped his head once more, and with no further word, he turned and walked away.
No one in the room stirred. No one called after him. No one dared to ask for more.
The priest's faint smile lingered as he turned to leave, his staff clicking softly against the stone.
As the farmer neared the door, a young boy grabbed his sleeve — his son, perhaps. The child looked up at him, his face blank — not with fear, but with that same cold exhaustion that seemed to cling to everyone now. The farmer didn't scold him or whisper comfort. He simply placed his hand on the boy's head... and kept walking.
King Richard sat in silence, his eyes fixed on the empty space where the farmer had stood.
"They'll keep coming," he said finally. His voice was hollow, like a man speaking to no one at all. "And I'll have fewer guards each time."
Hibana woke the next morning beside a well-tended fire. The flames flickered steadily — not the weak, sputtering flames the kobolds once struggled to maintain. Someone had tended it through the night. Nearby, the scent of roasting meat drifted from a pair of kobolds crouched beside a deer-like beast, carefully carving it with sharpened stones. Their movements were precise — not desperate, but deliberate.
Hibana shifted, feeling a dull ache crawl through his muscles. His wings felt tight and stiff, and when he rubbed his horns, the bases throbbed with sharp tenderness that made him wince. His body felt... heavy. Not tired, exactly — different.
Must be from True Polymorph, he thought. Probably like working a muscle you haven't used before. He stretched again, rolling his shoulders to loosen the stubborn stiffness. His claws flexed automatically, and he shook out his wings with a quiet grunt. The pain lingered — not sharp, but persistent.
Guess this is the cost of using that spell... makes sense. Power like that shouldn't be free.
He pushed the discomfort aside. There was too much to do.
He walked to Dundru, who stood watching a pair of young kobolds struggling with ropes — their small hands fumbling as they tried to knot the cords properly.
Dundru's gaze shifted when he saw Hibana approach. The usual hard edge in his eyes softened — not much, but enough.
Hibana smiled. "You're definitely not like the goblins," he said with a chuckle. "You're taking to this rather quickly."
Dundru snorted, turning back toward the children. "Goblins seem to hate themselves," he muttered. "They see life as something you do while waiting to die." His eyes flicked to the young kobolds again, watching their awkward attempts at the rope. "But us…" His voice lowered, quieter now. "We see life as something you fight to keep going."
One of the younglings gave a frustrated grunt as the knot slipped loose again. Dundru's lips twitched — almost a smile.
"When I look at those children," he said softly, "it makes me happy... for the first time in many seasons."
Hibana shifted his wings again, wincing as that dull ache flared up once more. His horns pulsed like an old bruise — tender, throbbing. He grimaced, rubbing at them absentmindedly.
Stupid spell… Guess this is normal. Probably just my body getting used to it.
He clenched his claws and glanced at the young kobolds again. "They're lucky to have you," he said. "They wouldn't have made it this far without your guidance."
Dundru let out a low chuckle. "Maybe," he said, voice rough. "But they'll need more than rope tricks to survive if those bandits find us."
His words lingered like smoke in the air.
"They won't," Hibana said quietly. "I'll make sure of it."
For a moment, the two stood in silence — Dundru watching the younglings, and Hibana quietly fighting the ache in his limbs.
The warmth of the fire reached his scales, but somehow… he still felt cold.
Hibana approached Solryn, who stood stiffly beside his makeshift table — a cluttered surface piled with books, loose parchment, and hastily scribbled notes.
"That's just the kind of thing I'd expect to hear from a samurai," Solryn muttered, his voice sharp. "All this duty, all this honor... and where has that gotten you?" He gestured toward Tsu's worn kimono and the dull, chipped edge of her nodachi. "Some tattered rags and a broken sword."
Tsu's back straightened. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."
Solryn scoffed and stepped away from the table. "Oh, I understand," he snapped. "I understand everything I have ever been made aware of!"
Tsu's lip curled. She turned away, her voice like ice. "A full cup."
Solryn barked a bitter laugh. "This isn't over, beast! Why you've chosen to stay here is beyond me!"
Hibana moved quickly, stepping between them before things escalated further.
"Her name," Hibana said firmly, "is Tsu. I'd appreciate it if you used it."
Solryn folded his arms. "Hmmph! What do you even keep her around for anyway?" He jerked his chin toward where Tsu had stalked off. "I assure you, she's nothing but a liability. She's obviously only looking out for herself."
Hibana exhaled, then sat down near the table. "And what if she is?" he asked quietly.
Solryn's brow furrowed. "What?"
"I've seen what she goes through, even if you haven't." Hibana's voice softened, but his words carried weight. "If she chooses to leave... I won't stop her. But I can tell you this — she's still here. And that means something."
Solryn's scowl deepened. "Means what?"
"It means," Hibana said steadily, "that she's still fighting. Maybe for herself. Maybe for us. Maybe she's not even sure anymore. But you? You should be focusing on your battles." He paused, then added gently, "You have yours. She has hers. Let her fight in her own way."
For a moment, Solryn said nothing. He shifted awkwardly, his eyes drifting toward his table as if the books there suddenly seemed less important.
"Fine," Solryn muttered at last. "Anyway… I have a task for you."
Hibana cocked his head. "What kind of task?"
"I want to learn more about your powers," Solryn said, folding his arms. "So I'm going to need you to transform into a human again — provided you even can."
Hibana looked down at his claws. "What are you hoping to find out?"
Solryn stepped back to his makeshift table, flipping open one of his books. The pages were worn, the ink faded, but the diagrams — circles, sigils, and faint sketches of flame — were still clear. He turned the book toward Hibana.
"I want to see if you can cast magic spells while in that form of yours," Solryn explained. "I'm going to teach you a simple level one spell — Fireball. Even F-tier apprentices can cast that spell."
Hibana's brow furrowed. "I'm willing to try... but do you have a spare change of clothes?"
Solryn grimaced, glancing at the pile of books on his table like they might offer an answer. "Hmm… yes… that is quite an... issue."
He paused, then snapped his fingers. "I know — grab an animal skin from the kobolds and bring it here."
Hibana went to the kobold storage area. The pile of supplies was haphazard at best — discarded scraps, tools, and hides stacked wherever they fit. He rummaged for a moment before pulling out an old deer hide — ragged around the edges, but sturdy enough.
He returned to Solryn, holding it up. "This work?"
Solryn studied the hide, nodding to himself. "Yes... that will suffice."
Hibana shifted uneasily. He could feel it now — a faint ripple of magic building in the air. The energy coiled tightly around Solryn's fingers like a current waiting to snap free. Hibana watched as Solryn held one hand over the hide and spoke words that hummed with power.
"Wondrous earth, weave for me — Mantle Manifest!"
The deer hide twitched. Then it jerked, curling in on itself like a wounded animal. The coarse fur tore free, the pieces twisting and spinning in the air. Strips of sinew threaded through the fragments like stitching needles. The fabric stretched, folded, and stitched itself into a crude, yet wearable tunic, pants, and a pair of rough moccasins.
Hibana stared. He could still feel the magic — faint yet lingering — clinging to the newly formed clothes like a scent that refused to fade.
"Well?" Solryn gestured to the clothes. "Put them on after you transform, and we'll begin."
Hibana closed his eyes and focused, trying to recall the magical feeling from before. This time, it came much easier — like flexing a muscle that was finally starting to loosen.
He felt his body shift, bones creaking and muscles tightening as his form shrank and reshaped itself. The dull ache spread through his limbs — familiar now, but no less uncomfortable. He exhaled sharply, taking a few quick breaths to steady himself, then reached for the clothes Solryn had made. The leather still smelled faintly of the deer it had once been, but they fit well enough.
"Dressed now?" Solryn asked over his shoulder. "Good. Watch closely." He gestured toward a tree at the edge of the clearing. "Pay attention to the words and the gesture of my hand."
Solryn turned, lifting his arm and spreading his fingers wide. His voice took on a practiced rhythm as he spoke.
"Come forth in a dance of mighty power — Fireball!"
A small flame flickered to life in front of his palm, no larger than an apple. It hovered for a breath, then streaked through the air and struck the tree. The bark blackened and hissed, a faint wisp of smoke curling upward.
"That's it?" Hibana thought. That's... underwhelming.
But the magic... that was something else. He'd felt it — the precise ripple of energy radiating from Solryn's body. The unique pattern of it lingered in his mind like a song he couldn't forget.
I can replicate that! he thought. I can probably do that other clothing spell too...
"Your turn," Solryn said, folding his arms. "Try to summon Fireball as I did — and hit the tree."
Hibana nodded and raised his hand. He focused, pulling at the well of power inside him — that deep, unrefined pool of energy that never seemed to flow quite the way he wanted.
Just like that... yes... I think I've got it...
A fireball flickered to life before his palm, larger than Solryn's — too large. Hibana's heart raced as the orb swelled, pulsing with unstable heat.
It's taking too much... His breath quickened. I don't know how to release it!
Panic set in. The fire twisted and flared, growing hotter and wilder.
"Let it go!" Solryn barked.
Hibana clenched his teeth, forcing the unstable energy outward. He let out a strained yell as the fireball ripped free from his hand and rocketed toward the tree.
BOOM!
The tree didn't just burn — it detonated. A blast of heat tore through the clearing, and what had once been solid wood was now a cloud of burning splinters raining down across the grass.
Ash drifted through the air. The heat still clung to Hibana's skin, and his breathing felt ragged, his body hollow and weak.
When he turned to Solryn, sweat clung to his brow. Solryn stood frozen, mouth agape, staring at the scorched patch of earth where the tree once stood.
Hibana swallowed, wiped his face, and managed a sheepish grin.
"Whoops."