Jannet lounged on the sunning rocks overlooking Newscar, his massive frame warming in the midday heat. The summer jungle was alive with the hum of insects and the rustling of leaves in the warm breeze. Below him, Newscar thrived like never before, a bustling sanctuary of lizards, goblins, and gemstone gnomes working together. For the first time since the battle at First Scar, the settlement had regained its momentum, its growth fueled by trade, industry, and the unyielding determination of its inhabitants.
The cliffside, once the proud foundation of a human nest, now teemed with life. The gnomes had tapped into the untapped veins of the rocky escarpment, their excavations revealing a treasure trove of resources. Beneath their careful guidance, the settlement expanded further into the natural riches hidden below. Jannet marveled at how efficiently the gnomes worked, their diminutive forms belying their ability to extract value from the earth with precision and expertise.
The most exciting discovery, however, had been something the gnomes stumbled upon purely by chance. Deep beneath Newscar, in the network of tunnels they carved, lay a warm spring. Its heat was a stark contrast to the cool pool of water the humans had used for their well. The gnomes, always eager to share knowledge when it aligned with their interests, explained to Jannet that the entire jungle rested on a volcanic rock formation. It was a region uniquely rich in geothermal activity, which explained the abundance of hot springs scattered throughout the area. The revelation sent Jannet into a daydream of recreating the soothing luxury of the hot springs at First Scar right here in Newscar—a dream he tucked away for the time being.
The gnomes’ knowledge of the land and its geology impressed Jannet, but it also highlighted a gaping void in his understanding of the wider world. Jannet's curiosity grew with each passing conversation. Sharpbright, the most knowledgeable and meticulous of the gnomes, became a source of insights that were as intriguing as they were incomplete. Jannet listened intently as the gnome sketched out a fragmented map of the world as they knew it.
“The world is vast, Sovereign Jannet,” Sharpbright had explained, his small, glittering eyes darting between a sheet of parchment and the gemstones he seemed to use as markers. “We sit in the northernmost wilds of the human lands, far from the heart of their kingdoms. There are seven kingdoms in total, though to us gnomes, they’ve always been more of an abstraction than a reality.”
Jannet flicked his tongue thoughtfully, considering this. “Why abstraction? Surely they matter, even to you?”
Sharpbright shrugged, the motion barely perceptible on his tiny form. “Perhaps to those who dwell closer to their seats of power. To us, buried deep in the stone, the humans’ quarrels and ambitions rarely touch our mines. What we know comes from trade routes and stories carried by merchants—and those tales, Sovereign, are often outdated. Our kind moved northward during the great mining schism of 7312.”
Jannet’s brow furrowed. “If the year is 12,399 now. That makes your information more than five millennia old?” SharpBright had only divulged the year a few weeks ago.
“Precisely,” Sharpbright said, nodding. “And in that time, the human lands have grown barren compared to the richness of other regions. There’s the Beastlands to the south, home to creatures of extraordinary power. The High Aelves dwell far to the south-east in their shimmering citadels, and the Spiritlands beyond them are said to touch realms beyond mortal comprehension. Then there are the demon island kingdoms to the west, chaotic and ever-changing.”
The gnome paused, letting the weight of these words settle. “But our knowledge is fragmented. The gnomes who remained in the mainland mines have grown complacent, and their records are incomplete. It is possible—likely, even—that much has changed since our ancestors ventured north. Also between us I wouldn't trust a southern gnome to know everything so more yet remain unknown to us.”
Jannet absorbed this information in silence. The thought of such a vast and varied world thrilled and intimidated him. The dream of the egg god and his encounter with the Ancient Noble Crocodile had ignited a spark in his mind, a yearning to see more of this world and understand it on a deeper level. He had become a Sovereign, yes, but there was so much more to learn—and so much more to protect.
As the summer wore on and the first hints of fall began to creep into the air, Jannet made his decision. Newscar had rebloomed, its citizens adapting to the challenges of rebuilding and expanding after their harrowing battles. The trade with the gnomes flourished, providing the resources they needed to sustain their growth. The discovery of the hot spring was a boon, and the fertile jungle provided ample food to meet the demands of their burgeoning population.
Yet Jannet knew this life of relative peace could not last. The humans would return; of that, he had no doubt. And when they did, they would come in greater numbers, with stronger forces. If Newscar was to survive and thrive, he needed to prepare—not just by fortifying their walls and training their warriors, but by understanding the broader dynamics of the world. He needed allies, knowledge, and, above all, strength.
One crisp morning, as the sun rose over the jungle, Jannet gathered the citizens of Newscar in the main square. Lizards and goblins alike stopped their tasks to listen, their curious eyes fixed on their Sovereign. Randel and Rose stood at his side, their expressions solemn but supportive. Jannet’s gaze swept over the crowd, and he began to speak, his voice low and steady.
“My friends,” he said, “we have come far since the days of First Scar. We have faced challenges that would have broken others, and we have emerged stronger. Look around you—Newscar thrives because of your determination, your resilience, and your unity.”
A ripple of pride passed through the crowd, and Jannet continued. “But we cannot grow complacent. The humans will not forget us, and we cannot afford to ignore the world beyond our borders. To protect Newscar, I must venture into the human lands. I must learn their ways, their weaknesses, and their intentions. And I must show them that we are not to be trifled with.”
The crowd murmured, their reactions a mix of concern and understanding. Jannet raised his head, his golden eyes gleaming. “While I am away, Newscar will be in your capable hands. Trust in each other as I trust in you. This is not an end—it is a beginning. Together, we will carve our place in this world.”
The crowd erupted in hisses of agreement and cheers of support, the sound echoing through the jungle. Jannet felt a swell of emotion as he looked at his people. They had come so far, and he would do everything in his power to ensure their future.
In two weeks’ time, as the air grew cooler and the jungle began to prepare for the coming winter, Jannet would set out. His rings of enchantment glinted in the morning light, a reminder of the resources and allies he had already gathered. His thoughts turned to the road ahead and the challenges he would face. The Sovereign of Newscar was ready to take his first steps into the wider world.
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Duke Fayeron stood stiffly among the ranks of nobles and courtiers in the grand hall of Daunturia’s royal palace. The Dauntless Monarch's capital was as imposing as ever, its marble columns and gilded tapestries designed to inspire awe and reverence. Yet for all the pomp and fanfare surrounding the throne, the air in the palace was heavy with a grim tension. The echoes of recent calamities hung over the court like a storm cloud, and no amount of polished armor or ceremonial procession could banish it.
Fayeron shifted uneasily, his polished boots scuffing against the floor as he cast his eyes toward the gilded throne at the far end of the chamber. King Theodred sat with all the regal bearing expected of a monarch, his crown gleaming under the light of a hundred chandeliers. Yet even the king, who normally exuded confidence and strength, wore the weight of the kingdom’s recent hardships on his furrowed brow.
The duke's failure at Newscar had not only tarnished his reputation but plunged the kingdom into chaos. What was supposed to have been a swift and decisive victory against an isolated goblin tribe had become a catastrophic disaster. The lizard Sovereign and its fortress had defied every expectation, and the arrival of that monstrous crocodile had devastated their forces in ways no one could have foreseen. It's true that the Duke was marginally related to the king but bloodlines centuries old were no balm to the reputational wounds he suffered from the loss.
And now, months later, the aftermath of his failure still rippled through the kingdom. Villages left defenseless had been wiped off the map by the beast’s insatiable hunger. Defense forces, already thinly spread, were decimated. The massive creature’s rampage had torn through the kingdom’s heartlands, leaving a trail of destruction that drained their resources and morale alike. This wasn’t just a military failure—it was a disaster that threatened the kingdom's stability.
Fayeron clenched his fists at his sides, his gaze flickering between the king and the four figures kneeling before him. These were the adventurers who had finally succeeded where his armies and even the guild’s platinum-ranked heroes had failed. Brought in at great expense from Cathay, the distant land of towering walls and unimaginable dangers, they had killed the Ancient Noble Crocodile and earned their promised reward.
The king’s voice rang out, clear and measured, as he addressed the adventurers. “You have rid this kingdom of a terror that no mere mortal could face alone. For this, we are indebted to you. Name your price, and the crown will see it paid.”
The four figures remained kneeling, their heads bowed as the court watched with rapt attention. Fayeron studied them from his vantage point near the back, granted out of politeness but stripped of any honor he once held. Each of these so-called heroes carried an air of immense power, and though they seemed human, there was something about them that unsettled him.
The swordsman, Greth, rose first. His bare chest gleamed with sweat despite the cool hall, and the bandana tied around his head did little to tame his wild mane of hair. His sword, enormous and battered, hung easily at his side as though it weighed nothing. His movements were casual, but Fayeron could see the restrained strength behind them.
The mage Bailey, a tall figure clad in flowing robes, stood next. Their floating book and still-smoking wand added an otherworldly quality to their presence. Their face was partially obscured by a hood, and their piercing eyes seemed to flicker with an inner light. Even from across the room, Fayeron could feel the air hum faintly with latent magic.
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Then there was the girl Tifa. Young, fresh-faced, and clad in simple white robes, she seemed out of place among such battle-worn companions. Yet when she clasped her book to her chest, a soft white light bathed her and the others, a calming radiance that seemed to wash away the fatigue of their journey. Fayeron knew better than to underestimate her.
And finally, there was the dark mage Rys. Draped in a tattered cloak that seemed to drink in the light around him, he knelt silently, his face obscured by a mask that emitted a faint void-like shimmer. Fayeron shivered involuntarily as his gaze lingered on the figure. There was something profoundly unnatural about him, something that made Fayeron’s skin crawl. He couldn’t put his finger on it until he saw it—a tiny black beetle scuttling out from under the mage’s cloak, only to vanish back into the folds of darkness.
The king’s voice broke Fayeron’s trance. “Your deeds will be remembered for generations. Speak now, and claim your reward.”
Greth was the first to answer, his voice brash and confident. “Gold, your majesty. Enough to last us a lifetime. No offense to your gods and whatever schemes they’re spinning, but coin gets us what we need—and a lot of ale to wash it all down.”
The mage crossed their arms, clearly less enthused by Greth’s blunt request. “The north,” they murmured, their tone almost absent. “If the gods are stirring, there’s more at stake than mere gold.”
Rys, the void-wielder, chuckled, the sound low and unsettling. “The gods’ whispers and the stirrings of the north… This beast was marked by what is to come. A harbinger, nothing more.”
Greth turned to him with an irritated grunt. “You’re always so damn cryptic, Rys. Can’t you speak plainly for once?”
Rys’s mask tilted slightly, as though he were smiling beneath it. “The God is calling their heroes to the wilds. You think we came here for the reward alone? This was a test. The real trial waits ahead.”
Greth snorted, his annoyance clear. “Yeah, well, I came for the reward. And I’m damn well going to enjoy it while it lasts. You two can ponder the gods and their games all you want. Me? I’m going to be a hero in Daunturia for at least a month, and I intend to drink my weight in ale while I’m at it.”
The mage Bailey shook their head, clearly unimpressed. “Drinking is hardly preparation, Greth.”
Greth grinned, clapping the mage on the back with enough force to make them stagger. “Drinking is the best preparation, egghead. Now come on, let’s collect our gold before Rys starts brooding again.”
The adventurers turned to leave, their dynamics a strange mix of camaraderie and tension. Fayeron watched them go, his unease deepening. The kingdom had paid a steep price to bring these heroes here, but what had they truly invited into their lands? Though he couldn't see them the Duke felt the Void-users eyes under the mask lock with his as the group departed.
As the adventurers departed, the duke’s gaze returned to the king. Theodred’s face was grave, his eyes fixed on the throne room’s massive doors. Fayeron could almost feel the weight of his thoughts—the struggles ahead, the losses yet to come. The court murmured around him, oblivious to the storm brewing on the horizon.
The grand hall of the Daunturia palace, adorned with opulent banners and glimmering chandeliers, now buzzed with an undercurrent of unease. The nobles stood in clusters, their finery a stark contrast to the grim realities beyond the palace walls. Whispers and quiet grumbles filled the air as they discussed the departure of the foreign heroes, their boasts of victory and exorbitant reward leaving a bitter taste in the mouths of those gathered.
At the head of the hall, King Eryndor the Dauntless sat on his ornate throne, his grip tight on the armrests. His face, usually a mask of composed authority, was taut with barely restrained fury. His golden crown caught the light, but even its brilliance seemed dimmed by the somber atmosphere that hung over the court.
The heavy doors slammed shut, silencing the murmurs. All eyes turned to the king as he rose abruptly from his seat, his crimson cloak billowing behind him like a banner of wrath. His voice, sharp and cutting, echoed through the chamber.
“Enough!” he bellowed, his tone slicing through the gathered nobles' conversations. “I will not stand for this cowardly whispering! Do you think I cannot hear your murmurs, your complaints, your scheming?”
The nobles froze, their faces pale. Duke Fayeron, standing near the back of the room, swallowed hard, his posture stiffening. The king’s gaze swept across the room, his piercing blue eyes landing on each noble in turn, making them flinch.
“The summer has been stolen from us!” King Eryndor continued, his voice thunderous. “The harvests—gone! The villages—empty! Fields lie fallow, workers devoured or fled. Winter comes, and with it, hunger! And who will the people look to when they starve, when their children cry for food? They will look to me! Their king! Their Dauntless Monarch! And what shall I tell them?”
He slammed his fist against the arm of the throne, the sound reverberating through the hall. “Shall I tell them that the treasury is barren? That the wealth of their labor has been spent on foreign heroes to slay a single beast? Shall I tell them that their noble protectors failed them, that their dukes and lords cowered behind walls while their lands were ravaged?”
The room was deathly silent, the nobles shifting uncomfortably under the weight of his words. One brave voice, a younger noble near the front, dared to speak. “Your Majesty, the beast was—”
“The beast!” the king interrupted, his voice a venomous growl. “The beast should never have been our undoing! One creature, and yet it brought an entire kingdom to its knees! And why? Because we were unprepared! Because our coffers were drained by petty squabbles and your insatiable greed! While the monster devoured my people, you fought over scraps!”
His eyes bore into Duke Fayeron, who flinched under the scrutiny. “And you,” the king spat, his voice dripping with disdain. “You, who dared to march into that jungle without consulting your king. You who promised victory and brought ruin instead. Your failure has cost us dearly, Duke Fayeron.”
Fayeron’s mouth opened, but no words came. He bowed his head in shame, his hands trembling at his sides.
The king turned his glare back to the rest of the room. “And now, what remains? Villages burned. Crops trampled. Hundreds dead. The treasury bled dry. And winter looms over us like a reaper’s scythe. You stand here in your silks and jewels, but when the people rise in anger, when their bellies ache with hunger, your wealth will not save you.”
A tense silence followed, broken only by the king’s heavy breathing as he fought to contain his rage. Finally, he straightened, his voice low but no less commanding. “There will be no feasts. No celebrations. You will return to your lands and do what you must to ensure your people survive the winter. You will redistribute your hoarded wealth, your stored grain. And you will not rest until the fields are sown again in spring. If you fail, you will answer to me.”
The nobles exchanged uneasy glances, some nodding reluctantly, others visibly bristling at the command. The king’s gaze softened, but only slightly, as he took his seat once more.
“This kingdom stands on the brink of ruin,” he said, his voice quieter but no less firm. “We will not fall. Not to famine, not to rebellion, not to the chaos that spreads across the human lands. Do your duty, and we may yet see another spring.”
The king’s words hung in the air as the nobles slowly filed out, their heads low and their spirits heavy. Duke Fayeron lingered for a moment, his shoulders slumped, before turning and leaving with the rest.
As the grand hall emptied, King Eryndor leaned back in his throne, his face etched with exhaustion. He closed his eyes, the weight of his crown heavier than ever.
Duke Fayeron, horrified by the king's words, was hurt but he knew the king was not wrong, he had failed. What terrified him was he had no hoarded wealth and by the looks and wary faces of some of the other nobles he was not alone.
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The air was crisp and still as the first light of dawn painted the edges of Newscar in shades of orange and gold. Jannet stood at the gates, his massive form silhouetted against the soft glow of morning. The jungle around him whispered and rustled, alive with the quiet movements of its inhabitants. This time, however, Jannet wasn’t setting out to hunt or defend his territory. This journey was different, and the weight of it sat heavily on his shoulders.
He had chosen to leave early, avoiding the fanfare and spectacle that a public departure would inevitably bring. It wasn’t that he doubted the affection of his people or their respect for his role as Sovereign, but Jannet didn’t need more goodbyes than the ones that truly mattered. So, he gathered only the original group, the companions who had been with him since the beginning.
Lil Guy chirped softly, his small frame almost hidden in the shadow of Raphael and Michelangelo. Baby Goblin clung tightly to her staff, her tiny fists trembling with barely contained emotion. Randel, ever industrious, kept his frills taut, his bright eyes betraying his own sadness despite his composed stance. Number One and Rose stood side by side, their powerful forms exuding the strength and confidence that had defined them as Jannet’s closest allies.
For a moment, the group said nothing. The bond they shared transcended words, forged in battles, hardships, and triumphs. Finally, Rose stepped forward, her tail flicking gently against the earth. “Return soon,” she hissed, her voice soft but firm. “Stronger. For us. For Newscar.”
Jannet inclined his massive head, a slow, deliberate motion that conveyed both gratitude and determination. “This isn’t goodbye,” he replied, his voice resonant and steady. “It’s a promise. I’ll come back stronger—so none of us ever have to experience another First Scar.”
The group murmured their agreement, Baby Goblin sniffling as she wiped her eyes with the hem of her robes. Number One stepped closer, his bulk towering even beside Jannet’s, and gave a single nod. “The jungle is ours. We’ll hold it.”
With that, Jannet turned toward the gates. The walls of Newscar parted silently for him, the massive wooden doors swinging inward on their hinges. He glanced back one last time, taking in the sight of his companions standing together, the heart of everything he had built. Then, without another word, he slipped into the jungle, the gates closing behind him.
The old human road stretched out before him, a path now barely recognizable beneath the encroaching greenery. Vines curled over its edges, and patches of moss softened the cracks in the stone. It was a relic of another time, a world that had once dominated this land but now seemed almost forgotten. As Jannet walked, his breath clouded the cool morning air, though his body remained warm, the enchantment of his ring of warmth keeping the chill at bay.
The jungle grew quieter the further he ventured. The dense canopy above thinned gradually, the towering trees giving way to patches of open sky. The transition was slow but steady, and with each step, the world around him began to change. By the time the sun reached its zenith, Jannet could feel the jungle loosening its grip, its presence fading like a memory as he approached the edge.
The first sight of the plains stopped him in his tracks. For the first time in this life, Jannet stood at the boundary of the jungle and looked out into the vast expanse beyond. The plains stretched endlessly before him, tall grass swaying like waves in the wind. The golden sea shimmered under the afternoon sun, broken only by the occasional silhouette of a tree or a cluster of distant hills.
The wind carried new scents to him—earthy and dry, tinged with unfamiliar flora and the faint musk of animals he couldn’t identify. It was a world entirely unlike the jungle, open and exposed, with no canopy to shield him from the sky. Jannet flicked his tongue, tasting the air as he took in the alien beauty of the landscape.
For a moment, he stood still, his massive form casting a long shadow across the threshold between jungle and plain. This was the first step into a world he had only glimpsed from the edges of his domain. A world of humans and their kingdoms, of unknown dangers and untapped opportunities. The wind whispered through the grass, its soft rustling almost like a beckoning call.
Jannet exhaled slowly, the warmth of his breath curling in the cool air. He adjusted the rings on his claws, their subtle glow a reminder of the gifts he carried with him. Then, with a final glance back at the jungle—his home, his heart—he stepped forward, the tall grass parting around him as he began his journey into the unknown.