Jannet crouched behind the ramshackle house on the edge of the village, his massive frame pressed low to the ground, his dark scales blending seamlessly with the shadows cast by the afternoon sun.
His golden eyes glinted with restrained fury as he watched the unfolding scene, his sharp claws digging furrows into the dirt. The air was thick with the scent of fear and desperation, the tang of sweat and unwashed bodies mingling with the faint trace of grain dust that wafted from the loaded cart.
The villagers had gathered in a loose, anxious crowd around the wagon, their faces etched with panic and anger. Thom, the young man who had walked with Old Ben on the road, was among them, his hand resting on the haft of his crude spear. Jannet could see the fire in the youth’s eyes, the barely-contained rage bubbling beneath the surface. It wouldn’t be long before that anger boiled over, and Jannet knew it wouldn’t end well for anyone.
The man at the center of the commotion was unmistakably the leader of the intruding group. He sat atop a massive, well-fed horse, its glossy coat shining in the fading light. The rider was equally polished, his armor pristine and gleaming, what Jannet assumed was the royal sigil emblazoned on his chest plate like a declaration of authority. His face was pale and clean-shaven, his features sharp and aristocratic, a stark contrast to the haggard, sun-beaten faces of the villagers before him.
As Jannet observed, the rider dismounted with practiced ease, his boots crunching against the dry, brittle earth. He exuded the kind of confidence that came from years of unchallenged dominance, his posture straight and unyielding as he surveyed the crowd before him.
One of the elders, a man with hunched shoulders and a deeply lined face, stepped forward, his hands clasped in supplication. “My lord,” the elder began, his voice shaking with a mix of fear and desperation, “please reconsider. The grain you take is all we have. The winter—”
The noble cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand, his expression twisting into a sneer. “The king has decreed it,” he said, his tone cold and dismissive. “You should feel honored to serve your monarch in such a necessary way.”
“But—”
The nobleman’s armored hand lashed out, the backhanded slap cracking against the elder’s cheek with brutal force. The old man stumbled back, clutching his face, his eyes wide with shock. A murmur of anger rippled through the villagers, but the noble’s men—grinning and predatory—stepped forward, their hands resting on the hilts of their weapons.
“I don’t recall asking for your opinion, peasant,” the nobleman spat, his voice dripping with disdain. “The king has made his will clear, and you will obey. If that means you starve, so be it. Your lives are a small price to pay for the stability of the realm.”
Jannet felt a low growl rumbling in his throat, his tongue flicking out to taste the air. The scent of blood and tears hung heavy, mingling with the sour tang of sweat and fear. He watched as one of the soldiers, a wiry man with a crooked grin, leered at the young women in the crowd.
“If they’re already dead, boss,” the soldier said, his voice carrying a vile edge, “maybe we can take a few of the prettier young ones with us. No harm in making the most of the trip.”
The nobleman chuckled darkly, his eyes scanning the crowd with a detached sort of amusement. “Do you see anyone here?,” he said with a dismissive wave remounting his horse. “The village was abandoned, but by the grace of the gods we found the stores of grain mostly untouched. Nothing substantial but it will help.”
This man, perched on his horse like a self-anointed king, reminded Jannet too much of the people he’d left behind in his human life. Men like Walter and Richard. Men who lived to wield their power, however small, over anyone they deemed weaker. Walter, with his sharp tongue and mocking sneer, tearing down everyone around him under the guise of "leadership." Richard, with his petty cruelty and delight in making Jannet's life miserable, weaponizing his position to crush any trace of dignity Jannet might have held onto in those days.
They had both thrived in systems designed for men like them—systems that valued authority without responsibility, that allowed their selfishness to flourish unchecked. Walter in his office, acting as though every memo or meeting was an opportunity to showcase his dominance. Richard, smug and vindictive, seemed to relish every chance to remind Jannet how small he was in the grand hierarchy of corporate life.
Now, Jannet thought bitterly, he was seeing their ilk in a different world but the same pattern: men who mistook cruelty for strength. But Jannet was no longer the timid, beleaguered housewife who had endured Walter's snide remarks or Richard's calculated humiliations. Those experiences, as dehumanizing as they had been, had prepared him for this moment. Jannet understood the psychology of weak men who relied on power to mask their inadequacies. They thrived on fear and submission, drawing strength from the silence of those too afraid to speak out. Walter had always wilted when confronted with someone willing to stand up to him, and Jannet suspected this nobleman would be no different.
What a cruel irony, Jannet thought, that these men had once loomed so large in his life, their shadows stretching long over his every decision. Now, with his massive form and undeniable strength, they were nothing but echoes of weakness. For the first time, Jannet felt a strange ironic sense of gratitude for the lessons they had unwittingly taught him. Though they didn't deserve even that much, he had learned how to navigate their cruelty, how to steel himself against the venom of their words and actions. And now, he could turn those lessons into something greater—he could stop men like them from spreading their harm to others.
The soldiers began to move, their expressions hungry and cruel. Jannet’s claws sank deeper into the earth, his tail flicking with barely-contained rage. These men were no better than thieves and rapists. He could see the tension in the villagers, their collective fear teetering on the edge of chaos. Thom and the younger men were gripping their weapons tightly, their knuckles white and their jaws set in defiance. Jannet’s tongue flicked out, tasting the air thick with despair and rage. No more. Not here. Not now. If he had to be the one to end this cycle of petty tyranny, so be it. His claws flexed in the soil.
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It was a powder keg waiting for a spark, and Jannet knew he would act.
Rising to his full height, he stepped out from the shadows, his massive frame emerging with a quiet grace that belied his size. The evening sunlight glinted off his dark scales, his golden eyes glowing like embers in the dim light. His presence was undeniable, a force of nature that commanded attention.
The villagers froze, their eyes widening in disbelief as the monstrous figure stepped into view. The soldiers, too, stopped in their tracks, their leering grins faltering as they took in the sight of the Sovereign Komodo Dragon. Even the nobleman, for all his arrogance, seemed momentarily struck dumb, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.
Jannet’s voice, low and resonant, rolled across the village like distant thunder. The enchantment of the Tongues ring lent his words a clarity and weight that transcended language, his tone polite yet unyielding.
“You will not take the food from these people,” he said, his gaze fixed on the nobleman. “I will not allow it. They grew it. They have earned it.”
The silence that followed was deafening. The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, their hands hovering near their weapons but not quite daring to draw them. The villagers stared in stunned awe, their fear giving way to a flicker of hope.
The nobleman recovered quickly, his face hardening into a mask of defiance. “What is this?” he demanded, his voice cracking slightly despite his best efforts. “A beast that speaks? A trick of some witch?”
Jannet took a slow step forward, his massive claws leaving deep impressions in the earth. “I am no trick,” he said, his tone calm and measured. “I am the Sovereign of Newscar. And I will not stand by while you trample these people underfoot.”
The nobleman’s hand went to the hilt of his sword, his eyes narrowing as he tried to muster his authority. “You dare to challenge the will of the king?”
Jannet’s tail lashed behind him, the movement sending a ripple of tension through the crowd. “Firstly I do not recognize the authority of your King, secondly the will of a king does not justify cruelty,” he said, his voice sharp as a blade. “You wear your armor and carry your sword, but you are no protector. You are a thief, cloaked in the guise of authority.”
The nobleman’s face flushed with anger, his grip tightening on his sword. But before he could draw, Jannet took another step forward, his massive form casting a shadow over the man and his horse.
“I suggest you leave,” Jannet said, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “Take your men, take your lies, and go.”
The tension in the air was almost unbearable, the village holding its collective breath as they waited to see what would happen. The nobleman’s confidence wavered, his eyes darting to his men, who looked increasingly uncertain.
Finally, he let out a frustrated snarl, turning on his heel and mounting his horse in one fluid motion. “This isn’t over,” he spat, his voice thick with rage. “The king will hear of this.”
Jannet watched in silence as the nobleman and his men retreated, their departure marked by the sound of hooves thundering against the earth. Only when they were out of sight did he turn back to the villagers, his golden eyes meeting their wide, awestruck gazes.
“They will not return,” he said simply, his voice carrying an assurance that left no room for doubt.
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Ben's breath caught in his throat when the towering lizard stepped fully into the light. It was immense, its shadow stretching across the gathered villagers and the trembling noblemen. Its black scales shimmered faintly in the afternoon sun, and its golden eyes, sharp and calculating, had locked onto the noble who had just been barking orders moments before. When it spoke, its voice—deep, resonant, and utterly alien—froze everyone in place and the nobles ran.
"They will not return," the lizard said after the outsiders fled, its tone as steady and certain as the rising sun. The words hung in the air, heavy with authority.
The village was utterly still. The only sounds were the nervous snorts of the horses and the faint. The villagers were rooted to the spot, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and terror. None of them moved. None except Ben.The grizzled old soldier stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate. His spear hung loosely in his hand, the tension in his body a mixture of caution and something more primal. He’d faced many things in his time—bandits, wild beasts, even the horrors of war—but this creature was something else entirely. It was more massive than any wagon he’d ever seen, and its sheer presence sent a chill down his spine. Every instinct in his mammalian body screamed to run, but Ben had long ago learned to master those instincts.
Swallowing hard, he steadied his voice and asked, “Was it you who was following us in the wagon?”
The lizard’s golden eyes shifted to him, sharp and unblinking. For a moment, Ben felt as though the creature could see straight into his soul. Then it hissed softly, the sound low and almost conversational. “Yes,” it said simply, its massive head tilting slightly as it regarded him.
Ben’s grip on his spear tightened. There was no malice in the creature’s tone, no overt threat, yet its cold, calculated presence was unnerving. Its massive form radiated power, a force of nature that could crush them all in an instant if it so desired. And yet, Ben sensed... restraint. It wasn’t here to kill them. Not yet, at least.
“How can you speak with us?” Ben pressed, his voice steady despite the cold sweat on his brow.
The lizard shifted, lowering itself slowly into a more relaxed posture. It folded its legs beneath it, its tail curling slightly as it rested its head closer to the ground. The gesture, though non-threatening, did nothing to diminish its immense size. “Magic,” it said simply, the single word resonating with clarity. It tapped a clawed forelimb, and Ben noticed for the first time the faint gleam of rings adorning the creature’s digits.
Ben’s mind raced. Magic. Of course. He’d heard tales of enchanted beasts before, but seeing one—speaking to one—was something else entirely. He exhaled slowly, trying to process what he was seeing and hearing. The creature’s calm demeanor was at odds with its terrifying appearance, and that contrast only unsettled him further.
“You’ve been watching us,” Ben said, more a statement than a question.
“Yes,” the lizard replied. Its gaze was steady, unreadable. “I was curious. And then I saw what these men intended to do.” Its head turned slightly, its golden eyes flicking toward the group of nobles shrinking silhouettes on the horizon “I do not like bullies.”
The simplicity of the statement was chilling. Ben glanced back at the villagers, their gaunt faces filled with equal parts relief and fear. He couldn’t deny that the lizard had saved them, but the question of why still gnawed at him. This was no ordinary beast, and its motives were far from clear.
The lizard’s voice rumbled again, softer this time. “Your village needs this food. Without it, you will not survive the winter.”
Ben nodded grimly. The lizard wasn’t wrong. The villagers were already on the brink, their stores barely enough to sustain them. Losing the grain would have been a death sentence.
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, gathering his courage, Ben spoke the question that had been burning in his mind since the creature appeared. “What now?”