The days that followed Jannet’s induction into the guild were far from idyllic. If anything, they were a stark reminder of humanity’s more unpleasant inclinations. Outside the guildhall’s relative sanctuary, Jannet encountered a world wrapped in suspicion and mistrust. The streets of Valos seemed carved from stone and fear in equal measure, and the reactions to his presence mirrored the walls themselves—unyielding and cold.

Jannet spent much of his time within the guildhall, never venturing out without an escort from his adventuring team. Even then, the experience was seldom pleasant. He endured the stares, the whispered rumors, the quickened steps of humans who sought to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the “monster” in their midst.

It was during one of these tense walks through the city that a memory from Jannet’s previous life surfaced. A poem—something about humanity’s finest art. It had been scrawled on a printout tucked into a library book. By someone named Charles, perhaps. The words had struck her then, speaking to the frailty and complexity of people’s connections to one another.

"What is their finest art?" Jannet mused to herself—himself—as she observed the city’s denizens. Was it their fear. or was it their cruelty, though both seemed to be on full display in Valos.

Back in his housewife days, this behavior had felt systemic, almost expected: an endless loop of people being unkind, driven by insecurity, desperation, or simple habit. And now, with a Sovereign’s instincts for observation sharpened to a fine edge, Jannet could see the pattern repeating in a broader, more visceral context.

Perhaps people weren’t so different after all, whether they lived behind castle walls or suburban fences.

Within the confines of the guildhall, Jannet found a measure of respite. Adventurers were a curious breed, more inclined to view him as a fascination than a threat. They watched him with open awe and whispered admiration rather than the fear and revulsion of the townsfolk. He became an odd sort of icon among them—a living, breathing legend. But even this held its own frustrations.

The adventurers in his team, youthful and brimming with naivety, had not immediately grasped the implicit hierarchy of Jannet’s presence. To the Sovereign, it was obvious that he should lead. His instincts and size—his sheer presence—dictated it. Yet the humans balked at his natural authority. They bickered over decisions, treated his commands as suggestions, and displayed an autonomy that felt foreign in the structured dynamic of Newscar.

At first, Jannet’s irritation mirrored the way Walter or Richard had once treated her in her human life: dismissive, controlling, and suffused with an air of exasperation. But the realization struck like a claw to the chest: Jannet was behaving no better than they had. If he was to lead these humans, it could not be through command alone. He would have to meet them halfway—acknowledge their independence, even if his instincts rebelled against it.

It was a difficult adjustment, but Jannet began to treat his companions as equals, at least in principle. And to his surprise, it yielded results. Their bond grew stronger, though the Sovereign still struggled to suppress the paranoia that gnawed at the edges of his trust. Humans, after all, were fickle creatures. And yet it was not like his interactions with the other lizards was so domineering memetics flowed so much more smoothly than words, Jannet wondered if the failures of humankind could be accounted for by semantics.

Within the party, however, a rift had formed. Over the course of their hunts and discussions, the group had pieced together the rumors surrounding Jannet’s past—specifically, the slaughter of the human army. Jannet, for his part, had never attempted to hide the truth. He explained the circumstances repeatedly: the humans had attacked his people, and as their Sovereign, he had been duty-bound to protect them. It was defensive, not malicious.

But the weight of the revelation was not easily cast aside. Fialla, Leth, and Toren sided with Jannet, their youth lending them an openness to the idea of following him on his mission to the capital. Gerrin and Calis, however, hesitated. Their familial ties and tribal bonds to Valos weighed heavily on their decision-making, and they were reluctant to leave the city they had come to call home.

Tensions simmered for days as the group debated their path forward. During this time, they continued to hunt together, their newfound silver ranks granting them access to more lucrative jobs. These hunts often devolved into what Jannet privately considered farcical exercises: he would execute a well-timed ambush, decimating their quarry in moments, only for the humans to cheer as though they had achieved the victory themselves.

Their youthful energy was infectious, though, and Jannet found himself oddly charmed by their enthusiasm. It was during one such hunt, watching Toren’s triumphant grin as he drove his daggers into a fallen beast, that Jannet remembered something striking: he wasn’t even ten years old yet, by lizard standards. For all his Sovereign instincts and authority, he was still a fledgling in many ways, and perhaps that was why he found himself resonating with the humans’ naivety. He would learn to be better to the lizards and to the humans, as all entities deserved decency in Jannets mind.

After nearly a week of heated discussions and shared hunts, the group’s division finally resolved. Gerrin and Calis, though torn by their obligations, ultimately chose to accompany Jannet to Daunturia. It was not an easy decision, but the bond they had forged with their Sovereign—however unconventional—proved strong enough to sway them.

Preparations for the journey began in earnest. Supplies were gathered, plans laid, and tensions eased as the prospect of new adventures rekindled the group’s excitement. But one suggestion threatened to derail the fragile camaraderie they had built: Gerrin, in a moment of ill-conceived bravado, proposed that Jannet be outfitted with a saddle so the party could ride him to the capital.

The room fell silent as Jannet’s golden eyes locked onto Gerrin with a predator’s intensity. The fighter’s grin faltered under the weight of that unblinking stare, and for a moment, he seemed to realize the magnitude of his mistake.

“I will allow it,” Jannet said, his voice calm and deliberate, “if you are brave enough to mount me.”

Gerrin’s bravado returned, though with an edge of nervous laughter, as he approached the Sovereign. But the moment he reached for Jannet’s back, the massive lizard’s tail snapped out with blinding speed, catching Gerrin across the legs and sending him sprawling to the floor with a yelp of mock pain.

The group erupted into laughter, the tension of the moment dissolving as Gerrin scrambled to his feet, his face red with both embarrassment and amusement. “All right, all right,” he muttered, rubbing his legs. “No saddle. Point taken.”

The incident became a running joke as the group continued their preparations, their spirits lifted by the shared moment of levity. By the time they set out for Daunturia, they were united in purpose, if not entirely in temperament.

Before the group could fully commit to their journey to the capital, Gerrin and Calis revealed their reservations in more detail. Both had siblings they were responsible for—young, impressionable children who depended on them for safety and support. For Gerrin, it was his younger brother, a bright but headstrong boy named Davin, who idolized adventurers but had yet to step into the field himself. Calis had two younger sisters, Mia and Esme, whose quiet smiles and wide eyes spoke of a life spent clinging to their older sibling for stability.

Adventuring, as it turned out, was more than a profession for many—it was a necessity born from the need to protect others. For Gerrin and Calis, the prospect of leaving Valos wasn’t just about abandoning familiarity; it was about ensuring their siblings could survive without them.

Jannet found himself surprisingly moved by their honesty. It aligned perfectly with his Sovereign instincts—protecting the weak, ensuring the survival of the group. Even his human memories chimed in agreement, recalling the fierce devotion he’d once poured into caring for Walter, even when that devotion went unappreciated. If this was what it meant to behave “a little more human,” Jannet could embrace it. He just hoped his excitement wasn’t too obvious; there was something mildly embarrassing about how eagerly he wanted to help. The Sovereign of Newscar had an image to uphold, after all.

The group agreed to delay their departure by a few days to speedrun jobs, pooling funds to leave behind a surplus for Gerrin and Calis’s siblings. Jannet’s approval of this plan was met with raised eyebrows but no objections. In fact, the adventurers seemed more at ease knowing their Sovereign had a soft spot for the vulnerable. It was an unexpected but welcome development.

The jobs they selected were a step above their usual rank, pushing their skills and teamwork to the limit. As silver-ranked adventurers, they now had access to more challenging hunts, and the plains offered no shortage of formidable quarry.

For Jannet, these hunts were both a learning experience and a source of amusement. He had spent enough time observing human preferences during previous hunts to develop a working understanding of what was considered valuable. The humans were remarkably particular about their monster parts—preferring “uninfected” meat, intact hides, and claws that hadn’t been dulled by excessive damage.

At first, the specificity irked him. Did they not understand the effort it took to bring down a beast? How could they afford to be so picky? But as the group explained their reasoning—higher-quality parts fetched better prices and carried less risk of disease—Jannet began to see the logic. Still, he couldn’t help but feel slightly offended on behalf of his kills.

“This ‘infection’ nonsense is ridiculous,” he muttered after one particularly harrowing battle with a massive plains beast called a Razorhorn Buck. The beast’s thick hide was covered in jagged spines, and its meat, though tender, was only deemed acceptable after careful inspection. “Meat is meat. Humans are absurdly delicate.”

Gerrin, wiping blood from his greatsword, chuckled. “Maybe, but delicate humans pay the bills, Sovereign. You’re lucky you can eat whatever you kill. Saves us a fortune.”

This arrangement suited Jannet just fine. Feeding himself with the party’s kills was not only economical but also gave him a chance to sample the unique flavors of plains creatures. The monsters here were markedly different from those in the jungle. Where jungle beasts were lean, tough, and adapted for constant battle, the creatures of the plains were larger and fattier, their bulk serving as a natural defense against predators.

Jannet quickly developed a taste for the richer, softer meat, and his mind turned toward Newscar. The gnomes in his territory would drool over such delicacies, and Jannet could already imagine the trade deals he could negotiate. A steady supply of plains meats would not only elevate the diets of his people but also serve as leverage to extract more of the gnomes’ inventions. Life in Newscar would improve dramatically with such an arrangement.

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

As the group hunted, Jannet’s role shifted from all-encompassing predator to something more collaborative. While his sheer power often turned the tide of battle in their favor, he began to let the adventurers take more initiative, stepping in only when their lives were at risk or when a kill needed to be executed with precision.

Through trial and error, he learned what parts to preserve and what to destroy. His claws, while formidable, had to strike with just enough force to incapacitate without rendering the beast’s valuable components useless. His tail, a weapon of mass destruction in the jungle, became a scalpel in the plains—knocking creatures off balance or breaking their legs without damaging the hides. It was a delicate balance, but Jannet relished the challenge.

The adventurers, too, adapted to working alongside him. They learned to read his movements, timing their attacks to complement his ambushes. Leth’s healing magic kept everyone in fighting shape, while Fialla’s spells provided ranged support that Jannet grudgingly admitted was useful. Toren’s agility and Gerrin’s brute strength added layers of complexity to their strategies, and even Calis’s quiet precision with her bow began to shine.

Despite himself, Jannet found their youthful enthusiasm infectious. They celebrated every victory with unabashed joy, their laughter filling the air as they dissected their kills and divided the spoils. It was a stark contrast to the cold efficiency of his hunts in the jungle, and for the first time, Jannet felt something resembling camaraderie with his human companions.

The nights on the plains had grown colder as autumn deepened, the chill creeping into the air like a silent intruder. The group made camp in a sheltered spot, their tents pitched in a rough circle around a central fire. Jannet lay a short distance away, his massive form half-submerged in the shadows beyond the firelight. Steam rose faintly from his dark scales, the enchanted ring of warming keeping him comfortable despite the icy wind that rustled the dry grass.

He glanced at the campfire, where his companions were huddled close, the glow of the flames casting flickering shadows across their faces. Their laughter drifted toward him on the breeze, mingling with the crackle of the firewood. They joked and teased, their camaraderie undiminished by the long days of hunting and travel.

Jannet flicked his tongue, tasting the air. The faint scent of roasted meat and the tang of sweat from exertion lingered, but there was no hint of danger. The plains were vast, and while predators roamed, none had dared approach their camp since Jannet’s massive form had made itself known.

Despite the relative safety, one member of the group looked less comfortable than the others. Leth sat closest to the fire, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea. She shivered visibly, her small frame seeming even smaller beneath the oversized cloak draped around her shoulders. Her breath puffed in faint clouds as she tried to warm herself, but the fire wasn’t quite enough to ward off the cold.

Jannet observed her for a moment before shifting his massive tail. He stretched it out toward her, the heat radiating from his scales washing over her like a warm breeze. “Here,” he rumbled softly, his voice low enough not to disturb the others. “Lean against my tail. It will keep you warm.”

Leth glanced at him, her wide eyes reflecting the firelight. “Are you sure?” she asked hesitantly.

“I do not need all this heat,” Jannet said, his tone calm. “You humans seem less suited for this weather.”

With a grateful smile, Leth scooted closer and leaned against the base of his tail. The warmth seeped through her cloak almost immediately, and she let out a contented sigh. “Thank you,” she murmured, resting her head against the scaled surface.

Jannet watched her for a moment before tilting his head back to gaze at the stars. The sky above the plains was vast and unbroken, a canvas of countless pinpricks of light that stretched endlessly in all directions. He had always found the stars to be both comforting and humbling, their eternal presence a reminder of how small even a Sovereign could be in the grand scheme of things.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Leth’s voice broke the silence, soft and thoughtful.

“Yes,” Jannet replied simply. “They were the same in the jungle. Though the canopy often obscured them.”

Leth chuckled. “You sound almost wistful.”

“I suppose I am,” Jannet admitted, his golden eyes still fixed on the sky. “The stars are the one constant, no matter where I go. They are... unchanging.”

Leth nodded, her gaze following his. “Sometimes, when I look at them, I feel like they’re watching over us. Like they’re reminders that no matter how small or insignificant we feel, there’s something greater out there.”

Jannet considered her words, his tail twitching slightly beneath her. “Do you truly believe that?”

She hesitated, her expression thoughtful. “I think so. My healing magic—it comes from the gods. That’s what I was taught, anyway. My mother always said that the gods watch over us through the stars, guiding us even when we feel lost.”

Jannet turned his head slightly, regarding her with a curious look. “A priest, then? I thought you were merely a healer.”

Leth smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Technically, I’m both. My powers come from my faith, but I’ve never been the most... devout priest. I don’t recite hymns or pray as often as I should, but I like to think the gods understand. They gave me this gift to help people, and I try to honor that in my own way.”

The conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence, the crackle of the fire filling the void. Jannet’s gaze drifted back to the stars, his thoughts turning inward. He had never given much thought to gods or faith—not in his past life as a human, and not in this one. The idea of unseen forces guiding the world felt foreign to his Sovereign instincts, which were rooted in control and tangible power.

And yet, there was something about Leth’s quiet conviction that struck a chord. Her faith wasn’t grand or performative; it was simple, practical, and deeply personal. It reminded him of the bond he shared with his lizards in Newscar—a trust that transcended words, built on shared purpose and mutual care.

The other adventurers joined them one by one, their joking and laughter giving way to quieter, more reflective conversations. They shared their dreams, their hopes for the future, and even their fears. Toren spoke of traveling to distant lands, his rogue’s agility matched only by his wanderlust. Fialla dreamed of mastering her magic, her confidence tempered by a determination to prove herself. Gerrin’s ambitions were more grounded, focused on protecting his brother and building a life of stability.

As they talked, Jannet listened, his golden eyes flicking between them. Their youthful energy was infectious, their dreams a reminder of the simplicity he had left behind. And yet, he found himself rooting for them, hoping they would achieve the futures they envisioned.

The fire burned low as the night deepened, the chill air creeping closer despite its warmth. One by one, the adventurers drifted off to sleep, their forms curled beneath blankets and cloaks. Leth remained against Jannet’s tail, her breathing slowing as she succumbed to the exhaustion of the day.

Jannet remained awake, his lizard instincts keeping him alert even as his mind wandered. The stars above seemed to blur and shift, their light mingling with memories of the jungle and his people.

The jungle was far away, but its warmth and vibrancy lingered in his thoughts, a beacon of purpose and belonging. The readiness of food, the ease of teamwork, the comfort of memetic communication—it was all so different from this human world. And yet, as he glanced at the sleeping forms around him, he felt a flicker of something new.

Perhaps, in time, he could forge a bond with these humans that was just as strong. It wouldn’t be easy—trust was a fragile thing, and humans were not lizards. But the potential was there, faint and glimmering like the stars above.

Jannet allowed himself to relax slightly, his golden eyes half-closing as he settled into his half-sleep. The cold wind brushed against his scales, but he barely noticed, the warmth of the fire and the steady presence of his companions grounding him in the moment.

The first rays of dawn painted the plains in hues of gold and amber, casting long shadows that stretched toward the slumbering adventurers. The fire had long since dwindled to glowing embers, the faint wisps of smoke curling lazily into the cool morning air. Jannet’s golden eyes opened slowly, his keen senses taking in the subtle shifts in the world around him—the rustle of the grass in the breeze, the rhythmic breathing of his companions, the faint calls of distant birds greeting the new day.

For a moment, he remained still, his mind caught between the lingering haze of his half-dreams and the sharp clarity of wakefulness. Memories of the jungle flickered like echoes—Rose’s commanding hiss, the soft chatter of hatchlings, the dense canopy alive with life. Yet the scent of the plains and the muted stirrings of the human camp pulled him firmly back to the present.

Then, it came—a familiar, piercing ping that resonated not in his ears, but deep within his mind.

Jannet froze, his body tensing instinctively as the notification appeared in his vision, bright and undeniable:

System Alert:

Unique Event Triggered. Anomaly Detected in Regional Parameters.

Entity Recognized: Sovereign Designation - Jannet of Newscar. Immediate Attention Required.

Jannet’s tail twitched, the scales along his back rippling as a chill unlike any he had felt before coursed through him. The world seemed to hold its breath, the quiet of the dawn suddenly feeling too still, too fragile.

He rose to his full height, his golden eyes scanning the horizon as his instincts roared to life. For the first time in years—perhaps ever—Jannet felt a pang of uncertainty. Yet beneath it, buried deep within his Sovereign core, was the familiar flicker of resolve. Whatever awaited him, he would face it.

Jannet’s golden eyes narrowed, the notifications still glowing faintly in his mind like embers refusing to die out. The words “Anomaly Detected” and “Unique Event Triggered” echoed ominously, each syllable heavier than the last. His tail lashed once against the ground, a deliberate movement to center himself as he processed what the system had just laid before him.

Unique events were rare; even his fragmented human memories understood that. This wasn’t just a milestone—it was a divergence, a crossroads that the system itself had chosen to acknowledge. And the mention of his Sovereign designation brought a sharper edge to the situation. The system was watching him in ways it hadn’t before. That wasn’t a comfort; it was a warning.

System Notification:

Unique Event: Plains Convergence Detected.

Objective: Investigate and resolve the anomaly before escalation.

Reward: Variable, based on performance and resolution.

Failure Consequences: System instability and potential regional collapse.

The air felt heavier, the quiet of the plains no longer peaceful but expectant. Jannet’s claws flexed against the ground, his mind racing. System instability? Regional collapse? The implications were staggering. Whatever this was, it wasn’t just about him. It was about the fragile balance of the world around him, a balance that seemed to hinge, inexplicably, on his actions.

The adventurers began to stir, the subtle movements of their waking bodies accompanied by soft murmurs and yawns. Leth was the first to sit up fully, her hair tousled and her expression groggy. “Morning,” she mumbled, her healer’s instincts already kicking in as she checked the dying embers of the fire and glanced toward the supplies.

Jannet didn’t respond immediately, his focus still trained on the horizon. The system’s urgency had sharpened his senses, and though nothing yet seemed amiss, the weight of something lingered just beyond his ability to grasp it.

“Jannet?” Leth’s voice carried a note of concern now. She stood, brushing off her robes, and approached cautiously. The others began to rouse, Gerrin groaning as he stretched and Fialla muttering something about the cold.

“I’m fine,” Jannet rumbled, though the tension in his body belied his words. “But we need to move soon. Something is…wrong.”

“Wrong?” Gerrin echoed, his brow furrowing as he hefted his sword and looked around. “What do you mean? Did you sense something?”

Jannet turned his gaze toward him, the golden eyes gleaming with an intensity that made the fighter step back slightly. “The system has issued a unique event,” Jannet said. “A convergence. An anomaly in the region. It’s something... unnatural.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances. Even the brash Toren, usually quick with a quip, seemed at a loss for words. None of us got anything right? He asks.

“Aren't quests like legends? What does that mean for us?” Fialla asked finally, her grip tightening on her staff.