On the outskirts of Triant village, Jory the [Farmer] was busy milking Bessie, his dairy cow.

He finished up, gave her a good-hearted slap, and then carried his buckets of milk towards his meager home on his ranch.

There, he allowed himself a hearty stretch as he knew his working day was over. His life was tough, but good. A level 45 [Farmer] made a decent, honest living in these parts. He’d never be rich. He’d never own a castle. He’d never have stories of adventuring through the wilderness and slaying demons. He lived the life Lord Kaedmon picked for him. There was honor in that – living a good, predictable, peace-loving existence.

“Hiya!”

As Jory was about to hang up his straw hat for the evening and get some well-deserved rest, he turned, froze, and stared blankly at the Salamandrike that had just entered his home wearing a creased little wizard’s hat on its head.

“I need your clothes,” it said. “And…your body.”

***

Ethan adjusted the coarse, itchy tunic and straw hat of his new farmer form. The Mimic skill really was a game changer, as it turned out:

Mimic (Grade D)

Duration {upgrade}: 2 hours

Spirit Core Cost to Upgrade: 1600

To anyone in this village of Triant, he was now just another familiar face.

Strolling down the cobbled path that wound into the heart of the village, he found himself surrounded by a world he hadn’t really ever seen. This was Argwyll’s world beyond the battlegrounds, removed from the dark towers, barren caves, and blood-soaked Delves in the depths of the earth he had grown accustomed to. Here, in this humble village, it all felt so genuine. It felt like – well – home.

A mother bustled her children along the narrow alleyways, laughing as they clambered over her legs and shoulders, begging for another story. Glimpses through the windows revealed families gathering around warm fires, children tucked into cozy blankets with pets nestled beside them. The air was filled with soft laughter, low conversations, and the crackling of firewood.

In the center of the village square, Ethan saw even more activity. The square was bustling with people, with brightly decorated stalls selling all manner of treats—honeycakes, roasted nuts, candied fruits. Children darted from one stall to the next, pockets bulging with goodies, their faces smeared with sticky sweets. Lanterns, painted in vibrant hues, hung from awnings and doorways, each bearing unique, colorful patterns. The square glowed in a palette of blues, reds, greens, and golds, a patchwork of color that flickered as lanterns swayed in the breeze.

"Hello, mister Jory!” A little boy and girl dashed up to him, both with sticky fingers clutching sweet breads wrapped in colorful paper.

“Hello there,” he replied, awkwardly adjusting his fake farmer’s grin. It was strange to speak to humans this way without tension hanging in the air like a storm.

The children giggled, waving and calling out, “Happy Skylamp Night!” before darting away, chased by their parents. Ethan watched them go, feeling a tug he hadn’t expected. For the first time since he’d arrived in this world, humans didn’t look at him with suspicion, or fear, or hatred. They waved at him with warmth, without a trace of malice in their eyes.

He stepped further into the square, listening to the villagers chattering around him. From their excited voices, he began to piece together what this night was about. The village was celebrating something called Skylamp Night, an annual festival of sorts, where people gathered to release lanterns into the sky as a symbol of hope and unity.

“Here, take one!” An older woman with wrinkled hands and a broad smile handed him a sweetbread wrapped in blue cloth. “Can’t be a part of Skylamp Night with an empty stomach!”

“Thank you,” he mumbled, nodding politely as he took a tentative bite of the honeyed bread. The sweetness filled his mouth, oddly comforting, a reminder of simpler times he’d nearly forgotten.

Finally, the town’s mayor—a tall, barrel-chested man with a voice that carried like thunder—stepped into the center of the square and raised his hands, calling for silence. The crowd grew quiet, all eyes on him.

“People of Triant!” he boomed, his voice full of the joy and pride of the moment. “Tonight, we send our lights to the heavens! May they ward off the darkness, may they remind the world of the strength in our unity, and may they show those who would threaten us that we stand together!”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

A cheer rose from the crowd, and with a synchronized sweep of hands, everyone in the square lifted their lanterns, each one painted in unique colors, glowing brightly. The people of Triant let them go, releasing them with soft whispers and hopes. The lanterns began to drift upwards, a constellation of colors floating toward the stars, illuminating the faces of the villagers below, who watched with wide eyes and proud smiles. Even Ethan couldn’t help but gaze upward, mesmerized.

But just as the lanterns reached the highest point in the sky, something changed.

A flicker of deep red spread across the floating lights, as though an invisible force had lit them all aflame. One by one, they exploded, not with a mere spark but with a blaze, releasing fiery trails that coiled and twisted through the air. The lines of light formed a massive, writhing serpent in the sky, coiling upon itself in an angry red glow.

Ethan felt the blood drain from his face. The fiery snake reformed, limbs and eyes taking shape within the inferno, until the image was unmistakable—it was him, the Demon Hat, his monstrous form stretching across the night, gazing down upon the village.

The crowd gasped in horror, their cheers turning to shouts and jeers.

“Down with the Demon Hat!” someone shouted.

“Death to the Archon!” another voice yelled, seething with rage. The crowd began to roar in hatred, their faces twisted with disdain, their joyous expressions replaced with loathing.

Ethan felt his chest tighten as he watched their transformation. Just moments ago, these people had been celebrating, their hearts filled with kindness, their faces radiant with joy. Now, their faces were filled with contempt, their voices thick with hatred. The sight was chilling, unsettling.

Mothers, children, elders, invalids – all of them suddenly had a mask of hatred draped over their features that twisted them, turned them monstrous. It was like a spell had been placed on them.

And maybe that’s exactly what was happening. Maybe that’s exactly what had been happening for centuries.

At the edge of the square, the mayor stepped forward, holding a single, large lantern painted a brilliant, cerulean blue. He raised it high, speaking words that the crowd listened to in reverent silence.

“This is the Lightborn’s promise,” he announced, his voice thick with pride. “The one who will banish the dark shadow. Let this final light carry our hopes and cleanse the heavens!”

You guys have no fucking idea…Ethan thought.

The mayor released the blue lantern, and it floated up, a lone beacon against the fiery visage of the Archon. The blue light ascended, growing brighter as it climbed, piercing through the shadowed image of the Demon Hat. Then, with a burst of brilliant radiance, it exploded, scattering shards of blue fire across the sky.

When the light finally faded, Ethan saw what the flames had left behind—a massive image of an angelic figure, wings stretched wide, with a blazing longsword held aloft. Its gaze was fierce, unyielding, filled with purpose. The crowd erupted into cheers, their faces filled with triumph and devotion.

Ethan stared at the angelic figure, at the radiant face of his enemy, a face that symbolized everything this world wanted him to bow to, to submit to. He felt a gnawing anger rise in his chest, but alongside it, a hollow ache, as though he’d seen the truth in a way he hadn’t wanted to admit. The cheers around him were deafening, unifying, everyone bonded by their loathing for the one true enemy they had all sworn to fight—him.

He turned, his shoulders slumping, and slipped out of the square, leaving behind the fiery image of the angel and the hatred it had summoned in the hearts of Triant’s people.

The cheers echoed after him as he slipped back into the shadows of the forest, leaving the town and its hateful glares behind. It felt as though a weight had settled in his gut, dragging him down with each step. This was the reality of Argwyll’s “normal” world. This was the face of the world that the hybrids, the Greycloaks, and every creature here had grown up with. A world where hatred, fear, and subjugation had become the unifying forces, guiding principles that bound everyone under Kaedmon’s rule.

His vision blurred for a moment, the faces of the villagers searing themselves into his mind—the mothers, the fathers, the children. All of them, bound together in hatred for him, the demon they’d been told he was.

The ache in his chest grew heavier, and he barely noticed as he shifted back to his Salamandrike form, the weight of his disguise slipping away with each step back toward the camp. The familiar outline of his companions' tents soon came into view, their silhouettes resting peacefully beneath the starlit sky.

He paused just before entering the campsite, glancing back one last time at the village, its lights still glowing faintly through the trees.

This world wasn’t made for him or for those like him, and every step forward in this twisted land was another reminder of that truth. This wasn’t his world, and perhaps it never would be. But for those who had followed him, those who had taken up this mad fight by his side, he would keep going.

After all, he was going to rewrite Kaedmon's Law, right? He could do whatever he wanted. All it would take would be to find Jun'Ei and learn the secret. Then, well, they'd take Kaedmon down, and the humans would believe whatever he wanted them to believe.

"And what shall you tell them?" a hoarse voice suddenly asked.

Ethan turned as the rugged form of Jory the farmer finally fizzled away, and he looked upon Lamphrey the Oneiromancer with his own eyes. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d been speaking aloud.

“Forgive me, sire,” she said with a stiff curtsy, “but it is my job to observe the Archons.”

“Even without their consent?”

“Curiosity,” the lizard-mage replied. “It – how do you say? Is the destroyer of cats?”

Ethen shrugged off her idiom. “I’m guessing you wanna tell me that I’m a fool for heading into that village and expecting to see anything different to what I just saw, huh?”

To his surprise, Lamphrey shook her scaled head. She seemed, herself, rather shocked by the question’s implication.

“I would never presume to reprimand the Archon. Your word – and the words of your past incarnations – is sacred to my kind.”

Ethan cocked a furry eyebrow, his question clear without the need to voice it.

“I seek to learn, Archon Ethan,” she said with a little shrug. “And I would know, if you will permit me to know, the answer to this question: what will you do when you ascend Kaedmon’s throne? What will you do with humans like those down there?”

Ethan breathed deep the stale night air – still charged with the smoke of Triant’s grisly fireworks.

He wished he had a good answer. But, as usual, he was just gonna flap his gums and see what came out.