A knock on the door woke Taka from his slumber. He must've fallen asleep again after Syla had left the room. He tried to speak, but no sound came out of his open mouth. Right, he thought to himself, can't do that anymore. The door opened, revealing a lizard man dressed in fine white robes, the light reflecting off of them gently in the warm sunlight beaming in from the window. Taka cast TELEPATHY and established a link between himself and the scaly being.

Greetings, Taka sent, you must be Syla's magic tutor.

The lizard man braced himself in surprise, then forced himself to calm down.

"Yes, Sir Filo. I'm glad to see you're well," he said coldly.

It was Zirko, Taka realized. He hadn't recognized the man without the bulky armor he had donned in their first encounter. He looked much smaller, now, only a few inches taller and slightly broader than a muscly human would be. Did this world even have humans? Taka hadn't encountered any yet, but considering he was originally summoned to become a hero and fight the demon lord, there likely were. He noticed Zirko staring at him with a blank expression on his face.

Apologies, Taka sent, I was lost in thought.

Zirko relaxed his shoulders slightly. "No problem. If I may, why did you wish to speak with me?"

This was the opportunity to get answers Taka had been waiting for. He had to play this right, and make sure his story stayed consistent.

As you've heard, I am to teach Syla magic from now on.

Zirko's face twitched as he tensed up again, "yes, I have heard."

I wished to speak with those who have taught the elf before. I have not been a formal instructor before, and... Taka paused for a moment, for dramatic effect. I am suffering from amnesia. My mana seems to be not be impacted, nor my ability to cast magic, yet my theoretical knowledge is being blocked, sitting just beyond what I'm able to grasp.

"And you think you're qualified to tutor someone as gifted as Mistress Vonmish?" Zirko snarled, letting his emotions slip out.

This was the kind of question, Taka was dreading, but he had prepared for it.

I cannot say for certain, but it is Syla's wish. I owe a debt of gratitude -- if it hadn't been for the elf's kind nature, I cannot say what would've become of me. I have no memories of where I came from, more than it is a place far from here. While I attempt to regain what has been lost, I wish to repay the kindness I was shown, if I can.

Zirko's gaze narrowed as he took in Taka and his words. If he were in the lizard man's words, he wouldn't believe him, either. I hope you're a kinder person than I, Taka thought to himself.

Zirko's gaze softened, but remained locked on Taka, "if you do anything to harm Mistress Vonmish, you'll have Hell to pay."

So there was a concept of Hell in this world. Or at least a similar concept that Taka's strange abilities equated to his conception of Hell. Interesting.

Of course, Taka sent. I wouldn't dream of it.

But the robed figures in Taka's dreams would. Maybe Zirko could help him figure out what that awful vision meant, too... Taka stopped himself, that's not a question I'll be able to answer safely at this point, he thought, focus on what you can learn right now.

"Alright," Zirko said, "I'll help. Let me start at the beginning."

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The crowd roared in applause. Zirko kneeled before the Vanz'goran, the youngest battle mage to have ever been recognized by the Demon Lord, and only the second lizard man to have done so. Lizard folk are long-lived compared to humanoids, but Zirko still was the youngest to do so in human years. The High General Jukartha himself had discovered Zirko's magical capacity at a young age, and so he lived and breathed battle magic. Thus was the way he was raised, and he reveled in it.

"Do you swear to act as my blade, my staff, and the exertion of my will itself?" The Demon Lord asked, pointing his sword at Zirko's head.

Zirko bowed low and repeated the oath he had dreamed of taking since he could remember: "I am your blade, your staff, I bare my soul and offer it whole." The oath changed slightly depending on the person's specialty, but that of the battle mage was the one he thought was most succinct and true. He had grown up with his clansmen in a small forest village closer to the Spirit Kingdom than the Demon Lord's domain, but the conflict towards his tribe and the nymphs had caused enough turmoil for the elves to get involved; he was the only one who made it out alive. It was Jukartha, who at the time a mere Captain in the Demon Lord's army, that found Zirko wandering aimlessly away from the only home he had known.

Zirko wasn't able to remember the faces of his clansmen, his family. They were lost to time, or to his own psyche trying to protect himself from the events of that day. He had tried for more than a century to regain those memories, to once again see the face of his mother and father, but everything from before his initial encounter with Jukartha. All he had was fragmented vignettes, scattered puzzle pieces that didn't fit together. Being a battle mage gave him purpose.

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This felt personal, and Taka didn't want to dig, yet.

If you don't wish to tell me--

"I do. Both Syla and the Demon Lord himself seem to trust you, and I owe them my life."

Very well.

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After becoming a battle mage, Zirko excelled. He proved to be a truly destructive force on the battlefield, and neither human wizards nor the fae posed an issue to him. As time ticked on, and the piles of bodies grew taller, he began to feel less, think less. Fight, kill, do not let any of them get away, Zirko would tell himself. He kept telling himself that, plowing a path through enemy territory, until he reached the city of Modonia.

Modonia was the capital city of the Spirit Kingdom, supposedly blessed by the God of Creation, Valish. It was a technological marvel built on the back of spirit magic, a magic almost as potent and versatile as raw magic. Spirit magic isn't able to be materialized or mainulated into anything you can think of like raw magic, but it can act as the manipulator. Combining such magic with the most cutting-edge Dwarven technology made a city one could only dream of. And so, to end the war, the Demon Lord would need to burn it to the ground.

Storming the city in the night was the best option. Most of the fae use light-based magic, and many of the high-ranking demons use either dark or blood magic. The barrier magic was well-fortified, but no living being could compete with the immeasurable mana capacity that the Demon Lord has. The barrier broke like glass, and with 50,000 troops at the ready, it became a bloodbath.

It was an ugly battle. Many soldiers on both sides lost their lives. Zirko was part of the vanguard, along with the Demon Lord himself, his personal guards, and some other elites cherry picked by newly appointed High General Jukartha. Their plan was to cut down or curse the Holy Tree, the relic that gave many of the fae increased power. Deactivating that ability was the key to victory.

Getting to the Holy Tree proved to be easier than Zirko would've guessed, which made him nervous. The closer they got, the tighter the knot in his stomach became. But he was a fine soldier, so he continued on. When the vanguard finally made it to the Holy Tree, he saw the cause of his discomfort. The "Holy Tree," was not an actual tree -- it was a sculpture of a tree. A sculpture made with the corpses of children. He had read about such atrocities when studying ancient scrolls that held the mythos of primordial magic, arts that had been lost to time, often for good reason. This particular atrocity harnessed the mana and processing abiltites of high potential but untrained younglings to perform an on-going "blessing."

As soon as the vanguard entered the room, all those without inexplicably high magical resistance collapsed, shriveling up and dying before having the chance to run away. Out of the 26 person vanguard that made it to the Holy Tree, only 5 survived -- Zirko, the Demon Lord, Jukartha, and two more of the guards. Zirko immediately began casting HELLFIRE, the strongest attack spell he had, but Vanz'goran put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him.

"But why?" Zirko asked, not wanting to question his lordship, but utterly confused.

Vanz'goran nodded his head toward the center of the abomination, to a figure that hadn't fully assimilated yet. Its face was crying. Vanz'goran approached, holding a hand behind him as to stop the rest of the vanguard from getting any closer.

"Why do you cry, child?" Vanz'goran asked, his voice as gentle as a soft breeze and with a smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts.

"I -- I don't want to -- to hurt anyone," the child got out between sobs. "I'm sorry."

Vanz'goran put his hand on the child's head, and his hand began to melt. The smell of burning flesh filled the room.

"Please, please get away from me!" The child cried out.

Vanz'goran began chanting a spell, and a magic circle made of pure light encased the entire figure. He continued chanting, and then, poof.

The figure was gone, disapeared into nothingness. All that remained was the upper body of the child, which Zirko could now make out was an elf, in the arms of the Demon Lord. The Demon Lord cradled the child, limbless and deformed as it was.

"What is your name, child?" The Demon Lord asked.

"I don't have one," they responded.

The Demon Lord took a moment to think. He turned toward Jukartha.

"Jukartha, please wrap things up here. Let the people know their God is gone. Let us settle this without anymore needless bloodshed. Have the remaining guards accompany you."

Jukartha nodded and the rest of the vanguard party began to leave, including Zirko.

"Zirko, stay," the Demon Lord commanded.

"As you wish," Zirko replied, growing more unnerved the longer he stared at the child in his lordship's arms.

As the rest of the vanguard left, the Demon Lord motioned Zirko to come over to him. Zirko approached, carefully, and stood a few feet behind his master.

"We cannot go on fighting forever, my child," the Demon Lord said to him.

Zirko said nothing in response.

"When we return to the capital, I shall step down as Demon Lord."

"But master," Zirko protested, but the Demon Lord didn't let him continue.

"I have spilled enough blood. I would like to see another side of this world, live a life that I have not before."

Zirko had never heard the Demon Lord talk like that before. His master had always been a pinnacle of strength, unwavering in his conquest. This was alarming, as if something had cast a spell over him.

The Demon Lord chuckled to himself, "I've grown weary of fighting, Zirko. And you know nothing but fighting."

"It is my purpose," Zirko said matter-of-factly.

"And I will not deny you of it, as it is both the path I have guided you toward and you have embraced," Vanz'goran relented. "I will retire, and go off to a small town in the marshlands."

Vanz'goran looked down at the child, cradling the small elf in his arms. He lifted his left hand to his mouth, tore it open with his teeth, and put it to the child's mouth. He then began chanting, and the child's body began to glow. The stubs surrounding its torso began to contort, then extend, and shaped into limbs. Before Zirko could process what had happened, the elf child looked healthy as ever, asleep peacefully as Vanz'goran stared down at it.

"The world will not change. There will always be fighting, so I'd like you to come with me and teach the child magic. Not only battle magic, but magic at its essence," Vanz'goran said. "This is a request not from the Demon Lord, so if you wish to stay as you are, I will not stand in your way. It is your choice to make."

Zirko had only known a life on the battlefield. Everything that defined him as a being, everything that made him feel alive, required the taking of another life. He had never seriously considered the possibility of living any other way. Of caring for someone on a personal level, not bound by fealty, duty, or honor. Could he really live life that way?

Zirko took a deep breath. "Alright," he said quietly. "I will try."

The child stirred in the Demon Lord's arms, clutching the man who's presence alone could make even the greatest heroes drop their weapons and run.

"Syla," the Demon Lord said softly, gently stroking the hair of the child cradled in his arms. "You shall be Syla."