It felt strange to fly at night. Not unnatural – something instinctual told Hallvar that fish hawks made their migratory journeys at night – but certainly strange.

These were not hunting hours, no sunshine to flicker off scales of swift fish; these were the hours in which owls raided nests and stole fledglings.

This form’s awareness was incredibly high. The numbers meant nothing to the bird-brain, yet Hallvar innately understood why the guildmaster liked to smoke. The constant flicker of attention-grabbing details made it hard to have consistent human-like thoughts rather than concern after concern after concern.

In this near-dawn flight, Hallvar watched the dim dots of firelight on the landscape below with interest. Their system allowed use of a map, so they checked it on occasion to right their course, following the thin, wavering line of a road to the edge of the kingdom.

The sun rose behind their flight, casting heavy shadows from Amnasín’s mountainous terrain. Hallvar was focused on what was a cluster of lights at the border, now revealed to be a city at the edge of the Qhai Republic.

The 5th hero did not know where the Queen was, but they did understand that there was one route suitable for a caravan carrying royalty, which terminated here at this city.

While Hallvar was sick in the Court Mage’s quarters, the advisors argued about the timing of the Queen. No specifics were confessed, but the concept of days was emphasized, not a week. Days. Nearing the border.

So, with what logic 22 hours of this development period bought Hallvar, they decided to snoop around the border city. They ate on the flight over, fully aware that this near-desert city would have no fish for the poor fish hawk.

Many of the signs had the same letters, in a script Hallvar didn’t immediately recognize. The system pushed a thought into the bird’s mind but it was simplified in comparison to the usual detailed messages.

new sage class hero skill unlocked

Understand functional language of nations other than the place of origin

Proficiency in language learning

The repeated lettering read Khenok, which in context had to be the city’s name. An outdoor market centered around a well, the first easily-identifiable location to Hallvar. They found a wooden beam to perch on and listen.

These early hours before the sun rose were vital when a desert existed mere miles away. The market was a series of compartments in a large trellis-like building, open to the air but with thatched or tarp roofs. Sun-faded fabric stretched in-between beams and poles to allow merchants and customers alike to relax in the shade.

This meant that while a fish hawk was certainly out of place – not to mention a rusty red one at nighttime – the awnings and roofs prevented any early riser from catching sight of Hallvar.

The chatter was fragmented, as their new [ hero skill: standard speech ] did not provide nuance, but Hallvar did hear Amnasín and Queen more than once as they fluttered around the market to eavesdrop.

As the sun rose higher, Hallvar caught the shimmer of a gilded carriage from a bird’s eye view, one far more ornate than the accursed collision-wagon Hallvar knew from experience. Success.

The nearby building had a system-translated word for inn on a hanging sign; upon closer inspection the Amnasín-ish was written on a board across the lower edge of a window.

Queens stayed at inns? It was hard to think about Hallvar’s past life equivalent, going to a motel and learning that Her Majesty was the last to sleep in the terrible, musty bed.

Yet, it made sense. Hallvar vaguely remembered watching movies where kings were shown in massive tents with ornate beds, camping at the edge of the battlefield to give orders. If all the other carriages and carts parked around the royal one belonged to the caravan, then she probably had her own fancy bed to sleep on.

They awaited impatiently on the edge of a rooftop, fully aware that their next action could get them killed. At least imprisonment was familiar now. Couldn’t be worse than the King-Consort’s punishment.

The sun rose higher. Hallvar watched with anticipation as horses were put to the carriage, which was slowly drawn to the front of the inn.

This was the moment. The 5th hero was poised to take flight, watching, waiting.

Queen Voisava of Amnasín stepped outside, the carriage door held open by a coachman.

The hero leapt then practically dove into the small crowd seeing to the Queen’s departure. Their beastshaping skill was horrifying to witness firsthand, but the onlookers were spared from the viscera by the speed at which Hallvar landed – hawk one moment, then a shedding of feathers into human shape, extraneous biohazards magically disintegrating.

Hallvar couldn’t understand the chaos around them. They simply remained kneeling in polite deference, holding their hands out in an attempt to convey innocence or, at minimum, a lack of a weapon.

“Your Majesty, I need to speak with you about events at the Capital.”

They prayed that the archer to their left did not have twitchy fingers. It would be understandable, given that Hallvar was only wearing trousers, still bleeding from their severed finger, and dirty from the dungeons.

“Who sent you?” the Queen asked calmly.

Hallvar didn’t dare look at her, in case eye contact was interpreted by her guards as aggression. Regardless of how the red-haired man arrived, they did not have the upper hand here, not with so many soldiers and mounted knights present.

“No one, Your Majesty.” Their charisma 10 jolted an idea into their head, filling in an opportunity for social grace. “I—I claim both the Court Mage and the guildmaster as my friends, though I could not get a letter of… of introduction from either. Anton was imprisoned when I left and Viktor is in hiding.”

The Queen did not say anything but she assessed the man in front of her. What desperation drove them to such foolish actions?

“You claim to know both men. Describe the material of their brooches.”

Hallvar knitted their eyebrows together, looking at the pebbled road below. Did they remember enough? Certainly, they touched Viktor’s, but could they remember accurately?

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“The guildmaster – shell, one iridescent, the others pink-white, and then a… polished blue-white stone, looked expensive. The brooch itself, I can’t remember. I know it wasn’t a jewelry color. Not gold or silver, too soft to be durable.”

The shell was notable because Hallvar thought it looked like abalone, which was a common costume jewelry component on the coast of their homeland.

They tried to remember the Court Mage. Their recollection of the meeting in Viktor’s office was patchy, but so was the time in Anton’s quarters. Hallvar had a vague memory of Anton’s long white hair dangling down, mostly associated with feverish thoughts of him looking like a hot, tan Gandalf.

“The Court Mage – silver and- I don’t know,” the hero admitted, but they had a guess. “I didn’t see it close enough, but it has to be a yellow orange, like amber.”

The blue bead on Viktor’s brooch matched the color of Anton’s eyes – at least the magical eye – so it only made sense that the much more decorative Anton would extend the same gesture.

“Lady Mena, we will need use of your inn once more.”

The statement was not a request, spoken politely and insistently. The Queen nodded at a well-dressed woman, the owner of the inn probably, who bowed when spoken to.

“Blaine.”

The Queen entered the inn, the edge of her violet dress visible in Hallvar’s periphery, and a woman followed her. The subtly instructed guard helped the hero to their feet, keeping a hand on their arm to escort them inside.

In the dimly lit room, Hallvar was finally able to look at the royal who they needed to appease to survive. The Queen was of similar age to her husband, elderly but certainly well-kept. She had the stern countenance expected from royalty, but her other features were hidden under delicate cloth, whether that be a hair piece or her traveling gown.

Her lady-in-waiting assisted Her Majesty into a chair, standing to the side for further instruction.

This was not a tavern with a sprawling layout, so Blaine guided Hallvar to a bench against the wall. The name sounded familiar to the hero; Hallvar was trying to chew on that information as they took their seat, a good distance from the Queen as to deter attacks.

“Blaine? You use a weighted chain, right?”

The guard was wearing a mask, probably some uniform component of the Queen’s personal protection, but Hallvar did see Blaine’s head tilt ever so slightly.

“Kiran gave me so much sh— grief for failing to maintain my guard properly. She often said you would teach me a lesson and wished you were there.”

A throat-clearing noise came from the other side of the room. The lady-in-waiting was feigning a cough.

Hallvar barely understood the subtle gesture, but they knew something was going on, so they tried to be appropriate. “I apologize, Your Majesty – I haven’t slept properly in a week.”

“Explain yourself.”

The Queen relied on simple statements, concise orders that she knew would be followed.

Hallvar tried to place their hands on the bench for support, but a shooting pain ran up their left hand as they pushed into the fabric. Right. Bleeding, bones sticking out, the works. They gingerly cupped their injury as they spoke, hoping that pressure would help this time.

“I don’t know where to start. Uh, Cyciphos is going mad. He was torturing me – well, I need to explain that better. I’m not a criminal, not really.”

Wow, Hallvar was bombing this interview already. The exhaustion of torture and transformation was catching up to them.

“I— Cyciphos summoned the heroes. If you know that. I’m sure you know that. Four showed up and he’s been salty about it the whole time, apparently.”

Hallvar continued doggedly, sweating a bit from the tension. “There’s a complicated series of events that happened, but I ended up in front of Cyciphos. I was – am? – the missing fifth hero. He took my guild card but it said as much on there.”

“Cyciphos became obsessed with making me swear to him before you returned, to the point of torture.” They lifted their cupped hand up gently, as if the Queen wasn’t well-aware. “I escaped and came to find you.”

The Queen watched the stranger wait awkwardly, seeing if more information would be forthcoming.

“If you were able to escape, why find me rather than wait for my arrival?”

That was a relevant problem, one which slipped Hallvar’s mind under duress.

“I am associated with the guild so Cyciphos became easily convinced that the guildmaster was part of the original summoning mistake, or something similar. I only partially overheard the details. The Court Mage helped me recover after dealing with the blixhund, and he was jailed afterwards. I—”

Hallvar realized they hadn’t made it to the point, simply throwing information at the royal in the hopes that she would understand.

“I think the Court Mage is okay, but I fear what will happen if Cyciphos finds the guildmaster, or worse, decides to turn on the guild staff or members in order to try and flush us both out.”

The hero tried not to ponder over what Cyciphos might do to Stella. She said she was immune, but was she really? Hallvar could imagine the King-Consort stating that pinky fingers were not necessary to using magic.

“And I don’t know much about the other heroes, but one of them is actively encouraging Cyciphos to behave erratically, and Cyciphos is doing the same for the hero. The others tried to protest at the hearing, but they were silenced. I think everyone who spoke up against execution during the hearing was silenced at least once.”

“An execution?” The Queen questioned. A soft metallic sound came from Blaine’s direction. Chain maille against the hilt of a weapon.

Hallvar winced, diving into an answer before they were actually beheaded.

“I—before I gained the ability to communicate, the other royal carriage nearly ran me over twice in a month. On the second time, I threw a rock at it, unluckily hitting the window and then the princess.”

They tried to look as apologetic as possible. “I was arrested but escaped due to neglect from those in charge. Everyone forgot about – or tried to cover up – the incident except for the one hero, Leon, who hates me for some reason. I think he thinks I’m his opposite. He’s pretty and elegant; I’m rough and rude.”

That was a sudden moment of introspection Hallvar didn’t want to examine too deeply.

They cleared their throat and continued. “Leon reported the incident to the king in order to get me in trouble after I ran into him at Claylake Post.”

“King-Consort,” Blaine corrected sharply.

“Yes, I’m sorry,” Hallvar stumbled to get the apology out, looking from the masked guard to the Queen apprehensively. “I’m just exhausted.”

“But Cyciphos ordered me to be executed when he learned of my crime, and when he learned I was the remaining hero, he tried to offer an oath as the only alternative to death.”

They nodded at the royal. “I knew he wasn’t permitted to make decisions about heroes without you, Your Majesty, so I refused to cooperate.”

The Queen watched Hallvar. Her gaze was not icy or sharp like Cyciphos, nor was it particularly judgmental. It was calm and observant. Similar to Anton. Maybe he learned it from the Queen.

She gestured for her lady-in-waiting, whispering an order for her to fulfill. The servant stepped outside.

The adventurer’s attention was snapped back to the Queen when she spoke. “How do you know that Cyciphos is not permitted to make decisions regarding the heroes?”

Hallvar’s face fell, realizing they’d talked their way into a corner. The only way out would be to explain that the Court Mage was passing out closely guarded information to a hero, literally a stranger summoned from another world.

“I… believe you know how I got that information, Your Majesty.”

Bypassing an answer to a Queen was probably against some law, but Hallvar didn’t know how to reply other than with silence.

She chose to move on in her questioning. “And the ability that allowed you to escape is the same that brought you here?”

The hero nodded, unsure how to explain the unlocked subclass since it was still entirely new to them.

“Are you able to use it a second time?”

Hallvar wasn’t sure. They prompted the system for information, trying not to space out too much in front of royalty.

Perhaps they weren’t understanding the details correctly, but it seemed that the beastshaper subclass allowed for as many transformations as their stamina and magic could maintain, after which it cost health to perform.

The travel form was not used for combat, so it cost very little to use.

There was a caveat written in system vagueness – changing forms took a high physical toll, so shapeshifting under physical duress, such as injuries or at low-health, either cost more or would dock health severely.

When they refocused, the Queen was waiting expectantly.

Hallvar tried to answer quickly. “Sorry, I—It’s new and I couldn’t understand it before. Yes, I can do it a second time.”

The lady-in-waiting returned to her post at the Queen’s side. She whispered some information which the Queen approved of.

“What is your name?”

“Hallvar. Hallvar Nyman.”

The Queen stood to leave. The hero tried to stand out of deference, but Blaine’s firm hand pushed them back to a seated position as the Queen spoke.

“You will wait here until we depart, Sir Hallvar. If you are a hero as you claim, you will return to the castle to see justice served. You assured us that your feathered ability will work a second time.”

She paused at the landing, as much of a goodbye as royalty could manage, Hallvar supposed. “Lady Mena will arrange reasonable purchases on our behalf. Do see a physician, first.”