“AAAAIIIAARGH!” The plump young Orak sailed through the tavern door, tumbling head over heels before crashing into a tree. He slid down with a groan, his body kicking up dirt. Laughter erupted from the crowd as the owner stepped into the doorway, emboldened by the support. It was his foot that had propelled the Orak through the exit.
“You goddamn bastard! Can’t you read? No animals allowed!”
Oz-Iz’s ears perked up at this and he slowly rose, turning around.
“I’m not an animal, you asshole! What makes you think that you humans are any better than us, huh?”
“You’re just a damn pig.” The man sneered, arms crossed.
Oraks were, in simple terms, hairless humanoid boars complete with tusks, a definition that greatly annoyed them.
“Monsters never know their pce. And you? You’re not welcome here. Now scram before I give you a real reason to run.”
Oz-Iz tensed up, preparing to roast the bastard with a well-pced fire spell, but a voice stopped him.
“Oz-Iz, forget it.” It was Brym, one of his on-the-run friends.
Unlike Oz-Iz, he was tall, well-built, with thick brown hide-like skin and small nubs that would one day grow as horns.
“I’ll handle this, Oz-Iz.” Another voice piped up as well; Hen-Wen, the third and st member of the group. Oz-Iz grumbled, but retreated into the foliage. A moment ter, after the owner had gone back inside,
Hen-Wen stepped out.
She had been born a half-human Cambion, but when she was six winters old, a traveling priest of the holy fme exposed her and her mother’s true nature.
While her mother died protecting her against the mob, she managed to escape away into the woods, and after wandering for days, she wound up meeting Brym & Oz-Iz.
Now, ten years ter, she could easily be mistaken for a beautiful woman, with her pale skin being the only indication of her true nature.
“I’ll get the beer for us. Those louts will be too busy staring to notice my ears.” Hen-Wen frowned as she walked in; she HATED dealing with drunkards. Ordinary humans were bad enough.
---------------------———————————-----------------------———————————--
The pce stank. Like, really bad. Old beer, sweat, and something burnt. It was loud, too, just a bunch of drunks yelling and banging their mugs. She kept her head down, but everyone was staring.
“Hey, sweet thing. What’ll you have?” The bartender, a greasy dude with a dirty apron, grinned at her. She ignored that.
“Three ales.”
“That’s a lot for a little thing like you. Need some help?” He chuckled, like it was funny.
“I’m good.” She said, real cold, and gave him a look that’d freeze fire. He shrugged, looked annoyed, and poured the drinks. She grabbed the mugs, heavy as hell, and turned to leave.
Then, one guy, way drunker than the rest, grabbed her arm. His grip was tight, and he smelled like beer, cheese, and onions. She spun around, eyes fshing.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going, dollface?” The drunk’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into her arm. “You’re too pretty to just walk on by.”
Hen-Wen yanked her arm back, but he held on. “Let go,” she said, her voice low and dangerous.
“Aw, come on, don’t be like that,” he slurred, leaning closer. “Why don’t you sit with me and my friends? We’ll buy you a drink.” He winked, a gross, sloppy gesture.
“I said let go.” Her eyes narrowed, for a second they flickered red.
“Or what? Gonna get all fire-y on me?” He ughed, squeezing her arm harder. “Maybe I like that.” He started pulling her toward a table where two of his equally sloshed buddies were leering.
“Bastard! FIRE!” she cursed, fmes erupting from her hand, swallowing the man’s arm.
He screamed, a raw, animal sound, the smell of burnt flesh filling the air. The scream cut off, repced by a choked gurgle as he crumpled, smoking.
A moment of stunned silence fell over the tavern. Faces, twisted in shock, stared at the smoldering corpse then back at Hen-Wen, who had gone slightly pale from casting magic.
“W-w-witch... she’s a fucking witch! GET ‘ER!” a voice broke the quiet.
“Fuck!” Hen-Wen bolted, the mugs crashing to the floor. The mob surged after her, yelling.
She burst out of the tavern, into the night. The forest loomed, a dark wall. The edge of the vilge, a mess of overgrown weeds and tree roots, gave way to a muddy track.
She plunged into the trees, thorns tearing at her. Boots pounded on the path behind her, shouts growing closer.
Oz-Iz and Brym appeared from the shadows.
“I thought you said you would get the beer with no problems,” Brym said.
“Shut it.”
“I HATE humans!” Oz-Iz snarled. “Always treating us like crap! Hell, they treat their DOGS better than us!” They ran deeper into the forest.
“I told you this was a bad idea.”
“This is just some shit vilge out in the sticks. I thought they’d be ignorant fo... GAUAK!” Oz-Iz yelped, as a rough, jagged rock collided with his head.
“Oz!” Hen-Wen shouted, rushing to his side.
“There they are!” the same voice in the bar shouted (apparently the owner had a good sense of directing others).
Torches flickered through the trees, casting dancing shadows that revealed the angry faces of the vilgers.
“Surround ‘em!” the voice yelled, and the mob spread out, cutting off their escape.
“Alright, you pig,” the owner of the voice, a burly man with a cudgel, snarled, stepping forward. “Time to pay for what you did to Jake.”
“What did I do to Jake...whoever he is,” Oz-Iz growled, baring his tusks.
“You burnt him dead!”
“Hen, will it kill you to not burn a person to death!?”
“That pervert grabbed me!”
“In my defense, that pervert grabbed me...wait, why am I even...I didn’t do anything to Jake, she did!” Oz-Iz protested.
“Doesn’t matter,” another voice chimed in, a woman with a pitchfork. “You’re all monsters. You don’t belong here.”
“Now, good sirs and dies, Jake, bless his soul, couldn’t have been that nice. Don’t tell me you all actually liked him?” Oz-Iz tried.
“He was a bully, that’s for sure,” a vilger mumbled.
“Stole ma goat st year.”
“Ay, that bastard tried to steal my pig before too, and hurt my d when the boy stopped him.”
“Yeah, a real prick,” another agreed.
“See?” Oz-Iz said, turning to the vilgers. “We can work something out. How about we hand over Hen-Wen, and you let us go?”
“Deal!” several vilgers shouted.
“Hold on,” the burly man said, his voice hard. “That’s a loss. These torches are my wood, and I ain’t wasting them.”
‘So that’s where they got the torches,’ Oz-Iz noted. ‘Oh well, it didn’t matter. Hen and Brym must be done with the—’
The torches went dark. No, the fire of every torch was sucked up in the air.
“What the—?”
Then, all the little bits of fire flew together, making a big ball of light. Under it, the hooded figure stood.
Normally, a hidden mysterious hooded figure with a massive fireball would be scary enough, but this one didn’t really bother hiding one particur feature.
Blood glow in the dark eyes, red eyes.
“You have two choices: one, I burn you all to death, or two, you leave now, and I will let you live.” the figure told the mob casually
It didn’t take long for the vilgers to make their choice.
They ran.
“Where do you think you are going?”
“Goink!” Oz-Iz squealed as the figure turned its eyes on him.
“Good pn” the hooded figure complimented, the voice low and oddly feminine. “Distract them with the talk, while the other two set up a spell. Smart.”
Oz-Iz blinked. “Wait, you saw that?”
“Of course,” the figure said, the red eyes glowing brighter. “I did not expect to run into a trio of annoyingly persistent, stubborn, but surprisingly smart...mystics.”
“What do you want with us?” Brym asked, his voice wary.
“I need leaders,” the figure said, “For my army.”
“Army?” Hen-Wen asked. “Yeah, I…”
The figure gestured, and from the shadows of the trees, figures began to emerge. Strange green-skinned hobgoblins, hulking giant orcs, lumbering hairy trolls, and creatures with bck fur, glowing red eyes, and wisps of smoke curling from their mouths. Lesser vampires.
“This army,” the figure said.
“What do you want us to do?” Oz-Iz asked, his eyes wide.
A green fme flickered to life in the figure’s hands, illuminating her ash-grey face.
“Let’s find out.”
--------------------———————————-----------------------———————————--
Tigranash, the capital city, was three days away on horseback—a fact that irritated Fiona more than she was willing to admit. Normally, a long journey wouldn’t bother her, but the kingdom’s strict anti-teleportation enchantments meant they had no choice but to travel the slow way.
It was a necessary precaution. If any rogue assassin mage could simply shift into the king’s chambers or an enemy nation could portal their entire army into the capital, the kingdom would have colpsed long ago. The enchantments ensured that no teleportation magic worked inside the capital’s walls—except for the royal pace, which had a separate system in pce.
In the event of an emergency, the royal family could activate a one-way portal to a secure safe house, allowing them to escape without letting enemies in. No other location in the capital had such an exception, making the three-day journey the only option for anyone without royal blood.
That was why Fiona, Feya, and the knights now sat in the dimly lit common room of an inn, halfway to their destination.
The inn was better than most of its kind—a three-story timber-framed building with a steep shingle roof, its courtyard packed with fttened earth rather than cobblestone (something Fiona found odd). In the back, a stable housed the horses.
The air smelled of damp wood, stale ale, and a faint trace of vender from the rushes scattered across the floor.
The common room had long wooden tables, lit only by flickering tallow candles. Their dim glow cast shadows on the rough stone walls.
Serving girls moved between guests, bringing wooden bowls filled with steaming potssa—thick soup made from cow’s feet, slow-cooked overnight and eaten with garlic, salt, and spices...with the local ft bread.
Fiona dunked her bread into the potssa and took a bite. It was bnd but filling—the kind of meal meant to keep a traveler going rather than satisfy the taste buds. Across from her, Feya stirred her own bowl absently.
The knights and soldiers ate in tense silence. The Holy Remus knights and the Armenian soldiers didn’t speak to each other, though they remained respectful enough to avoid diplomatic trouble. The tension was felt rather than spoken, an uneasy truce maintained only because they were forced to sit together.
Fiona ignored them and focused on Feya instead.
“So,” she said between bites, “why are you still following me?”
Feya looked up, blinking. “I told you already. I owe you and Cyrus a debt.”
Fiona snorted. “A debt? For what?”
“For helping me and fighting alongside me.”
“Ah, right.” Fiona chewed her ftbread, studying her.
“I’m part of the Hero’s company. That means I’m supposed to accompany you to the bitter end.”
“Only... Cyrus isn’t here.” Fiona lowered her voice. “You didn’t try to convince him to come?”
Feya made a face. “His mother refused to let him leave.”
“I always wondered how Talban managed to marry such a fireball,” Fiona muttered.
“The captain decided we don’t need a cripple and let Cyrus be.” Feya shot a gnce at the field captain, Brian, as she spoke.
Feya poked at her potage, thoughtful. After a moment, she spoke again. “Your grandfather… he was the Hero, wasn’t he?”
Fiona blinked, then sighed. “Who told you that?”
“Your grandmother,” Feya said simply. “She told everyone during the feast yesterday.”
“It’s not like it makes me special. The world doesn’t care who your ancestors were.” Fiona scoffed, taking another bite of bread. “I’m not him.”
Feya watched her for a moment before nodding. “I see.”
“I’m worried about Cyrus.”
“Why? He’s probably safe and happy at home with his sisters, not having to worry about a dangerous and—”
“Varthus pns on training him.”
“Fuck.” Fiona summed up all her feelings—worry, regret, and fear—in a single word.
---------------------———————————-----------------------———————————--
Cyrus sat on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
Grounded. Again.
His mother had gone on a whole rant about how ‘vanishing for days’ was ‘unacceptable behavior’ and how he was ‘setting a bad example.’ Then she’d added, “You’re not leaving this house until I say so!” before smming the door.
So now he was stuck at home… under house arrest… with them.
“Big Brother, do you want tea?”
“No, I already made him tea!”
“B-but mine is sweeter!”
“Mine is healthier!”
“Mine has cinnamon!”
Cyrus sighed as all four of his younger half-sisters crowded around him, shoving cups of tea in his face. His entire day had been like this—fussed over, scolded, and smothered with affection by a bunch of tiny gremlins who all insisted on babying him.
Unlike most Heroes, he was very fortunate to have both his parents alive and well.
His father, a traveling mercenary, had a habit of showing up once in a while with a lot of money, a few gifts, and sometimes… a new half-sibling.
One of the reasons his mother was very against him in… well, what she dubbed ‘going around swinging a sword and getting into trouble.’
Unfortunately, they desperately needed money, so he took up odd jobs like killing wolves, hunting down monsters, gathering herbs, and working in the field.
The family had grown considerably over the years, and now Cyrus was the eldest of five children.
And despite being the only boy, he had absolutely zero authority in this household.
“Cyrus, don’t sleep on the side!”
“Cyrus, your hair’s messy—let me fix it!”
“Cyrus, I made cookies!”
“Cyrus, don’t just ‘hmm’ at me! Answer properly!”
The worst part?
They all were talented mages.
Which meant every minor argument turned into a full-scale domestic war of floating utensils, levitating hairbrushes, and heated debates enhanced by actual fire spells.
Cyrus had barely survived this morning’s breakfast brawl.
And just when he thought things couldn’t get worse—
BAM!
With a sudden, violent crash, the window imploded, a shower of broken gss and wood splinters scattering across the floor.
“BOY! TRAINING TIME!”
Varthus had arrived, dressed in leather armor, with his beard wild, and looking exactly like a deranged monster.
The room went silent.
Then—
“KYAAAA! A HAIRY MONSTER IS ATTACKING BIG BROTHER!!”
“GET IT!!WIND BLADE!”
“FIREBALL!”
“THUNDER SHOCK!”
“ICE SPEAR!”
Varthus had learned the hard way about the terror known as little sisters
