(Sound of gentle wind and the flap of small wings, echoing slightly within a confined space)

  The king settled into his new bird form, fixing his gaze toward the mouth of the cave. Light shone in, and the king could feel the warmth of a forgotten world, as if the world itself was welcoming him back. The little bird stretched its wings out as far as they could stretch. Then, in one swift motion, flung them downward and back, the action intensified and boosted by air magic. The little bird shot out of the cave and up into the air faster than a bullet leaving its barrel. Once the king, in bird form, got high enough to have a bird's-eye view of the surrounding area, he sprouted his wings fully and began to flap, hovering in place for a moment as he took in the grand view. He noticed the thick forest that bordered the region he once called his own, and the poorly made dirt trails where beast-pulled wagons made their way through life. The king sighed to himself, Even with magic at our fingertips, some things remain stubbornly inefficient.

  As the king looked around to get his bearings and set off toward his former castle, he noticed a single banner on the side of the road with a pale blue circle on it. The king instantly thought of the artifact he had found in his younger years of dungeon hunting – the pale blue urn with the same emblem. A shiver ran through the small bird. Could my fate have been tied to this… entity… for longer than I realize? When did I even cross its path? No, he thought, pushing the unsettling idea away, my kingdom holds the answers. With renewed motivation, the little bird continued its journey to the region's capital.

  The king flew overhead unnoticed by the citizens living in the outskirts of his settlement. Their gaunt faces and listless movements spoke volumes of their hardship. They were often sicker than those closer to the castle and considered less important. The king’s heart clenched. He remembered the detailed agricultural textbooks he had devoured on Earth, the intricate systems of crop rotation and irrigation that could transform these barren lands. These people are the foundation of my kingdom’s sustenance. This neglect… it’s an insult to their worth and a strategic blunder. He recalled the brutal winters before he understood proper food storage, the constant threat of famine. This must change. The king, as the little bird, gave a big flap again, and with air magic, he silently shot off toward the capital, a knot of determination tightening in his tiny chest.

  As he caught sight of the capital on the horizon, a glorious sight he had long forgotten – the silhouette of his big castle with three separate towers scraping the skylight – the bird hovered for a bit in place, a bittersweet ache in his avian heart. He remembered the shortest of the three towers, the one on the far left. In a chamber at the top was where he used to lose himself in his magical research, surrounded by the comforting scent of old parchment and arcane energies. The tower taller than the research tower but on the right housed his trophies, tangible memories of adventures and triumphs. Then finally, in the middle and the tallest tower, his personal bedchamber, a sanctuary now likely defiled.

  Just as the king finished this thought, he heard a rhythmic chant coming from nearby. Confused, the king searched for the source of the sound. Within seconds, he spotted a pale blue statue of a snake-like creature wrapped around a planet, its coils squeezing, the planet bulging as if it was a balloon about to pop. The chant continued as the bird swooped in closer to understand what was happening. The king landed on a branch near the statue, seeing four countrymen and their families kneeling around it. Their dirt-stained clothes and weary postures spoke of hard labor and little reward. As they bowed over and over, they chanted, "All hail the coil that binds us together. Let our souls forever be guided by the blue serpent of worlds." A cold dread washed over the king. Enslavement… they’ve been tricked into worshipping their oppressor.

  The king looked back at the countryside families and realized something strange was happening as they prayed. As his small avian eyes filled with magic, the very world around him was seen very differently – colors brighter, and everything much more vivid than before. With this new magical sight, he could see the dark blue threads coming from the families to the statue while they chanted. When they stopped chanting, the threads would disappear into the statue and disconnect from them. A chilling realization dawned on him. It’s not just worship… it’s sustenance. He took a closer look at the people themselves. Upon looking closer, every single one of them looked malnourished and aged far beyond what they should be. The king thought to himself, That statue… it’s draining their very life force. What monstrous bargain has been struck here?

  Just as he set himself to take back off and continue toward the capital, one of the men stood up, catching his attention. This man had slightly nicer clothes than the rest of the group, perhaps a foreman or a slightly more prosperous farmer. The man, after standing up, turned to the group and said, "Okay, that's enough. We pray to that serpent for a total of an hour a day for some untold reason for him to keep any major threats away from here. But he barely seems to even do that. So don't give him a single extra minute of your day if he's not going to care about us on the outskirts." One of the other men stood up, his face etched with resentment. "We need to do something about this menace before something bad happens. Everyone already thinks he's up to no good, especially those five elder mages he keeps as personal errand boys. They skulk around like shadows, their eyes cold. I wouldn't trust them further than I could throw a griffin."

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  Upon hearing about the five elder mages, a memory resurfaced in the king's mind. The memory came back so vivid and clear he couldn't believe he had ever forgotten. A memory of a mysterious mage in his market, an unfamiliar fiery magic, a tragic mistake, and six faces of horror – his former council. A wave of icy betrayal washed over the king. My council… they saw this coming? Were they complicit? Or were they terrified into silence? His tiny bird body burned with a restrained fury. Before I unleash my wrath, I need the truth.The king, now propelled with a potent cocktail of grief, anger, and a burning need for answers, soared to the castle outskirts at speeds unseen from birds or anything else for that matter. Upon seeing the glorious town square that had hosted so many celebrations and festivals in the past, he thought how tarnished and neglected it now appeared. The once vibrant fountains were stagnant, and the cobblestones were cracked and uneven. Even the heart of my kingdom has withered. He landed on a guard tower overlooking the square, his tiny avian brain racing, considering his next move. What have they done to my home? To my people? He briefly recalled the efficient farming techniques he'd learned on Earth. This land could be so much more.

  A thought popped into the little bird's brain – a sanctuary of knowledge, a place filled with books like his research tower, a place that anyone could go but few did due to the overwhelming boredom they felt: the archive. If any records of the last fifty years exist, they would be there. And perhaps… perhaps there will be some mention of that fiery mage, of the events that led to my… absence. And what role did my trusted advisors play? With this thought, the king took off toward the west part of town, a less popular section due to low-interest buildings being grouped there. The king swooped down at one of the windows of his desired building. Closing his eyes and focusing, within an instant, the king, once a bird, was now a small fly-like insect. With a small buzz and a few circles, the king got used to this new micro and weightless form. The fly looked around the dusty, dimly lit interior, thinking, Nothing seems to have been touched in decades. A fleeting fear that this stagnation extended to the kingdom's records crossed his mind. With a sigh of resignation, the fly took off toward where the desired historical logs should be.

  (Sound of a faint buzzing insect in a dusty, quiet room. The soft rustle of brittle pages as the fly lands on various spines.)

  Through his multifaceted insect eyes, the fly scanned the titles of countless forgotten volumes. 'The Arcane Principles of Northern Warding'… 'A Treatise on Elemental Binding'… 'King's Edict on Shadow Creatures'… He flitted along, a tiny speck in the vast repository of knowledge, a flicker of recognition sparking at some titles, confusion at others.

  One spine caught his attention: "Theft of Northern Arcana: A Mage's Greed." He lingered for a moment, a faint echo of a past conflict stirring within him, a sense of… acquisition. He moved on.

  Another volume: "The Mysterious Mage Sets Stake in the Central Region." This title elicited a deeper pang of something akin to memory, a sense of establishing a new beginning, of power claimed. He filed it away, another piece of a puzzle he couldn't yet assemble.

  Then: "The Central Kingdom War: A Decade of Blood and Magic." A shadow of grim recollection passed over the tiny fly. War. Loss. The desperate need for strength. He moved on, the weight of unseen battles settling upon his minuscule form.

  Finally, a title that resonated with a strange familiarity: "The Central Kingdoms' Unbeatable Protector." A flicker of pride, a sense of duty… a title earned, not given. He paused, a connection forming in the depths of his lost memories. King…

  Driven by a more immediate need, the fly flitted towards a stack of large, chronological ledgers – the kingdom's historical logs. Landing on a page dated shortly after his… disappearance, he began to "read" the spidery script, his magical senses allowing him to perceive the ink as clear images in his tiny field of vision.

  The words painted a picture of a kingdom thrown into disarray by the King's obsessive pursuit of arcane knowledge, leading to his prolonged absence. After six months of increasing instability, the desperate people turned to the King's most trusted advisors – the five elder mages and the veteran commander – who reluctantly stepped in to provide guidance and protection. The arrival of the Blue Serpent was portrayed as a timely intervention, offering aid that the frightened populace readily accepted. The mages and the veteran were lauded as selfless leaders who prevented the kingdom's collapse.

  A cold understanding washed over the tiny insect. It wasn't malicious erasure, but a carefully constructed narrative of abandonment and reluctant heroism, designed to legitimize their power grab. The subtle twisting of his image, the exploitation of his absence… the betrayal still cut deep.

  The buzzing of the fly intensified, a barely audible tremor in the silent archive. They will answer for this deception. They will remember the true king of this realm.

  (Sound of a determined, slightly louder buzz as the fly takes flight, fading out.)