Chapter Five

  A few hours later, Ham and the others were still at the Soul Stones—though not by their own volition. They were chained and cuffed, being interrogated by a tall, lean elf wearing full plate armor.

  “So, again,” the elf said, “how did you say you saved the Soul Stones?”

  Ham exhaled through his nose, barely restraining himself from rolling his eyes.

  “Look, Sir…”

  “Call me Captain Trask,” he said, smiling.

  Ham chewed the inside of his cheeks.

  “Captain Trask, then,” Ham said, frustration evident in his tone. “I’ve already told you what happened. We saw the stones were in danger… and as responsible citizens of Arcavios, we did the best we could to save them.”

  “Right, right,” he nodded. “And you five defeated, oh, fifty or so battle-hardened orcs all by yourselves?”

  “I killed more than nine!” Gharan confirmed proudly in his gruff voice.

  Rhaldri chuckled, and Captain Trask glared at her.

  “Sorry!” she said before falling silent, and Trask turned his attention back to Ham.

  “Yes!” Ham said. “Most of them, at least. The last dozen or so were taken out when the Founder Dragons appeared.”

  “Oh right, the Founder Dragons,” he said, condescension dripping from his voice. “Which of the ten were present today?”

  Ham snapped.

  “There are only five! You think I’m joking?!?” Ham yelled. “See, I don’t know what your problem is, but there’s a freaking meteor that almost crushed the University of Magic.”

  Ham pointed toward it.

  “Shouldn’t you people be doing something more useful, like, I don’t know, maybe rushing your forces there to secure it, help the wounded, maybe?!?”

  A sword was at Ham’s neck in the blink of an eye.

  “Look, kid!” the elf said, his nose close enough to touch Ham’s own. “You’re telling me that after all these centuries, the Founder Dragons actually appeared in person and selected—not one of the Dragonsguard, or any other respectable warriors and heroes—but you all? A bunch of amateurs? Who we found in suspicious circumstances having nearly destroyed one of the most sacred grounds of Arcavios. Yes! I think you’re joking!”

  Ham heard growling from behind and the clacking of chains as Gharan and the others stood up. Nothing made friends like surviving a battle together, and Ham was grateful for the support, but he didn’t think it the best time to duke it out.

  “Umm, guys…?” Ham urged silently. But they didn’t hear him.

  “Oh, just give me a reason!” Trask snarled, standing up himself and eyeing each and every one of them, his sword still eerily still at Ham’s jugular.

  The tension was palpable for a few dreadful seconds as they all stood in a standstill. Ham found it somewhat scary that of all the hundred or so Dragonsguard present, none came to support Trask. Either they were seriously underestimating the five of them—even if bound and weaponless—or Trask was… one hell of an accomplished warrior to command such trust.

  “Trask!” a voice boomed. “I think you’ve done your work. I’ll take care of things from here.”

  Captain Trask’s expression immediately went passive, like a slate being wiped clean.

  “Yes, Jarl. As you say.”

  The sword was off Ham’s throat and back into its scabbard as swiftly as it had come out.

  Ham finally felt comfortable enough to breathe, and anger started boiling within him once again. However, he decided to do nothing about it—these were their own people, and he was tired and pretty much surrounded.

  As Captain Trask stepped aside, Ham saw two dwarves walking through a parting crowd of Dragonsguard soldiers.

  He was immediately able to place one and guess the other. Lora Frostfire, the owner of the Bullywug Pissing Pot, whom he had seen earlier in the day, was walking toward them, just a step behind her brother, Jarl-Mage Orvund Frostfire.

  Ham had heard about the man, but it was the first time he was seeing him. He looked old and gray, holding a staff covered in ice crystals at the top, which was slightly larger than his own. He looked like a regular old grandfather but had a regal air about him that warned you from trying anything funny. He was smiling lightly as he stopped in front of them, and Ham could feel his aura brushing against his skin.

  That was indeed one powerful wizard.

  He looked at them all one by one, sniffed as if catching something nasty in the air, and waved a hand.

  In one smooth motion, all their manacles came loose and thudded onto the grassy land.

  Ham sighed and straightened, giving Trask a sidelong glance, then bowed to the wizard.

  “Thank you,” Ham said to him. “It was getting uncomfortable.”

  “Thanks, old man,” Gharan agreed from beside him, as the rest of them also gave short greetings.

  The wizard kept smiling pleasantly, even at being addressed so informally, like he didn’t have a care in the world—which was somewhat odd for a man in his station, considering a huge meteor had almost destroyed Strixhaven just hours earlier. And it was now reportedly under siege by a sizable force of orcs, demons, and drows.

  “Apologies for the inconvenience,” the Jarl Mage replied. “So, I hear you five valiantly defended the stones while we were busy in the congregation ceremony.”

  “We did what we could,” Ham replied, and the others nodded in agreement.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “Impressively done!” the Jarl said, looking at the destruction around them.

  Ham smiled, a natural response to the Jarl’s friendly demeanor. Then Will stepped forward for the first time and addressed the three authority figures as a whole.

  “Honestly, the two of us wouldn’t have minded passing up on that,” Will said, pointing to himself and the water genasi, “but a certain cat was hiding here, and there was a big reward on its head.”

  Lora’s eyes lit up. “Mr. Mittens? You found him?”

  “Kaly?” Will spoke to the water genasi behind him, and she stepped forward with an ornate lamp in her hands. She sat down and started rubbing the lamp gently. Ham expected a genie to pop out, as most genies lived in lamps, though he had heard a few even used crockery. What came out instead was the cat, Mr. Mittens. The girl could apparently use that thing as a pocket dimension.

  “There!” the water genasi said before standing up again.

  The cat started circling on the ground, taking stock of its surroundings. It soon saw Lora Frostfire—who squealed in pleasure—and jumped into her lap.

  Then… it spoke.

  “You don’t have to send people after me every time I go out for a stroll, you know?”

  Ham’s mouth flew wide open. *The cat could speak*. But when he looked back to find anyone who might share his surprise, he found only questioning eyebrow raises. He realized in hindsight that perhaps a talking cat wasn’t so impressive in a world where ninety percent of the population could use magic to some degree. He shut his mouth.

  “You were missing for five hours!” Lora Frostfire complained, ruffling the cat’s ears, sounding much like his own mother sometimes did.

  Mr. Mittens rolled its cat-pupil eyes and simply said, “You’re impossible,” before settling snugly into her embrace and closing them.

  “Take this!” Lora said as she unlatched and threw a hefty bag of coins to Will, who caught it with elven grace.

  “Thanks!”

  “Greedy arse!” grumbled Gharan, and Ham found himself sharing his opinion.

  Will had remained mostly quiet throughout the interrogation, letting Ham deal with the captain and not mentioning the cat at all, which might have helped make their story more believable. But… Ham figured it didn’t really matter. The important thing was that Will had come to help when Ham needed him. He could keep the money; he deserved it.

  “By the way,” the cat spoke, eyes still closed, over the excited whispers of Kaly, who had started counting the coins, “they’ve been telling the truth, Captain Trask. I was watching most of it.”

  Ham saw at least ten different expressions flit across Captain Trask’s face before settling into sullen acceptance.

  Ham was seriously starting to wonder what his issue was with them. Was it jealousy of some sort?

  “Well, now that *that’s* settled,” the Jarl Mage said jovially, “Greetings… Avatars of Arcavios.”

  Then he bowed deeply. There was a sudden hustle as all the soldiers, knights, and squires alike rushed to emulate him. Even Captain Trask and Lora Frostfire.

  It was so abrupt that Ham turned left and right, looking at his companions to see if they were witnessing the same thing.

  Will smirked and glanced to the side, pocketing the coins, while Kaly and Rhaldri smiled. Only Gharan shared his incredulity, mumbling something like “Weird skinny people.”

  As they all straightened back, Ham spoke up.

  “Wait, just like that?” he asked the Jarl Mage. “This guy had us detained for two hours and didn’t believe a word we said. Now, you trust us all of a sudden?”

  “Not that we mind!” said Rhaldri, stepping forward and giving Ham a weird glare. "I'd like to get to the things that really matter."

  “Well, Mr. Mittens is a trusted friend; he just confirmed your story,” the Jarl replied. “Also, there’s no denying that the dark prophecy has begun unfolding—we all saw the star falling.”

  He pointed with his staff toward the university, where the star was still slightly visible, like a distant and peculiar mountain.

  “It’s only natural the new Avatars would be chosen. I’ve been trying to tell them that, actually,” he said, looking back at his sister and Captain Trask. “The whole realm heard those roars; they could not belong to anyone other than the Founder Dragons themselves.”

  Then, without giving the two time to respond, he forged on, focusing on Ham and the group.

  “Obviously, Captain Trask was justified in trying to confirm that you aren’t enemy agents,” he said in a teacher’s voice. “He is, after all, the leader of the entire Dragonsguard.”

  Captain Trask looked away with slight chagrin.

  Ham nodded—partly because that’s what you do when the most powerful wizard in the realm explains something, and partly because it did somewhat justify his behavior. But inside, he was still sulking: he’d nearly died multiple times back there, doing his duty, and that man had only shown him contempt in return.

  “Since he’s usually also the bridge between the Founder Dragons and mortals, being a Trask,” Lora added conspiratorially, “I think he was also in denial that he wasn’t informed.”

  “Lora!!” Orvund snapped.

  “No, it’s fine,” Trask interjected. “She’s right. I think I overdid it.”

  To Ham’s surprise, there was honesty in those words—even a hint of apology. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

  “Alright then,” the Jarl continued, “I do believe introductions are in order; Arcavios will want to know the names of its Avatars.”

  Ham found himself slinking back as others stepped forward. For some reason, he didn’t like how that term sounded. How it placed him in a position of such responsibility. Not that he minded responsibilities—he had one already: his village, his people, his mother. Ham suddenly remembered young Lester, who might still be waiting near the cart. Not to mention his people back in the Chimney Comb, waiting for the supplies he’d promised.

  Beyond that, accepting this mantle might mean abandoning his oath to exact vengeance against his father’s killer. He didn’t want that. Saving one sacred site from orcs was one thing. But did he have time to… save the world? Could he even do that?

  The others began giving their names: Rhaldri Marsk went first, then Gharan, then Will stated his full name as “William Winnthrop.” Then the water genasi, “Kalypsiana of Aliana.”

  That last one made the Jarl muse for a moment before he turned to Ham. He had no choice but to comply.

  “Hamend Stormborn,” he announced.

  The whole crowd fell silent—even the Jarl.

  “Is something wrong?” Ham asked uncertainly. “You can just call me Ham, if that’s too long.”

  “A Stormborn,” the Jarl breathed, studying Ham’s face with renewed interest. Then Captain Trask rushed forward.

  “Wait, a Stormborn…” He slammed a hand against his head. “What’s your father’s name?”

  Ham glanced between them, still uncertain.

  “Ah… Kaizer. Kaizer Silverdragon Stormborn.”

  Captain Trask gaped at him for a moment before snorting. He looked at the Jarl Mage, laughing.

  “Can you believe that?”

  “Fate is mysterious sometimes!” the Jarl replied with a shrug. “Not sure we could’ve wished for any better.”

  “Wait, what are you talking about?”

  Ham noticed even his friends whispering among themselves.

  “Well, kid,” said Captain Trask, placing a hand on his shoulder, the distrust suddenly gone, “do you know what your father’s other name was?”

  “No?”

  “The First Avatar,” he replied fondly, almost wistfully, as if recalling something nostalgic. “Not the Avatar of the Founder Dragons, mind you—the Avatar of the Platinum Dragon, Lord Bahamut himself.”

  Ham knew Lord Bahamut; he worshiped him, as his father and mother had. He even wore an amulet of him around his neck. Bahamut was the creator of Arcavios and progenitor of the entire dragon race, including the Founder Dragons.

  And they were saying his father was His Avatar?

  So Ham asked the only viable question: “Really?”

  Everyone burst out laughing.

  “Now that I’m looking at you again,” Captain Trask said between laughs, “you do remind me of him. So that bastard never told you anything, huh? Typical!”

  “Well, he died when I was twelve,” Ham said, “and Mother never told me anything beyond the usual. I guess so I wouldn’t get ideas.”

  “We did hear he’d passed,” Captain Trask said solemnly. “Too late to do anything about it, unfortunately.”

  “Could’ve used his help today,” added the Jarl Mage, glancing at the smoke rising from the university.

  “But you’ve got his son now!” countered Lora. “And four other brave souls, right?” All eyes turned to Ham and the others again.

  Once more, Ham felt his feet go cold. It was all happening too fast. What did they expect him to say? He couldn’t take his father’s place! Kaizer had been a true hero—strong, brave, unshakable as a mountain!

  He couldn’t match him even in something as trivial as woodcarving. How could he match him in heroism? His heart began pounding louder and louder as time crawled to a halt, the world turning monochromatic.

  When Ham blinked the next time, he was that child again, holding his father’s corpse in his small arms, crying over him, wishing he could have done anything, anything at all to save him, to have enough strength in him to make a difference.

  The next blink brought him back to his current body, and he found himself standing at the edge of Sakoe, the current long-abandoned graveyard that was still the lair of that hydra. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the power of the Soul Stones boiled and burbled. Today, he had the strength he had always wished for. In this moment, he was sure that even if he were to head into the village alone this day, he’d have enough strength to defeat the monster and bring justice to his father. The power was almost urging him to do exactly that. But should he?

  The next blink sent Ham into the skies of Arcavios, looking over at a burning realm. It occurred to Ham that this was no different than that day at Sakoe. Yes, the monster was bigger, the battlefield was larger, the stakes were higher, and there were a lot more people to save this time around, but in principle, the situation was exactly the same. Only there was no Kaizer to help this time.

  In his place was Ham. One lousy, not so bright, often reckless Ham.

  Ham, who had taken an oath of vengeance against his father’s killer, his enemy, the Hydra of Sakoe. Who had studied and trained his whole life for that sole purpose. But who was foolish enough to think that it was the extent of his responsibility. He turned and looked over into the direction of Sakoe, which seemed like the only place that was not aflame in this apocalyptic reality—or rather, the only place that had burnt out.

  Ham had a choice in that moment, even if the others couldn’t see it. He could choose the greater good and be the Avatar of Witherbloom as everyone expected him to be, delaying his revenge, even risk breaking his oath, or he could prioritize his own qualms and leave. They could not force him to fight a war that he did not want to fight.

  The latter sounded way more appealing to him than the former. His revenge, after years of waiting, was in his reach. But was that the kind of person he had aspired to be his whole life? Was that what his father would have done?

  Obviously, there was more to his father than he knew. But he knew enough to realize that his father had sacrificed himself to save the rest of the village. Those were not the actions of a selfish man—one who made enemies for his own sake—but of a man to whom anyone who threatened or oppressed the weak and helpless was an enemy.

  Ham’s pounding heart finally calmed.

  The moment snapped back into place, and Ham found himself still facing the three leaders of the Arcavian forces, looking at him expectantly. Ham wiped the panic off his face, sighed, then put on a slight smile and whistled. Much to everyone’s confusion, from somewhere in the crowd, a greatsword came flying to him.

  To their credit, none of the three were spooked, and Ham caught the greatsword without any objections.

  “As of this moment, my sword is dedicated to the realm!” Ham thundered, going down on one knee and hefting the sword high with both hands. “The realm will not fall until I am alive!”

  “And my Axe!” Gharan roared, raising a borrowed axe high (snatched from a nearby soldier), prompting a cheer to run through the gathered warriors.

  “My younger brother is at the university,” Rhaldri told them seriously. “He’s the only family I have. Avatar or not, nothing is stopping me from reaching the university.”

  “Lady Rhaldri!!!” shouted someone from the crowd, initiating another round of cheers.

  “We’ll help too,” said Will, as Kalypsiana nodded vigorously to some more cheer. “I’m kind of liking all this acclaim!”

  The Jarl Mage nodded.

  “Then we shall start preparing!”