"It's much harder than you think, Solryn," Hibana said, brushing a low branch aside as they continued down the wooded path. "I may look human… but I'm not. Even now, in this form, my dragon instincts beg me to bite, to claw."
His hand hovered near the hilt of his short sword — not gripping it, just feeling its presence. Familiar. A reminder.
"And the worst part?" he added, quieter now. "When I'm like this… when I look like them… it's even harder to resist."
Solryn scoffed beside him. "I just don't see why it matters so much. Your fight with that Kurt fellow — you showed incredible power. You should've ended him. I wouldn't have hesitated."
Hibana turned his head, his expression clouded.
"I was terrified that I might kill him. And not because I feared him. Because I feared me. I've already killed once, Solryn. It doesn't feel good."
Solryn rolled his eyes. "He would have killed you without a second thought. And in this world, the strong survive — the weak perish. That's the truth. If you keep fighting like you're afraid to win, you're going to doom everyone around you."
Hibana stopped walking. The leaves overhead rustled with the wind, casting glimmering shadows across the path ahead. It was quiet.
"Yeah," he said quietly, eyes darkening. "The goblins told me the same thing. I just didn't know then how horrible adventurers could be."
Solryn started to reply, but raised a hand instead — sharp, sudden. His voice dropped.
"Company."
The breeze shifted.
Metal clinked, faint but distinct, between the trees. A shadow moved — then another. Branches creaked. The forest, once alive with birdsong, had gone deathly still.
"I thought it was too quiet," Hibana muttered.
An instant later, an arrow thudded into the dirt in front of him, quivering with force. Hibana's hand flew to his sword. Steel whispered free of its sheath.
"Look what we got here, boys!" a voice called from the shadows. Rough, mocking. Too calm. "A pair of lost little sheep… wandered too far from the flock."
The voice echoed through the trees, but Hibana could already smell them. Oil. Burnt metal. Unwashed skin. His dragon senses kicked in — they were close. Too close. At least twenty. Rustling leaves. Leather boots. The creak of bows being drawn. They'd been waiting.
"I smell them, Solryn," Hibana said under his breath. "They're all around us."
A figure shifted high in the branches overhead — a man in rusted armor draped with furs, crouched like a vulture. His presence reeked of casual violence.
Hibana felt the tug of Solryn's magic as he cast Appraise — and then another wave of appraisal magic, this time aimed at them.
"They're D-tier," Solryn whispered, voice tight. "High level. Definitely bandits."
The man in the tree gave a sharp-toothed grin and dropped down, landing in a crouch. Dust scattered. His sword was a long, battered thing, its edge notched and dark with old blood.
"Here's how this goes," the man said, rising slowly. "Drop everything. Your gold, your weapons, your pretty little robes. Or we pry them off your corpses. I don't mind either way."
Hibana looked to Solryn and Solryn looked back to him. He then spoke to the bandit.
"I beg you not to do this," Hibana said calmly, his voice steady despite the rising tension. "Just let us pass."
The bandit leader sneered, then broke into harsh laughter, echoed by the shadows of his companions hidden among the trees. "Check this out, lads! This pathetic little F-tier is begging us not to kill him!"
The leader stepped forward, sword hanging loosely at his side. His eyes were filled with cold amusement as he approached Hibana. "You know, I was really hoping you'd resist."
Solryn raised his staff defensively, stepping closer to Hibana. "I don't think they're going to listen to reason, Hibana," he said, eyes narrowed. "Right now, I genuinely wish that beast woman were here."
Hibana sighed deeply, his grip tightening around his short sword. Every muscle in his human body felt tense, and his dragon instincts screamed within him—to fight, to unleash flames, to end the threat quickly. Yet, he knew how fragile his control truly was. The image of his recent battle flashed through his mind, along with the terrifying power he'd felt himself almost lose.
The bandit leader lifted his weapon, eyes glittering with cruel excitement. "Well, F-tier, what's it gonna be? I'll not ask a second time!"
Hibana hesitated only briefly, his resolve hardening. The air around him felt suddenly charged, alive with potential. He could feel countless arrows trained on him, hidden assailants ready to strike from all angles.
"Since you've chosen to underestimate me and refuse to let us pass, you leave me no choice," Hibana declared, voice firm despite the turmoil inside him. His eyes met the bandit leader's directly. "I truly didn't want it to come to this."
In that instant, Hibana moved.
The first wave of arrows rained down through the trees, slicing the air with a deadly whistle. But to Hibana's senses, they might as well have rung bells. He felt the wind shift. Smelled the oil, the sweat, the rust. Every bowstring, every snap of bark — they gave themselves away.
He dashed forward, sword drawn, charging the bandit leader with a speed that defied his supposed rank. Steel clashed in a harsh ring of sparks as their blades met. Hibana shoved hard, catching the leader off guard and forcing him back. The man stumbled, eyes wide in disbelief.
An arrow whistled past Hibana's head, close enough to graze his hair.
Solryn raised his staff. "Gale Spiral!"
A burst of wind howled through the clearing, scattering the next volley of arrows and forcing several archers to steady themselves. Solryn seized the moment to cast again, fire erupting from his palm.
"Fireball!"
The blast struck a tree branch high above. One of the hidden archers screamed and tumbled to the ground in a crash of branches and curses.
The leader recovered, flipping back to his feet with practiced ease. He lunged at Hibana, blade flashing — and this time, the steel found flesh.
The sword bit into Hibana's cheek.
"I don't know how you're masking your stats, kid," the leader snarled, his grin wide and wolfish, "but you're still not strong enough!"
Blood dripped down Hibana's face as he touched the wound. His fingers came away slick and red. He didn't speak.
He parried the next swing, then stepped in and carved a shallow slash across the man's cheek — a mirror of his own.
Then Hibana went quiet.
He stepped forward slowly, steadily — his gaze locked on the bandit leader. He no longer gripped his sword like a frantic survivor. Now he walked like a force of nature.
The leader faltered. Just slightly. Then — with a sneer — he reached into his pouch and hurled a handful of powder.
The fine dust exploded in Hibana's face.
It burned like fire. His vision went white.
His scream cut through the clearing as he clawed at his eyes, stumbling, blind. The burning powder clung to his skin like acid. He swayed — disoriented — and stepped back instinctively.
His heel found nothing.
The ground vanished behind him for a split second.
Hibana flailed, windmilling one arm to catch his balance as his foot slipped past the edge of a sheer drop — a ravine, jagged and steep. He barely managed to throw his weight forward again, his boots skidding on the dirt as he caught himself on instinct alone.
"A ravine...?" The realization stabbed through the pain like ice. One more step, and he'd have fallen.
"Hibana!" Solryn shouted, locked in battle just yards away. "Run!"
But there was no room left to run.
Steel slid between his shoulder blades. A brutal, searing thrust from behind. Hibana gasped and dropped his sword, pain exploding through his ribs.
His vision blurred as the leader sneered in triumph. But Hibana wasn't done yet.
His mind cleared — just for a moment — enough to feel the edge of the cliff behind him.
He spun low and swept the bandit's legs from under him. The man fell, but not before driving his sword forward again — this time through Hibana's abdomen. The blade pierced clean through.
The scream that followed was guttural — not human.
Blood spilled down Hibana's chest as he collapsed to one knee. The sword was wrenched free. The leader stood again, raising it for a final blow.
But Hibana, trembling and half-blind, raised one hand.
"Fireball."
The magic flared in his palm — too much, too fast.
The resulting explosion rocked the entire clearing.
Flame and fury exploded outward. Both Hibana and the bandit leader were thrown through the air, blown apart by the raw force of the blast.
But Hibana didn't land on the ground.
His momentum carried him backward — past the treeline, past the crumbling edge —
—and over the cliff.
He fell.
Through branches. Through whipping leaves. Through crashing limbs that tore at his skin and cloak. A hundred feet down. The world spun and twisted and broke around him.
He hit the forest floor with a sickening crack.
Everything went dark.
His human form collapsed, broken.
And in that stillness — bloodied, shattered, and unconscious — his body began to change.
Scales spread. Wings unfurled. Hibana returned to his dragon form.
When Hibana woke, the sky was dark. The moon hung low, veiled behind the drifting fingers of cloud, and the stars blinked cold and distant above the canopy.
His throat burned — dry as cracked stone — and his limbs ached like they'd been forged in fire, cooled, and shattered again.
He groaned, shifting slowly.
Torn scraps of cloth hung loosely from his frame — the shredded remains of his travel tunic and what was left of Solryn's custom cloak. Blood stained the edges, dried and flaking. His skin stung with fresh bruises and half-healed cuts. His wings, curled awkwardly beneath him, ached with phantom tension.
He touched his side — where the blade had run him through — and found nothing. No wound. No blood. Not even a scar.
His breath caught.
Gone. As if it had never happened at all.
"I really was dying," he whispered. "And this body just… let go of it."
He didn't know if it was the spell or something deeper — something written into the magic of what he was. But the wound was gone, and he was still breathing. and that was enough.
"I didn't change back gracefully," he muttered.
He rolled onto his side, pushed up on trembling forearms, and managed to stand. His legs wobbled beneath him. Every movement felt wrong — like his body hadn't caught up with itself yet.
"My True Polymorph healed me again…" He looked down at his chest. "But this time, it feels different. Maybe this is a side effect of the aging...?"
He glanced around the base of the ravine, eyes scanning the scattered debris of his fall — snapped branches, scuffed bark, a cratered patch of soft earth where he must've landed.
His sword was nowhere in sight.
He cursed under his breath, then looked up.
Above him, the trees swayed, and beyond them, he could make out the distant lip of the ravine. Shadows clung to the stone walls like leeches. Branches jutted from the rock at odd angles, some broken, some bent — the path of his descent scrawled in destruction.
He turned slowly, eyes scanning for a path back.
There — a winding trail of stone and moss, half-hidden behind a crooked tree. It snaked up the side of the ravine like an old scar.
He climbed.
Each step burned. His claws dug into the dirt for grip. His breath came ragged, and the night air stung his lungs.
But he made it.
At the top, the site of the ambush spread before him — eerily still.
No bodies.
No blood.
No Solryn.
His heart thudded painfully in his chest.
"…No…"
He dropped to all fours, pressing his snout to the ground. His senses flared — nose twitching, ears alert.
Smoke. Sweat. Oil. The scent of burnt magic.
And beneath it all — faint, but there — Solryn's scent.
He found the trail. Weak. Fading. But there.
It led into the trees.
Hibana's claws flexed. His eyes narrowed.
He rose.
And he followed.
Carefully. Quietly.
Step by step, into the darkness.
After nearly an hour of tracking Solryn's scent, Hibana saw the flicker of firelight between the trees — faint at first, then stronger. The smoke curled up through the canopy, lit orange by the low flames beneath. Voices carried on the wind. Many voices.
He crouched low, keeping to the shadows.
Ahead stood a wall — tall, rough-hewn logs driven into the earth, bound together with crude rope and rusted nails. Two wooden towers flanked a heavy gate, both manned by lookouts nursing crossbows and boredom in equal measure. The whole structure was primitive, built for function, not form.
Hibana didn't approach the front. Instead, he slipped along the treeline, circling wide until he found a low incline that gave him a clear view inside. He ducked behind a thicket and peered out.
The bandit camp sprawled over ancient ruins — stone foundations long since buried beneath mud and moss. A large wooden lodge stood at the center, surrounded by a scatter of tents and makeshift forges. Fires burned in shallow pits. The clang of tools, the laughter of drunk men, and the bark of commands rang out like a grim chorus.
There were more than a hundred of them. Probably closer to two hundred.
Hibana's stomach turned.
He scanned the camp until his eyes caught movement near the lodge — two figures, deep in conversation. One of them wore battered armor and furs, a cruel glint in his posture Hibana instantly recognized.
That's him. The one who stabbed me.
The other man stood straighter, more composed — dressed in dark leathers, his cloak trimmed with silver thread. He radiated something different. Authority. Calm menace. The kind of danger that didn't need to raise its voice.
Hibana leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. If only I could hear them better…
He closed his eyes, letting the hum of magic stir just beneath his skin. His ears sharpened. The surrounding noise faded until only the two voices reached him — thin, distorted, but clear enough.
"So has the mage said anything yet, Dekar?"
Hibana's breath caught. Dekar. That's his name.
"No, Riven" Dekar replied with a sneer. "He's a stubborn little shit. I figure this one's gonna take some serious persuasion."
There was a pause. Then Riven spoke.
"You have three days. After that... kill him."
The air went still.
Hibana felt a strong weight in his chest.
Solryn's alive… But I only have three days.
He ducked back into cover, breath tight.
Two names now etched into his mind — Dekar, and Riven, the man he answered to.
And neither of them know I'm still alive.
He stared down at his torn cloak, then back toward the glowing campfire ringed with armed killers.
How the hell am I going to rescue him?