Darin sat on an overturned supply crate near the edge of the war camp, elbows resting on his knees, trying his best to not look completely overwhelmed.

He failed spectacularly.

Across from him knelt the Gallikarn elder, still partially dirt-stained from all the head-slamming earlier—and to his right, the Cyclops now sat cross-legged like a polite boulder. Behind them, Steve was flopped in a nap-puddle and Grumble still hadn't left the Cyclops's head. At this point, Darin was starting to suspect the beast had adopted it.

"Alright," Darin said with a long sigh. "Let's start simple. Elder—uh, what was your name again?"

The elder, still kneeling, blinked and straightened a bit.

"I am Murgan, Warden of Lore. Voice of the Stone Shrines. Keeper of the Dust-Parchments. Deliverer of the—"

"Okay, okay, just Murgan's fine," Darin interrupted quickly. "Let's get to it. What exactly has been happening with your people?"

Murgan bowed again before speaking. "For the last two months, our southern mountain borders have been attacked. Not by raiders or wild beasts, but by something... organized. Shadowy. They kill silently, move in packs, and bear markings of ancient design—symbols only described in forbidden texts."

He paused.

"Symbols from the Overlord's Legion."

Darin winced.

Vincent, sitting nearby with a cup of whatever strong brew passed for courage these days, gave a low whistle. "Well that's ominous."

Darin rubbed his face. "You're telling me someone out there is… impersonating my ancient self's army?"

Murgan nodded. "They come in waves. They do not take territory. They only destroy. Villages, temples, elder archives. We've tried parley. No answer. We've tried defending. We lost entire tribes."

"Do you think it's... actually remnants of the old Legion?" Darin asked quietly.

"I do not know," Murgan admitted. "But we heard the prophecy. The stars told us that when the false shadow rises, the true one will return to restore balance. So we watched. Waited. And now… you are here."

Darin pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't like being in prophecies. Nothing good ever comes out of it."

The Overlord chuckled in his head. "Oh, but the drama is so satisfying. I always preferred prophecy over subtle manipulation. It's much more theatrical."

Darin ignored him and turned to the Cyclops next.

The massive one-eyed creature looked at him with something that might have been reverence or just really intense staring.

"You," Darin said. "What's your name?"

The Cyclops tilted his head thoughtfully.

"…Grull."

"Well, Grull," Darin continued, "how long have you been out here, and what were you doing before we met?"

"Waiting," Grull said simply. "For you. Always waiting. The earth told me your steps would come. The mountain whispered your return."

Vincent leaned toward Alvin and whispered, "Okay, this guy is one campfire story away from becoming a cult founder."

Grull didn't seem to notice. Or care.

"My kin were scattered. Fled. Many joined the deeper wilds. But I stayed. The spirits said the Overlord would walk again. When your shadow returned, I followed the scent."

"The scent?" Darin repeated with a grimace.

"Your essence," Grull clarified. "It's… strong. Like dark iron and old magic. The same scent the shrines used to bleed."

Vincent raised his cup again. "That's a very specific description."

Then—

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

A piercing scream echoed through the camp from a nearby tent.

Everyone turned.

Another scream followed.

This one had a wobble to it. Like the source was screaming while dangling upside down from something spiky and possibly on fire.

Then—

"STOP! I'LL TALK! I'LL—AAAAAAAAAHHHH—MY TOES!!!"

A beat.

And then—

Laughter.

Not just any laugh.

It was elegant. Refined.

And completely terrifying.

Darin froze.

"…Was that…?"

Vincent stood up straight. "Yep. That was her."

Alvin, arms crossed nearby, raised an eyebrow. "She's laughing?"

"I think so," Vincent said, his grin widening.

He turned to Darin, stunned into silence, and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"That's the first time I've heard the Sorceress laugh. And I think I just wet myself."

Another scream echoed, this one cut short with a sound that might have been a magical ice spike slapping flesh.

Darin stood slowly.

"…We should probably go check on that."

Vincent shrugged. "Why ruin a good time? She's finally smiling."

Alvin rolled his eyes. "If by smiling you mean making Oni scream like opera singers."

Grull tilted his head. "The fire-woman is strong. She has the scent of old blood."

"Great," Darin muttered. "Even the Cyclops is into poetic murder descriptions."

Murgan was too busy praying.

Steve was still napping.

Grumble, who had wandered back to Darin's shoulder without anyone noticing, gave a slow yawn and resumed his loaf position like this was all perfectly normal.

Darin walked toward the tent, muttering, "I swear, one day without some eldritch monster, prophecy, or cult…"

As he neared the tent, another voice called out inside.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE SCARRED FLAMES HAS RETURNED?!"

Silence.

Then a whisper.

Then another fireball exploded out of the tent's flap and soared over the trees, scorching a flock of birds that dared be too close.

Darin turned around.

Walked away.

"Nope. Not touching that."

Vincent leaned casually against a crate. "You know, I used to think having her around would be all doom and gloom. But this? This is entertainment."

Alvin rubbed his temples. "This is warcrime-adjacent."

"Details."

Darin took a breath and looked back at Murgan and Grull.

"Well," he said slowly, "at least we know one thing."

Murgan tilted his head. "What is that, my Lord?"

Darin smirked faintly. Enjoy the story by reading on M|V|LE%MPYR.

"She's feeling better."

'…'

'…'

Darin sat back down with a heavy sigh, looking between Murgan and Grull again as the eighth scream rang out—cutting off in a wet squelch followed by some clinking glass and the unmistakable sound of a healing potion being casually tossed over a shoulder.

"…I'm glad she's on our side," Darin muttered.

Vincent nodded gravely. "There are fates worse than death. One of them is being interrogated by a woman who knows how to manipulate fire on an atomic level and hasn't had a real laugh in decades."

Grull gave a low grunt. "She enjoys pain."

"No, no," Vincent corrected. "She enjoys justified pain. Big difference."

Alvin returned from checking the perimeter, flicking blood off his blade. "The other Oni is unconscious. We'll get answers once they're both breathing and missing a few layers of pride."

Darin ran a hand through his hair. "If this 'false shadow' army really is acting under the guise of the old Overlord's legion, then we've got more problems than just a war brewing."

Vincent tilted his cup in a salute. "Hey, if they're impersonating you, it means you're officially famous again."

"Great," Darin muttered. "I can't wait to find out what crimes I'm being blamed for next."