Darin ran.

Not the dignified, powerful sprint of a dark overlord reclaiming his empire—no, it was more of a flailing, gasping stumbling on chickens, the kind of run someone does when they step on a stray nail but don't want to stop moving.

His travel sack bounced against his back as he tore through the quiet outskirts of the village, boots crunching on damp grass. The sun hadn't even begun to rise yet, and most of the town was still asleep, which meant this was his chance. He just had to make it to the tree line. Just a few more steps, and he'd be free.

No more kneeling cultists. No more chanting. No more "All hail the Dark Lord" before breakfast.

Just sweet, blissful anonymity.

Then, right as he reached the treeline, a voice called out behind him.

"My lord! Please wait!"

Darin skidded to a stop so fast he nearly dislocated a knee. Every fiber of his being told him to keep running, but he knew that voice.

Slowly, painfully, he turned his head.

The stranger, the same lunatic who had started all of this, was standing not ten feet behind him, hands clasped in utter devotion, eyes filled with what Darin could only describe as dangerously unshakable faith.

Darin forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. "Ah. You. Hi. Why are you here?"

The man beamed. "To accompany you on your grand journey, of course!"

Darin let out a slow, measured exhale. "Okay. Let's clarify something. I was not going on a grand journey. I was running away."

The stranger nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! And what a brilliant strategy it was! Truly, only a mind as cunning as yours would feign retreat to lull your enemies into a false sense of security."

Darin opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Okay," he said finally. "Let's pretend, for just a second, that I'm not an all-powerful overlord but just a normal guy who wants to leave quietly. Would you let me go?"

The stranger's expression turned deeply apologetic. "Alas, my lord, I cannot. The prophecy dictates that I must stand by your side until the day of reckoning." Рubliсаtiоn соurtеsy оf М|V|LЕ-МРYR.

Darin groaned. "You people and your prophecies."

At that moment, another voice rang out from the village.

"HE'S ESCAPING!"

Darin's entire body went rigid.

Oh no.

Within seconds, the peaceful morning air was shattered by the sound of doors slamming open, hurried footsteps, and the unmistakable cacophony of villagers scrambling to intercept him.

"Find the Dark Lord!"

"He must not leave us!"

"The Trial of Shadows has bound him to our fate!"

Darin turned back to the stranger. "Why do you have to tell them?"

The man bowed. "Of course, my lord! Your followers would be devastated if you left without their blessing."

Darin clenched his fists. "I was counting on that."

With no other options, he spun on his heel and bolted into the trees.

Branches smacked against his face as he tore through the underbrush, his breath coming in short, frantic gasps. Behind him, the sounds of pursuit grew louder.

How? How did a random village full of farmers, old women, and amateur cultists move so fast?

Darin risked a glance over his shoulder, and immediately regretted it.

A dozen people had already made it past the treeline, fanning out in a disturbingly organized search pattern. Greta, the elderly village matriarch, had taken charge, her cane raised like a general rallying her troops.

"Fan out!" she barked. "Cut off his escape!"

Darin cursed. "You're seventy-three! How are you running?!"

Greta, who had somehow climbed onto a horse, merely squinted at him with the cold, unfeeling eyes of a woman who had seen many winters and would not hesitate to make Darin's life hell for fifty more.

He ducked behind a fallen log and pressed himself flat against the ground, heart hammering.

Okay. Okay. Think.

He could still make it out of this. He just had to be smart. He had to—

"Ah! There you are, my lord!"

Darin slapped a hand over his own mouth to muffle the scream building in his throat.

The stranger had somehow materialized right next to him, crouched beside the log like they were two soldiers hiding from enemy forces. His eyes shone with admiration.

"What a masterful use of natural cover!" the man whispered. "I never would have thought to hide like this."

Darin grabbed him by the collar. "I. Am. Not. Hiding. Like. This. On. Purpose."

The stranger merely nodded. "A deception so perfect, even your own allies are fooled."

Darin was starting to see red.

He was going to die. Not by a sword. Not by magic. Not even by some legendary hero.

He was going to die from sheer frustration.

Realizing that running wasn't an option, Darin pivoted to the next best plan: disguise.

He grabbed a tattered old cloak hanging from a tree branch (probably abandoned by some poor traveler who had given up on life) and threw it over himself. Then he pulled the hood low over his face and hunched over like an old beggar.

The stranger watched in fascination.

"Incredible," he murmured. "To think the great Overlord would humble himself with such a disguise. No one will suspect a thing."

"Exactly," Darin said through clenched teeth.

Unfortunately, this disguise lasted exactly five minutes.

"Hey! That beggar looks just like the Dark Lord!"

Darin immediately turned on the stranger. "YOU JINXED IT."

The villagers descended.

Darin had just enough time to mutter a heartfelt "I hate everything" before he was hoisted into the air and carried back toward the village like some victorious war trophy.

*****

Back in the village square, Darin was unceremoniously dumped onto the ground. He barely had time to groan before Greta loomed over him.

"Did you really think you could abandon your people, my lord?" she scolded.

"Yes," Darin said flatly.

Before she could respond, there was a new commotion at the village gates. The gathered crowd turned just in time to see a figure appear on horseback, a warrior clad in gleaming silver armor, a flowing cape billowing behind him.

Darin sighed. Oh great. Another lunatic.

The knight dismounted with a dramatic flourish. "So. The rumors were true."

Darin pushed himself upright. "Okay, which faction do you belong to? Heroes, cultists, political schemers, or just your average moron?"

The knight ignored him and turned to the crowd. "People of this village! Do not be deceived! The man before you is no savior, he is a harbinger of doom!"

The villagers gasped. Greta scoffed. "And who are you to say such things?"

The knight drew his sword and pointed it at Darin. "I am Sir Roland, sworn defender of the realm! And I shall strike down the Dark Lord before his reign of terror begins!"

Darin's face twitched.

Greta folded her arms. "Reign of terror? He couldn't even successfully leave town."

Sir Roland hesitated. "…That is clearly part of his deception."

Darin buried his face in his hands.

This was his life now.

It was all downhill from here.