The party finally makes it back to Oasis as the sun breaks over the horizon. Tired, exhausted, and smelling like a putrid bog, everyone slowly trudges towards the jailhouse. Dayven is furiously writing in his journal, trying to record as much of the day as he can remember. Three guards greet the party and give them the decency of cleaning their clothes and themselves before being escorted back to the jail cell.

  “Um, would it be alright if I joined them?” Sariel pipes up as the others are manacled and starting to be led away. The guards look back at him in confusion.

  “What?” All of them speak in unison. One steps forward. “Son, these are criminals who are repaying a debt to the city. You were welcome to join them for their community service, but by no means can we throw an innocent man in jail alongside these individuals.”

  “But-”

  “Sariel, it’s fine,” Cinder calls out over his shoulder as he’s led away. “We’ll see you tomorrow for whatever our next job is.” He flashes a toothy grin and a thumbs up before being shoved around a corner at the end of the hall. Click chirps and whistles, and even Val gives a small wave.

  “Don’t worry about us, Sariel,” Eila reassures. “We’ll be alright, get some rest. Like Cinder said, we’ll see you soon.”

  Sariel sighs and watches as his new friends are all escorted away. He quickly turns to one of the guards standing nearby. “What’s their next community service assignment?”

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Sariel leaves the jailhouse, mind buzzing. He’s tired, he’s excited, and most of all…he’s not on his own anymore. Yes, everyone else is locked in a cell, but they’re his friends. That’s more than he could say for himself 24 hours ago.

  He shivers as he walks, the cold morning air piercing through his simple clothes. His breath fogs in front of him. Val was right, it is really cold. I need some heavier clothes. Nostalgia blindsides Sariel. He hasn’t felt a chill like this since…

  Sariel’s 18th birthday. Most of Brighton Village had come to celebrate in the town square, bringing various gifts and food for the party. His parents were milling about, welcoming friends and helping set up various tables.

  Sariel for his part was dressed in his very best: the single set of tan farmer clothes that aren’t stained. He sat with a few friends and his younger siblings, chatting about nothing in particular.

  The first sign something was amiss was the chill on the back of his neck, his breath suddenly visible. The second was the dark cloud quickly approaching the village. The third was the statue of Invictus in the town square glowing and crackling with lightning.

  The monument to the god of storms was made of platinum, placed at the center of the village. Invictus stood on his hind scaly legs, his wings stretched wide. Head tilted back, he looked to the sky. The dragon had long been the god of worship for the small farming town, as he dictated the winds and weather.

  In a booming voice, the statue spoke as the villagers crowded around it. “Sariel, step forward.”

  All eyes were suddenly on him. Sariel shifted uncomfortably, the weight of the stares crushing him. He walked up to the statue, his heart beating fast. As he approached, he felt the pressure in the air change.

  Sariel had always been told that lightning struck his family house on the night of his birth. That his purple skin had turned a pale blue and blonde hair lightened to pure white. But he had always brushed off those stories, never paying them much mind. Tall tales, over exaggerations, he had always thought. Clearly, he was wrong.

  “Sariel, you have been blessed with an extraordinary destiny,” Invictus sounded like thunder rumbling on the horizon. “You shall be my chosen, the one blessed to Weave in my name. My power will give you the strength to overcome any obstacle. You, Sariel, will be the heart of the storm.” Lightning shot down, striking the statue and shaking the ground. “Take this gift and go out into the world. Find companions, and together with them you will save us all.”

  With a flash of light, the voice faded and the dark cloud dissipated. In one of the statue’s clawed hands lay a simple silver ring. Sariel took it, his hands shaking.

  Turning, he saw the villagers staring at him in awe and shock. Murmurs rippled throughout the crowd, slowly growing into loud cheers. “Sariel! Sariel! Sariel! The hero of our village! The Heart of the Storm!” Dread filled Sariel's chest, weighing him down. I don’t want this, he thought as the people he grew up with celebrated.

  Arriving back at the Rustic Dragon, Sariel walks in to see the human bartender from the previous night. He gives Sariel a wave and a smile. Sariel gives a tired smile back, exhaustion catching up to him. All he wants now is a quiet room and a soft bed.

  He heads upstairs, wooden floorboards creaking under his feet. After the bar fight, the bartender was gracious enough to provide Sariel with complimentary room and board. Opening the door, the lodgings are sparse and small. The room can’t be more than a 10’ by 10’ square. But most importantly, it has a bed.

  Sariel flops down, a sigh tumbling out of him. He rolls onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. Invictus, I hope you’re watching, he thinks. And that you’re proud. Sariel takes the silver ring off his right pointer finger and holds it up. If titled just right, the ring shimmers with a faint blue light.

  Eyes heavy, Sariel struggles to keep them open. As they close, a thought crosses his mind. I finally get to be the hero the village thought I was.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Cinder is the first to be awoken by a familiar sound: metal clanking and grunting. The others soon rise as well, and look over at the man formerly known as Dayven.

  “So, have we met you before?” Cinder yawns, stretching his cramped legs.

  “Where the hell am I,” snaps the man.

  “Oh, wonderful. Another friendly one,” Cinder sighs, rolling his eyes. Val quietly watches the man, trying to study his behavior. Where Dayven had a haughty energy about him, this new persona has a more subdued appearance. His shoulders are more slouched, and he constantly is looking around the jail cell to try and get his bearings. He locks eyes with Val.

  “You’re in a jail cell,” she says in a calm and soothing tone. “Mind telling us your name?”

  This man is clearly more high-strung than Dayven was. A sledgehammer isn’t needed, a scalpel is.

  The man swallows, clearly nervous. “My-my name is Minbin. What day is it? How long has it been? Where’s my journal?”

  The party explains everything to Minbin since they met Marko two days ago. Minbin slowly nods, his now jade eyes darting around at everyone as he processes this information. As Val concludes, Minbin scratches his chin.

  “Alright, that all lines up with what I remember. It’s been approximately 4 days since I was last controlling this body, considering none of the other personalities consider shaving their face. Who have you all met so far?”

  “Marko and Dayven,” Rook responds.

  Minbin sighs. “I see. You still haven’t met…him.”

  “Who?” Val asks.

  “Hatir. He’s the last of the Hands. He’s…not like the rest of us. He’s dangerous. Violent. One time Marko awoke to a field full of bodies and a chest full of arrows. He barely survived. Hatir only wrote three words in our journal that day: ‘That was fun’.”

  Val nods, and Eila and Rook exchange a concerned glance. “We’ll keep an eye out for him,” Val says in a measured voice. “For now, can you help explain where you all came from?”

  Minbin swallows and nods. “It’s…an unusual story. I just ask that you keep an open mind.”

  Minbin awoke with a gasp, clutching at his chest. He was in a wide open field under a clear blue sky. Looking around, he realized he was wearing ragged and torn farmers’ clothes. They were splattered in blood, but Minbin didn’t see any injuries. Not his blood. A leatherbound journal was clutched in his hand.

  “Wh-what’s going on?” Minbin gasped. The last thing he remembered was being wielded by Naftir, his god. He was a weapon, to be used by Naftir in his never ending war across existence. Then excruciating pain, and a sense of being torn from Naftir’s hand. Then…this.

  Minbin sat up and opened the journal. The handwriting was rough and jagged, a dark crimson. Written in blood, it read the following:

  ‘To whichever Hand is reading this,

  We have somehow been brought to the Mortal Plane. My name is Hatir, and I believe we were abducted. Unfortunately, our captors were…uncooperative and had to be dealt with. Their hideout is located to the west if you wish to go witness my handiwork. I ensured our safety, and will continue to do so until I have a way to rip each and every one of you out of this body. I alone will be the one to present this body to Majesty, and the rest of you are a hindrance. No one will stand in the way of my ascension to First Hand.’

  Minbin sighed heavily. Each of the weapons of Naftir had a single aspiration: become the First Hand. This title is given to the leading weapon Naftir swings in battle, the honor of first blood. If he wasn’t the only one in this body…

  “Well this certainly complicates things,” he muttered. He stood, stretching his sore body. With a flick of his wrist, a silver club appeared in his left hand. It was studded with hexagonal metal along the top, lightning crackling off of it. Well, at least I can manifest myself.

  Feeling more reassured now, he headed off to inspect Hatir’s “handiwork”. After a few hours of hiking, Minbin found a small cave carved into the side of a mountain. Following the path inside, his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. As they did, more and more of the carnage became visible.The walls were painted red, with dismembered corpses and limbs strewn everywhere. The worst part was the stench. It took everything Minbin had to not puke.

  Following various passageways through this strange hideout, Minbin found a deep interior chamber. There, a stone altar was placed in the middle of the room and several runes were carved around it. Minbin recognized one of them: Naftir’s insignia, a circle of blades. Another one was directly across from it on the other side of the altar, but it was unfamiliar to him.

  It hit Minbin all at once. “This is where I was summoned. This is where we were stolen to, out of Majesty’s outstretched hands.” The air crackled around him, his anger filling the room. “This…this is where I had my fate stolen from me!”

  After a moment, Minbin calmed himself. This was no place for rage, Hatir had clearly seen to that. He began to look around the large room. Maybe there was a clue here about how to reverse this, how to return to Majesty’s side.

  After investigating, Minbin found a letter mentioning a meeting in Oasis. Apparently these corpses once were cultists of Naftir, following his doctrine of war and bloodshed. They had been attempting to summon a Hand of Naftir into the body of one of their members through an ancient ritual. The hope was that this Hand would help lead them on a holy crusade across Solidus. Unfortunately these cultists were not Weavers by nature, and had no idea what they were doing. That’s how Minbin came to share a body with Hatir, and maybe even more.

  Minbin shook his head. “Amateurs,” he muttered. But at least he now had a destination: Oasis, wherever that was. After searching through more of the hideout, Minbin found several maps of both the region and Solidus. He currently was located in the southern half of the kingdom, and Oasis was far to the north. This would take time.

  But at least he had a lead. And so Minbin and the rest of the Hands headed out, hoping for answers and a way home.

  -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  “We arrived in Oasis about a week ago,” Minbin says, concluding his story. “We all took turns searching, but none of us found any leads on this cult. Marko was tasked with doing one more stop-in at the tavern before heading out of town. We had heard there were possibly some strange undead going-ons near the capitol that might be related to Majesty. Then, I assume he saw your tussle,” he gestures towards Cinder and Rook, “and just had to step in. The heroic moron he is.”

  The cell is quiet as everyone processes what Minbin told them. “Well I can confidently say I’ve never heard anything like that before,” Cinder says, finally breaking the silence.

  “How long has it been since you started your journey north?” Val asks.

  “By my estimations, nearly 5 months.”

  Val nods, deep in thought. The rest of the group also falls quiet again. The awkward silence is broken by the jingling of keys.

  “Morning, guys!” Sariel is beaming. He’s sporting a new brown and grey fur-lined cloak. Clearly he took Val’s observation about being poorly dressed to heart. The guards unlock the cell and free the group from their manacles. Rook rubs his wrists, the manacles here aren’t built for those of his size.

  “So, what’s the next job?” Cinder asks.

  “Lawmaster Threefa has all of the details,” an elven guard responds in a gruff tone.

  The party is escorted back to the same room as before. Threefa once again is already seated, shuffling through papers. Looking up, she gives a curt nod to everyone.

  “Good morning. The town of Oasis thanks you for your service in securing the safety of our trading route through the Iron Pass.” Threefa gathers a handful of documents and looks through them.

  “For your next task, you will be heading into the sewers. We’ve received dozens of reports in the last few weeks from our southern district about some strange noises coming from drainage grates. Growling and splashing around. We believe it to be a leviathan of some kind.”

  Val nods. She is very familiar with leviathans. They are long serpentine creatures known for being generally harmless, despite their large size. They take to living in sewers fairly frequently, as they are usually free from predators.

  “We request that you all assist in the location of and removal of this leviathan. We don’t want it to build a nest that blocks up the sewers,” Threefa concludes. “Any questions?”

  After a moment of silence, Threefa claps her hands together. “Good! Two of the guards will escort you to the southern district where the leviathan is thought to be located and guide you through the sewers.”

  As the group files out of the courtroom, Val and Click notice Cinder is muttering under his breath.

  A tap on the shoulder and a chirp.

  Cinder looks down at his friend and his intense glare softens. “I’m all good, buddy. I just…am not a fan of water.”

  Val snorts quietly, and Cinder whips his head around. “I HEARD THAT,” he yells. Val breaks out in full laughter, and Cinder can’t help but chuckle. Soon enough the entire group is laughing as they head out towards the sewers. Blissfully unaware of the danger awaiting them.