The base of the bandits wasn't far now.
Hibana crept forward through the underbrush, each step slow and deliberate. He stayed low, ears open, heart tight. Just past the tree line, smoke curled upward through the branches — firelight flickering like breath against the walls of the ancient ruins.
He crouched near the roots of an old tree and watched the shapes move in the distance. Shadows. Campfires. Voices.
"I need to figure out how to get in there without being seen," he muttered. "I need to at least know what they have planned for Solryn. But how…?"
His eyes dropped to the ground.
A pair of squirrels darted across the forest floor ahead of him, scrambling up a tree trunk with effortless grace. One paused near a knot in the bark, holding something in its tiny paws. It gnawed contentedly, watching him as if he were the oddity here.
"True Polymorph," Hibana whispered, eyes widening. "I could use it to change into a squirrel."
He paused, breath held. His mind raced. He had used the spell before — to become a human, and once, briefly, a bush. That was camouflage, instinct, reaction.
But this would be something new. Something deliberate.
And something… small.
Hibana hesitated. Becoming human was easy. Natural, even. That form reminded him of Tetsuo — who he had been. Who, somewhere deep inside, he still believed he was.
It was his safe shape. The one that made him feel real.
But that form wouldn't help him now. Not here.
He needed to become something else.
He focused on the squirrels — on their quickness, their size, the curve of their limbs. The twitch of their little hands against their mouths. The way their fur caught the wind and vanished into bark.
He called upon the spell, summoning the magic as he had so many times before. He reached into himself — to that strange space where his body remembered how to become other.
And… nothing.
The spell didn't snap into place. It didn't even shimmer. The magic refused him. Slipped through his grasp like water over glass.
He tried again — more focus, more force.
Still nothing.
He collapsed back on his heels, breathing hard, sweat beading at his temples.
"Why didn't it work?"
The squirrels were still there, unbothered, still chewing.
He could become a human. A bush. But a squirrel — a harmless, simple creature — was impossible?
"It's not just about seeing them," he muttered. "It's not even about wanting it…"
His stomach tightened. Something cold settled into his chest.
He had never asked how True Polymorph worked.
Because part of him didn't want to know.
He only ever changed into a human because it felt like returning. Like finding his reflection. But what if that reflection wasn't truth — just a memory?
"I can't stay him forever," he whispered. "Can I…?"
The wind rustled the trees. The squirrels vanished higher into the canopy, uninterested.
And for the first time, Hibana felt truly alone — not as a person in hiding…
…but as a creature no longer sure what it was.
Hibana took a breath.
"If I can't become something small, maybe I should start with something familiar."
His mind turned to the Lizardfolk. He'd never tried to become one — never needed to. But now seemed like the perfect time.
He thought of Zerrusha — his stance, his scent, the weight of his strikes. The hiss of his voice. The taste of his blood when they fought. It was all still there, somewhere in Hibana's memory. Not just as thoughts, but as impressions. Sensations that had clung to his scales like smoke.
And the magic responded.
It surged through him — not like casting a spell, but like flexing a muscle he hadn't known was waiting.
His form began to shift.
His wings folded inward, then vanished. His body compacted, spine shortening, bones realigning with a sickening series of pops. Claws retracted slightly. Horns dulled. Muscles rewrapped themselves around a new frame.
He shrank, not just in size — but in posture, in presence.
Dragon became Lizardman.
The copper color of his scales remained, but the texture changed — tighter, denser. More earthbound. Less regal.
He looked down at his hands. Long, clawed fingers. Broad arms. A thick tail behind him, twitching with balance he hadn't earned yet.
He stood upright, experimentally.
"Sssshaaa! Sssloaaarrr!"
The words came out warped. Too many hisses, too much tongue. His throat wasn't made for this — not yet. It reminded him of his first days as a baby, when speech was a wall and every word scraped the back of his mouth.
"Rhuh… Rhugh… Right!"
He laughed — a dry, scaly rasp. He caught on much quicker this time.
"I cannn get ussssed to thissss…"
He grinned and flexed one muscular arm, feeling the raw strength in it. The form was powerful. Not elegant like his dragon shape, but useful. Grounded. Real.
Then, satisfied, he let the spell go.
In a breath, his body expanded back into its true form — wings unfurling, tail elongating, copper scales returning to their familiar pattern.
He blinked.
"Seeing through those eyes…" he muttered. "They can't see half the colors I can. But their depth perception was ridiculous."
He turned to the tree again — the squirrel had vanished.
"Alright," he said, narrowing his eyes. "Let's try something smaller."
"Kobold."
He thought of Dundru — not the youngest, but the oldest. Their chief. The one who spoke little but watched everything. Beneath his playful bark was an ancient wisdom — the kind that wore joy like a mask and dignity like a spine. For over a month he had watched this tiny people Though they looked like children, they held within them a quiet dignity he could admire.
Hibana called upon the magic.
This time, he felt it. It was there — but hesitant. Not like the human. Not like the Lizardfolk. Not even like the bush.
It came reluctantly, like something borrowed, not given.
His body pulled inward. Spine curled. Limbs shrank. The forest floor rose up to meet his eyes.
He looked down at bright orange scales, the same color as his hair in human form.
"Whagh!"
The world bloomed too bright. Too close. Too loud. The kobold senses were eager, and everything they touched became a spark.
He tried to speak.
"I... ammm... Hihhh... Hiiighhh... Hib ah nuuhh… Hibana!"
Thoughts raced. Curiosity nipped at his heels. He wanted to eat, explore, climb, run — all at once.
And yet… somewhere beneath all that chaos was a stillness. A clarity. Something of Dundru lingered in the shape.
Not ownership. Not identity.
But permission.
Hibana quickly came to his senses. The wild curiosity faded, and the storm of childish thoughts fell quiet.
He nodded in approval and let the spell go.
In a breath, he returned to his true form — wings stretching, spine lengthening, tail uncurling beneath him.
"Well… size isn't an issue," he muttered. That much was clear.
He stood still for a moment, catching his breath.
Then his thoughts turned to the goblins.
To Goroh.To Grek.
Especially Grek — the first friend he'd ever made in this world.The one who had saved him from the snow. Who had driven off the beast that nearly devoured him.Who had laughed with him. Walked beside him. Taught him how to live here, even when Hibana barely knew how to breathe.
He focused on the memory. On Grek's eyes. His posture. The way he looked when he sharpened sticks near the fire.The rhythm of the goblin camp — weaving, hunting, building.He called upon the magic.
And it answered.
But not with acceptance.
His body began to twist — the start of transformation. His muscles shivered. His bones strained.
But the form… wouldn't take.
The magic stuttered.
Collapsed.
He tried again. Harder.The same response — a partial shift. Painful. Rejected.
"What—?"
He staggered back, breath shaking, his claws sinking into the dirt.
He waited for frustration.
But it didn't come.
Instead… there was wonder.
"Why?" he whispered. "Why can't I become a goblin?"
He stared into the trees, heart pounding.
"What is it about that form that's different from all the others?""Why was a human so easy?""Why was that the first shape I ever took… without even trying?"
The wind stirred, but offered no answer.
Hibana sat back on his haunches, breath slowing, mind racing.
He thought of his journey.
Of meeting Tsu, fierce and watchful, her blade always half-drawn. Of Solryn, full of questions and reckless certainty. He thought of the day he saved Tsu — the chaos, the blur of blades, the moment he lunged without hesitation.
He remembered the cowardly warrior who had almost killed Tsu.
The clash of steel. The look in the man's eyes. The taste of blood in his mouth as he tore him down.
"...Blood."
The word surfaced like something ancient.
Then came another memory — the battle with Zerrusha. The strikes. The roars. The crack of bone.The blood again. Familiar. Tangible. Searing.
"Could that really be the reason?""If I taste their blood… I can become them?"
He shook his head, dismissing the idea momentarily as he considered it more.
"But the kobolds… I've never fought them. Never spilled their blood."
And yet the spell had worked. Uneven. Slippery. Strange.
It wasn't comfortable like the human form.It wasn't instinctual like the Lizardman.But it had happened.
"And the goblins…" he whispered. "I couldn't make it work. But I was so close."
The realization struck like thunder through his spine.
"That's it!"
He stood, the wind pressing against him, eyes wide with awe — and something colder underneath.
"It's not just blood. It's time. Contact. Essence.""When I'm around them long enough, I absorb something — like I'm soaking them into my bones."
His magic wasn't imitation. It wasn't disguise.
It was consumption. Communion. Memory.
But even as that truth bloomed inside him, it withered at the edges.
"But I was around the goblins just as much as the kobolds," he muttered. "And it still failed."
His jaw tightened. The campfire smoke curled in the distance, reminding him of time slipping away.
"And Solryn doesn't have a month."
He looked up into the branches.
"I don't have time to become a squirrel."
Hibana looked up.
One of the squirrels was perched on a high branch, watching him with innocent, curious eyes.
"I'm sorry, little one," he whispered. "Innocent creature… I hope this isn't in vain."
He raised one clawed hand and summoned a small flame — just enough MP to shape a fireball the size of his palm. The spell hovered for a breath… then flew.
The squirrel wasn't fast enough.
It fell from the branch with a thud, hitting the ground in a soft twitching heap.
Hibana stepped forward, his heart heavy, his throat dry.
He knelt and picked up the tiny body. It was still warm. Still shivering.
He hesitated.
"I don't want to do this…"
But he knew the truth now.
If he wanted the form, he had to claim it.
He gagged as he brought the squirrel to his mouth. The fur brushed his lips. The taste was wild — earthy and bitter.
And then he bit down.
The tiny body tore open. Blood and warmth flooded his tongue. His stomach rolled, his eyes watered, and for a moment he nearly retched — but he forced himself to swallow.
This is what it means to take the form.
And just like that — he felt it.
That same pull. That same sensation that had accompanied every successful transformation. That moment where something foreign became familiar. Where someone else's being became his.
He focused.
And the magic answered.
His body shrank — rapidly, violently. The trees stretched impossibly tall. The sky widened. His vision narrowed. His limbs pulled inward, condensed. Fur sprouted. His tail exploded in volume.
He landed softly in the grass, barely making a sound.
He was a squirrel.
Small. Quick. Eyes darting. Heart pounding.
Every sense felt alien — sounds became crashes, shadows became threats. His breath came fast. But he held steady.
"I'm sorry again, little one," he said quietly, the words trembling in his mind. "But I will never forget you."
He didn't feel triumphant.
He felt changed.