“And when it comes to the First Generation… I’m glad they’re gone. They were like brothers and fathers to all of us, but such monstrous strength as theirs was definitely dangerous. They could take hundreds of lightning bolts or fireballs and heal themselves within seconds, especially our the Firstborn. I’ve personally seen two of them fight for hours and exchange blows that could devastate buildings. Both of them walked out of it unscathed and only covered in light sweat… We all feared them back then, didn’t we?”

The last lines of a letter written by Rehlin the Seventhborn and sent to a member of the council of Elder Changelings

***

The Great Master of the Assassins’ Guild in Tarha-Nan nervously paced across his spacious chambers and waited for the arrival of any news. Of course, the Thirdborn could show up instead of his men and just knock on the door. Or burn it to ashes, rather.

The outcome of the assassination attempt was unknown for the Master, but he suspected the worst. His troops went in the mansion occupied by Farnaraen around dusk. Reinforcements were called almost immediately, and until midnight every last elite killer in Tarha-Nan was tasked with slaying the Changeling. The Master waited and tried to contact his forces frequently, but he was met with silence after the new day began. Now dawn was covering the windows of his secret residence with golden light, but his men were still quiet. Dead, probably.

If almost five hundred men, highly trained in the art of murder, couldn’t deal with Farnaraen, who could? A whole damned army? The Great Master doubted it.

Was this the power of the old sorcerers from the Inner Fantasy? It was nearly unimaginable. Most of the men tasked with the kill wore a special kind of amulet that was both incredibly expensive and hard to find. It prevented most forms of magic from even touching the wielder. In the best case, Farnaraen would be left with only his physical might alone and the chance to manipulate the environment. The Great Master thought that would be enough for his men to deal at least one fatal strike. Was he wrong?

The skilled assassin – he had killed hundreds in his lifetime, innocent and guilty alike, and always strong… That same man closed his eyes and prayed to the Crescent Master that his plan would turn out to be successful.

Outside the sun rose, indifferent to the problems of mortal men, and its light cleared away most of the shadows that embraced Tarha-Nan.

***

He arrived in a quiet, almost gentle way, without flames, screams or lightning. The door turned to sand under his magical touch, and he stepped inside without hurrying.

The Thirdborn’s body had changed, probably under the effect of his own mysterious spells. His bulging muscles had torn parts of his clothes apart and seemed unnatural, covered in countless veins. His expression was calm and collected, and there was no aggression in his violet eyes. Yet, his fists were soaked in blood.

“I greet you, Great Master.” A slight smile danced upon the Changeling’s face, making him look even more beautiful than he already was. “Why are you looking so pale?”

The guild leader tried to disguise his terror, but failed in a miserable way. One question haunted his mind, it burned inside his skull with an unnatural flame. It was stupid, and yet he had to ask it.

“H-how did you do it?”

Farnaraen smirked sadly and shrugged his shoulder before his expression turned to a serious, stone-like one.

„I don’t like to kill people, honorable Master.” The Changeling shook his head as if to confirm the words. “And your people definitely didn’t deserve such type of… bleak death, if this is the correct term to use. Bashing their heads in, breaking skulls, ribs, using only immense physical might to kill… Even I found it to be gruesome, but my usual magic didn’t seem to work. And my Manipulation… It’s a little bit too grandiose to be used in such a small scale encounter. Can you tell me why you organised this ordeal, my dear friend?”

The Great Master began shivering without even noticing it. He tried to control himself, but his body just refused to stop. Was this the work of the sorcerer, too?

“I’m waiting for your answer, honorable Master. If you answer truthfully, perhaps you can go on with your life for another decade or two.”

It took some time for the guild leader to find his voice and begin talking in a weak, fading manner, but the Thirdborn proved to be patient.

“You… were too much of a threat. Your actions were too bold. And…” he managed to look straight at the Changeling’s eyes just for a split second. “Although I’m just probably just a mere thug in your eyes, I’m still loyal to Tarha-Nan. And to the union of city states. And… to the High Sovereign, believe it or not.” He went quiet for a second. “You wanted to usurp his throne, didn’t you?”

“Yes”, the mage uttered while nodding slowly. “But I didn’t want to kill him, per se. My wish is to command the monarch… I wouldn’t slay him if he resisted, I’d just use his body as a puppet. It is necessary to have him as my servant, in any case.”

“And why… why is it necessary? Because you’re power-hungry?” A spark of confidence crept up within the Great Master and made his words bolder. His gaze sharpened and anger filled the watery azure of his eyes.

“I assure you, my honorable Master… I’m everything but power-hungry.” The Thirdborn looked like his mind was somewhere far away. His bulging muscles were quietly devolving into their usual state which was still impressive but not inhuman. “If I could, I would just wander off into the wilderness from which I came with the hope that I’ll never again see the face of a human. I don’t care about politics, about wars, about authority and especially about magic. But…”

“But what?”

“The visions… The future seemed too bleak for me to just live in exile and watch how the lands whose history I shaped just plunge into devastating conflict.”

The Great Master blinked in confusion. What was the Changeling blabbering about? The future? Visions? There was no magic that could let the user see the flow of fate, as far as he knew…

“What do you mean?”

“I have seen what is coming.” Farnaraen’s eyes suddenly looked like those of a madman, but quickly returned to normal. “I’m the only one that can understand the visions. And I must stop them. I’m… I’m actually willing to give my own life for that.”

For a moment the Changeling seemed mortal and human down to his very core, with a sad, nostalgia-filled expression. Then he smiled again and the quiet, strange happiness emerged in his eyes. Like he hadn’t just vaguely described some gargantuan war...

“I have to go, honorable Master. I shall give you a friendly bit of advice, okay? I recommend following it.” The smile on his face became visibly cheerful. “Never cross my path again, you hear? Your guild is practically annihilated, your forces are reduced to a bunch of corpses… You have no means of opposing me. Not you, nor your puny king or the High Sovereign himself. You will hear my orders and obey them. Do you understand?"

The Great Master collected all of his bravery and sharply eyed the Thirdborn.

"I will not obey you."

"Well then... I told you to follow the advice."

***

In the days after his meeting with the leader of the Assassin's Guild Farnaraen often thought about the man. He was strong-willed, if anything. He lost an eye and a leg because of that very will. In fact, the Thirdborn was responsible for the lost body parts. At least the Master was obedient now, after being crippled.

The Thirdborn definitely liked him.