And suddenly, Don jolted awake, interrupted by a bucket of water thrown in his face. His vision blurred between confusion and the blinding sunlight, which faintly illuminated his body. He noticed the imposing figure of his master, Max—scar-riddled and draped in an enormous cloak made of dragon and chimera hide—dressed elegantly and clutching his staff, staring at Don with such indifference it bordered on anger. The Owl, an elderly man, lived with his wife Helena, an ordinary human, in the peaceful 339-person village of Duncaster, southeast of Glimmetropolis.
Max: "Wake up, damn it!! I've never seen a lazier kid than you. And I've put up with you for years!"
Don jerked his head around, disoriented, until he saw Max and pieced it all together. He scrambled to his feet.
Max: "I taught you discipline, boy. No one in my house sleeps like a deadbeat past 6 AM."
Helena, still drowsy, stepped outside and stole the spotlight with her greasy face and messy hair. She looked older than her husband—Max appeared 40, while Helena, nearing 81, seemed 70. She glanced at Max first, then scolded Don. Ignoring them both, she chirped innocently:
Helena: "Morning, sweetheart. Everything okay?"
Max: "Quit gawking, boy," he barked, pointing to the field behind the house—a gift from Count Richard Choiniere after the war against the Impure, a conflict whose consequences humans still don't grasp. "The crops won't tend themselves. The crows destroyed the scarecrow. Fix it. Now."
Don: "Yes, sir! On it!" he said eagerly.
Max: "Then why are you still here?! Move!" He whacked Don's backside with his staff, sending him yelping into a sprint.
As Don stepped into the sunlight, Max struck his feet with the staff, tripping him violently. Don demanded an explanation.
Max: "Idiot!" he spat, owl-like eyes piercing Don. "Mirror!" A circle materialized in front of Don, molecules coalescing into a reflective surface that revealed his glowing red eyes—piercing and unnatural.
Don: "Oh… that? It's just…"
Max: "Don't play dumb. It's dangerous to go out like this… Reckless fool. You know the stakes."
In a flash, Don remembered:
15-year-old Don: "Master, what are you doing?"
Back then, Max looked younger, though his permanently furious glare never changed—even as he peeled vegetables or trained Don daily.
Max: "Listen, boy. Remember your roots. You come from Glimmeria's old dominion. Your blood… is Supaibi blood. That's reason enough for Glimmeria's new kingdom to torture you for months, experimenting on you like a rat."
Helena: "Max, please! He's too young for this!"
Max (grimly): "He'll need to face it if he wants to survive humans."
Young Don: "So… humans are the bad guys?"
No answer came. As Max brewed a potion…
Young Don: "Grandma isn't bad, right? Master…?"
Max stiffened, exchanging uneasy glances with Helena.
Max (quickly): "Your grandmother's an exception. But remember: Trust is earned… not bought. Don't trust even your shadow. Understood?"
Young Don: "Yes, sir," he muttered, avoiding Max's icy stare.
Max: "Now drink this."
Don (present): "Well… I ran out of potions, and the effects don't last long anyway."
Max: "Doubt it. I've worked on a better disguise. Double chores today." He tossed Don two vials. "Drink."
Don obeyed. Instantly, his tail, glowing veins, and radiant eyes vanished. His hair turned red, and his eyes dulled to a muted crimson. He touched his face—the thick veins around his eyes were gone. Now human-looking, he sighed in relief, free from fear of Montesis Kingdom's hunters.
Don: "Heading to the field now," he said with a half-smile. Max stared back, silent as ever.
[Don's Perspective (1st Person)]
As I searched for the scarecrow in the wheat field, I thought: Guess Master's always gonna be a brick wall. I've been here over 20 years. He says no one can know my real age. Won't admit it, but he hates humans—ironic, since he married one…
A bird suddenly pooped on my shoulder. Perfect.
I found the scarecrow, its ether core destroyed—as if eaten. Even the blue metal was damaged. Weird. I pocketed the wrecked core. Master'll figure this out. Gotta buy supplies in town…
A sharp, mind-crushing buzz hit me. I screamed, collapsed, and writhed in pain. Then—BAM!—it stopped. Migraine? Heatstroke? I trudged to the village center, the only lively spot.
Familiar faces nodded at me (not friends—I was hidden as a kid for being "weird"). Suddenly, two kids kicked a ball straight at my head. Reflexively, I caught it mid-air.
Kid: "Whoa! How'd you do that?! You're strong, right?!"
Me (forced smile): "Pure luck. One wrong move and I'd be nursing a headache!"
THWACK! A girl, María, punched the boy.
María: "Apologize, idiot!" They mumbled sorrys.
Me: "No harm done. Still solving problems with fists, María?"
María (grinning toothlessly): "Guess so!"
Me (laughing): "Looks like you're missing teeth too!"
María: "Shut up, I hate you!" POW! Her punch to my gut made my veins and eyes briefly glow. Almost died!
María: "Sorry! Got carried away!"
Me (wheezing): "With that strength, you could be a royal knight."
María: "Really?!"
Me (whispering): "Yeah. Just don't kill anyone."
María (fist raised): "When I grow up, I'll be a Rank 7 knight and destroy evil!"
Her mom scooped her up: "You'll be Rank 7 if you study, brat. Lunchtime!" She waved at me. "Hi, Don!"
Me: "Hey, Kira."
Kira: "Still as quiet as ever."
Me: "You too. You look good—"
Kira: "Bye, Don!" Why does she always bolt mid-convo?
Now to find that creep merchant… Where's he lurking now?
Hours later:
Merchant: "Hey, Don! What brings you?"
Me: "Why do you move your stall every day? Stay put!"
Merchant: "Capitalism, Don. Your monkey brain wouldn't get it."
Me: "You're insufferable. Where's your shop?"
Merchant (grinning): "Right here!" He tossed a gray cube that morphed into a tent. "Think you're better than me?"
Me: "1kg blue metal, magic iron, ether powder."
Merchant: "100 gold coins."
Me: "You kidding? 10 silver."
Merchant: "Blue metal's scarce! Prices are up!"
Me: "I'll go elsewhere."
Merchant (smirking): "Really, Owl's brat?"
Me: "2 gold coins and an aphrodisiac."
Merchant (shaking my hand): "SOLD! Best customer!"