He slipped through the castle gates before anyone realized he was gone.
For the first time in years, Mitch felt like he could breathe.
The road eventually disappeared beneath the trees.
The Tempest Forest waited ahead.
Mitch stopped at its edge.
The forest had a reputation.
People vanished there.
Monsters lived there.
Travelers told stories about hearing voices between the trees.
Naturally, Mitch smiled.
"Perfect."
He stepped inside.
The forest was darker than he'd expected.
Branches blocked most of the moonlight, and wet leaves stuck to his boots.
Something rustled nearby.
Mitch stopped.
"Probably a rabbit."
Another rustle.
"Definitely a rabbit."
A growl answered him.
"...That's a large rabbit."
Two yellow eyes appeared between the trees.
Mitch slowly drew his sword.
The creature stepped into the moonlight.
A Byke.
Humanoid.
Covered in coarse black fur.
Its arms were thick enough to snap a man in half, and its claws looked like they had been sharpened against stone.
Mitch swallowed.
"Okay."
The Byke growled.
"Let's not do anything stupid."
It crouched.
Mitch raised his sword.
"Good talk."
The creature lunged.
"HEY!"
Mitch barely blocked the first strike.
The impact sent him skidding backward.
His boots tore through the dirt.
"That's quite a greeting!"
The Byke attacked again.
Mitch ducked.
A claw passed over his head.
He spun and slashed.
The blade cut into its shoulder.
The creature barely reacted.
"Oh."
Mitch jumped backward.
"That is... significantly less effective than I'd hoped."
The Byke roared.
Then something bright formed around its hand.
Mitch's eyes widened.
"Wait."
A streak of fire shot toward him.
He twisted aside.
The attack grazed his ribs.
Pain exploded through his side.
Mitch landed hard.
"OW!"
He looked at the blood soaking his shirt.
"You can use magic?"
The Byke growled.
Mitch sighed.
"Of course you can."
He tightened his grip.
The fear was still there.
But underneath it was something else.
Excitement.
His heart was pounding.
His hands felt steady.
This was the first time in months that he wasn't thinking about what other people expected from him.
He was simply fighting.
Mitch grinned.
"Fine."
The Byke charged.
"Let's see which one of us has the better cards."
Steel met claw.
Mitch stepped inside the creature's reach.
One slash.
The Byke missed.
Second slash.
It stumbled.
Third—
Mitch drove his sword straight into its chest.
The creature froze.
Then collapsed.
Mitch stood over it, breathing heavily.
Silence returned to the forest.
He pulled his sword free.
"Well."
He looked at the dead Byke.
"...That was fun."
A strange mist began spreading across the ground.
Mitch frowned.
"That's probably not normal."
He should have turned around.
Instead, he walked into it.
The mist vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
Mitch found himself standing beside a lake.
The water reflected the moon perfectly.
He stared.
"...Where am I?"
There was no answer.
Only the sound of water touching the shore.
Mitch followed the lake.
A few minutes later, he found a hut.
Or what remained of one.
The roof had partially collapsed. Vines covered the walls. The door hung from one hinge.
Mitch pushed it open.
Dust filled the air.
"Hello?"
Nothing.
He stepped inside.
The place had been abandoned for years.
A broken chair.
An empty fireplace.
A table covered in dust.
Then Mitch noticed something in the corner.
A skeleton.
It was wearing a long leather coat.
One hand still clutched a diary.
Several letters were pressed against its chest.
Mitch stopped.
"...What the hell?"
He crouched beside the skeleton.
The leather coat was strange.
Old.
But expensive.
The bones had been there for a long time, yet the diary looked almost untouched.
Mitch carefully pulled it free.
The cover had no name.
No symbol.
Nothing.
He opened the first page.
Blank.
The second.
Blank.
The third—
Words.
Mitch frowned.
He read the first line.
Then read it again.
His expression changed.
"What...?"
The handwriting was frantic.
Almost illegible.
But one sentence was perfectly clear.
If someone finds this diary, do not trust the man wearing the sun.
Mitch slowly looked down at his own pendant.
A golden sun hung around his neck.
Eighteen flames surrounded it.
His status.
His family.
His identity.
His entire life.
For the first time that night, Mitch didn't feel excited.
He felt cold.
"Who were you?"
The skeleton obviously didn't answer.
Mitch looked at the letters.
Then the diary.
Then the skeleton again.
He didn't know why.
But something about the dead man bothered him.
Maybe it was the warning.
Maybe it was the fact that the stranger had apparently died alone.
Or maybe Mitch simply recognized something in him.
Someone who had disappeared from a life he could no longer stand.
Mitch closed the diary.
"I'll find out."
By sunrise, Mitch was back on the road.
He had barely slept.
The diary was wrapped inside his bag.
The letters were hidden beneath his armor.
And there was only one person he trusted enough to show them to.
Harold.
His oldest friend.
A mage who was only a few steps away from becoming an archmage.
If anyone could decipher the strange writing, it was him.
Unfortunately, getting to Harold's workshop meant passing through a small stretch of forest crawling with goblins.
Mitch sighed when he saw the bodies.
"There goes my peaceful morning."
He stepped over one.
Then another.
By the time he reached Harold's house, his clothes were covered in dirt and blood.
Two guards stood outside the workshop.
One raised his spear.
"Halt."
Mitch stopped.
"I'm here to see Harold."
"Name?"
"Mitch Hurrier."
The guards exchanged a look.
One of them stared at the pendant around Mitch's neck.
His expression immediately changed.
"Eighteen flames..."
He lowered his spear.
"You may pass."
Mitch walked through the gate.
"Thank you."
He glanced at the pendant.
"Still useful, apparently."
Harold's workshop looked exactly as Mitch remembered.
Which meant it was a disaster.
Books were stacked everywhere.
Glass bottles filled with strange liquids covered every available surface.
Something in the corner was bubbling.
Something else was smoking.
Mitch stepped inside.
A voice came from behind a mountain of books.
"If that's another delivery, leave it outside."
"Nice to see you too."
The books moved.
A pair of spectacles appeared.
Then Harold's face.
His hair was a mess.
His robe was stained with something purple.
He stared at Mitch.
"Mitch?"
"Hi."
Harold slowly looked him up and down.
"You look terrible."
"I fought a Byke."
"You always say that when you look terrible."
"This time I actually did."
Harold paused.
Then smiled.
"So."
He leaned back.
"Did you finally run out of noblewomen to annoy?"
"No."
"Lose a bet?"
"No."
"Get banned from another banquet?"
"Not exactly."
Harold narrowed his eyes.
"Then why are you here?"
Mitch reached into his bag.
He placed the diary on the table.
Harold's smile disappeared.
"Where did you get that?"
"In a dead man's hut."
Silence.
Harold picked up the diary.
He examined the cover.
Then the binding.
Then the pages.
"This isn't ordinary paper."
"I figured."
"Where's the body?"
"Still in the hut."
Harold looked up.
"You left a corpse in the forest?"
"He wasn't using it."
"Mitch."
"What?"
Harold rubbed his forehead.
"Why do I have the feeling this is going to become my problem?"
"Because you're my friend."
"I hate that answer."
Mitch leaned against the table.
"There is one more thing."
Harold looked at him.
"I need you to do something for me."
"What?"
Mitch touched his pendant.
"I need a new identity."
Harold stared.
For once, he didn't make a joke.
"You're serious."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Mitch thought about the banquet.
The laughter.
The praise.
The endless stories.
Then he thought about the forest.
The fight.
The lake.
The dead man.
He smiled faintly.
"I want to find out who I am when nobody knows my name."
Harold was quiet for several seconds.
Then he reached beneath the table.
A small black bottle appeared in his hand.
Mitch looked at it.
"What is that?"
"A solution."
"For?"
"Changing your face."
Mitch blinked.
"You can do that?"
Harold grinned.
"You came to an almost-archmage asking me to erase your identity."
He placed the bottle on the table.
"Of course I can."
Mitch picked it up.
The liquid inside was pitch black.
He looked at Harold.
"Is it safe?"
"No."
"...Harold."
"Probably."
Mitch sighed.
Some things never changed.
He uncorked the bottle.
The smell was awful.
"Here goes nothing."
Harold began drawing a circle on the floor.
Runes lit up around Mitch's feet.
The workshop filled with blue light.
And somewhere inside Mitch's bag, the mysterious diary opened by itself.
A single page turned.
Neither of them noticed.
Another sentence appeared beneath the warning.
If the bearer of the eighteen-flamed sun comes seeking a new name, stop him.
Then the page went still.
Mitch drank the potion.
And the world went black.