Before morning came, I awoke. The fire had burned low, casting faint, flickering shadows across the wooden floor. The room was silent, save for the occasional pop of an ember.
Beside me sat a small brown bag I hadn't noticed the night before. Tied to it with a thin string was a folded piece of paper—white, creased, and still warm from the fire's heat.
I picked it up and unfolded it carefully. The handwriting was quick, but neat.
"10 silver coins for you. A hotel around here costs 1 bronze per night. 1 silver covers 10 days. Use it wisely."
I glanced into the bag. Sure enough, ten gleaming silver coins rested inside—clean, untouched, and heavier than I expected.
A gift? A test? Or a way to make me leave faster?
Either way... I now had currency.
I took one last look around the dimly lit home before rising to my feet. I dusted myself off, adjusted my hat, and without another word, stepped out into the street.
Unlike the night before, the streets were now sparsely populated—with humans, and those lizard folk.
Two things immediately caught my eye.
The first was the divide in clothing. The humans walked around in rags—thin, patched, and stained. Meanwhile, the abominations strolled past in gold-trimmed robes, adorned with rubies and jewelry. Their garments looked like they were woven from fresh linen, clean and bright—untouched by labor.
The second thing that shook me was this: the lizard men weren't alone.
Ahead of me walked others—humanoids with fox ears and cat tails, some with horns of every shape and size. A few had long, fur-covered tails swaying behind them. It was a parade of beasts pretending to be people.
I had witnessed many things in my life—chaos, ruin, the collapse of empires—but nothing prepared me for this.
The streets were alive with filth parading as civilization. Humans, reduced to beggars in their own skin, stumbled past in rags, their eyes hollow, their backs bent as if evolution had reversed itself.
And yet the beasts—those abominations—draped themselves in jewels and silks, walking with pride as if they were born to rule. Lizard men flaunted their scales, adorned in gold and fine linen. Others—fox-faced, horned, tailed creatures—mingled freely, laughing, smiling, living.
I stood among them, unseen and unwanted, and felt something I hadn't in years.
Revulsion. Pure, burning revulsion.
Even on Earth, even in all its decay, I had never seen such a disgraceful inversion of nature. Not even they inspired this level of disdain.
This place... this world... offended me.
Hiding my disdain, I walked through the crowded streets. I kept my head low, letting the brim of my hat shield my face from unwanted attention.
I looked up only when necessary—just enough to avoid bumping into someone, never enough to invite conversation.
I kept to that routine—head down, steps measured—until a building caught my eye.
A bar, it was called. Bason's Drinks. Worn wood and a faint smell of alcohol drifted even into the street.
But in a town like this, where whispers traveled faster than coin, it was more than just a place to drink.
It was a bank of information—and I needed a withdrawal.
Seeing a clear path to the bar, I moved swiftly toward it—careful, but deliberate.
My eyes flicking from one passerby to the next. I made sure not to brush shoulders or draw attention. In a place like this, even a glance could start trouble.
Once at the door, I pushed it open—not with force, but with just enough pressure to create a quiet cause and effect.
The hinges groaned slightly. The sound was enough to announce my presence without demanding it.
A few heads turned. Others paid no mind.
Seeing this, I made sure to not give them a reason to keep looking. No subtle movements—every step intentional, deliberate.
I scanned the room, overlooking minor details, then chose a stool at the bar and made my way toward it.
Sitting down, I was met with the same woman from last night.
"Funny seeing you here," she snickered, her voice cutting through the low murmur of the bar.
"Did you get my little surprise?" she asked, a sly grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.
I nodded affirmatively. "Thank you, Kaela," I added, keeping my voice even.
She leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Well, what do you want to drink?"
"Water."
She raised an eyebrow. "You're in a bar… and you ask for water?"
I met her gaze without flinching. "What do you have?"
"We've got mead, wine, and a few stronger brews. Those are what most people go for."
"I'll take watered-down mead," I said calmly.
I don't intend to become intoxicated. Not here.
She raised an eyebrow again, but didn't press. She walked away to a backroom.
A few moments later I was approached by a man.
"Where'd you get those clothes from?" a voice spoke from behind me.
I turned my head, keeping my body still, and looked at the tall, muscular man.
"Passed down from a family member."
"Liar!" he shouted. "You're working with the demi-humans—trying to find the human resistance!" He stepped closer. "How could you rat out your own people?"
Looking around, every man and woman had turned their head to face me, all waiting for a response.
The air was silent. Anticipation hung thick, crawling over the walls like smoke.
I scanned the crowd, searching for the so-called demi-humans—but saw none.
Surrounded by eyes burning with rage, I slowly rose from my seat.
With calm precision, I adjusted the collar of my coat and tugged it straight, brushing off a trace of dust from the shoulder. If I was going to be judged, I would not look small.
Then I stepped forward, boots echoing against the wooden floor as I moved to the center of the bar.
Their stares followed me—sharp, silent, seething.
In the center of the room, the air was still—tension wrapped around every breath.
Yet I said nothing. I slowly turned my head, meeting their eyes one by one. Each stare filled with suspicion, anger… betrayal.
I met them all with the same cold hatred they gave me. Not loud or wild—but steady. Controlled. And burning.
A moment passed. Then another. The silence stretched, heavy and accusing—as if the very walls waited for me to confess.
I stood there in silence… until I gave silence a sound.
"You call me a traitor?" My voice cut through the silence like a blade. "Look around you. Look at what you've become."
I turned my head slowly, locking eyes with the man who shouted first, then with the others—one after another.
"You walk in rags while beasts walk in robes. You lower your heads while tails are raised high. And you call me the disgrace?"
I stepped forward. "I see no resistance here. Only submission. Obedience. A broken people, grateful to eat scraps from their masters' hands."
The bar remained silent, but the air shifted. Some brows furrowed. Some fists clenched. But no one spoke.
"You fear the demi-humans. You fear their claws, their power, their status. So you bow. You grovel. You survive." I spat the word like poison. "And in doing so, you've lost the right to call yourselves human."
I paused, letting the words settle like ash.
"Humanity… do you even remember what that meant?" I looked from face to face. "We were not the strongest. Not the most gifted. But we endured. We built. We ruled. And now?" I scoffed. "Now you clutch bowls like beggars while creatures in fur and scales sit on thrones carved from your stone."
"You let them rewrite your laws. Police your streets. Claim your children as theirs. And what do you do?" I sneered. "You whisper behind closed doors and hope that someone else will bleed for your freedom."
I took another step forward. Boots firm. Voice colder. "Well, here I am."
"You mistake survival for resistance. But licking the boot that crushes you is not survival. It is surrender. And you've been surrendering since the first horned beast set foot in your city."
I stopped. Let the words hit.
"Don't talk to me about betrayal. Not when you've betrayed your own blood. Your own dignity. Your own future."
"You call me a traitor?" My voice broke the silence again—sharp, cold, deliberate. "Then tell me… what exactly am I betraying?"
I turned slowly, letting their glares meet mine one by one—none of them brave enough to speak now, yet all clinging to the illusion of courage in numbers.
"This?" I gestured around the bar—the sagging beams, the filth-lined floors, the desperate faces. "This is what you protect? This is the resistance?" I took a step forward, boots hitting the wood like a metronome of judgment. "I see no resistance. I see rot."
A murmur stirred in the back. I silenced it with a glance.
"You wander these streets like ghosts, dressed in rags, eyes sunken, spirits broken—and yet you dare speak of loyalty? Of pride? What pride is there in begging while your masters dine above you?"
"Look at yourselves." I said it calmly, almost with pity—which made it sting worse. "Beaten by time. By fear. By beasts who wear your gold, live in your homes, and command your laws. They walk tall while you shuffle in dirt. And you accept it."
I spat to the side.
"You don't resist them. You resent those who refuse to submit alongside you."
A man shifted his weight, uneasy. Another looked down. I stepped further into the center of the room.
"You call me a collaborator because I wear clean boots? Because I look them in the eye and don't flinch?" I leaned in slightly. "Maybe that scares you. Maybe you need me to be the villain—so you can feel righteous while doing nothing."
I stood tall again, voice rising just enough to strike the back wall.
"Let me make this simple. I did not come here to kneel. I did not crawl through hell just to kiss the feet of creatures who mock the very order of nature."
"You say I work for them?" I chuckled darkly. "No. I study them. I learn their weaknesses. I count their numbers. I mark their leaders. Because when the time comes—and it will come—I will not hesitate to remind this world what a human truly is."
I scanned the room once more. Now some looked away. Some clenched their jaws. One even seemed to nod.
"You say I betrayed you?" I whispered now, cold and low. "No… you betrayed yourselves the day you chose silence over defiance."
A pause. Then I took one step back, letting the weight of my words hang in the air like smoke after a fire.
And finally, I raised my voice one last time—not in rage, but in purpose.
"But it's not too late. You think this world belongs to them?" I pointed to the door, to the filth-stained streets outside. "It belongs to us. And if you find the spine to stand, to truly stand…" I spread my arms slightly.
"Then follow me. And we will rise—not as rats scavenging beneath their tables—but as a people reborn in fire. Stronger. Sharper. United."
"They don't fear us as long as we stay afraid. But if you walk with me…" My voice dropped low, like a promise.
"…then they will remember why the world once trembled beneath the steps of men."
For a moment, nothing.
The silence stretched again, heavier than before. No one moved. No one breathed.
Then—
A single fist rose.
A man near the edge of the bar. His knuckles were scraped, his clothes threadbare, but his eyes... his eyes burned with something new.
He stood, slow and steady, and raised his fist high. Not in salute—but in defiance.
Then another rose beside him. A woman this time, her face hollow from hunger, but her stance firm.
Then another.
And another.
Soon, a dozen fists filled the room—raised not out of loyalty to me, but hatred for them.
The demi-humans. The rulers. The ones who wore silk while humans bled in silence.
Then came the sound. Soft at first.
Clap.
It echoed once through the wooden room.
Then again. Louder.
Clap. Clap.
And then a storm.
Clap. Clap. Clapclapclap—
The bar shook with applause. Fists in the air. Feet stomping. Voices rising, not yet in words—but in something more primal.
A rumble of rage.
A crack in the dam.
A people waking from slumber.
They weren't cheering me. They were cheering what they had almost forgotten:
Pride.
Anger.
Hope.
And I stood there, watching them.
Knowing full well what I had just created.
Not followers. Not friends.
A movement.