01."Supreme Elf"

I swaggered through Opeka's dusty square, the moon high and my split-leaf amulet pulsing faintly against my chest, like it knew I was up to no good. The village slept, oblivious to the chaos I was about to unleash. Janko's barn loomed ahead, its weathered wood begging for my artistry. With a pot of glow-in-the-dark paint, I scrawled "SUPREME ELF" in massive letters across the side, each stroke a middle finger to Janko's sour mug. That wasn't enough, though. Sneaking to his window, I smeared hard-to-remove black paint across his sleeping face, crafting whiskers that'd make him the village's laughingstock come dawn. The "Cursed Cat" was born, and I, Killyaen, the qi-blind prankster with olive skin, gold-tipped braid, and gold-flecked eyes, was gonna bask in the glory.

Back at the Black Stone Tavern, I leaned against the bar, dodging a dishcloth Bera (Beginner Expert Fire, Level 3) flung at me. Her curves swayed under that tight apron, and I couldn't help but grin. "Bera, sweetheart, keep tossing like that, and I'll have to catch more than your cloth," I teased, winking. She rolled her eyes, but that smirk said she wasn't entirely hating it. "Keep your paws off, Killyaen, or I'll singe that braid," she shot back, her Fire Qi flickering in her fingers. Gods, I loved her spark—made my adolescent blood hum.

Then there was Lila, the new tavern girl (Beginner Scholar Earth, Level 3), all honeyed skin and sharp wit, her low-cut blouse daring me to stare. She sauntered over, tray balanced, hips swinging like a challenge. "Heard you defaced Janko's barn, Supreme Elf," she purred, voice dripping mischief. "Bold, but can you handle a real target?" Her eyes flicked to Bera, who stiffened, tossing her hair. Oh, this was gonna be fun. "Lila, darlin', I can handle anything you throw my way," I said, leaning closer, "but let's see if you can keep up with my art." Bera snorted, slamming a mug down. "Keep dreaming, Killyaen. Lila's too green to handle your nonsense." The air crackled with their rivalry, and I was the lucky bastard caught in the middle.

Goran (Peak Element Lord Fire, Level 13) called me out back for training, his grizzled face all business. Under N'Nazmuz's curse—30 kilograms of constant pressure slowing my every move—I gripped my wooden sword, feeling the strain in my muscles. "Focus, Killyaen," Goran barked, swinging his blade. I parried with Wind's Rebuke, a non-Qi technique he'd drilled into me, my curse-enhanced strength barely keeping up. The 30 kilos dragged at me, burning stamina, but years of training under that weight made me a damn boulder-lifter. A graze nicked my arm, but by the time we stopped, it was already healing, a perk of the curse when I rested. "Not bad, kid," Goran grunted. "You're stronger than I was at your age, qi or no qi."

Back inside, I sprawled at a table, nursing a bruise and a mug of ale. Bera slid me a plate of Gromble stew, her fingers brushing mine—on purpose, I'd bet. "Don't get cocky, prankster," she said, but her eyes lingered. Lila wasn't letting her steal the show, though. She leaned over, giving me an eyeful of cleavage as she refilled my mug. "Heard Janko's barn's glowing brighter than Solspire's towers," she whispered. "You're trouble, Killyaen." I grinned, loving the attention. "Trouble's my middle name, Lila. Stick around, I'll show you more." Bera scoffed, tossing a rag at Lila's tray. "Save it, newbie. He's all talk."

The tension between them was thicker than Gromble fat, and I was eating it up.Mima, the village gossip, shuffled in, muttering about "dark magic" on Janko's barn. "That Supreme Elf nonsense is cursed!" she squawked, eyeing me. I winked, tossing her a coin. "Mima, it's just paint, not a Void Cult ritual." The old hag clutched her shawl, muttering about mythical Spirit Stones curing curses. I didn't care—her rants just fueled my fame. My amulet pulsed again, nagging like it wanted me to chase something bigger than village laughs. I ignored it, too busy plotting my next move.

At dusk, the square erupted as Janko stormed out, black whiskers stark on his face, scrubbing furiously to no avail. "KILLYAEN!" he roared, spotting the glowing "SUPREME ELF" on his barn. Villagers chanted "Cursed Cat!" as kids tossed moozze tails at him. I leaned against a cart, cackling. "Looking good, Plumed Cat!" I called, dodging his fist. Bera and Lila watched from the tavern door, Bera smirking, Lila biting her lip. "You're gonna pay for this," Janko growled, but I was already gone, slipping into the shadows.

Later, holed up in my tavern loft, I flipped through Chronicles of the Dragon-Gods, its pages whispering about "ancient ruins" tied to Azurion and the First Altars. My amulet pulsed in sync, like it was trying to tell me something. I shrugged it off—ruins didn't get me cheers or Bera's sly grins. Still, Vuk's tales of a "glowing blue relic" stuck in my head, nagging like a splinter. Opeka was too small for a qi-blind nobody like me. Maybe Solspire, with its white towers and Spirit Stone markets, held answers. Or maybe I just wanted more eyes on me—especially Lila's and Bera's.

As I drifted off, the amulet pulsed again, and for a second, I wondered if I was more than Opeka's prank king. Nah. Destiny could wait. I had a village to terrorize, two girls to charm, and Janko's "Cursed Cat" legend to cement. Tomorrow, I'd rig a flour trap to bury him in white—let's see how the Plumed Cat liked that.