Chapter 36: A Welcome to Valos

The gates of Valos creaked open, revealing a city that was alive with motion and noise but stifled by an undercurrent of tension. As Jannet stepped into the bustling streets, he immediately felt the shift in atmosphere. The air was dense with mingled scents: baked bread and roasting meat from market stalls, sweat and dirt from the laboring masses, and the faint metallic tang of blood that seemed to cling to the guild-affiliated adventurers passing by.

But none of it could drown out the most pervasive scent of all: fear.

Jannet's tongue flicked out instinctively, tasting the air in a way only his Sovereign senses could discern. The humans nearest him had stopped in their tracks, their wide eyes fixed on his massive frame. Mothers clutched their children close, merchants froze mid-barter, and guards standing by the gates gripped their weapons just a little tighter.

This wasn’t the cautious wariness of the adventurers who had faced him with trembling resolve. This was visceral, primal fear, the kind that clung to their very souls like a second skin. Jannet’s golden eyes scanned the crowd, his thoughts clouded by the stark contrast to the village he had left behind.

The villagers had been afraid, yes—but their fear had been laced with hope, with a desperate willingness to listen. They’d looked to him not as a monster, but as something more: a savior, a protector, a symbol of power they could not wield themselves. These city-dwellers, by comparison, seemed to lack even the capacity for such hope. Their gazes spoke of a lifetime spent cowering in the shadow of greater forces, beaten down by the cruelty of their world.

A heaviness settled over Jannet as he walked, the adventurer group clustered around him like nervous ducklings trailing their mother. He had been so focused on his mission, on earning the right to move freely in human lands, that he hadn’t fully considered what such freedom might reveal. Was this what human civilization had become in his absence? Or had it always been this way, even in his previous life, and he had simply failed to see it? The stench of fear was so thick Jannet wondered if this was how he had smelled in his previous life. He had thought the smell of human fear to be a symptom of fighting to the death yet these people were wrapped in it just from his presence

.Clyde led the way with his usual air of confidence, his friendly waves and casual banter directed at the guards and merchants they passed. But even his presence couldn’t fully dispel the unease that followed their group like a shadow. Whispers rippled through the crowd as they moved, fragmented snippets of conversation carried on the autumn breeze.

“…a monster…” “…why is it here?” “…the guild’s gone mad…”

Jannet’s claws scraped faintly against the cobblestones as he walked, his tail swaying with measured precision to avoid knocking over the stalls and barrels that crowded the narrow streets. His golden eyes flicked toward the adventurers escorting him, and he noticed something peculiar: they, too, were being watched—but not with fear. The humans who glanced at the adventurers seemed almost envious, their gazes lingering on the silver badges that gleamed proudly on their chests.

It was then that Jannet noticed the subtle difference in the adventurers themselves. While the townsfolk exuded fear like a secondhand scent, these young humans carried themselves with a quiet determination. Their steps were steady, their postures upright, their voices calm even when they whispered nervously amongst themselves. There was no stench of despair clinging to them, no oppressive weight of helplessness dragging them down.

The realization struck Jannet with the force of a charging Plateback Bison. These adventurers are different. Not because they were stronger—though their training and levels certainly set them apart—but because they had chosen to be. They had rejected the fear that ruled the lives of the common folk and had instead embraced a system that allowed them to fight back, to grow, to strive for something more.

It was a stark contrast, and Jannet couldn’t help but feel a flicker of admiration for them. He didn’t fully understand the human adventurer system yet, but it was clear that it offered a path out of the helplessness that had plagued his village and his previous life. These young adventurers might be naïve and inexperienced, but they were trying, and that alone set them apart.

The group’s journey through the city culminated at the guildhall, a sprawling structure of dark stone and heavy timbers that loomed over the nearby buildings. Its facade was adorned with banners bearing the Adventurer’s Guild emblem, and its wide double doors were flanked by statues of warriors frozen in mid-battle. As Jannet stepped inside though the doors were still a squeeze, he was struck by the blend of rugged practicality and almost theatrical charm that defined the sprawling interior.

The main hall was vast and bustling, with long wooden tables arranged around a central hearth where a crackling fire cast flickering shadows across the stone walls. The scent of roasted meat and spiced ale filled the air, mingling with the hum of conversation and the clatter of mugs. Adventurers of all ranks and races occupied the tables, their mismatched armor and weapons creating a kaleidoscope of textures and colors. It reminded Jannet faintly of the medieval-themed restaurants from his human life—those places Walter had refused to take him, dismissing them as “childish.”

But the atmosphere shifted the moment Jannet entered. Conversations faltered, mugs paused mid-air, and all eyes turned toward the massive lizard standing in the doorway. The weight of their stares pressed against him like a physical force, and for a moment, the hall was silent except for the crackle of the fire.

Clyde, ever the showman, raised his voice with practiced authority. “Right, listen up!” he called, clapping his hands to draw the room’s attention. “This here is the Sovereign of Newscar, a trial member of the guild and holder of a silver plate. He’s under my supervision, and I expect you all to show him the same respect you’d show any other adventurer of his rank.”

There was a murmur of surprise and disbelief, but Clyde’s words carried weight, and the adventurers reluctantly turned back to their meals and conversations. The tension in the air didn’t fully dissipate, but it softened enough for Clyde to lead Jannet and his group further into the hall.

After a brief exchange with a passing guild employee, Clyde turned to Jannet with a faint smirk. “Right, Sovereign. You’ll be sleeping in the stables. Beasts of burden and all that.”

Jannet’s golden eyes narrowed for the first time Clyde had managed to offend him, his massive head lowering slightly as he rumbled a low, disapproving growl. “No,” he said, his voice calm but resolute. “I will rest by the hearth, as my rights afford me.”

The firmness in his tone left no room for argument, and Clyde sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Well, I can’t make you,” he muttered. Turning to the adventurer group, he added, “A few of you will need to stay down here with him all night. The Sovereign cannot be left alone—for better or worse.”

With that, Clyde headed upstairs to his office, leaving the group to handle the situation. Jannet settled himself by the fire, his massive frame curling slightly as he basked in the warmth. The adventurers pulled a table closer to him, their initial nervousness fading as the crackle of the flames and the promise of food eased the tension.

When the food arrived, Jannet’s stomach rumbled audibly, earning a chuckle from Leth. But as the dishes were placed on the table, Jannet’s eyes narrowed at the sight of vegetables mixed with the meat. “I am no rodent,” he declared, pushing the plate away. “I will not eat gross foods like plants. Bring me as much meat, cooked well, as possible.”

The waiter hesitated, glancing nervously at the adventurers. Gerrin groaned. “Do you have any idea how much that’s going to cost?”

Jannet’s tongue flicked out reflexively, tasting the tension in the air as the adventurers glanced at one another, their unease clear. It wasn’t the physical danger that unsettled them—he had proven himself neither hostile nor irrational—but rather the sheer alien nature of his demands. The Sovereign of Newscar, towering over them and carrying himself with regal poise, seemed utterly detached from the reality of coin and cost.

But Jannet wasn’t as ignorant as he seemed. The mention of money stirred memories from his past life—cold, bitter recollections of folded bills and digital transactions. He remembered his days as a housewife, meticulously budgeting for groceries while Walter berated him for every perceived shortfall. Money had been a chain then, binding him to a life of limitations and judgments, a source of endless stress that never seemed to abate.

Now, standing as a Sovereign, a creature of immense power and authority, the concept of currency felt absurd. In Newscar, resources were shared freely. Each member of his budding society contributed in their own way, and the needs of the group were met without the imposition of arbitrary valuations. The very idea that something as essential as food could be withheld over the lack of shiny metal discs or slips of paper seemed... broken.

Jannet’s golden eyes narrowed as his thoughts crystallized. Was this the human system? A society so ruled by fear and greed that even feeding one another came at a cost? His gaze turned to Gerrin, who had spoken of expense as though the cost of meat weighed heavier than the cost of unity. The thought churned within Jannet, a slow-burning flame of disapproval igniting in his chest.

He straightened slightly, the firelight casting sharp shadows across his dark scales. His voice, when it came, was measured but carried a weight that seemed to press down on the group.

“Humans,” he began, his tone tinged with both curiosity and reproach, “your kind has built walls and cities, created systems to govern and grow. Yet, even here, in the shadow of your supposed strength, you squabble over food like pups fighting for scraps.”

The adventurers stiffened, their expressions flickering between embarrassment and defensiveness. Jannet tilted his massive head, his golden eyes gleaming as he continued.

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“In Newscar,” he said, “we do not hoard. We do not barter life’s necessities as though they are luxuries. If one of my lizards is hungry, they are fed. If one is wounded, they are tended to. This is not weakness—it is strength, a foundation upon which a society thrives. And yet you, with all your advancements, cling to the idea that survival is something to be bought.”

The adventurers exchanged exasperated looks but ultimately relented, negotiating a smaller portion of meat for Jannet. As they ate, the conversation turned to Jannet’s earlier observation.

“You are different,” Jannet said, his golden eyes fixed on the group. “You do not carry the stench of fear like the others.”

The group exchanged glances, their expressions thoughtful. Finally, Fialla spoke. “That’s because we’re adventurers,” she said simply. “Most humans... we’re not strong. Compared to other races, we’re at the bottom of the ladder. For a lot of people, there’s no point in trying to get stronger. But adventurers choose to use the system, to train, to level up. We strive for something more.”

Jannet considered this, his tail flicking thoughtfully. “And what do you hope to achieve by striving?”

The question hung in the air, each adventurer reflecting on their own answer. For the first time since arriving in Valos, Jannet felt a glimmer of understanding. These humans, for all their flaws and frailties, carried within them a spark of something greater. The adventurers chuckled nervously, the moment of tension breaking into something lighter. But Jannet’s words lingered, a quiet challenge hanging in the air as the group resumed their meal.

As the evening wore on, the lively hum of the guild hall began to dim. Adventurers trickled out one by one, some heading to their quarters upstairs, others wandering into the quiet streets of Valos. The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting long shadows across the room, but it still offered enough warmth to keep the chill of autumn at bay.

Jannet lay curled near the hearth, his dark scales gleaming faintly in the flickering firelight. The remains of his meal—a modest collection of stripped bones and scraps of sinew—sat on a low wooden platter beside him. It was nowhere near enough to satisfy his Sovereign-sized appetite, but he refrained from ordering more, if only to avoid pushing Gerrin further into exasperation.

The fighter was clearly trying his best to be patient, but his frustration had been palpable by the time the last round of meat had arrived. Now, Gerrin sat back in his chair, his arms crossed and his greatsword leaning against the table beside him. His stern expression softened slightly as he watched Jannet’s golden eyes flicker from one adventurer to the next, as though measuring something unseen.

Fialla leaned forward, her hands cradling a mug of warm cider, the faint steam curling in the cool air. “So, Sovereign,” she began, her tone curious but careful, “what do you think of us so far?”

Jannet tilted his head, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before shifting to the others—Gerrin with his furrowed brow, and Leth, the healer, who sipped quietly from her own mug. The rest of the group had already retired, leaving the three of them to their odd new companion.

“You are... young,” Jannet said after a moment, his deep voice rumbling through the near-empty hall. “Eager to prove yourselves, but not reckless. That is rare among your kind.”

Fialla arched a brow. “Our kind? You mean humans?”

Jannet inclined his head. “Yes. In my experience, humans often let fear or pride dictate their actions. You, however...” He paused, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as he considered his words. “You seemingly walk a different path. It intrigues me.”

Gerrin snorted, his frustration finally bubbling over. “We’re just doing what we have to do,” he said. “We don’t have the luxury of... whatever it is you’re used to. Sharing everything, no money, no rules. That’s not how it works for us.”

Jannet’s tail flicked once, the movement slow and deliberate. He knew Gerrin’s irritation stemmed not from malice but from the pressure of their situation. Still, the Sovereign in him bristled at the idea that his way of life was somehow less valid. He opened his mouth to respond, then hesitated.

In the quiet that followed, he realized something he had not felt in years: the need to adjust his approach. In Newscar, his authority had been absolute. His lizards followed his lead without question, their instincts aligning with his own Sovereign presence. But these humans were different. Their defiance was not disrespect—it was simply their nature. And humans, he remembered with a faint pang of irony, did not like being told they were wrong.

Jannet drew in a slow breath, the heat of the fire warming the scales along his side. For the first time in decades—perhaps longer—he decided to try something new. He would not command. He would not teach. He would try... to connect.

“I see your point,” he said, his tone softer than before. Gerrin blinked, startled by the unexpected concession. “Your world is different from mine, and I cannot expect you to see things as I do.”

Fialla leaned forward, her curiosity sharpening. “You’re... agreeing with us?”

“I am acknowledging that your perspective has merit,” Jannet replied, his golden eyes glinting faintly in the firelight. “I am not accustomed to... compromise. But I see now that it may be necessary, if we are to work together.”

Gerrin relaxed slightly, his arms uncrossing as he leaned back in his chair. “Well, that’s... unexpected, after all those lectures.” he muttered.

Leth smiled faintly, her soft voice cutting through the tension. “It’s a start,” she said. “And it’s more than most would expect from someone like you.”

Jannet tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “Someone like me?”

“Someone powerful,” Leth said simply. “Most people with your strength wouldn’t bother trying to understand us. They’d just... take what they want. That's what the other races do, if it wasnt for the Cathain walls the beasts in the wilds from other lands would trample through our kingdoms once every month rather than once every 100 years.”

The words hung in the air, a sobering reminder of the gulf between them. Jannet felt a flicker of unease, the remnants of his human memories clashing with his Sovereign instincts. He had spent so long commanding, so long building and protecting, that the idea of simply... talking felt almost alien.

But as he watched the adventurers, their expressions softening, he realized that perhaps this was the path forward. Not through Leadership or inspiration, but through something far more difficult: mutual trust. Something Jannets Lizard brain wouldn't quite give to the humans yet if ever however he had to try to at least make an effort so the humans would accept him.

“So,” Fialla said after a moment, her tone lightening as she leaned her elbows on the table. “If you’re not teaching us, what are we doing here? Just chatting?”

Jannet hesitated, his massive form shifting slightly as he considered her question. Then, with a low rumble that might have been a laugh, he said, “Perhaps we are... making friends.”

The absurdity of the statement hung in the air for a moment before the group burst into quiet laughter. Even Gerrin managed a grin, though he quickly masked it with a mock scowl.

“Friends, huh?” Fialla said, her eyes glinting with amusement. “I didn’t think Sovereigns did that.”

“Not with humans,” Jannet admitted, his voice carrying a faint note of surprise. “But it seems... worth trying.”

For the first time since stepping into the city, Jannet felt something shift within him—not a change in his Sovereign nature, but an expansion of it. These humans were not his lizards. They would not follow with blind admiration, nor would they accept his guidance without question. But perhaps, in time, they would come to see him not just as their leader, but as an equal the way #1 and Rose did.

As the night deepened, the guild hall grew quieter, the murmur of conversation fading until only the occasional creak of timber and the crackling of the fire remained. The adventurer group stayed close to Jannet, arranging themselves around the hearth on spare cushions and blankets provided by the staff. The flickering flames cast warm, dancing shadows across their relaxed forms, though the tension of the day still lingered in their postures.

Jannet, however, did not relax in the same way. His massive body lay curled near the hearth, his dark scales catching the faint glow of the firelight. To the casual observer, he appeared at ease, his golden eyes half-lidded and his breathing steady. But his mind remained sharp, his instincts alive with the ever-present readiness of an apex predator.

It was not distrust of these specific humans—though he was not so naïve as to fully dismiss the possibility of treachery—but rather the deeper caution ingrained into his Sovereign nature. The openness of the guild hall, the unfamiliarity of the city, and the lingering scent of fear in the air all kept him from succumbing to the vulnerability of true slumber.

Still, his lizard brain allowed a kind of half-sleep, a state where his body rested but his senses remained vigilant. In this space, dreams began to creep in—strange, vivid things that mingled the present with the past.

The warmth of the hearth shifted in his mind to the humid embrace of the jungle. The soft rustle of the adventurers’ movements became the calls of birds and the distant chatter of his kin. He saw Rose, her scales glinting in the dappled sunlight as she wove through the underbrush, her hissing calm and commanding as she coordinated the patrols.

There was #1, his stalwart second-in-command, whose keen mind and sharp claws had been invaluable in the early days of Newscar’s formation. Jannet could almost hear the low rumble of his voice as he delivered another report, the faint pride in his tone evident despite his attempts to remain stoic.

Lil Guy, quick and inquisitive, darting between the others with an energy that never seemed to wane. Baby Goblin, smaller but no less fierce, her determination earning her a place among the goblins as their shaman and sub leader. Michelangelo and Raphael, the two lizard boys who had taken to Newscar with wide-eyed wonder, their bond growing stronger with every passing day. And inquistive Randel ever tinkering away.

The jungle itself loomed large in his mind—a vibrant, living entity that provided both challenge and comfort. Food was abundant, the hunt a shared effort that bonded the community. The ease of memetic communication, the unspoken understanding that passed between his kin, was a far cry from the cumbersome words of human speech.

He missed it. Not in a way that left him longing to abandon this new path, but in a way that reminded him of what he was striving to protect. The jungle was his home, and the lizards of Newscar were his people. Everything he did—this trial, this strange journey into human lands—was for them.

The faint sound of Gerrin’s snoring broke into his thoughts, a sharp, uneven rasp that grated against Jannet’s heightened senses. His golden eyes opened slightly, and his tongue flicked out, tasting the air. The scent was familiar, unthreatening. Gerrin lay sprawled on his back, one arm draped over his face as he snored loudly enough to make the nearest wooden mugs vibrate.

Jannet sighed—a low, rumbling sound that caused Leth, curled nearby, to stir slightly in her sleep. He hadn’t anticipated the noise humans made in their rest, and Gerrin’s snoring was particularly egregious. Still, there was a strange comfort in its consistency. It was a reminder that Gerrin, at least, planned no ambush tonight. His presence was loud, yes, but honest.

The fire crackled softly, and Jannet’s thoughts drifted once more. He imagined Randle, the clever one. He thought of the warmth of Rose’s mothering as she calmed a skittish group of hatchlings, her authority unquestioned. And he thought of the simple, unspoken trust that bound them all together.

Here, in the human world, everything was so much more complicated. Words were blunt tools compared to the elegance of memetic understanding. Trust was something to be earned, not assumed. And yet, as his gaze flicked over the sleeping forms of Gerrin, Fialla, and Leth, he felt a flicker of something new—a tentative sense of camaraderie, fragile but real.

The night stretched on, and Jannet allowed himself to slip further into his half-sleep. The dreams of the jungle faded into the quiet sounds of the guild hall, the warmth of the hearth a small comfort against the unfamiliarity of this world. For now, at least, he would rest—and he would dream of home.