Chapter 14: Return to the Surface

  The journey through the winding passage feels like a transition between worlds. My evolved body feels strong, capable, but I know it won't be enough. In the village, survival will require far more cunning than physical strength.

  When I finally reach the exit, after what felt like years underground, I am greeted by the sight of this world's twin moons and a sky full of glittering stars. Above the flooded marshes, fog is split into distinct layers. A blue mist hanging above an amber ground-level haze. Their contrasting glow bathes the marshland in an otherworldly light.

  The scent of the marsh, muddy but also organic and alive fills my nostrils. For a moment, I simply stand there, drinking in the sensations and the realization that this isn't just a strange land, this is truly another world."

  A soft sound interrupts my contemplation as a shadow emerges from behind a cluster of reeds. Shokar.

  "You came," he says, sounding both relieved and apprehensive. His eyes fix on me, and for a moment, I search his face for any resemblance to my own. Is there something in the angle of his jaw? The pattern of his scales? I can't be sure.

  He regards me with wary eyes. "You've... changed."

  "Evolution," I reply simply. "Minor Lizardman now."

  He nods, studying my new form with something approaching respect. "Fast growth. Good. Makes plan more believable."

  "What plan, exactly?" I ask, following as he begins moving silently through the marsh.

  "You are worker from eastern hatcheries," he explains quietly. "Sent to replace losses from last raid. I am your assigned supervisor."

  "And the Red Frog won't question this?"

  Shokar's mouth curves into what might be a smile. "Lord Vex'mor doesn't notice worker lizards. Like noticing individual flies. Beneath him."

  We travel in silence for a while, moving through the marshland with careful steps. In the distance, I can see the lights of the village, torches and lanterns creating a glowing oasis in the darkness.

  "Why did you save me?" I finally ask the question that's been burning inside me since I learned of my rescue.

  Shokar doesn't look at me. "You are different. Like Ksh'zar."

  "I'm nothing like Ksh'zar," I protest.

  Shokar nods gravely, but before I can press further, he raises a hand for silence. "Village guards ahead. From now on you’re simple worker. Head down. No speaking. Follow close."

  As we approach the village perimeter, my heart pounds and my mind swirls with all the revelations and mysteries. Shokar here is probably my father, and I just now learn that Magba knows I was once human and has trained me for a purpose she won't fully reveal.

  Now I'm walking straight into the enemy's stronghold, relying on disguise and the assumption that no one would be foolish enough to return to the place they were supposed to be killed in.

  It's probably the stupidest thing I've done in either of my lives. And that’s saying a lot, considering the whole 'being devoured by a supersized lizard' incident"

  But as we pass the sleepy guards with nothing more than a cursory inspection, I realize it might also be my only chance at survival. And perhaps, if I'm careful, an opportunity to learn more about this world and my place in it.

  For now, survival means playing the part of an ordinary, subservient lizard worker. I straighten the rough tunic, hunch my shoulders in the practiced posture of servility, and follow Shokar.

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  Even now, in the dead of night, the village overwhelms me with all of its sounds and smells.

  Every step I take feels like walking on a thin layer of ice that could crack at any moment. My senses, heightened by Magba's training and my evolution, make the experience overwhelming. The air reeks of stagnant water and something pungent and acrid.

  "Keep head down," Shokar murmurs, barely moving his lips. "Low market ahead."

  I comply, hunching my shoulders further and staring at the muddy ground. Every instinct screams at me to flee this place. The memory of the gladiatorial pit is fresh and I can still feel the phantom pain of my severed arm as a constant reminder.

  As we pass near what appears to be a market area, I risk brief glances upward. Few Frogmen, of various sizes and colors, seem to be moving trade goods and opening their stalls before sunrise , their throaty language filling the air with unintelligible croaks and burbles.

  Most ignore us completely, but occasionally one turns to stare, eyes narrowing with that same contempt I remembered from the first visit.

  "Gllrb plokt," a particularly large Frogman calls out to Shokar, who immediately stops and bows deeply.

  I freeze, my heart pounding. From the corner of my eye, I can see the Frogman approaching. He's dressed in a simple leather armor with some kind of insignia on the chest, probably a guard or minor official.

  "Glb Gllbb" Shokar explains in the Frogman tongue, which I can't understand.

  The Frogman circles me, prodding my shoulder with the butt of his spear. I keep my head down, focusing on Magba's instructions. Never look a Frogman in the eye. Never speak, only nod and listen. Attract no attention.

  "Gllrbt frookt shplokt?" The Frogman's question sounds suspicious.

  "Gllgglb Glubak. Glbfrookt glbkt Morglub." Shokar's voice is perfectly subservient, giving nothing away.

  The Frogman, snorts in dismissal. He barks something else at Shokar, then walks away, clearly satisfied or simply bored with the interaction.

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  Only when he's well out of earshot does Shokar slightly relax. "Come. Not safe here."

  Shokar leads me through the outer ring of the settlement, where crude wooden structures stand on stilts above the marshy water as we enter what must be the Lizardman quarter. The stilt houses here are crowded together, the wood rotting in places, the spaces beneath dark with murky water.

  Workers, all Lizardfolks like me, mostly also minor Lizardman, move between buildings, carrying loads, repairing structures, or simply waiting for orders. Their expressions are uniformly blank, their movements mechanical. It's as if their spirits have been completely broken.

  Shokar stops at one such building and gestures for me to follow him up a crude ladder. Inside, the space is bare save for several straw pallets on the floor and a few crude implements hanging from the walls.

  "Home," he says simply. "For worker lizards."

  The small hut smells of damp and mildew. Three other Lizardmen already occupy the space, all huddled in corners, two asleep and one staring blankly at the wall. None acknowledge our entrance.

  "Others from work group," Shokar explains in whispers. "No danger. Too broken."

  I study their vacant expressions and slumped postures. If this is what living under Frogman rule does to my kind, I'd rather die fighting. But at least for now I need to play along.

  "Sleep," Shokar instructs. "Tomorrow, hard work. Brings less attention than new faces with no purpose."

  "Will you be here?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

  He shakes his head. "Must return to Red Fro—to Lord Vex'mor's tower. Duties there." A brief hesitation. "Will check when possible."

  I settle onto an empty pallet, trying to ignore the musty smell and the scratchy texture. Shokar turns to leave, but pauses at the doorway.

  "Be careful," he says with a hint of something deeper, but with that he's gone, leaving me with strangers in the heart of enemy territory.

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  Sleep eludes me for hours. My mind races with questions about Shokar, about Magba's cryptic comments, about my purpose in this place. When exhaustion finally claims me, my dreams are chaotic, a mixture of the visions of the paths Magba showed me, together with memories of my human life that grow hazier with each passing day.

  "Up! Up now!"

  A harsh voice yanks me from sleep. Standing over me is a Lizardman I don't recognize, fully evolved and wearing a leather harness marked with a distinct insignia. His eyes are cold as he prods me with a short stick.

  "New one, yes? Up! Work crew leaving now."

  I scramble to my feet, noting that the other occupants of the hut are already gone. The Lizardman overseer looks me up and down with a clinical detachment.

  "Eastern hatchery, they say?" His tone is suspicious. "Strange scales. Strange movements."

  I keep my head down, remembering Magba's lessons. "Yes, overseer."

  He grunts, apparently satisfied with my subservience if not my appearance. "Follow. Late already. Lord's project waits for no one."

  Outside, the village is fully awake under the harsh morning light. Lizardmen workers file toward the northern edge of the settlement in loose groups, supervised by more overseers like my wake-up caller. I fall in line, mimicking the slouched posture and downcast eyes of those around me.

  The work site, as it turns out, is a massive construction project on the village outskirts. A stone structure is being built, far more substantial than the wooden buildings that make up most of the settlement. The foundation is already complete, and walls are beginning to rise from the marshy ground.

  "New one here," my overseer announces to another Lizardman wearing a more elaborate harness. "Put him on stone carrying. Test strength."

  The head overseer studies me briefly, then points to a group, all full grown Lizardmen, hauling large stone blocks from rafts at the water's edge. "There. Join haulers."

  These are boulders rather than stones. Damn these bastards!

  The work is punishing, each stone block weighs more than I do and requires two workers to lift. My partner is a silent Lizardman with dull scales and dead eyes who barely acknowledges my presence. We develop a wordless rhythm, lifting and carrying the stones to where other workers are assembling the wall using some kind of quicklime mortar.

  As we work, I observe the construction site carefully. Frogman guards patrol the perimeter, occasionally barking orders or delivering punishment to workers deemed too slow. The building itself appears to be defensive in nature. Thick walls, narrow windows, strategic positioning overlooking both the village and the approach from the marshlands.

  Near midday, disaster strikes. As we're lifting a particularly heavy block, my partner's grip slips. The massive stone tilts sharply, and in my attempt to compensate, the rough edge slices deep into my forearm. Blood immediately wells up, dripping onto the stone.

  Pain surges through me, but it's not the physical agony that causes my panic. Already, I can feel the familiar warmth of my regeneration ability activating. Within minutes, the wound would be completely closed.

  I can't let that happen.

  "Careless!" An overseer barks, approaching with a whip in hand. "Any damage to stone means damage yourself!"

  "Apologies overseer," I mumble. "My mistake."

  The overseer studies me for a moment, then lowers his whip. "First day mercy. Next time, I take skin from your back." He gestures to another worker. "Take his place until bleeding stops."

  As soon as the overseer moves away, I retreat to the water edge, ostensibly to clean the wound. Instead, I frantically dig out Magba's pouch, applying the grainy paste to the gash. It burns like fire, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from crying out. But I can feel it working, somehow suppressing my natural healing and leaving the wound open.

  I take this time to stealthily study the structure and workers but there are still some questions I cannot find answers to.

  When I return to work some time later, the cut still looks fresh and painful. The overseer gives me a disinterested glance and points me back to the stone hauling.

  During a brief water break, I risk asking my work partner a question. "What are we building?"

  He flinches at being addressed directly, then mumbles, "Watchtower. Defense against raids."

  "Raids? From who?"

  The Lizardman glances around nervously. “What else, Kobolds, Marsh Orcs... even other Frogmen, sometimes."

  Rebellion? Or maybe conflicting Frogman’s nations? My interest spikes immediately, but before I can ask more, a whip cracks nearby, and an overseer shouts for us to return to work.

  The day drags on endlessly. My evolved body handles the physical strain better than I expected, but by sundown, my muscles ache with fatigue and my wounded arm throbs persistently. We're finally dismissed as darkness falls, trudging back to the village in silence.

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  Back in the worker's hut, I collapse onto my pallet, every muscle aching from hauling stones all day. The other occupants filter in gradually, each as silent and defeated as my work partner. None speak, none make eye contact. They simply claim their sleeping spots and curl up, some not even bothering to clean the mud from their scales.

  In the privacy of the dim hut, I examine my arm. The wound is healing, but far slower than it should. Magba's paste has kept my regeneration ability dampened, making the recovery appear normal. Still, I'll need to apply more before morning to maintain the deception.

  My mind races despite my exhaustion. The watchtower construction, raids from other species, the strange dynamics between the Lizardman overseers and their Frogman masters, there's so much to process, so much I need to learn if I'm to survive here.

  As I lie there, already half asleep, I have the strange sensation that someone is watching me.