VoC: B1 — 4. Sunlight Burns
Added 2025-06-11 22:43:15 +0000 UTCPoV:
1. Damon (Our New 24-Year-Old MC!)
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Damon could feel the tension in the room as he saw Stephen sigh in relief; the battle of wills between the king and bloodthirsty nobles was over, half of them seething over racial prejudice, the other half plotting to further weaken his grandfather’s image.
It was obvious that Stephen knew the soft spot inside his grandfather’s heart and used the High Cleric Sorrel to dispel any doubts in his soul. Now, both of them were using every legal technicality to protect him.
But even that wasn’t enough to stop the threat of his murder at the hands of average citizens, or the nobility from hiring a citizen to do the job. The obscurity of that law was his only defense in public. Someone would take a shot at him, though. He had no doubt.
Finally, the king spoke his final ruling. “It is done. Damon is hereby banished from the royal city and stricken from all royal records. He will have twenty-four hours to prepare for his journey out of the capital. As to the clemency guidelines, he shall receive compensation and remain free until his fifteenth year, when he will fulfill his oath to join the northern campaign or face divine retribution by the Holy Emperor directly.”
Bailey, the knight who had brought him in, looked positively murderous at this turn of events.
“My mother,” Damon found himself saying, the words pushing past his lips before he could stop them. “What about Princess Catelyn?”
His grandfather’s neutral face remained in place, hiding his bleeding heart. “You have no mother by that name. I have no daughter by that name. There has never been a Princess Catelyn.”
Those words hit him harder than a blow between the legs. Damon’s breath caught, and for a moment, the composed mask he’d been wearing threatened to crack entirely.
“Can’t she choose the Clemency Act?”
Stephen’s shaking head was followed by his grandfather’s cold analysis. “You were her crime, Damon. You committed no crime other than the inherent crime of your existence within our borders… Royalty are held to a far higher standard than civilians under the law. Relief from treason is not granted under the Clemency Act.”
Shit.
Memories resurfaced. Not abstract. Real emotion. Ten years. Ten years of bedtime stories, of his mom teaching him to read, of her protecting him from a world that would hate him for what he was. And now, in the eyes of the law, in the eyes of history, their family—she had never existed. Especially after the legal maneuvering he’d done for him… It didn’t make sense.
“Damon…” Aria’s mental voice was soft, hurt. “That’s so messed up. She’s our mom.”
His grandfather’s face remained carved from stone, but Damon caught something flickering in Stephen’s expression instead. It was gone too quickly to be sure, but he wasn’t buying it. His uncle showed a form of understanding. Pain? Regret? But an unmistakable message: I’m working on it.
Let’s not be too quick to judge… There’s a lot here we still don’t understand. One step at a time, Sis. That’s how you deal with a harsh world. Take the hits, figure out how to hit back.
Damon forced himself to nod slightly, trusting the man who’d already saved his life once today.
Sorrel’s earthy voice entered his mind as the guards moved to remove his restraints, and Damon caught Stephen’s eye again. The marquess gave him an almost imperceptible nod.
“Sometimes words left unspoken become the loudest, Chosen of Titania. She has a task for you when you are ready to leave and have made your preparations… She tells me you are a crafty one, but She did not inform me as to how bold you were. I look forward to hearing what trouble you cause before departing my grounds. Until then…”
As the court session ended, the knights moved to lead him away.
He held up his now-free hands with a smirk as he saw his sister’s invisible amulet home around his throat, the [D-tier] Amulet of Sightlessness, the current phylactery of her soul. Titania was a troublemaking goddess of good, which fit him perfectly.
I’m guessing you have a lot to tell me, Sis, he stated, watching his grandfather leave with a flurry of voices and inquiries, seeking further clarification. You always did have a better memory than me…just a thicker skull.
“Yeah, a ton, but uh, wait, what is that supposed to mean? I’m smart but not wise, oh holier-than-thou sage?”
If that’s what you want to take from it, oh edgier-than-thou lich.
“Ha. Ha,” she dryly huffed. “Whatever. But yeah! That went better than I expected, I guess, even if you had to basically sell your soul to a holy war. But seriously, what monster did Sophia turn into? I can’t remember anything from that part.”
The world seemed to tilt sideways. Damon stumbled slightly, and the guard behind him growled, shoving him forward to keep moving.
Aria… Sophia—his girlfriend, the woman he’d planned to build a life with—was a monster. Not metaphorically, not in some abstract sense, but literally transformed into some kind of creature. You still haven’t explained that. What kind of monster? he asked, his mental voice carefully controlled.
“I-I just said I don’t know exactly. The memories are fuzzy. But Damon, she’s not dead. Titania said we have time. She’s being reborn somewhere else in this world on a delayed sort of schedule, and we can find her, we can—”
Aria! Okay, he pulled back, taking a deep breath and trying not to let his temper get the better of him. I need the quick version, Sis, before you start spiraling. What happened to us when we met with Titania? We died, and…what?
“Don’t snap at me! And, uh, no-der, genius! Keep up, Dad. Geez, what am I going to do with you…”
Damon’s silence was frigid—that jab was to try and shut the conversation down.
“Okay, okay! I know you’re freaking out and want answers, and I will tell you everything, but first… Damon, let’s get you your ‘personal effects’ as grandad gave you. You’re worried about Soph, I’m worried about you!
“We need that bracelet, stat!” she rambled on. “You have [B-tier Sunlight Sensitivity], which means you turn into a dust tornado when we go outside, and I’m stuck without legs forever! So…think about what I need.”
Considering the emotional plea in his little sister’s tone, Damon felt an ulcer coming on.
Okay, I hear you, Ms. Shego…but why don’t we do both? Fair?
“Shego would just energy claw your face off… Okay. Fair… Just give me a minute. Please.”
We both know I’m the Shego in this relationship, right?
“Oh, shut up, Evil Princess.”
I think that’s your dream.
“Pfft. What if it is?!”
Aria.
“What?”
It’s going to be okay.
“I know… Thanks, Damon.”
The Royal Judgment Chamber gleamed with harsh, unrelenting brilliance under the light of enchanted crystal chandeliers as they exited. It was hard, but he shoved down his desire to strangle the answers out of his little sister. She needed space to compose herself every time she felt like she was in trouble. He needed time to calm down, too, so it often worked out.
Damon’s ten-year-old body felt small amid the colossal marble columns that stretched toward ornate vaulted ceilings where painted scenes depicting the Holy Emperor’s victories against what he could only assume were the evil deities loomed overhead.
His bare feet slapped against polished stone as two guards and Ser Bailey, the knight who’d been assigned to him, escorted him from the main chamber.
The grand marble hallways of the Royal Judgment Hall stretched endlessly before them, adorned with gold leaf trim and stained glass windows depicting their lawful deity and champions smiting chaotic forces. Everything about the architecture projected power, order, and unyielding righteousness—exactly what the Kingdom of Mentris stood for.
His mind wasn’t on aesthetics, though.
Ser Bailey shoved Damon again. “Pick up the pace, dark elf. I don’t have all day to babysit Nightcrawlers.”
Damon stumbled slightly but caught himself. The term ‘Nightcrawler’ made his jaw clench, but he kept silent. At least now he knew one of the lovely terms he should get used to.
“Why are we even bothering with the formalities?” Bailey continued, addressing the other guards. “Not like this one’s going to make it a week outside the capital. Some vigilante will gut him before he reaches the next town.”
One of the younger guards glanced at Damon and then quickly averted his eyes. “Uh, right… Oh, did you hear a wyvern was spotted landing near the main road yesterday? Just a few miles from the city walls.
“A wyvern? Hold on—that’s like high 40s, maybe even 50s? No way that’d go unnoticed—they’d call back the reincarnates from the Hell Gate. No, Lord Stephen would need to handle them.” The younger guard’s eyebrows shot up as Bailey continued, “That’s too close to the city? Why hasn’t the whole—oh…” she trailed off, face pinching. “Her…
“As if one reincarnate wasn’t trouble enough,” Bailey growled. “Now that wild-card Thorn is back… True Neutral reincarnates are a sham.”
Damon’s ears perked up at this, though he carefully maintained his neutral expression as Aria fumbled with more excuses to avoid talking about his girlfriend.
“Merana Thorn?” The young guard looked confused. “The Wyvern Bound Tamer?”
A Tamer? Damon thought to himself, letting his sister stew and collect herself before diving back into the conversation.
If each of the nine deities has a personal reincarnate for every class in this world, then that means there are nine potential Tamers, including me? No, maybe not if Sage is a catch-all; I don’t know how common each sub-class is.
If there is another Tamer reincarnate, then I could learn a lot from them…if they’re friendly.
“The very same,” Bailey spat. “Only reincarnate to survive The Vanishing. Twenty-five years. How can it only be twenty-five damn years since the Hell Gate opened? And despite her strength, she refuses to take sides in the war—a war against Hell! Claims it ‘disrupts the balance,’ ” she mocked. “Typical fence-sitter. Probably in league with the demons themselves since we’ve started to push them back a bit.”
“Yeah…then Malik went and vanished right when that nightmarish dragon god showed up—the Rosen Monarch? At least it vanished with him…”
Wait, The Vanishing? Dragon gods? The Hell Gate? Damon directed toward Aria, trying to get her mind off excuses before ambushing her again—it typically worked when she was avoiding a topic.
“Oh yeah!” His sister’s mental voice perked up. “That’s right. Mom told us stories about it. Twenty-five years ago, all the reincarnates suddenly disappeared except for that Thorn lady. Malik was one of the few born at the same time as all of the reincarnates vanished. I don’t know much about them, though. I heard some people on the way here wondering if she had something to do with it.
“The same day, a gateway to the first layer of Hell opened in Rashguard. Mean to say, yeah, but that whole nation is now basically ash. Supposedly, it was because of evil-aligned reincarnates performing some ritual during the Veil of Chaos… It adds up, but, meh, I haven’t seen any proof. Everyone wants to blame the bad guys!”
I’m sure… We aren’t done with the conversation about Sophia, by the way.
“Just…give me some time to figure out how to say it! Please…”
The stressed note in his sister’s voice made him pause, chest gripping with anxiety, yet he fought it down. Fine… But I need to know what to do, Aria. I can’t make a plan for us if I don’t have all the details.
“I know! I know! Don’t push me! But…we have time, okay? Just be patient with me.”
…Okay.
Damon processed this information as they turned a corner. Ahead, the corridor opened into a grand hallway lined with tall windows. Morning light streamed through them, casting long rays across the marble floor, the only shadows being spotted with areas of dazzling beams.
Ser Bailey’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Right through there, dark elf. Fastest way to the records chamber.”
“Shit,” Aria hissed. “This bitch is doing this on purpose! Hold me up. I’ll zap her ass! This wasn’t the way they brought us in! Damon, stay away from those sun rays!”
I heard you the first time. And let’s not cause more trouble when I can be turned to…dust, did you say?
“Dead as a mummy! I’m not kidding.”
I believe you.
Damon hesitated, eyeing the patches of sunlight with apprehension.
So, if I touch one ray, do I die?
No, but it’ll hurt like hell and probably burn your skin. Remember, you’re a dhampir and a dark elf. Double whammy when it comes to sunlight.
Damon sighed, drawing a breath; he wondered how he’d even gotten such a terrible roll, as Aria might say. He glanced at Bailey, noticing her barely concealed anticipation.
“Go on,” she urged, prodding him with the hilt of her sword. “We need to get this done with.”
“Oh! Damon, you should totally smile at her with your fangs. That would freak her out. Show some teeth and say something like, ‘Your nose is big!’ I’d totally do it.”
And you’d get punched in the gut and thrown into the light… Not now, Aria. We don’t need to escalate things. You’d be shocked how many doors can open with the right attitude instead of using a pretty smile and flirting a bit.
“I’d never use my fortunate looks to get what I want!”
Why so defensive, Sis?
“Go burn to ash! You’re the one who taught me to use everything I had to win.”
Damon kept his face carefully neutral as he moved to the side of the hallway where the shadows were deepest. Pressing his small body against the wall, he edged forward, keeping as much distance as possible between himself and the beams of light.
Bailey and the guards watched, clearly expecting him to balk or break down. Instead, with careful precision, Damon moved steadily through the gauntlet of light. Where the shadows weren’t deep enough, he had to pass through thin slivers of sunlight. Each time, his violet skin hissed and smoked slightly, the pain sharp and immediate.
Yet he never flinched, never cried out. His ten-year-old frame continued forward, never breaking pace, even when halfway through, a screen popped in front of his face.
[System Trickery: Success]
[F-tier System Appraisal: Full Failure, False Stats and Feats Applied]
Gee. Great timing. I’m convinced she’s trying to kill me… Wonder what she sees.
“I mean, if it tells Ms. Forehead you’re a Greek god, then that’d be cool.”
Where is your brain, Sis?
“Shut up and focus on not turning to dust. And leave my brain alone!”
He restrained an internal laugh.
Bailey frowned, grunting and leaning in to whisper something to the nearest guard that Damon didn’t catch.
When he reached the other end, he carefully examined his arms, noting the small burns that weren’t healing; it would probably take him some time, or even consuming blood, before it was mended. Then he turned and waited patiently for his escort.
The younger guards exchanged glances, clearly unsettled by his composure.
“Of course,” Bailey muttered. “He’s a reincarnate, not just some ten-year-old. Don’t let that child’s body fool you… He’s a monster in ugly clothing.”
Subtle… Why the hate?
Damon inclined his head slightly and tried to give off regret. “I apologize if I’ve caused any discomfort. I don’t know what those of my race may have done to earn such hatred, but I assure you I mean no harm.”
The younger guard opened his mouth, but Bailey cut him off.
“Save your silver tongue, Nightcrawler. We know what your kind does to women who aren’t your dark elf idols. No woman is a woman except for a Nightcrawler, right?” Her hand instinctively moved to the hilt of her sword. “Your entire race worships that Spider bitch. Don’t pretend you’re any different because you have some split loyalty to that chaotic fae goddess and whatever tricks she’s lured you in with.”
Oh, well, that clears some things up… Damon internally muttered, left hand quaking and jaw tight while eating the soul torment. Dark elves must have some serious issues with other races’ women. Perfect pick, Aria. And this damn mark! Why did I choose this race again?
“Yeah,” Aria hissed. “I’ll get back to you on that. And I learned a few things about dark elves by asking Mom. Dark elves are super misogynistic toward non-dark elf women.
“They worship their own females like goddesses, but see every other race’s women as beneath them. It’s why almost their entire race worships Lilsh—”
Aria! Don’t say Her name. Shit…
“My bad! My bad! Uh, yeah, you just add an ‘a’ at the end of Lilsh and that’s her name—close call! Umm, The Spider Queen. See? I don’t fear that bitch. No pain! And yeah, they won’t say it either because obvious reasons—oooooh, She Who Must Not Be Named!”
Once again, his sister was deflecting, but at least he was getting valuable information out of it, and it was keeping her grounded. She didn’t fear the goddess; she feared what others could do to him. That mattered. He needed to help her feel safe.
Damon kept his thoughts carefully schooled as they continued to the records chamber—a sterile, orderly room with shelves of identical leather-bound ledgers. A bureaucrat with spectacles and thinning hair looked up from behind a desk.
“Prisoner transfer compliance protocol,” Bailey announced. “The dark elf requires his thirty Imperium steel pieces and personal effects, as ordered by the king.”
The bureaucrat’s eyes widened at the sight of Damon. “Of course, of course.” He hurriedly pulled several forms from a drawer. “Just need a signature here, here, and here…”
Damon signed where indicated, his still-developing muscle memory from this body making his handwriting slightly childish. He carefully noted the bureaucratic obsession—exactly what one would expect from a lawful-good kingdom.
“And my bracelet?” Damon asked confidently, hoping Bailey wouldn’t take offense as he carefully held his hand over the burn on his shoulder.
The bureaucrat adjusted his spectacles. “Yes, yes. The transformation bracelet is cataloged among your personal effects.” He disappeared into a back room and returned with a small box. “Here we are. I’m surprised dark elves are covered under the law. We’ll have to revisit that in the next Decade Law Review.”
Yup, checks out—typical bureaucratic timeline.
Inside, Damon found a simple silver bracelet set with a smooth moonstone and the promised thirty Imperium steel coins in a small leather pouch.
“That’s it?” Aria complained. “That’s all our stuff? What about all our books and toys and clothes? I call foul! And they call themselves lawful-good. Bah!”
Probably confiscated or destroyed, Damon grimly thought.
As the bureaucrat was explaining the terms of Damon’s release, a messenger burst into the room.
“Ser Bailey,” the young page announced, “Commander Lightshield requires your presence immediately for inspection. The officer on duty by the main facility gate is missing.”
Bailey’s face darkened. “Missing? What do you mean by missing?”
“He, uh, well, no, not missing, per se. He, uh, claimed to need a bathroom break, but hasn’t returned when the shipment arrived,” the page said nervously.
“Incompetent—” Bailey cut herself off. She glared at the two guards. “Stay with the prisoner. I’ll handle this inspection.”
As soon as Bailey had stormed out, one of the guards whispered something to his companion. Moments later, both claimed they were being relieved for shift change and departed, leaving Damon alone with only the nervous bureaucrat.
Is this…supposed to happen? Damon mumbled, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. Are we about to be set up for a ‘fake escape’ before we’re fully set free? Justify killing me via self-defense? Some other legal loophole?
“Ooh. I didn’t think they had it in them!” Aria chuckled darkly. “Let me get my spells ready. I’ve been wanting to burn someone’s ass for a hot minute now. Better put on that amulet and get your body back.”
Hey, there. Down, girl, we don’t need fireworks right now.
“Aww… C’mon!”
We’re not like your OP heroine books, where we’ve got kingdom-breaking powers. We blow the roof off and I burn, remember?
Connecting the bracelet to his wrist, he desired for the menu to open, and it did. Scrolling down and pressing the right tab, he focused on the [Humanoid Transformation] Feat that came with the bracelet as the nervous man watched. He felt a slight tingle that followed.
[Humanoid Transformation: Activated]
[Error: Divine Oath Intervention]
[Failed]
[Humanoid Transformation: Partial Activation]
Damon glanced down with growing fascination as the world grew larger with his frame, body expanding spontaneously: chest widening, limbs lengthening, and muscles growing. Skin, still a deep violet. Hair, still a princely raven. He was now staring down at adult hands again.
We’re back, baby.
Only seconds passed before he was looking down at what was now something more like a raggedy brown dress than prisoner robes. He waited for his little sister to comment on it with her snark, but she seemed too distracted by her rant over power.
“Booo! I’m OP in this world. Trust me, Bro, but yeah, why not kingdom-breaker levels? Give me the power to summon a legion of the undead to ravage these pathetic mortals and their laws! Give me power! Or…just give me the ability to eat something good and taste it,” she suddenly wept. “Damn you, Titania! Oh, you grew tall! I can see this guy’s bald spot.”
Barely two minutes passed—the clerk growing more fidgety and worried by the second—before a woman dressed as a maid entered the chamber. She was utterly unremarkable—average height, plain brown hair, features that would blend into any crowd. Yet something about her alert eyes made Damon immediately suspicious.
“We have approximately ten minutes, young prince,” she said without preamble, slipping a few coins to the nervous man, whose eyes lit up upon spotting what Damon took for copper. “Your mother is waiting.”
“Trap! It’s a trap!” Aria cried. “But I don’t care! It’s Mom. We go!”
Yeah. We go. But let’s be smart about this.
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