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Before the morning of the next day, the nicknames had already started to spread; The Adamantine Wolf, The Wolf with the Armored Pelt. Some called him Mithralfur or The Adamantine Fist, though he wasn't a fan of the latter and preferred the grandeur of The Adamantine Wolf, despite the fact that his invulnerability had nothing to do with the rare metal as far as he knew. It did make sense, with his dark gray fur.

The world was full of magic and mysticism, a land where gods fought and fraternized with mortals in equal measure, and so news of his power was met with healthy skepticism and abundant theories, but he proved able to pass each test they threw at him. A few times, people had come up and prodded at him curiously as if suspecting he was made of metal. One didn't even bother to ask before stabbing a small dagger at Val's hand while he was sat at a table in the tavern. The blade hadn't done more than evoke a death glare from his mother seated beside him and a curt "please fuck off" smile from Val himself.

Val had enjoyed showing off though, breaking a few of the guards' swords and stopping a few volleys of arrows. Some theorized it was a trick of his armor, an enchantment of some kind, but he stood there shirtless and let the most skilled warriors the town had to offer come at him with their sharpened blades, all to no avail. He let them swing and stab and fire at him, but called it off just before they brought out the spells. He did in fact have vulnerabilities, and although his secret was out now, he wasn't keen on anyone finding out about that.

As fun as fighting off the bandits or letting them swing at him had been, he found it was more fun to regale the tavern with tales of his early years, when they'd first found out about his incredible power. The Lanternlight Inn found itself packed with newcomers; wolfkin, aarakocra, tabaxi, and lizardfolk from across the continent of Talidran who had flocked to the place to see if the rumors were true.

"I can't burn either," he said, demonstrating by reaching above him and into the flame of a lantern. "Found that out when we had a house fire back when I was... what, five?"

His mother nodded, though he caught a stern glare from his father that made his ears flatten and he knew that look was to reprimand him for so openly revealing the extent of his invulnerability.

"Gave us a horrible panic," his mother huffed in continuation of the story he'd started, before taking a moment to swallow an entire tankard of strong ale. "But your father rushed in and found you unharmed, clothes burnt, covered in ash. We thought it was luck. We weren't confronted with the truth of it until the bear trap."

Val laughed and nodded, taking a swill from his own tankard—a drink offered as thanks by the bartender. Being a hero was already starting to have perks.

"Right," he said. "I was ten that time…"

He glanced up to study his father's face again, but this time the gray wolf gave a relenting shrug; this story wouldn't reveal anything the townsfolk didn't already know, so Val continued.

"I'd decided to wander off into the forest for some reason," he began again. "I was just a curious kid, I guess. But I'd wandered not half a mile from the house before I planted my foot—" He stamped his foot. "—right down into a trap. Bent the metal teeth."

There were sounds of awe and murmurs of disbelief from the crowd.

"I walked back to the house with the thing still on my leg," he laughed, causing the crowd to laugh as well, though none louder than him and his parents.

"That's right!" his mother said, doubling over. "He comes up and just goes, 'I'm stuck!'"

The entire tavern howled with laughter and after they'd found their breath again and had a drink, Val continued on.

"Gave them another fright for a moment, but after she'd pried the thing off my leg and found not a drop of blood, we were forced to see truth," he said.

"Honestly, I'd wondered ever since you dropped out of that tree and broke the stone beneath," his mother said. "But then you were my offspring, some resilience was to be expected."

"Thank you, dear," his father grumbled, feigning offense. They laughed.

"The two of you I'd heard of from the days of the war," spoke the guard captain, her feathery hybrid wings ruffling as she looked between Fara and Katok. "Well, your father I'd only heard rumor of; the infiltrator too fast to see, the wolf who could never be caught, but the name Fara Flameblade was legendary among the ranks of the Alpha's army."

"Ah, the old days," his mother sighed wistfully, downing another pint of ale and then setting the tankard down hard enough to crumple its form. Several of the gatherers flinched at the sound of its impact with the tabletop.

"But how did the two of you come to be so powerful?" the captain asked. "There was rumor you'd been blessed by the Goddess or experimented on by a mad alchemist or wizard. Or... were you simply born as such?"

His parents looked at one another.

"It's been a long day, hasn't it?" Valreth's father sighed, standing. "I believe we're all due some rest."

"Certainly," the captain said with a nod.

Curious as they all were, the taverngoers all seemed to acknowledge as Katok suggested, that this secret was one they had to keep. Little did they know, one of the guesses of the guard captain hadn't been too far from the truth.

His parents had seen fit to share with Valreth the secret of their power once they trusted him to keep that secret, not long after the incident with the bear trap: They had lived in wartime and that had bred desperation. And with that desperation came all manner of arcane experimenters. The alchemist who had brewed the mixtures that bestowed their power hadn't been mad, nor even really eccentric. Fara and Katok both admitted they remembered little about her, but that they each distinctly recalled the concoctions themselves.

Fara described her brew as a milky white, watery in consistency, with flecks of some silvery substance glittering within the solution. The taste, from what she recalled, was very salty as well as somewhat sweet, and burned slightly. She noted that the silver powder seemed to get stuck in her throat in places and made her cough uncomfortably for a moment or two after imbibing the mixture, but that the change was almost immediate. She had always been a warrior, but soon after found she no longer fit her old armor, her muscles having bulged far beyond their normal size, and in fact far beyond what the best fighter could match with decades of training.

Katok, meanwhile, described a dark red substance, and insisted that however hot Fara's brew had burnt going down, his was certainly worse. It wasn't watery, but it wasn't a thick mixture either. The burn had been intense from the moment it touched his tongue, but what was of greater note was that the potion had saved his life. He'd suffered a grievous wound in battle and they were short stocked on healing potions and healers, but the alchemist had concocted a new elixir, one she said might save his life. With what he was certain would have been his dying breath, he agreed to drink the potion, and woke to find his throat aflame. After drinking near a gallon of water, he'd recovered and found his wounds gone, and that any further injury he sustained would heal at several times the normal rate. Later it was discovered that if he focused, he could move at such a speed he was nearly invisible.

And now here was Valreth. These unique potions given to his parents had played a role in his conception and birth, somehow joining the effects they bestowed and resulting in a child who could not be harmed, at least not by most things. This was especially interesting given his parents had mentioned trying and failing to have children before, and for the first years of his life were simply happy he was alive.

"You will have to be careful who you accept drinks from," his father reminded him once they were in one of their rented rooms and were certain they were alone. "Now that your secret is loose, people will test you in ways other than daggers and arrows."

"I know," he responded.

For all the tales he'd shared with the tavern folk, there were a few he'd left out. He had very much been a curious child, as many children are, and he had at one point during his numerous journeys through the forests come upon a bush of black berries which turned out to be poisonous. It hadn't put his life in danger, but he had spent a long day with terrible stomach pain and had learned his lesson about consuming unidentified things. He'd spent the following weeks carefully studying all types of poisons so he could be wary of them in the future, knowing now that there were indeed things that could do him harm.

"I'll see if we can get you something enchanted," his mother said. "A ward against poisons and psychic attacks. Goddess knows what could happen if some wizard got control of you..."

She shuddered. They had tested this as well; one of the most useful facets of Katok's speed was that he could learn much faster than the typical wolfkin and had managed to teach himself some substantial mental manipulation spells in a matter of days. Val was indeed not at all immune to magic that manipulated the mind, and his mother's concern was shared by him and his father. The idea of some wizard or sorcerer bending him to their will was a terrifying thought.

Nor was he immune to the unique damage inflicted by certain necromantic spells, as they'd found when his father decided to test this and began studying these dark magics. Every test the town had thought to carry out, they had already done themselves, and then some, out of curiosity as much as caution. They wanted to know what exactly Val could be hurt by, and Val had willingly agreed to all of these tests. Their tests were careful and regulated, never endangering his life, but some had been less than pleasant.

***

Valreth dreamt of the bandits. He saw their faces, killed them again and again, and this time when he killed them he didn't do so to protect his secret. He saw the brown she-wolf he'd kicked into the ravine disappearing down into the earth, but it was for nothing. He plunged his dagger into the next wolfkin's throat, but it was for nothing. His secret was blown and they had died for nothing.

He startled awake to a firm hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake, and looked up into the face of his mother.

"We have to go," she said.

She had her serious face on, the one he imagined she'd stared down her enemies with in the war, the one she only ever had when they were about to uproot their lives and move, again. The sliver of moonlight that cut through the slats in the closed blinds gave her blood red eyes a shine of determination.

"Come on," she whispered urgently. "Up."

It wasn't a request. She pulled him out of bed and he struggled to wake himself enough to shove on his boots and pull on his cloak. In minutes, they were out the door and climbing into a carriage, headed off to who knows where.

Valreth was silent as the rickety wagon pulled out of the town and jostled down the less than smooth path. The wagon was covered, his father in the front at the reins, Val and his mother in the back. She knew something was up, but she didn't choose to bring it up until they were well out of the village.

"What is it?" she asked, resting a hand on his shoulder as gently as she could.

"I killed them," he said, not to her, not looking at her.

"The bandits?" she said. He said nothing. She sighed.

"Were they a threat to you?" she asked.

He looked up.

"Were they a threat?" she repeated.

"No," he said. "Of course n—"

"Not physically," she said, "but had they gotten away?"

"At... at the time, yes," he said. "But it didn't—"

"Then you did what you had to do," she said. "You did the right thing."

She leaned back and smiled slightly.

"Besides," she said. "They were bandits. It's not like the droves of tabaxi I crushed in the war. You shouldn't lose too much sleep over it."

He allowed himself a wry chuckle. She laughed.

"No, not enemies of war, just impoverished and misguided townsfolk who turned to a life of crime out of desperation," he scoffed.

They both laughed, sharing in the moment of grim humor, and after a moment the laughter snowballed into a hysterical fit of gasping, wheezing giggles from each of them.

***

"I know it's dangerous to stick around, but I was kind of hoping I could at least try and be a hero," Val sighed as the cart rumbled onward. "If people know me, I can inspire them, protect them."

"We didn't leave because of that, Valreth," his mother said. "You did the right thing facing those bandits. And it felt good chasing them off."

She smiled, but the smile quickly vanished.

"We didn't leave because of unknown dangers that might hurt you. We left because of a familiar one."

Val raised an eyebrow.

"The Alchemist. Your father saw her."

His eyes widened.

"The one who—"

She nodded.

"Oh."