Darin had been mistaken for a lot of things.
And yet—none of that compared to the sheer existential horror of standing in front of an actual sorceress with actual fire magic and actual intent to kill him.
Because here was the thing, everyone else?
They'd been working off rumors. Wild stories. Coincidences. A handful of idiots who saw what they wanted to see.
But this woman?
She looked like she actually knew something.
And that was dangerous.
"You truly don't remember me?" she asked, her voice smooth, controlled.
Darin's first instinct was to blurt, Nope! and then throw himself out the nearest window.
Unfortunately, two problems:
They were outside. Too many people were watching.
Which meant he had to think.
He took a slow breath, tilting his head, pretending to search his memories.
"...Mmm, sorry, I think I'd remember if I had a mortal enemy with fire powers."
Her lips twitched in irritation. "So, you are claiming ignorance."
Darin stalled for time.
First rule of dealing with crazy people who thought he was someone he wasn't?
Never deny anything too strongly.
"Oh, no, I am ignorant," he said. "But claiming? No, no, that would imply effort." He gestured to himself. "Look at me. Do I seem like the kind of person who puts effort into anything?"
The villagers nodded solemnly.
One of the bandits muttered, "Yeah, that checks out."
Greta hummed approvingly. "He does have a point, dear."
The sorceress did not look amused. "Enough of this nonsense. If you will not acknowledge me willingly, then I will make you remember."
Her hands flared with fire.
Darin's survival instincts screamed.
Okay. Talking isn't working. Time to pivot.
If he couldn't bluff his way out in a direct confrontation, then he'd have to make her question her own assumptions.
Darin straightened his back and dropped his usual sarcasm.
"Tell me something," he said suddenly.
The sorceress paused, her flames flickering in hesitation. "What?"
Darin folded his arms, tilting his head slightly. "You claim to know me. That I have forgotten my past. But if that's true—tell me. What exactly am I supposed to be remembering?"
The crowd leaned in.
The cultists held their breath.
Greta slurped her tea loudly.
The sorceress hesitated.
Darin smirked.
Gotcha.
Because if she had an actual answer, she would have said it immediately. That meant she wasn't sure.
"Well?" Darin pressed. "If I really had some great past, you should be able to tell me something. My favorite color? What I ate for breakfast? Whether I sleep on my back or my side?"
Her jaw tightened.
Darin's grin widened.
He was winning.
"You see," he said, stepping closer, lowering his voice to a whisper just loud enough for the crowd to hear, "I think you've been chasing a ghost."
A murmur rippled through the villagers.
One of the cultists shifted uncomfortably.
Greta raised an eyebrow. "Oh, that's very good, dear."
Darin casually cracked his knuckles. "I am very good. Thank you for noticing."
The sorceress's magic surged violently. "You dare mock me?!"
Darin sighed, shaking his head. "See, that's exactly your problem."
She froze. "What?"
"You react without thinking," he said, stepping even closer. "You let your emotions take over. If I really were some great and terrible overlord, would you be standing here, throwing a tantrum?"
The crowd murmured again.
One of the bandits actually nodded. "Yeah, she's kinda proving his point."
Darin spread his arms dramatically.
"And yet, here I stand. Not lifting a finger. Not summoning some ancient power. Just talking."
He grinned.
"And you? You're the one getting desperate."
Her flames flickered.
Darin knew he had her.
All he had to do now was push her over the edge.
He turned his back to her deliberately. "Come back when you're ready to listen," he said over his shoulder.
Gasps.
Even Greta nearly choked on her tea.
The villagers stared in shock.
The sorceress twitched.
Darin kept walking.
Every single step was a gamble.
One wrong move, and she'd blast him from behind.
One moment of hesitation, and he'd lose all control of the situation.
But she didn't attack.
Because she couldn't.
He had played his hand perfectly.
She couldn't strike without looking weak. Without proving him right.
But just as Darin reached the edge of the crowd, he made a terrible mistake.
His foot caught on a loose stone.
He tripped.
His arms flailed.
And, in pure dumb luck, he crashed into a nearby torch.
The torch tipped over.
It struck a pile of hay.
The hay erupted into flames.
A massive fireball shot into the air, illuminating the night sky.
The villagers screamed in awe.
A bandit whispered, "Did… did he plan that?"
A cultist clutched his chest. "His power is… beyond comprehension!"
Even the sorceress took a step back, eyes widening.
Darin, now sprawled on the ground, blinked at the towering inferno he had just accidentally created.
A long silence followed.
Then Greta, ever helpful, said:
"Well, dear, that certainly makes for a dramatic exit."
Darin slowly sat up, turned to the crowd, and did the only thing he could do.
He smirked.
And, with every ounce of fake confidence he had left, he muttered:
"Consider that my warning."
Then he turned and walked into the night, silhouetted by the massive flames.
Behind him, the villagers erupted into cheers.
The sorceress stood frozen, watching him disappear, her eyes filled with newfound terror.
And Darin?
Darin just ran to his forge.
Because oh gods, he had no idea what he was doing.