Lagi Post TF

The first month was the hardest, physically. The unfamiliar body had made certain of that. Every movement felt awkward and ungainly, like his limbs were made of limp rubber, forcing him to stick to the shallows and avoid trouble as much as he could. Even such weak creatures as ludroth were giving him a hard time and it was embarrasing in the extreme to have to awkwardly struggle past them. The Hunter part of him said there was no shame in running from a battle if necessary.
The Lagiacrus was infuriated. Why should it have to run? Why did it have to be so impotent, so incapable? The open waters were its rightful property and to have to cede it to interlopers in such a manner was beyond insulting. He was small, though. At barely ten feet long, he was a whelp if anything. Both parts of him fully understood that if he was to survive, as a man or a monster, he would have to get stronger.

The second month was hardest mentally. Now that he was getting used to the body and working with his new instincts instead of fighting them, he was getting more regular meals and as a result had gotten bigger, stronger. The ludroth didn't taunt him anymore. He could kill an aptonoth before it even knew he was there, where before he'd have suffered many painful impacts as the elders charged him. His command of the lightning his kind were known for was improving daily and he was certain that he would have full control over the Island's waters by the end of the month.
He had to be careful not to let the monster get too much control. Worrying things happened when the Lagiacrus got loose. Nothing too bad- a ludroth massacre there, a few close calls with other monsters that would claim his territory here- but it was, in itself, worrying that he found such outbursts less concerning as time went on.
His viewpoint was shifting. Lack of human contact meant the beast was steadily taking over.

The third month was hardest spiritually. Rarely did he think in terms of what would be proper for Hunters or Humans. He was a Lagiacrus. There was little use denying it, said the part of him that wasn't Him. These waters were his domain and he should see to it that this was known by those that used them. He'd taken to visiting Moga now and then, watching from afar, just to try and keep his head.
It was futile, he told himself. Never again could he joke with the Fishmongress, banter with the Fishermen or spend a relaxing day at the farm, watching the felines cultivate honey and mushrooms. Never again would he be able to talk shop with the blacksmith, regale the shopkeeper, the armourer and the guild liason with tales of bravery and danger, or flirt with the latter on an evening. He missed diving for pearls to give to her as thanks for all the hard work she put in and lamented that he'd never tried for something more serious with her.
He'd even swim alongside the fishing boats now and then; close enough to remind them who owned the bay, far enough away that any thrown harpoons or spears wouldn't be able to hurt him, if they hit at all. It sickened the embers of humanity that remained in him that he would view his once-friends as such lowly creatures- no, that he'd even describe them as such.

The days went by. Weeks became months and he could feel himself slipping away. He didn't particularly care any more- he was happy! Perhaps not as happy as he could have been as a human, true, but not only was the island unquestionably his; the villiagers seemed to be warming up to him! Whether it was out of fear, respect or a bit of both, it happened on occasion that the fishing boats returning from voyages would throw him a few of their better catches. Maybe it was supposed to be payment for defending them? He'd attacked those Royal Ludroth because they were invaders, not out of loyalty to lost friends.
Somewhat worringly, somebody had started leaving offerings near his lair. He had no idea how they'd found it but he wasn't terribly fussed. If the guild came down on him he had no regrets he could do anything meaningful about.
He had a good life now. That was all that mattered.

Things changed when the Argosy came under attack. Another Lagiacrus. She (and it was a she, without doubt) was being less than respectful to the tradeship. He viewed the boats that called the island home as much his property as the waters they sailed in. It wasn't forgotten friendship that motivated him to slam her away from the ailing vessel. It wasn't memories of a long-lost lifestyle that gave him strength as the elder leviathan tore at him with fang and thunder. It wasn't a human that used his body as a shield when the female aimed a killing blow at the old tradeship. Well, okay, those first two statements were total rubbish. He may not have been human in body, nor wholly in mind, but he was going to be damned before he let some self-important bitch destroy the livelihood of an old friend and lay claim to his territory in the process. A final, last-ditch assault on the wannabe usurper left her reeling. Shocked that something two thirds her size had lasted so long, she retreated, leaving the now-exhausted king of the island to his beleaguered charge. He stayed until boats from the villiage arrived to assist the Argosy to dock. Much as he would have liked to stay with them, some old wounds were feeling as fresh as the day he'd lost everything. He had a few things he needed to do.

Moga Village was abuzz. The Argosy had limped into dock, having been pulled most of the remaining distance by the fishing fleet. The topic on everyone's lips was the Guardian of the Deserted Island.

In the waters of the island, under the shadows of ancient pillars of stone, a Lagiacrus was digging through piles of bones. It was cursing its luck. Why was it that you never seemed to be able to find what you needed, when you needed i-
There.
Slowly and ever so carefully, it lifted a large, glittering pearl from the sand.

When the alarm horn rang out, Moga came to a standstill. Everyone was gathered in the village centre, a large fire merrily popping and sizzling in time to the various meats and fishes suspended over it. The Itinerant Chef was working his culinary magic, so engrossed in his work that it wasn't until the Guardian had surfaced that the hurried poking of one of the children drew his attention. He nearly spilled the broth.

He towered over them, an azure titan of muscle, scale and sinew. He briefly contemplated how easy it would be to crush them all then and there. That thought lasted for all of half a second before he pushed it aside. He was no tyrant- these people had been, still were his friends, equals! Comrades in arms, some. Others, vital moral support.
It was, perhaps unsurprisingly, the Village Elder who stepped forwards first.
"So. You finally came back to us, eh? Don't give me that look, we figured something was up when we couldn't find no trace of you. Little Cha-Cha drove himself sick looking for you. Still, we had no idea... it is you, right? Can you prove it?"
The sea dragon dipped it's head towards the Guild Liason.
"M-me?" A nod. She stepped forwards, gingerly. Friendly or not, the hunter looked so... fearsome now. There was something primal in those eyes. Something that wouldn't hesitate to turn the village into matchsticks given the slightest provocation. Yet for all that, there was also a familiar gleam, a certain warmth and life that couldn't possibly belong to anyone else.
An enormous paw was held out to her. Everyone present shrank back from it; even the chef, food long forgotten. When she saw what was being held between the claws she had to fight back the tears, but everyone heard the shocked intake of breath. She reached out, hand trembling, and took the proferred treasure. Just like he always used to bring her, all that time ago. She couldn't help herself this time. The tears came freely, heavy sobbing accompanying them.
The Elder dipped his head in understanding.
His final task fulfilled, the Lagiacrus turned to go back out to sea.
"WAIT!" The Liason was on her feet, running out after him, along the dock. "Please, you can't just... go again! I've missed you, everyone here has missed you so much!"
This gave him pause. Surely there was no place for him here, now? His habitat was the soothing depths of open water, not here among the wooden rafts and boats of Moga.
"She's right, you know." The Elder's son had stepped up now. "When the Felines reported no trace of you, we feared the worst. Everyone took it hard." A sidelong glance to the Liason, her eyes red with tears. "Without you Moga'd be nothing. You got us what we needed to rebuild this place and improve it beyond that. You took on the Elder Dragon that caused the mess in the first place and sent it packing without breaking a sweat. Like it or not, you're as much a part of Moga as any of the rest of us."
The Liason spoke up again. "Do you know what we've been calling you ever since the ludroth attack? Guardian. Guardian of the Deserted Isle. When the Captain here told us you took on the Blue Queen to save the Argosy, it was all but certain for a lot of us. No-one else would have taken on such a superior opponent and come out victorious. You belong here. Please stay with us, at least for tonight."
"Besides, meown-ami..." the Intinerant Chef was there now, hands on his hips. "You interrupted ze third course! For zis, nya, you must be served justice! I will not allow you to leave until you have eaten a full selection of my finest cuisines, nya!"
Flabergasted. That's all he could think. He was a monster now, why would they want him around at all?
It would be awfully nice, though, said that flame of humanity inside him. They care, and as much as you try to deny it these days, you care too. Go on. What harm could it do?
"I'll bet there's still a brain cell or two in there still. I bet you can still write! Get this monster of a man a piece of wood!" That was the Wyverian Artisan, now. Quickly enough, a sizeable piece of wood was placed down in front of the monstrous protector.
The Lagiacrus looked at the assembled villagers, all of whom were looking at him expectantly.
"Well?" Prompted the Artisan.
The man who was not a man looked down at the board of wood in front of him and raised a claw. It had been so long since he'd had to even think about human speech, let alone writing. He could just about remember one word, though, and he did his best to scratch it into the plank. It wasn't perfect but it was legible. Barely. The Chief's son picked up the board and examined it. He smiled a broad, toothy smile and turned to the assembled villiagers.
"To the Guardian!" He yelled, and was answered by the entire village of Moga.
"TO THE GUARDIAN!"
The board held high, they could just about make out the word 'Okay'.
For the Guardian of Moga Village and the Deserted Island, it was the single most edifying moment in his life.