I wasn't supposed to care.
When I was taken in by the Tamer's Guild, the first lesson they drilled into us was simple: Connection leads to compromise. Compromise leads to death.
You can bond with beasts, with spirits, even with mana—but not with people. People lie. People betray. People die. And when they do, you're the one left picking up the pieces.
But the moment I saw him—half-conscious, bloodied, disoriented, yet staring down a beast three times his size like it owed him money—I knew I was already breaking the rule.
He wasn't like the others.
The world he came from wasn't just different—it was detached. A place without mana, without beasts, without the weight of Viraelon's balance grinding on his shoulders. But that was exactly why he was dangerous.
And why I couldn't walk away.
The forest was quiet that night, blanketed in a soft mist. Our campfire crackled low between us, giving off more comfort than warmth. He was asleep, finally. Breathing steady, hand twitching occasionally like he was still channeling mana in his dreams.
I sat a few paces away, sharpening my daggers with slow, precise strokes. Not because they needed it. Because it gave my hands something to do other than reach toward him.
What are you doing, Lyra?
It had started simple. He needed a guide. Someone who understood taming magic and how to survive in this world. I told myself I was being strategic. Calculated. Teaching him how to walk before he accidentally set a mountain on fire.
But I'd seen his eyes when he looked at the world—not with fear, but wonder. Hope. A kind of reckless defiance I hadn't felt in a long time. He reminded me of the girl I used to be, before the Guild, before the titles, before the discipline was drilled into every inch of me like armor.
That scared me more than anything.
Earlier that day, during our training near the river, I had let my guard down—just for a moment.
He'd made a mistake, overextending a blast of mana, and lost his balance. I caught him before he hit the ground, hands gripping his arms. Our faces were inches apart, breath tangled in the space between us.
And in that moment… I froze.
Not because of danger. Because of possibility.
He looked at me like I was real. Not a warrior. Not a strategist. Just… Lyra.
And that was a problem.
I glanced at him now, curled beneath his cloak, the Direwolf sleeping at his side like a loyal sentinel. He didn't understand what he was becoming. Not yet. But I could feel it every time he trained. The way mana listened to him—not like a servant obeying a master, but like an ancient beast recognizing one of its own.
He was growing stronger. Faster. Smarter. More than that… he was starting to inspire the people around him. Including me.
That was the kind of power the Arcanum Throne feared. Not brute strength—but belief.
I knew Cirelia would come for him. I just didn't expect it so soon.
She'd once been my mentor.
Cirelia had found me in the ruins of that beast-ravaged village, taken me in, trained me to be sharp, lethal, unyielding. And for years, I believed in her vision. Balance. Order. Control.
But there's a fine line between order and chains.
When she threatened him, it was like seeing clearly for the first time. Cirelia didn't want to protect Viraelon—she wanted to possess it. And he... he didn't fit into that kind of plan.
I glanced at the book we'd stolen from Hollowreach—now tucked safely in my pack, sealed in a protective ward. The pages had confirmed what I feared.
He wasn't born of this world, but he was bound to it now. Chosen by the System itself, gifted with a title that hadn't existed since the Arcanite Gates first shattered the sky.
SSS-Rated Beast Hunter.
Infinite Mana.
Beast Mastery.
A walking contradiction to everything the Arcanum believed in.
And maybe… the hope we needed.
I sheathed my daggers and stood, walking silently to the edge of camp. The stars above were pale, veiled behind drifting clouds. Viraelon was a world of beauty, but it was built on blood, sacrifice, and power struggles so old that even the gods had grown tired of them.
He didn't know it yet, but there were factions watching. Waiting. Some would want to use him. Others, to destroy him. A few… might try to worship him.
And me?
I wasn't sure where I stood.
I'd always been the blade—sharp, silent, necessary. But now… now I found myself wanting to be something else. A shield, maybe. A compass.
I looked back at him again.
And for the first time in years, I felt something I hadn't let myself feel since the night my village burned.
Hope.
If he fell, the world might break with him.
But if he rose?
Viraelon would never be the same.
And maybe, just maybe, I wanted to be at his side when it happened.