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The day began the way most days did for Zephyr—with sore muscles, frozen breath, and a bucket of feed sloshing against his leg as he trudged through the southern wing of Lowmoor Academy. The first signs of frost had crept over the campus overnight, curling along windowpanes and coating the beast pens in a fine shimmer of white. He moved quickly, his scarf pulled tight around his mouth to fend off the early cold, eyes half-focused on the path, half-watching for early-rising caretakers. The beast pens in Infirmary Wing Two were in his charge now, and Wren had made it clear that punctuality was the only thing standing between responsibility and dismissal.
He stepped into the ward chamber, where the air was already warm, made humid by heat runes embedded in the stone floor. The scent of herbs, hay, and dried blood lingered thick in the atmosphere. One of the assistants had already lit the oil lamps, casting flickering orange light along the walls and onto the reinforced glass enclosures.
Inside one of those enclosures lay a Pyre Tail Leopard, its fur stained with old ash and patches of scorched hair along its ribcage. Its breathing was shallow, and its tail, normally a flowing plume of fire, flickered in short, erratic bursts. Wren stood beside it, arms folded, studying a pulse chart suspended in midair.
Without glancing away, she spoke. "You're two minutes late."
Zephyr didn't argue. "Sorry. The latches on the south feed room were frozen."
"I expect that excuse only once. Next time, be earlier."
He nodded, already stepping toward the prep table to retrieve the morning's ration mix. The routine was becoming second nature now—calculate the temperature fluctuation, account for the beast's weight and metabolism, factor in any mana spikes from the previous day's treatments, then adjust the mix accordingly. It was work that required patience and care, and more importantly, instinct. In a place where everyone had written him off, his instincts were the one thing that couldn't be denied.
As he ground the salt minerals into the mash, he felt a ripple move through his fingertips—not through the tools, but directly inside him. A warm pulse, like something alive and aware. He paused, his hands hovering over the stone bowl. The sensation didn't fade. It intensified, spreading up his arms and into his chest like coals under his skin.
Then he heard it.
Not a voice in the room. Not from Wren or the beast behind glass.
It was internal. Direct. Mechanical yet oddly calm.
[Ding! Initiating System Awakening Protocol…]
Zephyr jerked his hand back. The ladle clattered to the floor, and Wren turned sharply toward him.
"You alright?"
He didn't answer. His head was spinning. Text appeared in front of his eyes—floating, golden, clear as any inked message.
[Beast Sovereign System has detected compatible bloodline signature.]
[Host identified: Zephyr Valorian]
[Compatibility: 97.6% – Synchronization Initiated.]
[Core Unlock Successful.]
A rush of air left his lungs as if something had punched him from the inside. His knees buckled slightly, but he caught himself against the table. Wren was still staring at him, her expression shifting from irritation to concern.
"You look like you've seen a ghost."
Zephyr shook his head and forced a breath through clenched teeth. "Just... dizzy for a second. I'm fine."
She didn't believe him, but she also didn't press.
Inside his mind, the system continued.
[Welcome, Host.]
[You have unlocked the Beast Sovereign System.]
[Core Features Available: Bloodline Tracking, Instinct Synchronization, Beast Pathway Alignment, Skill Tree Access.]
[Bloodline Tier: Locked. Traces of High-Rank Lineage Detected.]
[Beast Bond: Not yet established.]
[Skill Acquisition Status: Dormant. System growth requires proof of instinctive compatibility.]
A second screen appeared.
[Quest Unlocked: Prove Your Worth]
[Objective: Calm a berserk beast ranked higher than your current level using only natural instincts and beast interaction skill.]
[Reward: Initial System Skill – Passive Ability Unlocked + Synchronization Boost]
[Penalty for Failure: System lockout for 30 days]
His pulse thundered in his ears. The words glowed in his mind, too sharp to ignore, too clear to be dismissed as a hallucination. He wanted to speak, to tell someone, to ask what was happening—but he already knew no one would believe him.
The system wasn't a hallucination.
It was real.
He had no idea how or why it chose him, but it had. After all these years, after being branded F-rank, a failure, a joke, something in the world had finally reached out and answered the question that had haunted him every night since his Awakening: Was this really all he was meant for?
And the answer, it seemed, was no.
Before he could process more, the emergency bells rang.
Not the routine ones.
This alarm was high-pitched, urgent, pulsing in rapid succession. Three sharp bursts—the mark of a containment breach.
Wren's head snapped toward the door.
"Stay here," she ordered.
But Zephyr was already moving.
He ran into the corridor, dodging startled assistants, his boots skidding across the polished stone as he followed the source of the noise. A crowd had gathered near the eastern courtyard—one of the practice arenas. Smoke was rising from the far end, and the faint outline of a large, moving shadow emerged through the haze.
As he reached the perimeter, he heard someone shout.
"It's a Rockhide! It broke through the containment field!"
The beast charged through a row of training dummies, its massive tail shattering a stone pillar on impact. Three trainees lay unconscious at the edge of the arena, and two instructors were yelling over each other as they tried to erect a new mana barrier.
[Rockhide Lizard – Rank B Beast: Current Status – Berserk. Mana overdrive detected. Risk of rupture: high.]
The system's display flashed again.
[Target Identified: Rank B Beast in Berserk State.]
[Instinct Sync Mode: Available. Synchronization Level Required: 15%. Current Sync: 12%. Risk: High.]
Zephyr looked down at his hands. They were shaking. Not from fear—but from anticipation. This was it. The quest the system had issued. He hadn't asked for it. He didn't want it. But it was here.
The instructors didn't see him as he stepped through the side gate into the field.
One did, eventually. "Get back! It'll kill you!"
He didn't stop.
He moved forward, slowly, step by step, every breath tight in his lungs as the Rockhide turned toward him. Its mouth opened in a snarl, saliva mixed with streaks of green mana frothing from its jaw.
Zephyr's hand went to his pouch. He pulled out a handful of enriched grain soaked in calming essence—feed he had personally treated. His cultivation skill responded immediately. The grains shimmered, releasing a faint, golden-green vapor.
He stepped into the path of the beast.
And he spoke—not with words, but through sensation, letting his instinct guide him. Not force, not fear, not dominance. But resonance. Respect.
The Rockhide growled louder, but something in its movement faltered. Its steps slowed. Its snarl quieted to a low rumble.
He stepped closer and lowered the feed into the trough.
The Rockhide sniffed once, then twice, and finally—shuddering—it dropped to its knees and began to eat.
The air around them dropped into silence.
The system spoke again.
[Quest Complete.]
[System Reward Unlocked: Passive Skill – Beast Harmonization (Level 1)]
[Synchronization Increased: 22%]
[Tracking Bloodline Echo…]
Zephyr staggered backward, his body flooding with energy that didn't belong to him—yet felt more familiar than his own breath. His chest burned. Not painfully, but as if something inside had finally stirred from a long, deep slumber. The scroll in his coat pocket pulsed once. He pulled it free, and the wax seal crumbled without touch.
The parchment unraveled in his hand. It bore no title, no symbols. Just a single line of runes—somehow ancient, yet understandable:
You are not the first. But you will be the last. The Dragon awaits.
And at the bottom, the signature he had never seen before, but somehow recognized:
The First Tamer....