Rivor City, 8 AM
"Come on, get up! We're going to be late!" she hissed, shaking his shoulder harder this time.
Her irritation simmered, sharp and relentless. She tapped her foot, biting back a sigh. How could he still be asleep when time was slipping away?
Leaning in closer, her voice dropped low and serious.
"If you don't get up in the next five seconds, I'm calling Mom."
She caught the faint twitch in his eye.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," she smirked. "You know she won't be nearly as gentle as me."
"Aaagh, what am I supposed to do with you, you stubborn brat?" he grumbled, crossing his arms as he finally sat up on the edge of the bed, still half-asleep and clearly annoyed.
She spun toward the door, raising her voice with exaggerated outrage.
"Moooom! He's calling me a brat again!"
A sly grin tugged at her lips as she peeked over her shoulder, already waiting for his reaction.
"Enough, both of you!" their mom snapped from the kitchen, her voice sharp over the sizzling of breakfast. "If I hear one more word, neither of you is leaving this house today. Now get ready and be at the table in five minutes—no excuses."
The room fell silent for a moment, their mother's warning hanging heavy in the air.
Layla narrowed her eyes at him.
"Hey, did you forget what day it is today?"
Her tone wasn't gentle—it was sharp and incredulous.
He blinked slowly, rubbing his eyes like he was wading through fog.
"What day…?" he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
She let out a short, disgusted laugh.
"Are you serious right now? Today is the free beast egg selection day! Wake up and stop acting like it's just any other boring morning!"
His eyes flew open, wide and sparkling.
"Wait—beast egg selection day?!"
He shot up, excitement overtaking sleep.
He splashed cold water on his face, rubbing it in hard.
"That's why I stayed up late last night… I couldn't stop thinking about it."
Layla crossed her arms, eyebrows raised high with mock disbelief.
She smirked.
"Get moving—freshen up fast, or Mom's gonna kick your butt so hard you'll land in the egg crates."
Leon sighed dramatically.
"Okay, okay, I'm going."
---
In the bathroom, he splashed water on his face again, the chill jolting him to full awareness. He dried off quickly, then leaned over the sink, staring into the mirror.
His hair was a mess. His eyes still a little puffy. But the excitement buzzing in his chest was now undeniable.
"Leon," he muttered to himself, grounding the name in the morning haze. "Fifteen years old. Slightly sleep-deprived. Future beastmaster—hopefully."
He gave himself a crooked smile.
"Then there's Layla. My twin. More energy than sense. Bosses me around like she's the queen of Rivor."
He paused.
"Mom's Isabella. She runs the house like a battlefield and the kitchen like a fortress. You don't want to mess with her before breakfast."
A softer look crossed his face.
"And Dad… Damien. Quiet, steady, strong. He used to be something big, I think. Never talks about it. Just jogs and gives cryptic advice."
He took one last look at his reflection, then nodded.
"Alright. Let's go."
---
The scent of toasted bread, sizzling meat, and honeyfruit jam pulled Leon down the stairs like a charm. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows of the dining room, washing the wooden floor in golden warmth.
Layla was already seated, legs bouncing, feeding Hearthfang—Mom's beast—with careful fingers. The fire-born feline, curled near the hearth like a living ember, purred softly. Her fur glowed with a low, smoldering light.
Hearthfang was no ordinary cat—she was a flame-bonded guardian, with ember-colored fur and sharp, protective instincts. A beast that matched Isabella's spirit perfectly.
Leon sat down with a yawn and reached for a slice of bread.
"Hey, Mom—where's Dad? Thought he'd be back by now."
Isabella, pouring tea with practiced hands, didn't even glance back.
"Went out for his usual morning jog. Said something about keeping the old legs ready in case a stormwing hatchling bolts."
She snorted.
"As if those cliffs aren't tired of his footsteps by now."
Just then, the front door creaked open and a breeze rolled in.
A familiar voice called out, cheerful and amused.
"Now, now—who's badmouthing me before breakfast?"
Damien strode in, wind in his hair and a smirk on his lips. Mist clung to the edges of his cloak, and the beastmaster charm at his belt clinked softly as he moved.
Leon grinned.
"Depends. How much did you hear?"
Damien laughed.
"Enough to know I'm clearly the victim here."
Isabella snorted again, but a small smile tugged at her lips.
"Victim, my foot."
She handed him a tray with emberroot stew and fresh mistbread.
"Eat up before you start jogging in circles again."
"Thanks, Isabella," Damien said with a smile, taking the tray and sitting down. "You always know how to feed a beastmaster right."
He took a slow bite, savoring it, then looked up.
"So—how's the preparation coming along? Ready to finally contract your beasts?"
Leon tried to look cool.
"Honestly, it feels more like gambling than anything else. It's not like you pick a beast—it's whether a beast feels like picking you."
Layla nodded.
"Exactly. You gotta vibe with it. I'm not rushing in like some desperate egg-snatcher."
Leon laughed.
"Yeah, but if all the good ones get taken, I'm not vibing with a lazy fluffball just because it likes to nap."
Layla rolled her eyes and shoved a berry into her mouth.
"Then don't get out-vibed."
---
The last bites disappeared, and chairs scraped back. Isabella called out final reminders while Layla gave Hearthfang a goodbye scratch behind the ears and grabbed her cloak.
Leon stretched, grinning.
"Alright, let's not keep the eggs waiting."
With hearts pounding, the twins stepped out into the brisk morning, sunlight stretching over Rivor City.
The countdown had begun.