The temple bell had not yet rung when Lone stepped out into the chilly morning air. His cloak was thin, the fabric frayed near the edges, but his resolve felt heavier than the world.
"I can't rely on Haru for everything," he murmured, looking down at the few coins he had saved—barely enough for a meal, nowhere near enough for a Summon Stone.
So, he took to the streets, hoping to find work—any work that would let him earn, save, and chase the path that had awakened in him since Thorn's arrival.
The town was alive. Stalls clattered open, colorful streamers danced above, and children ran past with wooden beast toys in hand. The Festival of Beasts was nearing its peak.
At the plaza, a tall man stood beside a signboard and shouted over the noise,
"Helpers needed for the Grand Beast Race! Feeding, cleaning, assisting beast handlers! Payment by day!"
Lone's steps slowed.
The Grand Beast Race—the heart of the festival. It wasn't just a celebration. It was remembrance.
Long ago, during the demon rampage of the Great War, the story told of a courageous human riding atop a great beast. Through storms of chaos, they rescued hundreds, guiding them to safety. The settlement they built would later become the very town Lone now called home.
In honor of that legend, the Grand Beast Race was born. Each year, riders and beasts raced not just for glory, but to honor a tale that had long passed into myth.
Lone looked at the sign again.
"Helpers needed."
He clenched his fist, then stepped forward.