[POV: Rena]
Rena's time in the orphanage taught her what monster disasters leave behind from burned homes, frightened children, and families split apart by names that become casualty lists.
At their core, tamers are contradictions.
Hypocrites, perhaps.
They nurture monsters, protect them, feed them, learn their habits, and then they send them into battle. Weapons wrapped in affection. That is why she named her guardian as Sarge. Because before anything else, he is her soldier.
A guardian built for the field where ideals and necessity collide. And if she wants even a chance of reaching that distant dream, then following Mr. Colt matters.
Because this man is not merely powerful. He is known across the Circle as the Heavenly Soldier.
Mr. Colt notices her silence and offers a faint smile.
"My apologies if anything I said sounded improper."
His tone is careful, sincere enough that she believes him.
Everything she has heard says he is reputable, though rumors about tamers in general rarely paint flattering pictures. Corruption, politics, arrogance, exploitation? None of it absent. Still, standing here, he does not look like a man hiding poison behind courtesy.
Perhaps that is naïve.
Perhaps not.
Mr. Colt folds his arms lightly.
"And just so there is no misunderstanding, this is not special treatment."
Rena blinks.
"A new initiative has begun within the Circle," he continues. "A development program intended to cultivate future heroes. Each squad is tasked with raising one talented seed."
He raises three fingers.
"You were selected for three reasons. The first is your examination results."
A second finger lowers.
"The second is the recent genomic reevaluation of the Snow Blue-eyed Bunny line. The new data significantly raises its potential grade."
The third follows.
"And third, your affinity."
His eyes move to Sarge.
"A guardian evolving during contract ceremony is exceptionally rare. That degree of synchronization suggests the possibility of Unity."
The word lands heavier than the others.
Unity.
A state spoken of almost like myth among young tamers. She wants to think he is flattering her. Yet his expression remains serious. For a moment, Mike's voice resurfaces in memory of his encouragement, awkward but genuine.
Her fingers tighten slightly.
"What do I need to do?" she asks.
Mr. Colt smiles then, properly this time, calm and confident.
"First," he says, "get in the car."
…
..
.
[POV: Mike]
I leave Tempest by train just before noon, carrying everything I own in a single bag that rests against my legs while the carriage rocks gently over the rails.
Before boarding, I unsummon Hope back into my soul.
That part still feels strange every time, like closing a door on a room I know someone is standing inside. The warmth remains faintly in my chest afterward, a reminder that she is there even when unseen.
Bringing guardians out inside public trains is illegal unless there is an emergency. The law makes sense. A guardian, no matter how harmless it looks, is still a living weapon. Even weak ones can kill ordinary people if something goes wrong, and no one wants panic inside a sealed carriage moving between City-States.
Outside the window, Tempest gradually shrinks until the outskirts become dry roads, ruined structures, and stretches of land left too dangerous or too unstable to develop.
When I arrive in Manson, the first thing I need to do is register at the local Tamer Guild.
The Guild handles almost everything practical under the authority of the Tamer Circle. Registration, requests, licensing paperwork, patrol assignments, contract verification, regional permissions, emergency notices. Every tamer eventually passes through a Guild office whether they like bureaucracy or not.
I also need to prepare for the licensure examination.
Without that, my rank stays unofficial, and so does Hope's.
I wonder what rank she would receive right now.
The thought stays with me as the train cuts across another stretch of abandoned terrain.
It takes a couple of days before reaching Manson City-State, long enough for boredom to settle in and thoughts to wander.
The City-State model exists because monsters made ordinary countries impossible to maintain.
Large territories sound impressive until a coastal beast appears and wipes out three districts in a single afternoon, or a migration event tears through transport lines and leaves half a province isolated. A nation cannot govern itself well when destruction arrives often enough to be scheduled like weather.
Smaller defended territories work better.
Tamers can be concentrated. Defensive barriers can be maintained. If a stampede happens, losses remain contained instead of spreading across entire regions.
Practical, even if flawed.
Most City-States are overcrowded, resource-starved, or both.
Farmland barely exists now.
I remember reading really old history books in the orphanage library, pages showing endless fields and harvests as if that were normal life once. Entire regions used to grow food openly without fortified walls or patrol routes.
That world sounds unreal now.
The silence in my chest shifts, and Hope's voice reaches me through our link.
"It's stuffy in here. Are souls supposed to feel this cramped?"
I grimace faintly and lower my voice so nearby passengers do not think I am talking to myself.
"It gets more comfortable when I improve."
"That sounds suspiciously like you guessing."
"I'm mostly certain."
"Mostly certain is not confidence."
"You'll survive."
"I already am surviving. Poorly."
A child across the aisle glances at me when I speak under my breath, so I stop there. The rest of the trip passes without incident. When the train finally arrives in Manson, the first thing I notice is scale.
The station alone is larger than several blocks in Tempest, built from steel and pale stone, with layered platforms and tall glass arches that catch the afternoon light. Beyond it, the city rises upward in stacked lines of buildings far taller than anything back home.
The skyline feels crowded but alive.
The moment I step outside the station, Hope bursts from my chest in a flash of pale light.
She shoots upward, wings beating hard as if escaping imprisonment.
"Fresh air at last!"
A few people nearby glance over, but no one reacts strongly. Guardians are common enough here that excitement barely earns attention.
Hope circles once above my head, visibly thrilled by open space.
I watch her hover and think about why I left Tempest. The simple answer is distance. I want to be far from the orphanage. Far from old routines, old looks, and old expectations. A new city means fewer memories attached to every street corner.
I did leave a letter for the director.
Hopefully, he reads it before deciding I vanished.
Maybe one day I make enough money to give something back.
The orphanage was not entirely miserable. Just because some of my memories there are unpleasant does not mean everyone there deserves resentment. A lot of kids had it worse than me.
I adjust my bag and head toward the Manson Tamer Guild.
The building stands near the administrative district, marked by a large circular emblem above its entrance. Compared to the station, it looks restrained, more practical than grand.
Inside, the hall is almost empty.
Either I came early or most people are elsewhere handling field work. Only one clerk sits at the front counter, an old man with thin glasses and a nametag that reads Hans.
I walk up and take out my papers.
"I want to register as a tamer," I say, handing over everything from orphanage records to Tempest acknowledgment papers.
Hans takes the documents carefully and inspects each page without rushing. His eyes move slower than expected, but nothing escapes him. After a moment, he reaches for a phone, raises it to his ear, and murmurs quietly to someone I cannot hear.
He asks a few short questions, listens, then ends the call.
When he looks back at me, his expression stays neutral.
"Is there a reason why you decided to register here in Manson instead of Tempest?"
"Manson is bigger," I answer. "The larger corporate districts move money faster, and bigger money moves through here more often."
It is not even a lie.
Manson is the nearest City-State with the kind of demographic I want. More people, more contracts, more opportunity, and more money. If I am going to build anything from nothing, this is where it starts.
It seems my answer hits something personal in Hans.
His posture straightens, his face gaining visible energy.
"Well, naturally," he says, leaning back with a small note of pride. "Manson is the finest City-State in the region. We have top-class training facilities, the best technology currently available on the market, research centers funded by major corporations, food districts people travel days to experience, fashion sectors that influence half the eastern trade lanes, and enough industrial support to keep even elite squads supplied."
He taps my paperwork as if the paper itself confirms his point.
"If someone intends to build a future, there are worse places to begin."
I nod because arguing with civic pride seems unnecessary.
Hans continues sorting my documents until he reaches the guardian registration section.
His fingers stop.
His eyes move up to me, then down again, and then up once more.
"You listed a Silver Promise Dove as your primary guardian?"
"Yes."
That answer earns me a look I immediately recognize as pity. Not cruel pity. Just genuine disappointment on my behalf.
He adjusts his glasses.
"Why did you have to make your Silver Promise Dove your primary when its potential grade is capped at Rank D?"
I stare at him.
That part is new.
"What do you mean capped?"
Now he looks mildly surprised that I have to ask.
"Potential grade refers to the natural ceiling a monster species can normally achieve through standard evolution pathways. A Silver Promise Dove reaches Rank D at best under known conditions. Most never even touch the upper end of that bracket."
He studies my face, probably noticing how little I already know.
"It is not impossible for anomalies to exist," he adds, "but species limitations matter. A primary guardian defines much of a tamer's growth path."
I ask more politely than I feel.
"Can you explain that further?"
He does, though briefly. The explanation only makes one thing clear. My knowledge has holes and large ones.
I read what I could in Tempest, but access was always limited. Old books, borrowed notes, outdated manuals, fragments from public terminals when I could afford time on them. Buying books myself was impossible most of the time, and renting proper computer access was a luxury.
I have no formal education in taming beyond scattered reading and instinct.
Standing here, it shows.
Hans finishes the paperwork and returns everything I need.
By the time I leave the Guild, the weight in my chest feels heavier than when I entered.
Hope lands on my head without warning, her tiny claws carefully finding balance in my hair.
"Is there a problem?"
Her voice reaches me lightly through our link.
I look ahead down the street. For a moment, I almost answer with everything I am thinking and then I stop myself. There's no point. Moreover, what happened already happened. I chose Hope because she matters to me.
It's neither because of rank charts nor market value.
She is my partner.
That alone should be enough reason.
Evolution may be cruel. Every record I have read makes that obvious. Growth among monsters is tied to violence, pressure, adaptation, and survival. Something stronger consumes, something weaker changes or dies.
But evolution also never truly stops.
Limits exist until something breaks them.
Hope shifts on my head.
"Do not think too much about that old man's words," she says. "Our destiny is already set in stone."
I glance upward.
"Oh?"
"We are going to become the strongest."
The certainty in her voice is absurdly complete.
I cannot help smiling.
"That's good enthusiasm, but we still need jobs appropriate to your rank."
Hope puffs slightly. At present, her evaluation places her at Rank E, though apparently close to Rank D. Which means the Guild only allows us to accept Rank E work and lower. That means low pay. Also, low danger, at least in theory.
I need money, so this will do.
Most people my age with actual prospects enter boot camps. Some pay for private development programs. Others earn scholarships through examinations or recommendations. I failed my exams badly enough that not a single institution looked twice at my name.
As a tamer, there are usually two major pipelines.
One is entering the Tamer Circle's internal system, climbing through squads, support units, and eventually elite assignments.
The other is corporate work, becoming attached to one of the major companies that fund security, exploration, breeding, logistics, or monster resource extraction.
Neither path is open to me right now.
So freelancing it is.
The Guild itself carries the Tamer Circle's name, but that does not mean it directly represents the full organization. In practice, the Manson branch works with the City-State administration and cooperates with Circle policy where necessary.
Which leaves independent work as a legitimate route.
Days pass, and then more days.
I take simple errand jobs at first from transport requests, warehouse lifting, and specimen delivery for laboratories that do not trust ordinary laborers near delicate materials. My float ability proves useful enough that supervisors remember me.
Moving stacked crates without strain earns repeat requests.
Handling fragile containers without direct contact earns better pay.
The work is repetitive, but steady.
I divide what I earn carefully to food, cheap lodging, study materials whenever possible, and combat practice whenever time allows. Hope trains with me every evening, sometimes until my muscles ache hard enough to shake.
We learn small things first from positioning, reaction timing, and distance. How long I can maintain concentration while using abilities repeatedly. How quickly she can shift angles in flight. How vulnerable we still are when mistakes happen.
Little by little, confidence replaces uncertainty.
One morning, after counting what money I have left and what little I have saved, I decide that waiting longer changes nothing.
If I want real progress, errands are no longer enough.
It is time to go out there and earn real money.