"Pack your things. We're leaving for headquarters immediately."
The voice was sharp, decisive—cutting through the low hum of morning activity. Carl turned to see the Sky Legion leader standing there, his cloak whipping lightly in the breeze.
But the man's eyes narrowed, scanning Carl from head to waist. "And put on a shirt," he added, tone clipped but edged with caution. "I don't want people staring at that tattoo too much."
It was already too late.
From the street, whispers began to rise—quiet at first, like the rustle of wind in dry leaves, but quickly swelling into a wave.
"A new beast wielder…" one man said, his tone thick with awe.
A woman gasped, clutching the arm of the person next to her. "Courtney's son…"
That name—his mother's—landed like a strike to his chest. The air seemed to grow heavier around him.
More murmurs followed, tangled and indistinct, but all of them carried weight, all of them pressed down on him. He could feel their eyes, sharp and curious, as though they were trying to peer through his skin and see the beast soul beneath.
"Let's go," the leader said again, breaking the tension.
---
Carl turned away from the stares and walked quickly toward his house.
Inside, the air was still and cool, smelling faintly of dust and old wood. Sunlight streamed in through the half-open shutters, casting thin bars of gold across the floorboards. The place felt emptier than it ever had before—too quiet, too still.
He found his old travel bag in the corner. It was frayed at the edges, the leather straps cracked from years of use. He began gathering what little he owned—a spare pair of trousers, a worn coat, a flask, and the grey shirt lying over the back of a chair.
He paused, holding the shirt up. It was thin, faded from years of washing, the seams loose in places. The sort of shirt a farmer might wear in the fields, not something fit for a beast wielder. But it was what he had.
He slipped it over his head, feeling the rough fabric brush against his skin.
Before leaving, he turned slowly, letting his gaze sweep over every corner of the room. There was the wall where he and his brother had measured their heights, the little notch marks still scratched into the wood. The small table where their mother used to place steaming bowls of stew on cold nights. The empty hearth that had once been the center of all their laughter.
Every corner whispered memories, and each memory was a blade.
"For you, brother," Carl murmured, his voice barely more than breath.
---
Outside, a Sky Legion man was waiting. His cloak was a deep blue, trimmed with silver thread, the hood pulled low over his face. He carried himself with the quiet, disciplined posture of a soldier.
"We've secured your family's bodies," the man said quietly, his voice soft enough that only Carl could hear. "We'll bury them whenever you wish."
Carl clenched his jaw. "No. Not yet. I want my brother there when we do."
The man nodded once, a flicker of respect in his eyes, and gestured for Carl to follow.
---
The cart waited at the edge of the street.
It was larger than the farm wagons Carl had grown up seeing. The wood was dark, polished, and reinforced with iron bands. Two broad-shouldered black horses were hitched to it, their coats gleaming like polished obsidian. Their manes were neatly braided, and the harness straps were studded with small steel rivets that caught the light.
The driver—a wiry man in a fur-lined vest—was perched on the bench at the front. He held the reins loosely, his gloved hands relaxed but ready. Without a word, he swung the ropes, and the horses surged forward. The wheels creaked against the cobblestone, then rumbled more smoothly as they rolled onto the packed dirt road beyond the village.
Carl climbed into the covered section of the cart, where another Sky Legion member sat opposite him. The man's hood and mask hid most of his features, but the faint glow of light from beneath the fabric hinted at a beast soul's mark somewhere on his body.
Carl lowered his head, staring at the scuffed wooden floor between his boots.
"Nervous?" the man asked after a few moments, his tone casual, almost friendly. "I was when I joined."
Carl didn't answer.
The man didn't seem offended. Instead, he leaned back against the wall of the cart, crossing his arms.
"You'll learn soon enough—beast wielders aren't all the same. We're divided into four legions. The Aerial Legion—that's us, the Sky Legion. We rule the skies. Then there's the Aquatic Legion, also called the Sea Legion. They command the oceans. The Terrestrial Legion—the Land Legion—holds the ground. And lastly…" His voice dropped slightly, a note of reverence creeping in. "…the Special Class Legion. That's where the rarest beasts go. The ones that can rule two, sometimes even all three domains."
Carl glanced up at him, and his eyes dropped to the man's leg. Through the cloth, a brown glow pulsed faintly—shaped like the regal head of a falcon.
"You're a falcon," Carl said.
The man shook his head. "No. The beast soul inside me is Rhaegor, King of Falcons. There's a difference. We're partners, not owner and pet."
There was a quiet pride in his voice, the kind that comes from years of battle and survival.
He paused, then reached up to his hood. "Since we're in the same society now, and almost at headquarters, I think I'll show you my face."
He pulled the hood back and tugged down the mask. Sunlight spilled across his features—short brown hair, steady brown eyes, a jawline marked with faint scars that told their own stories.
"I'm Kelvin," he said simply.
"Carl."
Kelvin smiled faintly. "Nice to meet you."
---
The road wound upward, the land rising toward the distant mountains. The air grew cooler, cleaner, carrying the sharp scent of pine and the faint tang of stone.
When the cart finally slowed, Kelvin's voice broke the silence. "We're here."
Carl stepped down from the cart and felt the ground beneath his boots change from dirt to smooth white stone.
And then he saw it.
The Beast Wielders Society headquarters.
It rose before him like a fortress from a dream. The outer walls were hewn from pale granite, each block carved with intricate patterns of wings, waves, and claw marks—the symbols of the legions. At each corner stood a towering statue: a lion with wings spread wide at the southeast, a serpent coiled around a trident at the southwest, a stag crowned with branches at the northwest, and a dragon whose body shimmered faintly with inlaid silver at the northeast.
The main gate was massive, built from black iron reinforced with golden bands. Two enormous beasts—real ones, not statues—stood as guardians on either side. One was a snow-white griffin, its feathers edged with silver, its golden eyes sharp and unblinking. The other was a hulking bear with fur like polished obsidian, its breath steaming in the cool air.
Inside the gates, the courtyard stretched wide and open, paved with smooth flagstones that gleamed in the sunlight. The space was alive with movement:
New recruits, dressed in plain training tunics, sparred with wooden weapons. Instructors barked commands, their voices echoing off the high stone walls. Veteran beast wielders moved among them, their cloaks heavy with embroidered sigils, their beasts' presence visible in the faint shimmering auras that hung around them like heat haze.
Above, bridges of white stone arched between the spires, and along them, Carl glimpsed aerial beasts gliding—falcons, wyverns, and creatures he didn't have names for—moving with their wielders as naturally as shadows follow light.
The air was filled with sound—the ring of steel on steel, the deep rumble of beast roars from the training grounds, the sharp crackle of summoned magic—and underneath it all, the steady heartbeat of a place alive with purpose.
Carl felt his chest tighten. This was no village militia, no scattered group of fighters. This was an army. A family. A force built to stand between humanity and the darkness.
Kelvin stepped beside him, his expression steady but proud. "Welcome to the Beast Wielders, Carl. Here… we protect the humans from the demons."
Carl's gaze lingered on the grand hall at the far end of the courtyard. Somewhere inside, there were answers. Somewhere inside, there was a path to Court. And somewhere inside, the first steps toward vengeance waited.