Days passed like drifting petals—soft, weightless, and strangely peaceful. I woke with sunlight brushing my face instead of icy winds, ate warm meals instead of rationed scraps, and fell asleep beneath blankets that didn't scratch or smell of damp fur.
It was almost frightening how quickly comfort became familiar.
How quickly a week in this new world blurred into routine.
Reading in the mornings, shelving books by noon, helping Bertha brew tea for customers, organizing deliveries, dusting shelves, and—my favorite—curling up in the corner by the window with another book when work slowed.
And gods… the things I learned.
Some books I understood. Some made no sense. Some I read twice because they were too unbelievable to accept at first glance.
Then there was the book I found wedged between two encyclopedias, its cover loud and bright with messy lettering:
"SUMMONING GUIDE FOR IDIOTS."
I stared at the cover a long moment.
"…Idiots?" I muttered.
I wasn't entirely sure what that word meant, but something about the way it was written felt rude. Insulting, even. As if the book itself mocked me.
Still, I opened it.
The first chapter hit me like a boulder.
Apparently everyone—humans, beastmen, elves—could theoretically summon a creature from birth. A "companion" bound by soul. A personal guardian, partner, helper. Something magical that appeared when called.
A summon.
My eyes widened as I skimmed the messy diagrams, the hastily drawn symbols, the instructions written in large, impatient handwriting.
I'd never heard of such a thing.
In the Hidden Kingdom, surviving the fog, scrounging for food, hunting beasts—it left no room for magic companions or spiritual familiars. Not once had anyone mentioned the idea of a creature appearing at someone's call.
It sounded fake. Impossible.
So of course, I tried it.
And failed.
Then I tried again.
Failed again.
Then six more times.
Ten.
Each attempt ended with nothing—not a flicker of magic, not a spark of power. Just me sitting cross-legged on the floor whispering awkward chants and earning strange looks from customers.
After the fifteenth attempt, I slammed the book shut.
"I am not an idiot," I hissed at the cover.
The cover, predictably, did not respond.
Still, the idea lingered in my mind—
Everyone has a summon. Everyone but me.
Frustrating.
Infuriating.
And a little lonely.
But not everything I learned made me feel inadequate. Some things fascinated me more than anything I'd ever read.
Like races.
Apparently humans weren't the only intelligent beings in this world. There were beastmen—people with animal traits who lived among humans as equals. Fox-men, dog-men, wolf-men, cat-men. Some with tails, some with ears, some with fangs or claws.
The idea that humans lived peacefully alongside animal-people stunned me. In my kingdom, animals were food or threats. Nothing more. The thought of an animal-man walking into a shop to buy tea was surreal.
I would've laughed if not for the detailed illustrations showing exactly that.
One afternoon, after finishing my chores, I settled into the shop's reading corner, pulling a book titled "A Beginner's Guide to Beastfolk Culture." The cover had a little drawing of a fox-eared girl sipping tea.
I flipped through the pages, eyes widening with every line.
Beastfolk lived like humans.
Worked like humans.
Had families, jobs, homes, rights.
They weren't seen as strange or lesser.
They weren't hunted.
They weren't feared.
I tried to imagine someone in Absonditus walking around with cat ears or a wolf tail.
The image was… bizarre.
But it also sparked curiosity I couldn't quite contain.
I leaned closer to the book, flipping to a page about different subgroups of beastfolk. It showed sketches of cat-like tribes, fox-like tribes, even bull-like ones with horns curling from their skulls.
"Unbelievable," I whispered. "People like this really exist?"
Ding.
The doorbell chimed.
I glanced up lazily, expecting Bertha returning from the market or a regular customer looking for herbal teas.
Instead—
A girl stood in the doorway, framed by sunlight.
She looked about my age… maybe a little older. Narrow face, smooth skin, dark hair tied into a messy ponytail. She wore fitted clothes—boots, shorts, and a loose top. Her expression?
Irritated. Impatient. Mildly offended by the mere existence of air.
But that wasn't what made my breath catch.
It was the two furry ears perched on top of her head, twitching slightly as she glanced around.
And the long tail swishing behind her, flicking like an annoyed cat's.
My brain stopped.
Fully stopped.
My mouth fell open.
My hands went numb.
The book slipped from my grasp—
dropping to the floor with a loud thud.
The girl's attention snapped toward me, ears perked, tail flicking once.
My heart hammered so loudly I swore she could hear it.
A beastman.
In front of me.
In the flesh.
Real.
Her eyes narrowed.
"…What are you staring at?" she snapped.
I stood there frozen, staring at her ears—
moving ears—
wishing desperately that I remembered how to breathe.