The Grand Canyon Margaret suffered from strange geographical conditions and an ever-changing natural climate.
The canyon's terrain was a chaotic patchwork—grasslands bled into mountains, forests gave way to marshes, and deserts burned under an unforgiving sun.
One moment, rain might fall in sheets; the next, a thunderstorm would roar, lightning splitting the heavens.
The enormous sandstorms, calamities even official Magi fled, were a terror, though their predictable timing left the passage navigable.
Advancing through such an environment was a brutal test of a Magus's body and spirit, each step a gamble against the canyon's whims.
The Seated Lupin Wolf, a beast born of the canyon's harsh embrace, was the only means to cross it.
Evolved from mountain wolves through centuries of radiation and adaptation, these creatures thrived in the canyon's treacherous climate and terrain, their bodies a marvel of nature's cruel engineering.
Magi on both sides of the canyon had captured, tamed, and honed them into indispensable tools for travel.
Behind the Broken Axe Pub, which held a monopoly on these wolves, Leylin knew powerful Magus families pulled the strings, their influence reaping vast profits from this unforgiving land.
The pub's weathered facade, reeking of ale and ambition, stood as a gateway to the canyon's heart, its creaking sign a grim promise of the trials ahead.
Pu! The Seated Lupin Wolves, sturdy and relentless, tore across a stretch of grassland, their black fur rippling as they bounded over rocks and gullies.
Their sharp canines and claws dispatched wild creatures with ease, sparing the Magi the need to cast spells and allowing moments of rest. The ground trembled under their strides, the air filled with the scent of crushed grass and damp earth.
Rumble! The sky, bright moments ago, darkened as clouds rolled in, lightning snaking across the heavens with a thunderous roar.
Strangely, Leylin's side remained untouched, the sky clear and blue, while the other half churned with ominous storm clouds, creating a surreal split of light and shadow that felt almost poetic in its stark beauty.
"It's a thunderstorm! Avoid getting wet!" the old geezer, the group's elected leader, called from the front, his voice rough with urgency but steady with experience.
The party had voted him and a female Magus as temporary leaders, their faces the only ones unhidden. He ignored the female leader, pulling a large tarpaulin from his wolf's sack and draping it over himself, his movements practiced.
Hu Hu Hu! The wolves' speed was blistering, and within a dozen minutes, they plunged into the storm's heart. Cold wind lashed like blades, slicing against exposed skin.
Dexter shifted, using his broad frame to shield Faisal and Fred behind him, his face set with grim determination. Greem did the same for Fraser and Mandal, his eyes narrowed against the gale.
On Leylin's wolf, the wind veered away as if repelled, leaving Anna untouched behind him.
Pitter-patter! Bean-sized raindrops fell, swelling into a torrential downpour. The grassland turned to marsh, mud clinging to the wolves' paws, slowing their pace. Hidden patches of quicksand lurked, ready to swallow the careless whole.
Pu! Leylin's wolf let out a long hiss, its four paws glowing white. Streaks of light wove within the glow, fading to reveal a thick coat of fur spread like hooves, allowing the wolf to tread water as if it were solid ground. The team's speed surged, the wolves gliding over the mire.
"A creature formed from nature and magic, such a marvel!" Leylin said, his voice low, tinged with clinical admiration as he ran a hand over the wolf's hump, its coarse fur warm under his touch.
'I want one of these as a summon, horses are pretty useless.' he thought.
The wolf's hump fur tightened, forming a slick, oily layer like a raincoat, shedding water effortlessly. Not a drop clung to its body, the rain rolling off in streams.
With the wolves' speed, they escaped the storm before dark, entering a stone forest where jagged pillars rose like ancient sentinels under a clearing sky. The air was cooler here, scented with damp stone and faint moss.
"Tonight, we rest here!" the female Magus shouted, her voice sharp with authority but laced with relief. "Pitch your tents, leave the wolves on the perimeter, and don't forget to feed them!"
The Magi dismounted, restraining and feeding their wolves before setting up camp. Black tents rose in a tight circle, their canvas taut against the evening breeze.
The Seated Lupin Wolves prowled the perimeter, their low growls a vigilant hum, their red-crowned heads glinting in the fading light.
In Leylin's tent, its interior sparse save for a woven mat and a small brazier, he sat cross-legged, meditating.
The brazier's faint glow cast his sharp features in shadow, the air still with his focus.
Leylin knew the Warlock's flaws well. As a branch of ancient Magi, Warlocks had to tap their bloodline's power while maintaining a Magus's cultivation. This doubled their advancement hurdles, with the added limit of bloodline purity.
Even with Soulbound Devourer boosting his strength and spiritual force, bloodline concentration was a barrier.
A Rank 1 Warlock meeting advancement criteria could still fail or lose an innate spell, if their bloodline wasn't pure enough.
It made sense: if Warlocks were truly superior, they'd dominate the Magus World, not linger as a minority.
Yet, those who broke through wielded might surpassing Magi of the same rank. For Leylin, his advantages his, pure Kemoyin blood, Soulbound Devourer and A.I. Chip made the Warlock path ideal. Spiritual force was no issue; only bloodline refinement mattered.
After Meditation was done, Leylin rose and stepped outside, the night air cool against his skin, carrying the scent of stone and distant rain. Anna trailed silently behind him, her presence a shadow. Greem, seated on a log near the tent, stood and approached.
"Wu wu!"
Leylin's wolf, sprawled beside his tent, whimpered, its massive frame shifting slightly.
"Feed him," Leylin said, his voice even. Greem stepped forward, pulling a slab of raw meat from his sack, its scent heavy with blood.
The wolf growled, excited, its red tongue, flecked with white moss, lapping at the flesh. Though wolves could hunt, only specific foods met their needs as beasts of burden, their hunger a constant demand.
"Hello, Leylin!" A provocative voice cut through the night as the tent beside Leylin's opened. A female Magus emerged, her revealing attire catching the firelight, her curves bold against the dark.
Assigned as Leylin's camp pair, she carried a faint air of solitude, her eyes hinting at a buried story.
"You're here to feed the wolves too?" Lancey asked, her voice light but tinged with a lonely edge, nodding as she tossed cod to her wolf. She ignored Anna, who bowed her head silently. Leylin watched, unmoved, noting the weight behind Lancey's casual grace.
Every Magus crossing the canyon had a story—fugitives, outcasts, or worse. He didn't know why she fled to the Light Magi domain, nor did he care to ask, his mind on his own path.
"Listen! I hear the slight hymn of the wind! Look! The white clouds which are freely floating in the skies~"
A rock near them trembled, and a brown sprite, no taller than a stone, appeared, clad in a Scottish kilt. It strummed a tiny harp, its voice a lilting melody that seemed to hum with the earth itself.
Lancey gasped, covering her mouth, her voice soft with wonder, "It's a Brownstone Singer! I thought they were extinct…"
Stars gleamed in her eyes as she leaned closer, enchanted.
The old geezer leader emerged from his tent, his voice rough but awed, "A Brownstone Singer! Here, of all places…"
The sprite's song filled the air, its notes weaving a delicate spell of nostalgia and calm.
Leylin crossed his arms, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
'It seems the forces of nature are hellbent on giving the gift of life to that guy.' he thought, waiting for the chaos to unfold.
Brownstone Singers were rumored creatures, weak in attack but steeped in mystery, their presence a rare quirk of the canyon's magic. He was mildly surprised they'd stumbled across one, but it was merely a curiosity.
"What adorable creatures!" Lancey said, her voice bright with childlike delight, reaching out to touch the sprite, her fingers trembling with excitement.
"They're so weak," the old geezer muttered, his voice curious but detached. "How do they survive?"
"Let me capture them and find out!" A large Magus, drawn by the commotion, strode forward, his voice dripping with arrogance, a disdainful sneer on his face.
Hu! Stone skin coated his hands as he lunged for the sprite.
"Stop!" Lancey snapped, her voice sharp with anger, but the bloke ignored her, his hand closing around the sprite. It froze, eyes wide, then burst into mud-yellow light dots, vanishing in his grasp.
"What… what happened?" the bloke stammered, his voice thick with confusion, staring at his empty hand.
"The Brownstone Singer is born of nature," the old geezer said, his voice heavy with knowledge, almost reverent. "They harmonize with earth energy particles. Magi with less than 80% elemental essence conversion can't even touch them."
"They're timid, too," Leylin added, his voice smooth, a faint mocking edge as he glanced at the bloke. "You scared it off. It won't return."
The old geezer turned, his voice tinged with surprise, "You know such obscure lore? Impressive."
His eyes studied Leylin, reassessing. The commotion drew the other Magi, their voices a low buzz as they gathered, curious.
Leylin's smirk widened, his voice carrying a sly taunt, "There's more. Legends say those touched by a Brownstone Singer, man or woman get pregnant."
The bloke's face paled, his voice a choked sputter, "What?"