The walk back from the coastal cliffs was a quiet affair, but the silence was far from peaceful. Jeather Vale—or Jeather Viremont, depending on which world's ghosts were screaming the loudest—trudged through the damp sand, his boots sinking into the grit. The weight of the broken poaching collar in his pocket felt like a leaden anchor.
Inside his mind, the Beast Habitat Realm was humming with a new, strange resonance. The addition of the Coralhide Snapjaw to the [Tidal Tidepool] had stabilized the aquatic mana of the realm, but it had also acted as a conductor for something much darker.
[System Warning: Evolution Resonance Active.] [Calamity Signature analysis in progress...]
"Jett, why you walk so slow?" Saxum's voice echoed in his head. The stone toddler was currently in his Earth Form, rolling around the [Living Quarry] like a boulder. "Smash sand people was fun! Why Jett face look like old lemon?"
"Because, Saxum," Jeather muttered under his breath, "some people don't stay smashed.
They come back with bigger hammers."
"Then we get bigger fists!" Saxum cheered, oblivious to the political web tightening around them.
Jeather reached the Saltwind Tidal Academy's eastern gate. The massive coral-stone arches were illuminated by bioluminescent moss that pulsed with a rhythmic, heartbeat-like glow. Usually, the sentries were lax, but tonight, the air was different. Two instructors stood by the gate, their beasts—a pair of Silver-tier Watchman Griffins—tracking every movement in the shadows.
Jeather slowed his pace, pulling his academy cloak tighter to hide the tear in his sleeve. He slipped through the side entrance used by lower-ranked students, keeping his head down. He needed answers. And there was only one place in Saltwind where secrets were cheaper than spirit stones.
The Lower Ring Archives.
To the common student, the archives were a place of boredom—endless scrolls on beast anatomy and ocean current charts. But Jeather knew that the "official" history was always a lie. He navigated the winding, damp hallways of the academy's basement levels. The deeper he went, the more the air smelled of old parchment and stagnant seawater.
The archivist was a man who looked like he had been partially petrified. Old Man Hallow sat behind a desk made from the rib of a leviathan, his eyes clouded with cataracts that didn't seem to stop him from seeing everything.
"Rank 211," Hallow wheezed without looking up from a ledger. "A fast climber. You should be in the training halls or the Top 100 lounges, boy. Why are you down here with the dust?"
"I'm looking for a symbol," Jeather said, placing the broken poaching collar on the desk. He kept his hand over the Gear and Helix etching, revealing it only when the door behind him had hissed shut.
Hallow's eyes sharpened. The clouded film seemed to clear for a split second. He reached out a trembling, liver-spotted hand and touched the cold metal.
"Where did you get this?"
"Found it," Jeather lied smoothly. "Outside the walls. Near the fishing settlements."
Hallow let out a dry, rattling laugh. "Found it.
You found a death sentence, boy. This isn't a symbol of a faction. It's a signature of a ghost. The Aethelgard Initiative."
Inside the realm, Astrael stirred. The nature-evolved demon stood at the edge of the [Abyssal Throne], his eyes reflecting the deep green of his Verdant origins and the dark fire of his evolution.
"Aethelgard," Astrael whispered into Jeather's mind. "I remember that name. From the Ardent District. Before the collapse. They were the ones talking about 'Optimization.' They didn't want to seal beasts; they wanted to rewrite them."
Jeather felt a chill that had nothing to do with the drafty archive. "What do you mean, rewrite them?"
Hallow pulled a dusty, black-bound tome from a shelf behind him. He flipped through pages of forbidden diagrams—beasts fused with gears, hearts replaced with mana-batteries.
"Before the Great System stabilized the world," Hallow whispered, "the Initiative believed that natural evolution was too slow. They wanted to create 'Calamity Class' beasts—creatures capable of leveling cities.
They failed. Or so the Academy says. But that symbol? That Gear and Helix? It means the laboratory doors never truly locked."
Jeather looked at the collar. Calamity Signature. The System's warning made sense now. The Mutated Rifthound hadn't just mutated; it had been an experimental subject.
"Jett," the Rifthound's voice was a low, pained growl from the [Void Fracture]. "The metal... it tastes like the cold place. The place with the white lights and the needles."
Jeather's jaw tightened. The Rifthound's instability wasn't a flaw in its growth—it was a lingering trauma in its very DNA.
"You've seen enough," Hallow said, slamming the book shut. "Take that collar and melt it down. If the Tidefall Assembly or the higher-ups see you with that, Rank 211 won't save you. They'll erase your rank, your beasts, and your pulse."
"Who is funding them now?" Jeather asked.
Hallow didn't answer. He just gestured toward the door. But as Jeather turned to leave, the ranking obelisk in the central plaza—which echoed its signal through the academy's mana-net—pulsed with a notification that reached even the deep archives.
[Public Challenge Issued!] [Target: Rank 211 - Jeather Vale] [Challenger: Rank 42 - Silas of the Iron Gear Faction]
Jeather stared at the notification flickering in his mind's eye.
"Iron Gear," Jeather muttered. "Subtle."
"They're coming for the collar," Hallow whispered. "And they're coming for the dog."
Jeather retreated to his private dorm room, locking the door and immediately slipping his consciousness into the Beast Habitat Realm. The realm was a pocket of sanity in a world of conspiracies. He appeared in the center, near the [Living Quarry]. Saxum immediately ran over, his metal skin clanking.
"Jett! Someone want fight again? I smash? I use Lava Form?"
"Not yet, Saxum," Jeather said, patting the golem's head. He looked toward the [Abyssal Throne]. "Astrael, Velkaria, gather everyone."
One by one, the beasts converged. Velkaria drifted in, her frost-water aura cooling the air.
The Ice Abyss Weaver skittered silently, its many eyes fixed on Jeather. The Basilisk and Chimera watched from the shadows of the crater, their massive forms radiating a Platinum-tier pressure. The Otter was busy trying to juggle a few sea-shells he'd found in the new Tidepool.
"We have a problem," Jeather began. "The Rifthound is being targeted. The people who 'made' it are here, in the Academy. They've sent a Rank 42 challenger to force me into a duel."
Velkaria narrowed her eyes. "Rank 42. In Saltwind, that rank grants the authority to demand a 'Total Seal Duel.' If you lose, they can legally claim one of your beasts as compensation."
"They want the Rifthound," Jeather said.
"They will not have him," Astrael said, his voice like grinding stones. "He is one of us. A nature-evolved soul, regardless of what they did to his body."
The Mutated Rifthound stepped out from the [Void Fracture]. Its form was still flickering, spatial ripples distorting the air around its paws.
"I'm not giving you up," Jeather said. "But we can't hide anymore. If I refuse the duel, they'll use the Academy laws to harass us. If I win with the Rifthound, they'll see how far the mutation has gone. If I use the Platinum beasts, the Academy will fear you, and fear leads to execution for 'unauthorized power.'"
Jeather looked at The Otter. The mischievous gremlin was currently chewing on a piece of the poaching collar he'd managed to sneak out of Jeather's pocket.
"Wait," Jeather said, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Otter, what are you doing?"
The Otter let out a high-pitched chirp and spat out a small, glowing component from the collar. It was the mana-core—the part that held the tracking signature.
"If we can't hide the Rifthound's signature," Jeather mused, "we change it. Astrael, you're a nature-evolved demon. Can you mask the Rifthound's spatial mana with your infernal nature?"
Astrael tilted his head. "It would be temporary. And painful for him."
"Do it," the Rifthound growled. "I want to bite the Gear-man."
The Saltwind Arena was packed. Rank 42 was a celebrity rank—Silas of the Iron Gear was a favorite for the Top 10. He stood in the center of the ring, wearing armor that was more machine than plate. Beside him stood his beast: a Steam-Core Behemoth, a massive creature of brass and flesh that hissed with pressurized steam.
Jeather walked out, looking tired, looking like a Rank 211 who was in over his head.
"Jeather Vale," Silas called out, his voice amplified by a mana-mic. "You've been playing with things you don't understand.
Hand over the 'Anomaly' and I'll let you keep your rank."
Jeather looked up at the VIP booths. He saw the faction leaders. He saw the shadows of the Aethelgard Initiative watching from behind the glass.
"I think I'll keep my beasts," Jeather said, reaching for a card. "But thanks for the offer."
Inside the realm, the [Void Fracture] and the [Abyssal Throne] bled together. Astrael's dark, leafy mana wrapped around the Rifthound like a shroud.
"Come out," Jeather whispered.
The Rifthound materialized. But it didn't look like a spatial predator. It looked like a hell-hound, wreathed in green-black flames, its spatial ripples hidden beneath a layer of demonic heat. Silas laughed. "A demon-mutt? That's your secret? Disappointing."
Jeather didn't laugh. He just looked at the Steam-Core Behemoth.
"Saxum," Jeather whispered into the realm.
"Get ready. If the dog gets tired, you're going in for the smash."
"Smash time soon!" Saxum cheered.
The bell rang. The ground shook. And Jeather Viremont, the man with no memories and too many beasts, stepped into the light of a war he finally understood.
[System Notification: Duel Commenced.] [Hidden Objective: Identify Silas's Connection to Aethelgard.] [Reward: Habitat Expansion - The Iron Foundry.]