The city felt louder than he remembered.

  It wasn’t just the noise — though the layered buzz of spell-lanterns, clanking rune-carts, and merchants shouting over mana-horns was enough to make anyone’s head spin. It was the energy of the place. The way every cobblestone seemed to vibrate with anticipation.

  Today was graduation day.

  And Kalen felt completely out of step with it.

  He moved through the academy gates with his hands tucked into the sleeves of his uniform, the edge of his robe fluttering behind him like a banner too shy to fly. Around him, students buzzed like spring insects — full of mana and nerves and plans for the future.

  He didn’t feel nervous. Mostly, he just missed the sanctuary.

  He could still picture Milo, curled in the morning sunbeam near the front stoop, tail twitching in sleep. He’d left a feeding rune active and three toy stones hidden in the moss for enrichment. It wasn’t perfect, but it would be enough for the day.

  Still, his shoulder felt a little too light without that familiar weight.

  "KALEN!"

  He turned just in time to catch Jace barreling toward him with a mana-synced scroll flapping in his hand like a loose kite. "They’re starting early," Jace panted. "Keir’s already through registration. I almost tripped over a summoned beast near the east fountain. I think someone brought a double-headed lizard."

  "That’s not regulation," Kalen muttered.

  "I know! Isn't it awesome?"

  Behind him, Keir approached with his usual calm stride. His robe was unwrinkled. His boots were polished. His posture said veteran soldier, even if his file still said student.

  He nodded once. "Welcome back."

  Kalen bumped his fist in return.

  Talia arrived last.

  Quiet as always. Composed. She didn’t speak at first — just held out a small cloth packet.

  Kalen opened it.

  A charmed comb, enchanted to help clear burrs and straw from fur without breaking strands. Simple. Thoughtful. Sanctuary-aware.

  "Thanks," he said.

  "You looked like you were missing him."

  He didn’t deny it.

  The amphitheater was carved into the hillside like a half-buried shell — a crescent of smooth stone steps and floating platforms held in place by weightless runes. Students filed into position, robes rustling, mana flaring in little nervous flickers as ceremony glyphs ignited beneath their feet.

  Kalen stood near the back.

  He kept his head down, but his eyes moved constantly — not out of fear, but reflex. He watched how people stood. Who whispered. Who glowed a little too brightly with excitement.

  Headmaster Corrin stepped onto the central dais, flanked by two mana beasts in ceremonial harnesses. His voice, when it rang out, carried without amplification.

  "Today, you step forward as full Tamers of Elyriath. Whether you walk into the guilds, the academies, the walls of research, or the wilds beyond — remember: your strength is not only in the beasts you command, but in the bonds you uphold. Do not forget the names of those you protect."

  Kalen swallowed.

  His fingers brushed the hem of his robe. He hadn’t summoned Milo. Wouldn’t. Not today.

  His name wasn’t called with fanfare. Just a line on the scroll. He stepped forward when prompted, laid his palm to the glowing plate, and watched as the registry glyphs scanned his mana.

  "Name: Kalen Valeir." "Tier: Iron." "Ability: Soulkeeper’s Memory."

  There was a flicker from the panel. A hesitation.

  Then it accepted the entry.

  Nurse Elira stood beside the registry table, arms crossed, fox-beast draped around her shoulders like a smug scarf. She didn’t say a word.

  But she looked at him.

  Kalen looked back — calmly. Quietly.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  He gave the faintest shrug.

  "Next," she said.

  The formalities ended faster than Kalen expected.

  One by one, students spilled out of the amphitheater — buzzing with excitement, mana licenses freshly issued, robes fluttering in the courtyard breeze. Today wasn’t just about paperwork or speeches.

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  It was about the summons.

  The first time each new Tamer would call forth their bonded beast in public — a tradition marking not just graduation, but belonging.

  Kalen drifted toward a quieter edge of the upper courtyard, near the eastern fountain. Flame-tipped maples arched overhead, their leaves catching the light in flickers of red and gold. The air still shimmered faintly from the ceremony’s residual mana.

  Keir joined him first.

  Without a word, Keir rolled up his sleeve, pressed two fingers to the rune clasp at his wrist, and activated the summoning ring.

  A soft pulse spread outward.

  A cub appeared — a small white-furred wolf, her paws landing softly on the stone. She moved with steady precision, her posture almost regal for one so young. Pale eyes swept the surroundings with quiet vigilance.

  Kalen's gaze flicked to the faint rune behind her left shoulder: a sword planted firmly in the ground, its hilt wrapped in light.

  Keir rested a hand briefly against her back. "This is Akari."

  "She suits you," Kalen said, smiling.

  Keir gave a short nod. "She’s steady."

  Next, Talia stepped forward.

  She summoned her beast with a quiet call — no dramatics, just simple certainty.

  The air shimmered, and a large spider cub unfolded from the glyph — long-legged, dark-bodied, with sharp, smooth movements. Bigger than any wild spider Kalen had seen, but poised, not aggressive. It perched easily on Talia’s shoulder, balancing with an eerie kind of grace.

  A delicate rune shimmered along its lower back — a sleek thief’s mask, woven into soft patterns of silk.

  "This is Webber," Talia said, reaching up to steady him without fear. "He’s smarter than he looks."

  Jace made a face but didn’t argue.

  Then came his turn.

  "Behold!" Jace shouted, slapping the summoning circle with both hands. "The mightiest slowpoke this world has ever seen—DOZER!"

  The glyph flashed.

  And a tortoise cub blinked into existence, chewing absentmindedly on a stray tuft of grass.

  Kalen raised an eyebrow. "He’s... energetic."

  "He’s contemplative," Jace said proudly.

  Dozer ignored them all and kept munching.

  A rune gleamed faintly on his shell — a bag of money, cinched tightly at the top.

  Finally, all eyes turned to Kalen.

  He stepped into the summoning ring without hesitation, pressed his palm against the rune on his wrist, and whispered.

  "Milo."

  The glyph pulsed gold.

  A small monkey cub appeared, dark-furred and sharp-eyed. He scampered up Kalen’s arm in an easy, fluid motion, curling onto his shoulder like he belonged there.

  A rune shimmered on Milo’s right shoulder blade — an open book, its pages caught mid-turn, titled: The Next Great Adventure.

  For a moment, the group said nothing.

  Then Talia smiled. "He’s composed."

  Keir nodded silently, approval plain on his face.

  Jace finally exhaled. "No horns. But he’s got serious ‘main character’ energy. I approve."

  Kalen chuckled softly and scratched behind Milo’s ear.

  "He’s mine," he said.

  And somehow, saying it aloud made the future feel a little more real.

  Talia tucked a loose braid behind her ear and glanced at the others.

  "We’re supposed to declare our Summoner abilities too. Transparency and trust, according to the Guild."

  Jace perked up immediately. "Ooh, right! Abilities! Come on — spill it!"

  Talia smiled faintly. "Stealth adaptation. It’s minor right now — softens my footsteps, dulls sound, muffles mana traces. Webber’s silk works better when no one knows we’re there."

  Kalen nodded. It fit her perfectly — quiet, deliberate, layered in caution.

  Keir rolled his sleeve back down. "Enhancement type. I can push Akari’s strength or speed for short bursts."

  Simple. Focused. Reliable. Just like him.

  All eyes turned to Jace.

  He puffed out his chest dramatically.

  "Minor Object Conjuration!" he announced. "Temporary stuff only — ropes, sacks, fake bait, that kind of thing. They poof after an hour, tops."

  Kalen raised an eyebrow. "No coins?"

  Jace slumped a little. "Alas, no instant riches. If I tried conjuring real money, it’d pop like a soap bubble. Mana constructs aren’t stable enough for permanent valuables. Maybe when I hit Silver Tier, I can start making real gear — like a camping rope."

  He demonstrated by summoning a short length of glowing rope in his palm. Dozer immediately tried to chew it. It dissolved like mist in his mouth.

  "See?" Jace said proudly. "Fully biodegradable!"

  Talia snorted. "Eco-friendly idiot."

  Keir actually smiled — a rare and dangerous occurrence.

  They turned to Kalen expectantly.

  He shifted slightly, Milo adjusting against his shoulder.

  "Soulkeeper’s Memory," Kalen said quietly.

  "It’s not flashy. It’s... care instincts, mostly. Knowing what young beasts need — how to feed them right, how to groom them without hurting them, how to spot when they’re getting sick before it shows. Little things that build up over time."

  He rubbed the back of his neck, a little self-conscious.

  "It’s not battle-useful," he added, almost apologetically.

  "It’s vital," Talia said immediately, no hesitation. "Especially for cubs still stabilizing."

  Keir nodded. "Better survival rates."

  Jace grinned and elbowed him. "And free veterinary care. Score."

  Kalen huffed a soft laugh, the knot in his chest loosening just a little more.

  Around them, their beasts settled — Milo curling tighter against his neck, Webber spinning a small silk anchor on Talia’s sleeve, Akari sitting squarely at Keir’s side like a silent guardian, and Dozer... chewing on a different bench leg, utterly unconcerned.

  On the far edge of the courtyard, a familiar figure stood apart from the celebration.

  Ashen Veylan.

  Once, he had orbited their group — not quite a friend, not quite an enemy. He and Kalen had sparred constantly during academy lessons. Ashen fought with speed and pressure, always pushing forward. Kalen held his ground and planned. They’d challenged each other to grow, even when they didn’t speak outside of training.

  Now he stood alone beneath the carved arch at the courtyard’s edge, arms folded, posture rigid. His robe was crisp, his boots clean, but his gaze was shadowed.

  Kalen saw him before anyone else.

  Their eyes met.

  Kalen remembered the bruises they'd traded in twilight under the academy’s training fields — the grudging respect earned one silent clash at a time.

  Ashen didn’t speak. But he gave a short, sharp nod — respectful, reluctant, real.

  Then he turned and walked toward the academy gates.

  A few steps behind him, a lizard cub followed.

  Slender-bodied, light-footed. Its scales were a pale green-gray, with ridged fins along its back and faint blue flickers of mana pulsing beneath the skin. Its tail dragged slightly — not in injury, but uncertainty.

  It stopped when Ashen did.

  At the edge of the courtyard, Ashen crouched low.

  He placed a hand gently on the cub’s snout. Whispered something Kalen couldn’t hear.

  Then, louder — just enough for Kalen to catch it:

  "Follow him, Threx. He’s your best chance for now."

  He stood.

  Without looking back, Ashen reached into his coat and pulled out a sealed pouch — not flashy, but well-made, bearing his family crest.

  He placed it on the stone bench nearest the wall — not dramatic, not hidden. Just... there.

  Then he walked away, boots clicking against the stone until the sound disappeared beyond the academy gate.

  The cub — Threx — didn’t chase after him.

  He sat. Watching. Waiting. Choosing.

  His tail twitched once, slow and uncertain, before curling protectively around his paws. Golden eyes flicked up — wary, weighing, wondering — and then, by inches, he stepped closer.