The Queen's perch lay high above the field, her golden crown glinting in the light, her gaze steady as the dust and thunder of the arena swirled below.

Beneath her, the combatants clashed. The knight darted forward in gleaming armor, every motion sharp, precise, his horned helm lowered as he met the advancing behemoth. The brute thundered across the sand, a living fortress clad in thick, ridged plate, each strike of its massive bulk shaking the ground like a war drum. When they met, the sound cracked like stone splitting — steel against a fortress of wood and stone, sparks raining in bright arcs that scattered across the arena floor.

The brute wheeled, bellowing, and slammed down again, its horn gouging furrows in the earth. The knight danced aside, quick as lightning, his blade darting in flashes of light. Each strike rang out, some glancing harmlessly off the behemoth's shell, others biting shallow furrows that only seemed to enrage it further. The arena floor shook with every clash of bulk and blade, dust clouding, until the air itself seemed to shiver with the violence.

The Queen's gaze narrowed. Brute strength favored the behemoth, but the knight was patient. He endured, step by step, each dodge shaving away the monster's certainty. At last the knight shifted — one sudden, reckless lunge, leaving his flank exposed. The behemoth roared and hurled itself forward, all its armored weight committed.

Too late.

This time the knight's gleam dipped low, body sweeping aside with sudden grace. A feint. The brute overreached, its balance faltering. In the same instant, the knight spun, horned helm driving beneath the brute's guard, and with a heave of perfect timing, flipped the behemoth onto its back.

The beast thrashed, limbs clawing at empty air, unable to right itself. The Queen's breath stilled as the beast strained, trapped, its bulk rendered useless.

Light blazed. In a flash, the defeated titan dissolved into nothing, leaving only silence and scorched dust.

The knight turned toward the Queen. He drove his blade into the earth, sparks leaping in a bright halo. The gesture was both triumph and vow, a salute to the sovereign above.

Above them, the crowd roared.

The Queen dipped her head in regal approval, golden eyes gleaming. This battle had pleased her.

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The last spark of the holographic duel fizzled out, leaving the Arena Arcadium's glassy surface bare and gleaming. The small crowd packed into the Menagerie's café side broke into a cheer.

Jeremiah stepped forward, arms spread wide as though he'd just pulled off a stage trick. His grin was tired but genuine. "Well? What did you all think?"

"That was awesome!" Mani and Stella cried together, their voices carrying to the rafters. Stella bounced on her toes, fists balled in excitement, while Mani's eyes shone bright as stars.

Alan didn't shout, but his quiet nod and the sparkle in his eyes said more than words could.

Ulrick threw his head back and laughed, the sound rumbling. "Aye, aye, I'll give you that. I wasn't sure what you were on about when you dragged us in here to watch some beetles scrap. But whatever I expected, it wasn't that." He jerked his chin at the empty projection space where the knight and the behemoth had locked horns only moments before. "Was that your camera work, lad?"

Jeremiah shook his head, chuckling softly. "Not me. The arena handled all of it. Those little drones there fed everything into a processor, and—" He gestured vaguely toward the memory of the fight still clinging in the air. "Well. You saw what it did."

Even saying it, he still half didn't believe it. What should have been a clumsy scuffle between two oversized insects had played out like something pulled straight from an epic drama. The tiny drones had cut and spliced in real time, shifting between sweeping aerials and close-up shots of horns clashing, sparks flying, dust curling. He'd been invested before he even realized it, cheering the Ferrospark's feint and holding his breath at the Goliath's fall.

Sam leaned in over the arena, her glasses pulsing faint blue. Lines of data cascaded across her lenses, painting the polished surface in streams of light. Her brows rose as she straightened. "This thing has a surprisingly advanced AI embedded in it. Not Gifted-level, obviously, but…" She gave a low whistle. "For a commercial product? It's impressive. Definitely not something I'd expect to see in what amounts to an entertainment system. Its almost overkill."

Jeremiah smirked, pleased. "Good to know it's not just smoke and mirrors."

Sam's eyes flicked to him, sharp behind her lenses. "You realize this means you're basically running a spectator sport hub now, right?"

He opened his mouth, closed it, then shrugged. "Could be worse."

At one of the soft cafe couches, Lewis sat with Maddie curled in his lap, one hand absently stroking her bristling fur. The Tangled Lynx would occasionally hiss and bat at the puppies who continued to try and join them, but Lewis's attention never wavered from the arena. His lips were pressed thin, unreadable, but his eyes… his eyes hadn't left the matron and the beetle still standing within their little glass confines.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"So," Jeremiah said again, clapping his hands once to draw focus back. "Do you think it would be popular?"

Ulrick folded his arms, leaned back, and stroked his beard in thought. The motion was theatrical, but his eyes were keen. After a long pause, he nodded once. "Aye, lad. I think it will. There's always a hunger for distraction in the Outskirts, and this…" His gaze flicked to the Ferrospark Beetle still circling beneath the matron's watchful presence, horns scraping softly against sand pit, " …this is something unique. Folks will pay to see it. More still if you let 'em bet on matches."

Jeremiah's brow arched. He wasn't sure how he felt about encouraging gambling under his roof. He knew the arena supported such features, but it seemed like something that could backfire just as easily. Yet Ulrick spoke with the casual certainty of a man stating the tide would rise.

"And speaking of wagers—" Ulrick's grin split wide as he turned to the fairy perched on his table.

Mero had his arms folded tight, wings twitching like an irritated dragonfly. He clicked his tongue sharply. "Fine," he snapped, his accent curling the word into a threat and a promise all at once. With a flick of his fingers, a puff of blue light cracked into being. A small sack of flour thunked onto the table beside him, arcane script glowing faintly across its burlap.

The children gasped and clapped. Ulrick chuckled, snatched the bag without ceremony, and stuffed it deep into his apron pocket. "Knew I'd win that one," he said, his grin broad as a tavern door.

Mero sniffed, nose tilted high. "Enjoy your prize, baker. Don't choke on it."

That only earned another booming laugh from Ulrick.

Mani turned to Jeremiah, his eyes sparkling. "Can we bring our own beetles?!" he asked.

Jeremiah laughed. "Of course. Though I you can always rent one from the store, as well," he said with a wink.

Mani nodded and the three children huddled together, whispering.

Jeremiah stood there in the middle of it all — Sam's data-stream still gleaming faintly in her glasses as he scanned the arena from more angle, the children buzzing with energy, Ulrick and Mero sparring in their way, and Lewis quiet in the corner with Maddie.

And deep down, Jeremiah felt that slowly, surely, the Menagerie was becoming what it was truly meant to be.

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Wednesday, October 5th, 2253 – 11:12 pm

Jeremiah's Apartment

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The stairwell creaked beneath Jeremiah's boots, every step weighed down by exhaustion. His shoulders slumped beneath his coat, and when he reached his door, he had to brace a hand against the frame just to steady himself. He gave a quick shake, sending a faint cascade of ash from his sleeves and hair. Gray flecks drifted to the floor like the last embers of a dying fire.

"Perfect," he muttered under his breath, brushing at his collar. "Ash in the carpet. Mrs Grim's going to love that."

His laugh was thin and tired, but it steadied his hands enough to fit the key into the lock. The door swung open on a wave of warm air and the familiar scent of black tea and lemon polish.

David sat comfortably on the worn couch, his bulk filling the cushions, a steaming pot settled on the coffee table before him. The old sailor's grin spread wide as Jeremiah stepped inside.

"You look like a chimney sweep, lad," David said. "Busy night?"

Jeremiah managed a snort, dragging a hand through his hair. "Very." His gaze caught on the table, and his shoulders softened. Billy drifted there in his bubble, fast asleep. The little kraken spun in a slow, lazy rotation, golden eyes closed, his mantle rising and falling with tiny, even pulses. A scattering of shrimp shells floated within the bubble like driftwood.

Relief thudded low in Jeremiah's chest. He shut the door behind him and crossed the room. "Sorry I'm back so late. And… thanks, really, for watching him."

David waved it off and rose, his grin easy. "Think nothing of it, lad. He was no trouble. Spent most of the day watching movies and jabbering at me when he wasn't chewing shrimp. Pleasant company."

Jeremiah chuckled, the sound soft and weary. "Sounds about right." He hesitated, rubbing his palms against his thighs before looking up, quieter now. "He… feeling any better?"

The old sailor's expression softened. He leaned his weight on the back of the couch, considering the little kraken. "A bit, aye. He's still young. Doesn't have the years to temper him yet, nor the breadth of experience. But we had a good talk, he and I. I think he understands, even if it still sits raw."

Jeremiah's chest tightened. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and nodded. "Thank you. I'm sorry I had to rely on you for this. After you asked me to take care of him and all."

David shook his head firmly. "Don't sell yourself short. The beast races — dragons, krakens, sphinx, and the like — they might be sapient, but they aren't born knowing themselves. Not like us. They grow into it. Their intelligence stretches, their sense of self comes with the years and the trials they face." He looked back at Billy, sleeping soundly, his bubble turning slow as the tide. "And from what I've seen, this little one's growing fine. Faster than most, even. You should be proud of the way you're raising him."

For a moment, Jeremiah couldn't find words. Pride and doubt warred in his chest, tangled with exhaustion. "Thanks," he managed at last, his voice rough.

David clapped him on the shoulder with a sailor's sure hand. "Get some rest, lad. You've earned it."

With that, he gathered his coat, gave one last fond glance at Billy, and slipped out into the hallway. The door shut behind him, leaving Jeremiah in the soft quiet of the apartment.

Jeremiah stood there for a long moment, staring at the tiny kraken adrift in his bubble. The steady rise and fall of Billy's mantle was hypnotic, and for just a breath, Jeremiah let the silence stretch, listening to the hum of the filter and the faint rattle of the pipes in the wall.

Was David right? Was he really doing well by Billy? Most days, Jeremiah felt like he was stumbling from one crisis to the next, barely managing to keep the shop afloat, let alone raise something as strange and wondrous as a baby kraken. And yet…

He smiled, faint and reluctant, as a flicker of warmth spread through him. He couldn't deny the pride that swelled at David's words. Nor could he deny the spark of excitement that stirred when he thought of the future — of what Billy might become.

Quietly, Jeremiah stepped forward. He cupped Billy's bubble in both hands, careful not to wake him, and lifted him from the table. Tiny shells clinked against the bubble's curve, and Jeremiah picked a few out with patient fingers as he crossed the room.

At the main tank, he eased the bubble in until it kissed the water's surface. With a soft plop, the bubble merged, and Billy sank slowly to the sandy bottom, curling into the hollow of the toy shipwreck he loved. The glow of the tank painted his small form in pale blue, a tiny flicker of life in the dark apartment.

Jeremiah lingered, one hand pressed against the cool glass. His voice came quiet, barely more than a breath.

"Goodnight, buddy."

The tank hummed, water shifting in steady rhythm, and Billy drifted deeper into dreams.

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