"Speaking of heavy…" Ria spoke again, this time directing her voice squarely at me. "Why is your aura so… jumbled? Seriously, it's like looking at a sketch someone erased and redrew six times. I can tell you're going for some kind of trinity build—most of us can—but yours is… not refined. It feels scattered. Like you just crammed everything in at once."

I scratched the back of my neck, half-embarrassed. "Because that's kind of exactly what happened. I didn't pick my first cubes with any real strategy. It was just—take what I could get, survive what I had to. But I do know the structure now. Bow. Spellcraft. Machina. That's my tri-spect. That's what I'm aiming for. I guess you could say I've figured out my true spirit… even if I took the long way around."

"It's also muddled because of the contracts," came Barbra's voice, sudden and sharp, like a blade drawn across stone. She stepped cleanly from the wall's edge, no doubt having been there long enough to hear more than she should've. "You can guess which ones, Ria—if you're really him."

"Oh." Ria blinked, then tilted her head in understanding. "Barbatos? Really? I chose Andromalius."

"That frat-boy who thinks a crown makes him clever?" Barbra curled her lip, visibly unimpressed. "Please. He's all noise and posture. What made you go with him?"

"He made me laugh," Ria admitted with a shrug. "Sue me."

I raised a hand in protest. "Wait—hold on. Barbra, how long were you eavesdropping? Ever heard of something called privacy?"

She looked at me like I'd just asked for a unicorn. "No. You're still under tutoring supervision. Privacy is a reward for people who know what they're doing."

Her tone was pure headmistress—firm, condescending, and impossible to argue with. She even crossed her arms like I was late to a lecture.

I sighed, resisting the urge to groan out loud. "Right. Forgot I was still your project."

"My pupil," she corrected, with just enough gravity to make it sound like a title. "Don't act so wounded. If I'd left you unsupervised, you'd have blown yourself up with your own Machina by now."

Ria stifled a laugh, and I gave both of them a look that I hoped translated to please stop tag-teaming me. It didn't work.

Ria crossed her legs under her, her tone turning reflective. "Andromalius doesn't care about subtlety. His sigil isn't about posture or form. It's about force. Pressure. The ability to make anything fall if you push hard enough, long enough. There's a reason his arena has no walls—just rising blood-soaked steps. Victory is the only architecture he respects."

I tilted my head. "And you resonate with that?"

"Of course. That kind of power—the simplicity of it—is honest." She smiled faintly. "His domain reflects it. Endless crowd, one throne. A giant of a man watching giants try to kill each other, waiting to see which one's worthy of the crown."

"I guess that fits." I leaned back slightly. "Mine...well. Barbatos's sigil doesn't care about dominance. It's not about spectacle."

"No. Hers is about silence," Ria murmured. "The kind of violence you never see coming until it's already happened."

"She calls it Laplace's Demon," I said, remembering the way the sigil carved itself into my chest like breathless instinct. "She said the beast who understands the whole of the terrain can move faster than thought."

"She's right," Ria said, nodding. "She offers something rarer than strength: inevitability. Prediction. Refinement. You don't fight with her sigil, you track."

"It changes your body," I added. "Or... it's trying to. There's this constant pull inside me. Like some part of me is still running, even when I'm standing still."

Ria studied me for a moment, then leaned in. "You haven't been to her domain, have you?"

"No," I started to say, but—

"No," Barbatos said, stepping forward before I could finish. "But he's about to."

Her voice cut clean through the air, sharp enough to silence both of us. She emerged from the wall's edge like a shadow unsticking from the stone. I could feel the weight of her before I even turned.

Ria smirked. "Is this where the pupil gets dragged off for the real work?"

Barbatos didn't answer her. Her eyes were fixed on me.

"You've been playing with the edges of my mark," she said. "But to wear a predator's skin doesn't make you one. You want your build to work? You want your cubes to align? Your Arte to sharpen?"

She raised her hand—and the air behind her rippled, parting like tall grass before something fast and terrible.

"Then it's time to enter the grounds."

The scent of moss and wet stone drifted through the new opening, beneath a silver sky streaked with cloud. I saw trees spaced like watchers. Ridges dotted with obsidian nests. The bones of things large enough to make my heartbeat stall.

The Hunting Ground.

Barbatos gestured once, and I could feel the weight of the decision settle in my chest like a second heartbeat.

"Walk in half-formed," she said. "Or don't walk in at all."

***

The Hunting Grounds were—if I'm being honest—beautiful in a way that made my chest ache.

Rolling fields stretched out beneath a sky the color of raw steel. The air shimmered with heat and tension. Lush grass waved like ocean currents under the wind, dappled in sunlight that filtered through fractured clouds. Rabbits darted between low shrubs, their movements quick and frantic. Birds circled above them, eyes glinting, talons ready. One dove—caught its mark—only to be swallowed mid-flight by something faster, something larger. One moment the hunter, the next the hunted.

It was a closed loop of violence and elegance. Not chaos. No, there was a kind of brutal order here. The system worked. It thrived.

"Everything here is both predator and prey, Alexander," Barbatos said, her voice low but carrying. "There is a phrase I nearly bound to my truth: The tiger risks its life hunting the rabbit. I thought of carving it into my skin. A reminder that survival is always a gamble, even when you're stronger." She gave a small smile, almost fond. "Instead, I found a Skillcube bearing that name. I claimed it the moment I saw it."

I turned to face her, and nearly stopped breathing.

She was no longer in her usual human form. Gone were the scholar's robes and the stern, distant elegance. Now, she moved like shadow incarnate. Her limbs fluid, her form lithe—part woman, part pantheress. Sleek black fur ran along her arms and collarbone, her ears flicked with instinctive awareness, and a long tail swayed lazily behind her, the only outward sign of her constant readiness.

But it was her eyes that rooted me. Deep amber, slit-pupiled, glowing faintly like the last light before dusk. There was no warmth in them. Only precision. Hunger. Lethality. The eyes of something that had killed often, and would kill again.

They were terrifying. They were gorgeous.

There was a grace to her now that had nothing to do with delicacy and everything to do with power restrained—like a bowstring pulled taut, waiting to release.

I swallowed once, and promptly hated myself for how aware I was of her.

Okay. No. Stop. She's your teacher. Your deadly, mildly terrifying teacher. Who could probably hear your pulse spike.

Still...

Was she always this—?

I forced myself to look away.

Do I have a thing for beastkin now? Is this because of that play? Please tell me no.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

No, seriously. That actress playing Celeste had those fox ears—those ridiculous fluffy tails. But that was acting. Costuming. Theater. Not real. Not this.

Barbatos was real.

Real in the sense that I could feel the weight of her presence like the pressure before a storm. Real in the way her muscles shifted beneath her fur, subtle, controlled. Real in the way her gaze pinned me like a butterfly on a collector's board, studying the twitch of my wings before deciding whether to kill or keep.

So maybe you just have a thing for people who could end you without blinking.

That didn't make me feel better.

There was nothing soft about her. Nothing kind. Not in this form. Even her smile had fangs in it—literal and metaphorical.

And yet…

Some part of me responded anyway. The part of me that still wanted to prove something. That burned every time someone stronger than me looked at me like I was prey. That same part of me looked at Barbatos and whispered, If you survive her, you'll be something greater than you were.

Which—okay, kind of messed up.

Definitely messed up.

But I wasn't used to this. Being the student. Being shaped. Being—

"Are you still thinking about how I look?" Barbatos asked suddenly.

I choked. Audibly.

She hadn't turned to face me, but I knew she was watching. Her ears swiveled toward me. The slow, deliberate flick of her tail said she'd noticed every flicker of emotion on my face, every tremor in my pulse. Of course she had. That was the point of this place, wasn't it? This was her world. Her rules. Her hunt.

"I—no?" I tried. The answer sounded like a question. I cleared my throat. "I'm just... adjusting to the landscape."

She made a small sound, almost a purr. "Liar."

Then, silence.

I wasn't sure if she was amused or disappointed. Probably both.

"I'm not going to seduce you, Alexander," she said at last, tone clinical, like a teacher correcting grammar. "This isn't that kind of contract. But I do need you to stop looking at me like you're one heartbeat away from either bolting or proposing."

Right. Good. Normal conversation with my panther mentor.

"Understood," I said. Mostly because I didn't trust myself to say anything else.

"Good," she said, her tone softening just enough to let the next part in like a knife slipping between ribs. "Because if you want to survive this realm, and the next, and the one after that, you'll need to stop being distracted by teeth you wish would bite."

I had no idea how to respond to that, so I didn't.

The wind moved again. Something cried out in the distance—a scream, a howl, or maybe a song. In the Hunting Grounds, the line between them didn't matter.

"Come," Barbatos said, stepping forward. "Let me show you what it means to wear my mark."

And like a good little student, pulse still doing cartwheels, I followed.

Barbatos stopped just before the rise of a knoll, crouching low. I followed behind, heart thudding louder than my footsteps. The grass here was knee-high, soft but whispering with every shift of my weight. Beyond the hill, I could make out the twitch of ears. A rabbit—white, sleek, almost unnaturally still.

"Your first hunt," she said without looking back.

It was just a rabbit.

Small. Unarmed. Alone.

I blinked, and felt a strange pull in my chest. Not from instinct. From blood.

"…You're kidding, right?"

"No." Her eyes slanted toward me, her expression unreadable. "And… I apologize."

"For what?"

She turned to face me fully now, rising in a fluid motion. "That one is partially Almiraj-blooded. Not much. But enough. The horn didn't come in. But the instincts? The echo of your kind? It's there."

I froze.

"You want me to kill a rabbit that's part… me."

Barbatos nodded solemnly. "Yes. Because you are both predator and prey, Alexander. And this place will not let you lie about which you are."

I didn't say anything.

I didn't have to. My hand went instinctively to my belt, fingers brushing against my skin. I had a perfect cube for this: Horizon Step. I could close the gap in an instant, no sound, no warning.

But as I tried to pull the cube into focus—

Nothing.

No light. No activation. Just dead weight.

Barbatos sighed. "Rule one," she said. "You have no skillcubes here."

I blinked. "What?"

"This is my realm," she said, tone firm but not cruel. "My domain. My truth. Skillcubes are borrowed strength, sanctioned by the world's systems. But in here, you are raw."

I swallowed and reached instead for a sheet of paper, tucked into my sleeve.

Also nothing. It didn't move. It didn't listen.

"Rule two," Barbatos continued, folding her arms. "You have no paper here. No Arte. No Lexicon. No script to hide behind. Just you."

A beat of silence passed. Fractal would've said something by now—she always did. A nudge, a whisper, a flash of color or encouragement.

But there was nothing.

I knew before Barbatos even said it.

"Rule three," she said. "Lumivis cannot assist you."

I turned toward her. "So what can I do?"

She smiled, but there was no malice in it. "Rule four: You may ask me for questions and advice. I will not hunt for you. I will not kill for you. But I will guide you."

And then she held something out to me.

A simple mask.

Black lacquered wood, carved with the vague suggestion of a beast's face—sleek and feline. The eye holes were narrow, gold-ringed. The teeth were fanged. It was neither grotesque nor beautiful. It simply was.

"Rule five," she said. "Please put on the mask already."

I hesitated. She gave me a look that said she wasn't joking.

So I took it.

It was lighter than I expected. Warm to the touch. As I slid it over my face, it locked into place—not uncomfortably, just… tight. Like it knew me.

And when I opened my eyes, the world had changed.

The moment I placed the Mask of the Familiar Stranger over my face, everything changed.

It wasn't just the familiar weight of the mask, nor was it the subtle way it seemed to meld with my skin. No, the real shift came in the form of disconnection. All of my skills—those practical, tangible abilities I had accumulated through hard work—vanished in an instant. I couldn't access them, couldn't feel the ebb and flow of skillcubes as I normally did. I had no paper, no tools to manipulate, no Lexicon to dive into.

Instead, my mind was flooded with a heavy, oppressive silence. My archery skills, honed through hours of practice, were gone. The ability to fold paper with precision—Origami—had evaporated, just as elusive as a memory I had tried to grasp. And what was worse, it wasn't as if I could just push them aside and act on instinct.

No.

The Mask was too complete—too absolute in its restriction.

And with this new silence, a flood of other sensations took its place: the Familiarity Points.

My mind buzzed with the sensation of their presence. I could sense them, but I couldn't access them. The knowledge of my hundreds of hours spent honing practical skills, like archery or craftsmanship, felt like an itch I couldn't scratch. 3300 Familiarity Points swirled through my perception like a stream, constantly shifting, ever-flowing—endless. It was maddening.

Each point of Familiarity was like a single drop of water in a downpour, each drop representing a skill I had learned but could no longer use. The skills themselves weren't just memories; they were sharp, vivid, and tugged at me, as if they were begging to be employed.

And yet, there was no way for me to access them. There was no archery bow to nock an arrow to, no slabs of paper to manipulate into a form, no tools in my hands to use.

The flood was suffocating. My brain felt like it was being pulled in every direction as each skill attempted to assert itself, as if it were screaming to be used—but it couldn't. The sheer weight of all my past learning was now a blind spot, a pressure on my senses.

I glanced down at the rabbit. The one I was supposed to hunt.

It hadn't moved. It didn't even seem to be aware of me, as if it were waiting for something, maybe for me to act. But all I could do was stare at it, distracted, my mind constantly pulled between the wave of Familiarity Points and the memory of past skills I couldn't use.

There was no way to get around it. The hunt was all I could focus on, but even that wasn't easy.

"Focus, Alexander," Barbatos's voice sliced through my haze. "The hunt is not about killing the prey. It's about you, and it's about control. Control over what you are. Control over your thoughts. That's what you need right now. Not your skills, not your past abilities. Just the hunt."

I swallowed, forcing myself to calm down, but it was hard. I could almost feel the skills swirling in my head—skills that once felt like second nature, skills like Archery, Origami, and Hunting—but now, they were distant.

"You can't use your skillcubes here." Barbatos's voice again, but this time it wasn't cold. It was a reminder. A simple truth. "There is no paper, no Arte. There is only the land, the hunt, and you. You are what you are now. You are only what you are. Don't try to make up for what you lack."

I blinked.

I had been trying to push the Familiarity Points away, to find a way around them, to force them out. But the truth was, I was so used to relying on my skills, on my access to power, that I had forgotten the most basic rule of this trial.

I wasn't here to rely on what I knew. I wasn't here to call on my accumulated skills.

I was here to be.

"The rabbit," Barbatos's voice was quiet but firm. "Take it down, Alexander. The choice is yours, but first, you must focus."

I looked down at the rabbit again.

And I stopped.

I could feel it—the weight of the moment. I wasn't the sum of my skills. I wasn't my ability to fold paper, or shoot an arrow, or trap a creature with the knowledge I had. I was just me. Just my body, and this hunt.

The Familiarity Points still swirled in my mind, pressing in from the edges. But I closed my eyes for a moment and breathed deeply.

Focus. Focus on the rabbit.

I set my feet, steadying myself. The names of so many skills were there, yes—but they were just background noise now. I wasn't going to rely on them.

I turned to Barbatos, and asked her my very first question.

"Could you show me the skills I need to hunt?"

Her smile, her predatory smile, sent shivers down my spine in more ways than one.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.