I stowed the spoils with trembling fingers. The mana stones were cold and heavy, humming with a low-frequency buzz that made my palms itch. The horn was sharp enough to draw blood just by looking at it. But the egg—the egg was different. It felt warm, almost like it had a heartbeat of its own. I tucked it deep into the center of my pack, wrapping it in my spare shirt before exiting through the shimmering rift distortion.

  The transition was a jolt to the senses. One moment I was in the damp, sulfurous air of the cavern, and the next, I was back in the guild hall. The line of hopeful delvers had thinned significantly, and the scowling individual who had been looming near the entrance was nowhere to be seen.

  Standing right where I had left them were Cindy and the Manager.

  "Welcome back, Wren! Congratulations on a clear on your very first try!" Cindy’s voice was a bright, artificial chirrup that felt like a splash of cold water. "While nowhere near a record for a first clear time attempt, it is certainly a respectable time. You’d never have thought it was your first time in a fight!"

  She was a blur of enthusiasm, her hands fluttering as she spoke. But the celebratory atmosphere lasted exactly three seconds. Before I could even offer a tired "thank you," her hand clamped onto my shoulder. The Manager’s gloved hand landed on the other.

  The world twisted. The guild hall vanished in a sickening blur of light and sound as the Manager initiated a [Portal].

  When my vision cleared, we were in a private, sterile room far from the prying eyes of the guild floor. The shift in Cindy was instantaneous. The bubbly persona dropped away like a discarded cloak, replaced by a sharp, predatory intensity.

  "Okay. I need to know. How did you decide to do that with the bull?" Her voice had shifted from enthusiastic to demanding, and the sudden edge in her tone gave me a genuine fright. I stepped back, my heart hammering against my ribs again. "Sure, most get the idea to let the bull charge, but you actually coordinated it so they would collide. Most delvers dive long out of the way, forcing the bulls to stop and reset. You waited until the last possible millisecond. Why?"

  I looked at the Manager, but the porcelain mask offered no sanctuary. I looked back at Cindy. Her eyes were searching mine, looking for a logic I wasn't entirely sure I had.

  "It was just a pattern," I stammered, my voice sounding small in the quiet room. "If I moved too early, they would have space to adjust. If I moved late... they didn't have any time to be anything but a crash. It just seemed like the most efficient way to stop them from moving."

  I didn't tell her it felt like a game of 'don't get hit by the boots.' In the gutters, if you moved too early, they caught you. If you moved just right, they hit each other

  "Sir Wren. I believe we have something of great importance to discuss."

  The Manager’s voice was as steady as the stone in the rift, but there was a new, resonant vibration beneath the words. They stood tall, the porcelain mask tilted slightly as if weighing the very air around me.

  "I cannot reveal everything regarding my own history—not yet—but the egg currently resting in your pack is of particular interest to me. Long ago, I too began my journey from an egg just like that one. Cindy’s grandmother shared a similar origin, did she not?"

  "Yup," Cindy said with a sharp nod. The demanding edge in her voice had vanished, replaced by a quiet, watchful curiosity. She motioned for the Manager to continue, her eyes never leaving my pack.

  "Well—Sir Wren. Are you familiar with the laws of the Beast Kingdom?"

  I blinked, trying to pull my thoughts away from the adrenaline still humming in my veins. "That’s…that’s Queen Mara’s domain, right? The stories say she’s a great bird of fire. They say she’s also very beautiful."

  The Manager’s mask dipped in a slow, respectful nod.

  "Correct. For those of us who were once beasts now taking human form—or for those of us who are their direct descendants—what you now carry is a sacred and living thing. In our lands, we have a saying: 'A Bound will find its destined.' I do not believe I have ever seen a more defining proof of that proverb than the boy standing before me now."

  "You mean..." I started, the weight of the egg in my pack suddenly feeling ten times heavier.

  "That egg is very—very—real, Wren. Whether it manifests as a partner, a companion, or eventually a person—we cannot yet say. But we must have it scanned immediately to ensure its stability. For that—we must return to the Earl’s estate. However—I am afraid my duties require me elsewhere for the time being. Cindy will escort you in my stead."

  "What?! Me?!" Cindy’s head snapped toward the Manager, her face twisting into a massive, exaggerated pout. She leaned in, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Why me?! I have reports to file and—"

  She stopped, looking from the Manager’s blank mask to my own bewildered face. She let out a long, theatrical sigh that seemed to deflate her entire posture.

  "Whatever. Fine. I’ll watch the kid," she muttered a few seconds later, though she didn't look nearly as annoyed as she sounded. “Cmon Wren, let’s get you to the Earls’, or more accurately, the Baron’s so you can get that egg fully scanned! I’ll drive. And stop for ice cream. My treat.”

  We stopped for ice cream as promised. It was delicious. It was sweet. It was perfect. As I leaned against a stone railing, the sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the sky in a bruised rainbow of deep purples and electric blues. Faint rainbows shimmered against the horizon, born from the frequent misting rains that characterized the evening air here.

  "So, Wren," Cindy said, her voice softer now that the bustle of the guild was behind us. "I’ve heard you... uh... signed a deal with the Earls. You holding up okay?"

  I took a slow lick of the melting vanilla, thinking about the weight of the contract and the weight of the egg in my pack. "I think so. They found someone for me to talk to about my problems—a specialist—and that really helped sort some things out. I’m worried about this, though. Am I really going to have something rely on me like this? I can barely look after myself most days."

  She turned away from me, her gaze drifting toward the sky I had been staring at. She raised a finger, pointing toward a bright, unblinking light sitting just above the crest of a heavy cloud.

  "See that one? That’s Horri. It’s not actually a star, though it looks like one from down here. Technically, that's where the Earls live, although they keep an estate down here as well for business. We’re heading to see the seneschal of the planet—or more aptly, our Baron."

  I blinked, the ice cream momentarily forgotten. "We have a Baron?"

  She nodded, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "Yup. Baroness Tita. She’s been stuck in a business meeting for a few years now—honestly, she’s been at it for most of your life—so you probably wouldn’t have thought of her as the actual ruler of the planet. She responds directly to the Earls, so for all intents and purposes, the Earls do rule this world, the moons around it, and Horri. But that’s where it gets a bit more complicated."

  I took another lick of the ice cream, watching a purple streak of light bleed into the blue. "Why does it get complicated, Miss Cindy?"

  "Well, the planet isn't just a kingdom; it’s an economy. See, each of the moons are jointly owned by the Earls, and the guilds that rest on them. You have the [Star-Writers], the [Golden Clocktower], the [Dark Rhombus], and [Kay-Wine]."

  She rolled her eyes, shaking her head in a display of pure, unadulterated judgment.

  "That last one is a horrible pun of a name. They only allow people with dog-bloodlines to join, and they are all absolutely obsessed with wine. Between the barking and the vintage-snobbery, they’re a nightmare at parties."

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  "You didn’t mention the [Jubilant Jesters] there, Miss Cindy," I said, catching a bit of melting cream on my thumb. "Isn't that the guild you're in?"

  "Yeah. We’re here, obviously," she said, though her tone lacked the usual bounce. "But we just have a small land claim on the surface. We have no desire to plant a flag on one of the moons, nor do we have the mana or the manpower to make an area like that habitable. Space is expensive, Wren."

  She slowed her pace, her expression turning uncharacteristically somber.

  "Also—while you’ll realize this soon enough—the [Jesters] aren’t the end destination for most delvers. We are a Tier 7 guild stationed on a Tier 9 planet. You can probably feel the gap. I’m sitting at about Tier 6 right now, which makes me a big fish in this little pond. But there are mountains in the Empire, and I don’t mean the big rocks that make up the valleys here."

  She turned her gaze toward the horizon, her voice dropping an octave.

  "I mean the people themselves. They are megaliths of power, prestige, and sheer force. Compared to them, we [Jesters] are just scouts. We sort of recruit for several of the larger guilds, acting as the filter to find where delvers like you actually belong in the grand design."

  I watched her eyes. She was looking at the sky again, but she wasn't looking at the glowing light of Horri this time. Her gaze was fixed on a patch of empty, velvet blackness far to the left of the moons. There was a longing in her expression—a look of someone staring at a distant shore they weren't sure they could ever reach.

  I followed her line of sight, squinting until my eyes ached, but I didn't see anything there except the cold, indifferent vacuum of space. I opened my mouth to ask what she was seeing, but something about the stillness of her posture stopped me. Whatever was out there, it wasn't for me to know yet.

  We finished our ice cream in a rare, shared silence, the sweetness of the sugar a sharp contrast to the gravity of her words. The "mountains" she spoke of felt very far away from the gutters, but as I adjusted the weight of the egg in my pack, I wondered if I was already climbing one.

  The Baroness’s estate was a jarring contrast to the Earls’ gilded halls. There was no flash here, no sprawling staff of silent attendants, and no shimmering enchantments decorating the walls. It felt more like a fortified manor—functional, sturdy, and quiet.

  Waiting for us was a single man who looked as though he had been carved out of the very mountain the estate sat upon. He was older, his hair a shock of brilliant white, but his frame was packed with dense, rolling muscle that stretched the fabric of his formal vest.

  “Greetings!” he boomed, his voice echoing off the stone rafters. “Baroness Tita is still occupied with her meeting with the other Barons of the Duchy! Please! Make yourselves comfortable! Tea? Juice? Sandwich? Apple?”

  He was loud and boisterous, his energy filling the room, yet there was an underlying polish to his movements. Cindy clearly knew exactly what she was walking into. She didn't hesitate, pulling out a heavy timber chair and dropping into it with a practiced ease.

  “Glen. Never change, please,” she said, offering a tired smirk. “Give me a cup of Ralai Red. Give the kid a cup of the Baroness’s raspberry juice instead.”

  “Ah! Guests after my Lady’s very heart!” the man declared. I assumed this was Glen, the Seneschal Cindy had mentioned. “She will be so grieved to hear she missed an opportunity to share the harvest of her gardens. We shall prepare them immediately!”

  Glen turned with surprising fluidity for a man of his bulk. He didn't leave the room to find a kitchen; he simply reached for a sideboard and produced a pair of elegant wine glasses. With a flourish, he uncorked a dark bottle and filled Cindy’s glass with a rich, crimson liquid. From a completely different bottle—this one chilled and condensation-beaded—he poured a vibrant, thick pink juice into mine.

  Finally, he sat down with us, pouring a splash from both bottles into a third glass for himself. He leaned back, his massive chest heaving with a hearty chuckle.

  “‘Cindy,’ my dear,” he said, placing a heavy emphasis on her name. “How is life as a ‘receptionist’ at the guild?”

  “Delightful, ‘Glen,’” Cindy shot back, mirroring his tone perfectly. “How is life as a ‘seneschal’ for the Baroness?”

  The air between them sparkled with a strange, competitive familiarity. I sat there, clutching my glass of raspberry juice, feeling very small between these two titans. The juice was tart and incredibly fresh, tasting of sunlight and expensive soil, but I could barely focus on the flavor. My backpack, resting against the leg of my chair, seemed to thrum against my calf.

  Glen settled into his chair, the heavy wood groaning under his muscular frame as if even the furniture knew he was more than a mere butler. He took a long, thoughtful sip from his glass, his white eyebrows lofting toward the ceiling.

  "A 'receptionist' at a Tier 7 outpost," Glen mused, his voice booming with a rhythmic, artificial joviality. "Such a humble calling for a woman of your... multifaceted talents. I imagine the filing of paperwork requires a surgical precision. One must be so careful not to let a single page—or a single secret—slip through the cracks."

  Cindy swirled her Ralai Red, the dark liquid catching the light of the stone hearth. "Oh, it's exhausting, Glen. Truly. You wouldn’t believe how much dust accumulates on a front desk. It’s almost as much as the dust that gathers on a 'seneschal' who spends all his time pouring juice while his Lady is 'busy' in meetings that have lasted for a decade."

  She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with a playful, dangerous glint.

  "But I suppose someone has to stay behind and play the part of the loyal dog, right? Even if that dog is secretly a wolf in a very tight waistcoat."

  Glen let out a bark of laughter that rattled the raspberry juice in my glass. "A wolf? My dear, I am merely a humble gardener of the Baroness’s interests. Though I must say, your own 'mask' is looking particularly seamless today. It’s a wonder you can breathe through so much theater."

  "I could say the same for your accent," Cindy countered, her voice dropping into a honeyed, mocking purr. "It’s very 'country manor.' Very 'refined.' Almost enough to hide the fact that you look like you could crush a moon with your bare hands if someone forgot to say 'please.'"

  "One does what one must to maintain the decorum of the estate," Glen said, dismissively waving a hand that was calloused in ways a butler’s hand should never be. "Just as one might pretend to be a bubbly guild girl to avoid the tedious questions of the Empire. It is a game of shadows, is it not? Though some shadows are certainly taller than others."

  He turned his gaze toward me, his smile widening into something that felt like a challenge.

  "And here I thought the [Jesters] only collected strays. I didn't realize they were now into the business of 'escorting' young masters with heavy backpacks. Is this a new 'receptionist' duty, or are you just moonlighting as a nanny for the Earls?"

  Cindy didn't miss a beat. "I'm a specialist in 'asset management' today, Glen. And this particular asset has something that might actually make that stone heart of yours skip a beat—if you can remember where you buried it."

  "High praise from a woman who spends her weekends 'processing' tier-one kobold ears," Glen chuckled, his eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp intelligence that cut right through his boisterous persona. "Very well. Let us drop the 'small talk' and move to the 'large matters.' Or shall we continue to discuss the weather while the boy’s bag continues to vibrate?"

  Glen turned to me, his boisterous energy softening into a courtly nod. "Do forgive me, young master. Cindy and I are old friends from many years back, and we find a certain... therapeutic value in chiding one another. Now, how can I be of service to you today?"

  "I, uh, found a beast egg," I started, my voice catching slightly as I thought of the weight in my pack. "I was told you had a scanner here? Or the Baroness does? Or maybe the Earls? I was told I needed a higher authority [AI] to identify it properly."

  "You were told correctly," Glen replied, his eyes sharpening with a sudden, professional focus. "While we cannot hook a rogue biological signature into the EmpireNET directly for security reasons, we can certainly bridge the PlanetNET to the EarlNET. From there, it can cascade through the DuchyNET and up to the EmpireNET until it cross-references the correct registered species. Please—can you show me the egg in question?"

  I reached into my bag, my movements slow and deliberate. I treated the object like it was made of thin glass and ancient dreams. As I pulled it out, I realized for the first time just how large it was; it was broader and heavier than the prize-winning watermelons they displayed at the district markets.

  What truly captured my breath, though, were the colors. In the dim light of the manor, the shell didn't just shimmer—it vibrated with life. Geometric, cubic patterns built off one another in a complex lattice, while hues of electric blue, soft yellow, vibrant pink, and deep purple swirled beneath the surface like a captured nebula. It was a mirage of shifting light that I hadn't fully processed in the chaos of the Rift. I found myself simply staring, lost in the shifting geometry.

  While I was entranced, Glen produced a sleek, handheld tool. He moved it around the egg in a steady arc, a thin beam of white light tracing every cubic facet of the shell.

  "Yup," Glen muttered, his eyes tracking data on a small, hovering holographic display. "Now we wait for the network to—never mind. It didn't even need to go further than the PlanetNET. The local records have it."

  He clicked the tool shut and looked at me with an expression that was surprisingly grave.

  "This is a [Faceted Sea-Hawk] egg—or in common parlance, a Crystal Osprey. In the Empire, they are prized for their iridescent feathers and their unique ability to hunt metal-mana fish. They are built for extreme physics, capable of surviving high-velocity dives that would shatter the bones of lesser creatures. In combat, they aren't known for having the most 'noble' bloodline, but they are famous for flying fast and hitting talon-first. For most delvers, that speed is more than enough."

  He leaned back, his massive frame casting a long shadow over the table.

  "I strongly—strongly—suggest you do not sell this, Wren. Cindy can explain the practicalities of a Bound partner if she hasn't already. But a creature that can keep pace with your eyes? That is a rare thing indeed."