The city market was alive with color and noise. Merchants shouted their prices, beasts roared in caged enclosures, and the scent of hay, metal, and roasted street food filled the air.

Akul, Chia, and his mother moved through the crowd, scanning the stalls.

Everywhere they looked—fire beasts.

Some snarled behind reinforced glass, others lay lazily in reinforced pens, their molten eyes flickering. But one thing was clear: fire beasts weren’t cheap.

“I knew they’d be expensive…” Chia muttered, “but this is ridiculous.”

Akul exhaled sharply. “20,000 to 25,000 gold coins for a top-tier common rank…”

“And that’s just the base price,” his mother added. “That doesn’t include feed, training, or care. The lower-tier ones are under 10,000, but…”

Chia glanced at a cage nearby.

Inside was a mangy-looking hound, its fire barely a flicker across its spine. A tag on its enclosure read ‘Sold at Discount – Unstable Core’.

She frowned. “Defects…”

Akul sighed. They had been at this all morning.

They moved from stall to stall, hearing the same thing.

Fire beasts were rare.

Fire beasts were expensive.

And magma beasts? Forget it.

Chia’s shoulders slumped. “At this rate, we’ll never—”

“I couldn’t help but overhear…”

The voice was smooth. Low.

They turned.

A man stood beside them.

Not dirty, not suspicious-looking. But shady.

His cloak was well-kept, but pulled just a little too tight around him. His boots were polished, but scuffed at the edges. His eyes held a glint of something hidden.

Akul’s mother immediately stiffened.

“Excuse me?” she said, voice cautious.

The man smiled, hands raised. “Apologies, madam. I was passing by and heard your concerns. You’re looking for a fire beast, yes?”

Akul narrowed his eyes. “…Why?”

“Well,” the man said, voice smooth as oil, “I happen to know where you can find one. A good one. Not these overpriced city beasts.”

Chia’s ears perked up.

Akul’s mother’s expression turned icy. “Not interested.”

“Wait,” Akul said before she could pull him away.

He wasn’t an idiot.

This was sketchy.

But…

“What do we have to lose?” he asked. “We’ll take a look. If it’s a scam, we leave.”

His mother shot him a look.

The man grinned.

“Smart kid.”

They left the market.

Past the bustling streets.

Past the tightly packed buildings.

And soon, the city faded behind them.

The road turned rougher, dustier, the scent of beasts growing stronger.

The outskirts of the city bled into farmland, vast fields stretching into the distance.

Akul’s mother walked beside them, one hand on the small blade she always carried at her waist. She didn’t trust this. Not one bit.

Chia, on the other hand, was buzzing with curiosity.

“How much farther?” she asked.

“Not far,” the man said smoothly. “See that up ahead?”

They looked.

A large facility stood among the rolling fields.

But unlike the wooden farmhouses and open grazing fields around it—this one looked modern.

Reinforced enclosures. Thick iron fencing. The mark of an officially licensed breeder hung near the front gate.

Akul’s mother frowned. It looked legitimate.

Akul exchanged glances with Chia.

Maybe… this wasn’t a scam?

A man stood at the gate, tall, broad-shouldered, and clean-cut.

He wore simple work clothes, but his posture screamed trained summoner.

“Ah, customers?” He looked at the cloaked man. “Bringing in business again, I see.”

The man chuckled. “You know me. Always connecting the right people.”

The farm owner turned to them. “Welcome. I’m Dion, head breeder here.”

His tone was warm. Friendly.

Chia immediately relaxed.

Akul… did not.

Something about this still felt too convenient.

“Come,” Dion gestured, leading them inside.

The moment they stepped in—heat washed over them.

A wall of dry, smoldering warmth, the kind that clung to your skin.

Inside, rows of fire beasts stood in reinforced enclosures.

And then—they saw them.

The boars.

Massive creatures, low to the ground but built like moving fortresses.

Their thick, leathery hide had a texture similar to rhinoceros armor, layered for protection.

Two menacing tusks curved outward from their mouths, jagged and sharp enough to pierce metal.

But the most striking thing?

The fire.

A molten blaze ran from their skulls to their tails, flickering with every breath. It wasn’t a wild, untamed fire—it was controlled, flowing in steady streams along their ridges like a living flame.

Their breath wasn’t just hot—it distorted the air itself, waves of heat rippling around their bodies like a living furnace.

Chia’s jaw dropped. “Whoa.”

Even Akul had to admit—they were impressive.

Dion smirked. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“How strong are they?” Akul asked.

“For common-rank? Incredibly strong. Their physical endurance is top-tier, and their fire affinity is stable. They’re natural frontline beasts—stubborn, powerful, and resistant to burns.”

He gestured toward different enclosures.

“This section here is for juveniles. Over there—sub-adults. And at the far end, full-grown, battle-ready beasts.”

Akul watched Chia.

Her eyes sparkled.

“Can we—?” she hesitated. “Can we see them up close?”

Dion chuckled. “Of course.”

He led them forward.

So far—everything checked out.

The farm was well-kept. The beasts were in peak condition.

No signs of mistreatment.

No signs of shady dealings.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

Then—

BANG!

The sound ripped through the silent air.

Akul flinched. His mother’s hand snapped to her weapon.

Chia froze.

Then—a deep, rumbling growl.

It sounded...painful.

Something was wrong.

Dion’s easy demeanor shifted.

He turned—expression suddenly sharp.

“Stay here,” he ordered.

And before they could respond—he took off toward the sound.

Dion’s words were clear.

“Stay here.”

And of course… we didn’t.

Chia was the first to whisper it. “We’re not actually staying, right?”

I glanced at her, then at Bobo. His golden eyes flickered, head already tilting toward the direction Dion had disappeared.

“No way we’re staying,” I muttered.

So we moved.

Not immediately—just slow, careful steps at first, pretending to still be admiring the fire boars.

But then we slipped away.

Through the farm.

Past the enclosures.

Toward where Dion had gone.

And that’s when we saw it.

A sealed-off room.

It wasn’t like the other enclosures.

No windows.

No cracks.

Just a single reinforced door and two small ventilation grates near the ceiling.

And standing in front of it—Dion.

The door clanked shut.

A loud, metallic lock twisting into place.

I caught the briefest glimpse of his expression.

Annoyed. Irritated. Scoffing.

Then—he turned.

And just like that—his entire demeanor changed.

His face brightened. His smile returned. The same friendly, easy-going breeder we had met just moments ago.

“Ah, sorry about that!” he called out, walking toward us like nothing had happened. “Farm life—always something unexpected, huh?”

He let out a fake chuckle.

Too fake.

None of us moved.

None of us spoke.

We had all seen it.

The shift.

The momentary crack in his mask.

This man was hiding something.

Dion kept talking, but I wasn’t listening anymore.

My gaze flicked toward Bobo.

Our bond was strong enough now that I didn’t even need to speak aloud.

I just gave the smallest nod.

Bobo’s eyes sharpened.

Then—he slipped away.

Silent. Quick. A golden shadow vanishing behind the enclosures.

Dion kept up his polite nonsense, completely unaware.

“And I do hope the loud noise didn’t scare you all,” he went on, giving a concerned smile. “We take great pride in our animals’ well-being. Nothing to worry about.”

Yeah. Right.

I had no idea what was happening inside that sealed room.

But I imagined.

I imagined Bobo scaling one of the nearby fences. His small, nimble body leaping onto the enclosure beams, slipping through gaps with ease.

I imagined him finding the ventilation grate. Small enough to fit, squeezing his way inside.

I imagined him peeking through the thin slits of metal, eyes wide as he took in whatever was locked away inside.

And whatever he saw—

It shocked him.

I knew because when Bobo returned minutes later, he wasn’t just rushing.

He was frantic.

Bobo was fast, but not like this. Not wild. Not erratic. He was moving like something was chasing him, like something inside had shaken him to his core.

He scampered up my shoulder, tapping my face urgently with his little hands, mimicking movements wildly.

“What? What is it?” I whispered.

Bobo grabbed his own arm, squeezed tight—like he was hurt.

Something injured.

Then he curled inward, making himself small.

Weak.

His golden tail flicked toward the sealed-off room.

Inside.

I exhaled slowly.

“Something’s trapped in there?”

Bobo nodded furiously.

I glanced at Chia. Her face had paled slightly. “Akul… we shouldn’t mess with this.”

But I was already looking back at Bobo.

“…Can you free it?” I whispered.

Bobo’s expression shifted.

Determination.

I gave him a quick, sharp nod.

“Go.”

And just like that—Bobo was gone again.

I had no idea how he was going to do it, but Bobo was smart.

In the end, I could only hope.

Hope that his training had made him quiet enough.

Hope that his strength had grown enough.

Hope that Dion hadn’t taken extra precautions.

And so, we waited.

Minutes passed.

I tried to act natural, forcing small nods as Dion continued his fake conversation.

Then—

Click.

A soft, metallic shift.

I barely heard it.

But then—

BOOM.

A deafening slam echoed through the farm.

And suddenly—a blur of movement.

Something rushed straight toward us.

Fast.

Wild.

Unstoppable.

Dion’s entire expression changed.

His calm mask shattered.

His eyes widened in pure rage.

“No,” he snarled.

And in that moment—I knew.

Whatever we had just set free…

It wasn’t supposed to leave alive.