The night was still. Quiet.

I sat cross-legged, my grimoire floating before me, its twin-pupiled eye lazily half-lidded, like it was just as deep in concentration as I was.

Inside, I focused on one thing.

The Beast Space.

I could see it, forming in my mind. A vast, empty expanse—not yet complete, but growing. Bit by bit.

And damn, was it taking forever.

I had spent weeks cultivating this space, and it was only halfway there.

I exhaled through my nose. Frustration gnawed at me, but I pushed it down.

Father had told me to make it as big as possible.

I hadn’t questioned it—just followed his advice, expanding it every single night.

But now? Now I was starting to understand why.

Because tonight—

It was accelerating.

The flow of mana around me wasn’t just strong—it was unnatural.

I could feel it pouring in, wave after wave, flooding toward my artifact like a river being redirected.

My grimoire hummed, pulsing in rhythm with the surging energy, its eye slowly widening as it absorbed more.

I’d never seen it gather this much before.

Not even close.

A deep thrumming filled the air, faint but steady, vibrating against my skin. The pressure was almost dizzying—like sitting in the middle of a storm, except instead of wind and rain, it was pure mana.

My fingers twitched.

This… this was insane.

How much more could it take in? How much bigger could my Beast Space actually get?

I had no idea.

But I wasn’t stopping now.

I shut my eyes, breathing deep, and pushed further.

I exhaled slowly, letting my mind settle.

If I was going to do this—really do this—I couldn’t just force it.

I had to shape it.

So, I imagined myself as a painter.

The mana flowing toward me? That was the brush.

The space forming in my mind? That was the canvas.

And me? I was the one painting.

I let my focus drift, feeling the currents of mana swirl around me. Instead of fighting it or trying to control every little movement, I dipped my brush into it—guiding, shaping, layering each stroke with intent.

A vast landscape stretched before me, an empty world waiting to be filled.

I kept the same style Bobo wanted. The same layout, unchanged, just expanded.

With every breath, I swept broad strokes across the void.

Expand.

The mana surged, weaving through the space, spreading wider, deeper.

Strengthen.

Lines of power rippled across the foundation, reinforcing what had already formed.

Refine.

I filled in the gaps, smoothing out imperfections, adding depth to what was once just an empty shell.

It felt… right.

Like I wasn’t just cultivating.

I was creating.

And the more I painted, the more the canvas stretched.

Bigger.

And bigger.

A place not just for one beast. Not just for two.

But for something far greater.

And I wasn’t even done yet.

I lost track of time.

The brush kept moving. The canvas kept stretching. The mana kept flowing.

And it still wasn’t enough.

No matter how much space I shaped, no matter how deep I let it expand, I could still feel something—an edge, a boundary—waiting to be pushed further.

How big is this thing supposed to get?

I had already created something larger than I ever thought possible. And yet… it could still grow.

I almost hesitated. But then—

“Make it as big as possible.”

My father’s words echoed in my mind.

He never explained why. Never told me what the limit should be. Just gave me that one order.

And if he thought it should be big?

Then it needed to be big.

So, I kept going.

Even as my mind wavered. Even as exhaustion settled in. Even as my body begged me to rest—I pushed a little further.

More strokes. More layers. More expansion.

And then—finally—

I let go.

The mana settled. The brush stopped. The canvas stilled.

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I exhaled.

It was enough for tonight.

Tomorrow was training with Rhyzar. If I pushed any further, I’d be useless. And there was no way I was showing up half-dead to one of his sessions.

I sank into my bed, barely remembering to breathe before sleep dragged me under.

Before the Sun, There Was Rhyzar

The morning was barely a thought in the sky when I felt it.

A presence.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t overbearing.

But it was there.

Waiting.

I opened my eyes to find my window wasn’t empty.

Rhyzar stood outside, arms crossed, his silhouette blending into the last stretch of night. The sky behind him was still dark, only the faintest hues of dawn creeping in.

I squinted. “You have a problem.”

“You have two minutes.” His voice was calm, as if standing outside my window before sunrise was the most natural thing in the world.

I sighed, dragging myself up. Why am I even surprised at this point?

Two minutes later, I was out the door, Bobo at my side.

The streets were quiet this early in the morning. Only the dedicated, the desperate, and the dangerous were awake at this hour.

Rhyzar led the way, his steps steady, measured. He didn’t speak much. He never did unless there was something worth saying.

But I had a feeling today was different.

The Forge stood at the heart of the city—the combat center. A place where summoners and beasts tested their strength against real opponents.

I had never been inside.

I had heard about it, though.

Unlike small-time dueling rings or private sparring grounds, the Forge wasn’t just about fighting.

It was where people proved themselves.

Beasts weren’t just trained here. They evolved here.

It was a massive, open-air coliseum reinforced with enchantments, built specifically to handle the chaos of battle. Tiered stone seating wrapped around the main combat zones, where different ranks fought in regulated matches. Hundreds of fights happened here every day, from casual spars to life-changing duels.

And today, Bobo was going to have his first taste of it.

Real combat. No more training dummies. No more controlled sparring.

Rhyzar led us through a side entrance meant for participants. The moment we stepped inside, the energy shifted.

The scent of sweat, dust, and mana clung to the air. The sounds of metal clashing, of beasts roaring, of commands being barked—it all hit me at once.

This wasn’t a place for hesitation.

This was a battlefield.

Rhyzar stopped in front of the registration desk, where a sharp-eyed woman looked up from her ledger.

“Rhyzar,” she greeted, barely glancing at me. “Bringing in a fresh one?”

Rhyzar nodded toward me. “Akul. His beast is ready for its first real fight.”

Her eyes finally landed on me. They scanned me, then flicked down to Bobo. She took in his size, his stance, his energy.

Then she smirked. “Common rank, low tier?”

I shook my head. “Mid.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “Mid-tier, huh? Confident.”

I met her gaze. “Prepared.”

That seemed to amuse her. “Alright, kid. You’re in.”

She scribbled something in her book, then waved toward one of the nearby training rings. “Go over to the mid-tier section. Your first match starts in ten minutes.”

The training rings weren’t massive—just big enough for one-on-one battles. Enough space for beasts to move, but not enough to run.

I stepped into the designated ring with Bobo, feeling the weight of the moment settle over me. This was different from anything we had done before. No safety nets. No do-overs.

Across from us stood our first opponent.

A lean, yellow-eyed boy about my age. His beast stood beside him—a Daggerfang Lizard, its black scales gleaming under the coliseum lights.

It wasn’t huge. But it was fast.

And those fangs?

Poisonous.

The boy smirked. “First time?”

I tilted my head. “For Bobo.”

His smirk widened. “This’ll be fun.”

The official raised her hand.

“Battle—BEGIN!”

And then, the real test started.

The moment the official’s hand dropped, the Daggerfang Lizard vanished.

No hesitation. No warm-up.

One moment, it was standing in place—the next, it was gone.

Fast.

Bobo barely had time to react before a blur of black scales slashed past his side. A sharp hiss followed—the sound of claws scraping fur.

I saw a glint of violet.

Poison.

“Bobo, MOVE!” I snapped.

The monkey twisted mid-air, flipping away just as the lizard shot past him again. He landed lightly on all fours, his golden fur bristling, eyes locked on his opponent.

This was different.

All our training—sparring with the Warforged Ape, dodging Rhyzar’s attacks—none of it had ever felt this real.

Bobo knew it too.

This wasn’t just a fight.

This was survival.

The Daggerfang didn’t wait.

It moved like a shadow with fangs, circling, darting, testing for an opening.

Bobo tensed, shifting lower to the ground, his tail flicking.

The monkey had the edge in instinct.

The lizard had the edge in speed.

But I could already tell—Bobo was adapting.

The lizard struck again.

Bobo dodged.

It struck again.

Bobo dodged.

Each time, the gap between attack and reaction shrank.

Primal Surge was kicking in.

I felt it through the bond—the way Bobo’s body sharpened, his reflexes firing faster, his movements flowing smoother.

He was learning.

But the lizard wasn’t done.

The next strike wasn’t a feint.

It was a trap.

Bobo twisted to evade—but the lizard redirected mid-air, its body snapping sideways in an unnatural motion.

A tail whip.

BAM.

Bobo took the hit square in the ribs.

His body spun, crashing into the dirt.

I clenched my fists. Damn it.

Bobo rolled, righting himself fast—but the lizard was already there, its fangs aimed for his throat.

NO.

Bobo’s eyes flashed.

His tail snapped up.

In a single motion, he caught the lizard mid-lunge and used its own momentum to flip it over his shoulder—SLAMMING it into the ground.

The crowd around the ring let out a low murmur.

I exhaled sharply. Nice.

The lizard hissed, twisting to its feet. Its sleek body trembled—its movements not as fluid as before.

Bobo wasn’t the only one learning.

The Daggerfang was fast.

Bobo was faster.

Not at first. But now? Now, he had its rhythm.

Every strike. Every twitch of its muscles. Every moment before it lunged.

He was reading it.

And responding.

The next attack came—Bobo wasn’t just dodging.

He was countering.

A claw to the side.

A tail strike to the jaw.

A feint that sent the lizard crashing into the dirt.

The battle shifted.

It wasn’t hunter and prey anymore.

It was two predators.

And Bobo was winning.

The Daggerfang backed away slightly, its tongue flicking, body lowering.

I saw it.

So did Bobo.

It was preparing for one last attack.

One last gamble.

And Bobo?

He was ready.

The lizard vanished—a streak of black rushing toward Bobo, fangs wide, aiming straight for his throat.

Bobo charged forward.

No hesitation.

No fear.

He met the lizard head-on—

—then leaped at the last second.

The Daggerfang struck nothing but air.

And Bobo—

Bobo came crashing down from above.

His fists clenched. His body twisting.

Using all the force from his fall—

BAM.

A full-power hammer fist—right to the skull.

The lizard collapsed.

Dust settled.

Silence.

Then—

“Winner—Bobo!”

The ring official’s voice barely registered as the crowd roared.

I let out a breath.

Bobo stood there, panting, chest heaving, his golden fur streaked with dust and sweat.

Then he turned—

Grinning.

I smirked. “Good job, buddy.”

He let out a victorious screech, slamming his fists against his chest.

His first real fight.

And his first real victory.

But this was just the beginning.

Bobo was grinning, his small chest heaving from exertion.

I was still catching my breath, the thrill of victory fresh in my veins.

And then—

“What the hell was that?”

Rhyzar’s voice cut through the moment like a blade.

I blinked, turning. “What?”

His arms were crossed. His expression? Cold. Unimpressed.

“Why,” he said slowly, deliberately, “did you not use your skills?”

The way he asked it—like he was genuinely baffled—sent a prickle down my spine.

I opened my mouth—then closed it.

“…Uh.”

Rhyzar’s eyes narrowed.

“Uh?” he repeated.

I shifted. “I mean, Bobo—he was doing fine—”

Rhyzar tilted his head. “Fine?”

I hesitated. “…Yeah?”

A slow, dangerous smile crept onto his lips.

“I know,” he said, voice too calm, “at least three of your skills that could have turned that battle in an instant.”

I swallowed.

“Bobo—he needs to grow on his own,” I started, but my voice faltered.

Because I knew.

I knew he was right.

And Rhyzar could see it.

His voice hardened. “You. Are. A. Summoner.”

I clenched my fists.

“You are his support. You are the strategist. You are the one who should be making sure he doesn’t die.” His gaze bored into me. “So tell me—what exactly were you doing out there?”

I exhaled slowly. “I was observing—”

“Observing?” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Observing?!”

Bobo shifted beside me, tail flicking uneasily.

Rhyzar took a step closer.

“You stood there,” he said. “You stood there and watched. You stood there and held your breath every time Bobo was about to fail. Do you think this is some kind of game?”

I flinched.

He leaned in. “Do you think that lizard was sparring?”

The air felt heavier.

“Do you think it wouldn’t have ripped Bobo’s throat out if it had the chance?” His voice was a low, sharp growl. “Do you think that in a real battle, your enemy will just… let you watch?”

I exhaled sharply.

Rhyzar wasn’t angry for the sake of being angry.

He was angry because he was right.

I wasn’t in the battle.

I had been watching.

Like a spectator.

Like an outsider.

Like someone who wasn’t a summoner.

Rhyzar straightened. His expression didn’t soften.

“Akul,” he said. “Wake. Up.”

Silence.

I felt my heart pounding.

Not from the battle—

From the realization that I had failed.