Back on Earth, I was terrible at socializing. Like, REALLY terrible. Every time I tried to talk to someone new, I was so caught up in the outcomes and what they would think of me if I say what I wanted to say that I just forced myself to become an extremely quiet and closeted person. The only reason I'm such good friends with Tsagi is because he, more-or-less, just made himself comfortable in my life. I honestly don't remember how we became friends, but I do know he was the only person I could be truly free around. Around anyone else, I'm just really silent. Even now, in a completely new world, I was the same way. Sylverwulf and Traighan filled the air with pointless back-and-forth's about the most random things while I quietly floated close to Asgaerious. A little while after the howl rang out, Traighan had ordered Sylverwulf's mission to be more or less done and we hauled ass right out of there. After we had gotten to a path familiar to the Lycans, we had been walking ever since. I hovered close to Asgaerious, letting the weight of my own silence settle around me. The old goat-man didn’t seem to mind—if anything, he seemed to appreciate it. Unlike the others, who filled the air with easy, casual conversation, Asgaerious walked with the quiet confidence of someone who didn’t feel the need to speak unless it _actually_ mattered. I respected that. Sylverwulf and Traighan, on the other hand? "_I'm just saying,_" Traighan drawled, running a hand through his hair, "_if_ you had actually waited for backup like we planned, we wouldn’t have had to clean up after you." Sylverwulf rolled her eyes. "And _I’m_ just saying you’re being dramatic. Everything worked out, _didn’t it?_" Traighan sighed, clearly exasperated. "That’s not the point—" "It kinda _sounds_ like the point," Sylverwulf said with a smug grin. As much as I wanted to tune them out, their bickering actually brought me a bit of nostalgic comfort. I was so familiar with this sort of thing that instead of causing annoyance like it did to Asgaerious, I actually chuckled a bit. "Yuru!" Sylverwulf called out to me, looking back at me while walking. "Tell him how I absolutely *crushed* those stupid monsters!" "OH! Uhm-yea, she was pretty awesome...speaking of which, how *are* you so fast?" Sylverwulf grinned, absolutely eating up the praise. “Right? I _know!_” She puffed out her chest, throwing a smug glance at Traighan. “See? Even Yuru thinks I’m amazing.” Traighan scoffed. "You probably trained it to obey you," "I did *not*!" "Did to," I flickered awkwardly, deciding it was best not to get in the middle of whatever _this_ was. “Uh, but seriously… you were crazy fast back there. How do you _do_ that?” Sylverwulf’s grin widened. “Trade secret~” Traighan scoffed, ducking below a branch. "It's not a secret, she just doesn’t know how to explain it.” “Shut _up_, Traighan." That same branch Traighan ducked under wacked Sylverwulf in the face, meanwhile Asgaerious went the other way and I phased right through it. "*PWAH!* Stupid tree..." Traighan sighed and motioned for me to come closer to him, and as I did, Asgaerious followed close behind keeping a keen eye on me. I hesitated for a second before floating closer to Traighan, still _very_ aware of Asgaerious’s gaze burning into the back of my... uh, spirit. It wasn’t just _watching_ me—it was _analyzing_ me, as if he was waiting for me to make one wrong move so he could punt me across the forest. Traighan, on the other hand, seemed completely unbothered, his golden eyes scanning me like I was a puzzle he was halfway done solving. “I’m guessing you don’t know much about _Karmayas_ yet,” he said casually. "...No, I have never heard of that before," Traighan nodded slightly, like that was exactly what he expected. "Figured. Well, in any case, a karmaya is a power born from karmic energy. Do you know what *that* is?" "I-I'm sorry, no... I said," The disappointing glances from him and Asgaerious made me want to die all over again. "B-But I'm happy to learn!" Asgaerious scoffed. "Can a spirit even learn how to wield karma?" Sylverwulf chimed in. "Of course he can! I saw his potential with my own eyes!" She dashed in front of the two and gently brought me to her shoulder. "Hell, he could even be the key to finally getting rid of all these stupid Vikanthropes!" Traighan looked like he was considering the minute possibility, rolling his eyes back and forth as he was walking. Asgaerious, however, still wasn’t convinced. “The idea of a spirit learning to wield karmic energy like a living being is _foolish._” He crossed his arms, eyes narrowing at me. “It goes against all known logic.” I finally had enough. "May I ask why you think I'm not capable? I don't seem to understand why you think that because I am a spirit, I can't do what you do," Traighan lifted an eyebrow. "You seriously don't know? Spirits aren't even alive, they're just clumps of memories and information born when someone dies. But you..." He tapped me gently. "For some reason, you are..." "I am an anomaly?" He nodded. "In every sense of the word." Asgaerious scoffed, arms still folded as he studied me with scrutiny. "Anomalies are _unnatural._" Sylverwulf rolled her eyes. "Oh, _please,_ gramps. Just say you don’t get it and move on." "I understand _plenty,_" Asgaerious retorted, his golden eyes narrowing. "What I do not understand is _this._" He gestured toward me, as if I were some bizarre puzzle he had no patience for. "Spirits have no breath, no pulse, no _flow_ of karmic energy. And yet, _you_..." His voice dipped lower, like he almost didn’t want to say it. "You wield karma like a living being. That should not be possible." Traighan clicked his tongue, tilting his head as he tapped his fingers on his forearm. "No natural way, anyway." he sighed. "Listen, we'll talk more after we get this meeting wrapped up," I bobbed in confusion. "Meeting? Where?" Traighan simply pointed ahead. Traighan lifted his hand and pointed ahead. "There." I followed his gesture, and for the first time, I saw it—the outpost. Perched atop a gently sloping hill, nestled between thick clusters of trees, stood a fortified structure of wood and iron. Massive, sharpened logs formed a defensive wall, their pointed tips reaching toward the night sky like jagged teeth. Watchtowers stood at each corner, their torchlit peaks casting flickering light across the entrance, where a heavy iron-reinforced gate loomed shut. "Whoa..." I said. "Is that where you guys live?" Sylverwulf shook her head. "Nah, this is the Old Outpost. It's even older than Asgaerious, haha!" Asgaerious didn't even crack a smile, instead raising one stern finger. "This outpost has stood the test of time, and has served us Lycans since the Days of Unity. It has been rebuilt, reinforced, and _earned_ through battle. Never once, since it's creation, has it ever fallen to the enemy." "He says that to every newcomer, Yuru," Sylverwulf said. "It's like a reflex for him now," "Hush it, insolent fox," "You know she's right, Aggy," Asgaerious visibly scowled. "Never call me that again, boy," Traighan and Sylverwulf giggled as we continued down the worn dirt path leading to the outpost, something shifted in the atmosphere. The deeper we walked, the less the forest felt like an endless, shadowy expanse of trees and more developed area. It wasn’t long before the outpost came into view. Perched atop a natural hill, the palisade walls stretched high, sharpened logs standing like a row of jagged fangs against the night sky. Two watchtowers flanked the entrance, torchlight illuminating the figures standing atop them. Even from here, I could see their heads turning, tracking our approach. The moment we stepped into the torchlight, a deep, echoing howl rang out from above. The guards along the walls shifted, their silhouettes moving with practiced efficiency. A few figures stepped closer to the gate, weapons in hand—not raised, but ready. I flickered curiously, whispering to Sylverwulf. "Efficient, aren't they?" She shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Most of them are scouts on night watch, so they don't really have any combat training," The heavy wooden doors groaned as they swung open and a warm glow spilled from inside—dozens of torches and campfires scattered throughout the outpost, their flickering light revealing rows of tents, wooden barracks, and makeshift structures built into the natural rise of the land. The scent of firewood and cooked meat hung thick in the air, blending with something more metallic—iron, sweat, and the lingering scent of blood. The moment we stepped through the gates, I was hit with an overwhelming rush of life. Beastmen of all kinds filled the outpost, each one so wildly different from the last that my brain struggled to process it all at once. A massive, bull-headed man, his jet-black fur barely visible under a thick leather chest guard, was sharpening a battle-worn axe the size of a damn tree trunk. His muscles flexed with every slow, deliberate motion, his horns gleaming faintly in the firelight. Nearby, a group of feline beastmen were crouched near a campfire, their sleek fur patterns ranging from spotted to striped. One of them, a lean panther-like man with piercing yellow eyes, was carefully adjusting a set of daggers strapped across his chest. His ears twitched as we passed, tracking every sound with an eerie level of awareness. Further down, a pair of avian beastmen stood on a raised wooden platform, their feathered crests ruffling slightly as they exchanged quiet words. One had the sharp, predatory gaze of a hawk, his dark plumage blending with the night sky, while the other had vibrant golden feathers that shimmered in the firelight. I floated there, just mesmerized. It might sound cliche, but it really did look like straight out of those video games Tsagi would play. I couldn't help but float just near enough the Beastmen to see them up close. Their fur, claws, feathers, their entire biological make-up was new to me. I felt like a kid again as I floated from Beastmen to Beastman, looking at their cool tails, horns, and talons. "Amazing..." I murmured to myself. I guess I floated a bit too close to a Beastman with the head of a jaguar because he cocked his head sideways and grabbed me. "Awfully big for a spirit..." he mused, placing a finger on his furred chin. "Where'd you come from," Suddenly, Sylverwulf came out of nowhere and swiftly grabbed me from the Beastman's hands. "He's mine," she said with a slight giggle, letting me free to float next to her. "His name is Yuru!" The Beastman looked confused. "With all due respect madam... you named a spirit?" he said. "Why, I haven't tried keeping one as a pet since I was a boy," Traighan popped into the convo with a laugh. "As stupid as it sounds, this spirit is special," "Oh? How so, Master Traighan?" Traighan gently poked me. "Go on~" I sighed, still sort of nervous of the reaction I would get, but whatever. "Uhm, hi?" The jaguar Beastman visibly flinched. His ears perked straight up, his tail twitched, and his grip on his chin stiffened as his golden eyes went wide. He stared at me for a long second, his entire body going rigid. Then, slowly, he turned to Traighan. "...Master Traighan," he said, his voice carefully measured, "I think I've been on the night watch for too long..." Traighan snorted, covering. "Nope. You heard that right." The beastman blinked. Then he looked at me again. Then back at Traighan. Then _back_ at me. "So it really can just *speak*?" Sylverwulf smirked. "Yep." "..._Again._" I flickered nervously. "Uhm... hi?" The jaguar beastman’s tail _poofed up like a housecat’s._ He _immediately_ took a step back, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like _what the fuck._ I was more focused on the fact that this world had the same cussing as Earth. I flickered in irritation. "Oh, _come on,_ it’s not _that_ weird." The jaguar beastman, eyes still wide, warily pointed at me. "Spirits. Do. Not. Speak." "Yeah, well, _this_ one does," Sylverwulf said, grinning as she placed her hands on the Beastman's shoulder. "Neat, huh?" "_Neat_ is not the word I would use, Madam Sylverwulf," the beastman muttered, eyes still wide. "Well, in any case, we have a meeting to attend," Traighan sighed, yanking Sylverwulf and motioning for me to follow. "*Come* on," I floated there in confusion. "You want me to attend?" I asked. Traighan turned his head around with a smirk plastered on his face. "You're a topic of discussion as well, it'd be stupid not to include you," "O-Oh." I floated there for a moment to really just grasp my thoughts. If the plan to find Tsagi was going to work in any fashion, I needed people I could trust. The Beastmen were a perfect start, but to really have all hands on deck, I had earn the trust and respect of everyone of them. And if exterminating every last one of these monsters gets me one step closer to seeing Tsagi's face again, I was ready to get my hands dirty. ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ✱✱✱ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Okay, role call!" Traighan's voice cascaded over the war tent. The tent itself was massive, large enough to hold dozens comfortably. A single, round table sat in the center, covered in maps, reports, and small wooden markers shaped like various creatures. Dim lanterns hung from the thick wooden beams supporting the canvas overhead, their golden glow casting flickering shadows against the fabric walls. I floated just beside Sylverwulf, trying not to feel completely out of place. The room was full of people I had never met—each one a completely different type of Beastman. And each one of them were staring at me. I flickered instinctively, feeling the weight of their gazes press down on me. Some were curious, some wary, and a few downright hostile. It wasn’t every day a talking spirit waltzed into a war tent, I guess. Sylverwulf, of course, acted like this was the most normal thing in the world. She popped her knuckles loudly and threw herself into a seat, stretching her arms behind her head like she had just finished a long day at work. "Alright, let's get this over with," she sighed dramatically. "I’m missing valuable nap time." "Sylverwulf?" Traighan uttered begrudgingly. Sylverwulf rolled her eyes. "Present, dickhead." "Mhm... Tom is stationed as the Primarch's body guard so we isn't here..." Traighan whispered to himself. "Asgaerious?" "Present." Traighan gave a short nod before continuing. "Milam?" A small voice piped up from the other side of the tent. "Here!" I turned toward the sound and immediately spotted the speaker—a short, athletic girl with medium-length, messy black hair and sleek black feline ears perched atop her head. Her deep blue eyes flickered with a mischievous glint as she casually leaned against the table, twirling a dagger between her fingers like it was second nature. She glanced at me for only half a second before looking away, already disinterested. "Why are we doing role call? We all know who's here." Traighan shot her a look. "Because it's standard procedure, Milam." "Standard procedure is boring." She sighed dramatically, flicking her dagger upward before catching it with ease. "We could've skipped all this and just gotten to the important stuff. I really wanna go to bed..." "Blame Sylverwulf fucking up the mission," Traighan said. "Torres?" "Present," a deep, rumbling voice answered. I turned to see the largest beastman I had ever laid eyes on. Torres stood like a walking fortress, his broad, muscular frame wrapped in thick, deep blue fur. His head bore the shape of a powerful bull, complete with curved ivory horns that gleamed faintly under the lantern light and dark, serene eyes. Despite his hulking size, he had a gentle feel around him. His posture was relaxed, his voice slow and even, like he had all the time in the world. A massive, double-headed axe rested against the table beside him, its blade polished to a mirror shine. "May I inquire about the spirit?" he asked. Traighan simply just nodded. "Later, though, we've got more pressing matters," Torres gave a slow nod, seemingly satisfied with that answer. Meanwhile, Traighan continued, scanning the room. "Alright. Charrot?" "Yeah, I'm here," Charrot was small, probably the youngest-looking aside from Milam Her long, pink hair was tied back in a messy French braid, with a few loose strands framing her face. Perched atop her head were two fluffy rabbit ears, flicking slightly as she shifted on her feet. Unlike the others, who stood or sat casually, Charrot had one foot propped up on a chair, elbow resting on her knee, chin in her palm. Her brown eyes looking around the room, probably dying of boredom. "Is the perimeter clear?" Traighan asked. She nodded slowly. "Yes, I checked hundreds of times, man. Please just get on with the meeting..." Traighan sighed. "I'm just following protocol," he said. "Rowan?" A small, uncertain voice answered from the far end of the table. "Here." The voice belonged to a boy who looked way too young to be sitting at a war meeting. Rowan had a short, almost frail frame. His long, green hair draped over his shoulders, a few strands falling in front of his face as he pushed his round glasses up the bridge of his nose. Unlike the others, who exuded confidence or strength, Rowan looked more like he belonged in a library than a battlefield. His eyes—a soft gold—flickered toward me briefly before darting away. He seemed nervous, like he was trying not to draw attention to himself. Traighan, to his credit, didn’t push him. “Anything new to report?” Rowan fidgeted slightly. “No… but I do have some theories about the way the Vikanthropes have been moving. I was going to go over them after—” “We’ll get to that,” Traighan assured him. “For now, just making sure everyone’s here.” Rowan gave a small nod, adjusting his glasses again as he settled back into his chair. "You know what, let's just get this over with: Makabre and Sil?" Traighan said. Before Traighan even finished his sentence, something crashed into the tent from above. I flinched violently as a blur of mint-green and gold dropped from the ceiling beams, landing in a crouch right on the table with a loud THUD. Papers and wooden markers scattered everywhere as the figure popped up to full height, arms stretched overhead in a dramatic pose. “Makabre, present!” I just stared. The man standing on the table was… _something else._ Messy mint-green hair fell in uneven strands around his face, a few sections left intentionally long enough to drape over his shoulders. Two sharp, golden eyes gleamed beneath his unruly bangs, strikingly predatory—like those of a bird of prey. He was shirtless, his toned upper body littered with faint scars, and a red bead necklace rested around his collarbone. Dark lines were tattooed under both eyes, giving him an almost tribal look. His bandaged forearms flexed as he adjusted the fit of his fingerless gloves, rolling his shoulders like he had just woken up from a nap. Sylverwulf groaned. “Get off the table, idiot.” Makabre grinned. "What? Not flashy enough for you?" Traighan pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know why I expected anything else. Just _sit down._" Makabre hopped off the table, taking a seat beside Milam, who scooted a few inches away as if he was contagious. “Tch, no appreciation for a good entrance,” he muttered, crossing his arms. Traighan exhaled sharply and turned toward the last person yet to respond. "Sil?" A low, disinterested voice answered from near the tent entrance. "I'm here." That voice belonged to Sil. She stood with her arms crossed, her toned, athletic frame leaning slightly against one of the wooden support beams. Her short, tomboyish blonde hair framed a sharp, angular face, and her steely blue eyes flicked over the room with detached indifference. Like Makabre, she was shirtless, but her chest was wrapped in bandages for support, and she wore navy blue hakama pants that were tied neatly at her waist. A single silver chain hung loosely around her neck, glinting faintly in the lantern light. Unlike the others, she hadn’t moved to sit at the table. She just stood there, her gaze cool and unreadable. Traighan nodded, finally satisfied. "Alright, now that everyone's here..." He turned back toward the table and tapped a marker on the map. “Let’s get started,” He tapped a wooden marker against the map spread across the table, his golden eyes scanning the gathered Beast Captains. The lanterns overhead flickered slightly, casting warm, shifting shadows against the fabric walls of the tent. The air carried a strange mix of tension and familiarity—this was serious business, but it was clear that these people had been in this room, at this table, doing this exact thing _a hundred times before_. "Alright, now that everyone’s here, let’s get started," Traighan said, his tone sharp and businesslike. "First order of business—Rowan, report on the Vikanthrope activity.” Rowan sat up a little straighter, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his knuckle. “Based on recorded attacks over the past month, the Vikanthropes aren’t just hunting aimlessly. Their movements suggest a pattern—specifically, they're converging toward areas with high karmic activity. Old battlefields, ruins, places where previous purges happened.” He shuffled through some notes and placed a few marked maps on the table. “I believe something is _drawing_ them.” Milam, who had been half-dozing with her arms crossed, immediately perked up. "Wait, so… does that mean they’re _planning_ something?" "They’re _not_ planning, not in the way we do," Rowan clarified, adjusting the placement of one of the map markers. "But something—someone—might be directing them." Makabre, who had been leaning back on his chair, balancing it on two legs, let out a low whistle. "Sounds like we’re dealing with more than just a bunch of rabid dogs, then. You sure we’re not giving ‘em too much credit?" Rowan shook his head. "Too many patterns, too many _coincidences_. Either they’re evolving, or something bigger is at play." Sylverwulf propped her elbows on the table, grinning. "Well, I say we let ‘em group up a little, _then_ wipe ‘em out in one go. Would save us the trouble of hunting ‘em down one by one." I thought about it myself. I still had no idea how karmic energy worked, but I did know first-hand that these Vikanthropes were capable of some semblance of strategy considering how they were, more or less, coordinated when they fought Sylverwulf. Still standing at the doorway, Sil scoffed at Sylverwulf. "That’s reckless. We don’t know what we’re dealing with. If they’re following karmic energy, they may be _stronger_ than before." "Exactly!" Rowan nodded quickly. "A mass attack could be disastrous." Traighan sighed, rubbing his temple. "We need intel before making a move. Milam, Makabre—you two are the fastest. First thing tomorrow, scout the marked locations and confirm if the Vikanthropes are really gathering there. No engaging unless absolutely necessary." Makabre stretched lazily, cracking his neck before flashing a grin. "Fastest _in the sky_, sure." Milam flicked her tail, smirking. "Fastest _on the ground_, obviously." Charrot scoffed, looking bored as she leaned on her elbow. "Please. If anyone’s the fastest, _it’s me_. You two just _wish_ you had my speed." Makabre raised an eyebrow, his golden eyes gleaming. "You could barely keep up last time we raced, ain't that right?" "We could go right now, I still got energy to beat your ass, race or not," "Focus, idiots," Traighan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Asgaerious, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, his deep voice carrying a weight that cut through the noise. "You children treat this like a game. That is precisely why the old ways remain superior—fewer distractions." His golden eyes flicked to Sylverwulf. "And fewer _undisciplined warriors_." Sylverwulf grinned, clearly entertained. "Oh, _Aggy_, you wound me." Asgaerious bristled. "Do _not_ call me that, fox." Torres, ever the gentle giant, finally chimed in, his deep voice slow and steady. "If something is drawing the Vikanthropes together, we should consider the possibility of a central force—a leader among them." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "A mind guiding the chaos." A central leader controlling them? It could be very well possible, considering how I did see some semblance of hierarchy. They didn't move like mindless monsters, they certainly didn't fight like it either. Traighan clapped his hands. "This brings us to what is probably the most important point of discussion-" he said, taking out a chipped and rusted longsword. "Our equipment is... less than satisfactory," "You mean our equipment is hogshit?" Charrot commented. Traighan winced. "Very much so, I'm afraid. Supplies are so low that we can barely sustain ourselves and this camp. If this keeps up, we'll be forced to abandon Old Outpost and return back to the capital," A heavy silence fell the tent. The gears in everyone's head was turning and I could see it, even I was thinking of something. "How many days worth of supplies do we have?" Torres asked. Traighan lowered his head. "3 days, and it's dwindling fast. With how common attacks from Vikanthropes are getting, it'd be near impossible to transport supplies from the capital city of Furres to Old Outpost. Not to mention, all the mines have been taken over and infested with Vikanthropes," Asgaerious grumbled, crossing his arms. "And yet, retreating means surrendering this stronghold to them. Old Outpost is critical. If we lose it, the road to Furres will be theirs for the taking." "What's the alternative?" Makabre leaned back on his chair, his voice loud but edged with tension. "We can't keep fighting them with dull blades and broken armor. We're losing this war if we stay this unprepared." "But we're not out yet," Sylverwulf cut in, her voice sharp enough to slice through the heavy mood. "We've survived worse. We need a plan that pushes back—hard." "Push back with what?" Sil asked sharply. "What you're talking about is pure suicide! Our men are tired, starving, wearing literal centuries-old equipment, and you're saying we just throw ourselves into certain death?!" "Well, what else can we do? Sit around and starve to death?!" The atmosphere got more tense as Sylverwulf and Sil locked eyes across the table, both women staring daggers at each other. Everyone else sighed, no one could blame both of them for how they were acting. It was a tough predicament. The enemy was seemingly becoming more and more stronger, morale was at an all-time low, and crucial supplies were scarce. Hope was a pipe dream at this point. "Do you guys have any allies?" The moment I spoke, I felt every gaze slam down onto me. There was an awkward silence, one so quiet that you could wear the sounds of the forest outside, but then- "BWAHAHAHAHA-" Sylverwulf burst out laughing, clutching her belly as she uncontrollably cackled. The reaction was immediate. The air in the tent _froze_. Chairs scraped against the wooden floor as several of the Beast Captains jolted upright. Makabre, who had been lounging lazily in his seat, nearly _fell_ out of it. Milam let out a startled _eep_ and clutched at her chest like her heart was about to leap out. Even Torres, unshakable as ever, blinked in stunned silence. Charrot slammed her hand against the table. “What the _fuck_—” Weapons were drawn in an instant. Makabre had a dagger half-unsheathed, Sil’s fingers twitched toward the twin sickles at her hip, and Charrot’s entire body was coiled like a spring, ready to strike. The only ones who _didn’t_ react were Sylverwulf, Asgaerious, and Traighan. Sylverwulf just grinned, clearly enjoying this _way_ too much. “Oh, right,” she said, stifling her laughter and trying to breathe. “Forgot to mention. Yuru talks.” “_You forgot to—_” Makabre gaped at her, then jabbed a finger toward me. “Since when the hell do spirits _talk?_” "I could always talk..." I said hesitantly. Sil’s cold, piercing gaze locked onto me, suspicion _radiating_ off of her. “That is _not_ normal.” “No shit!” Charrot barked. “That’s _not how spirits work!_” “I’m aware,” I replied evenly. “_Oh, you’re aware?_” Makabre threw up his hands. “Great! _Fantastic!_ That doesn’t answer anything, you glowing little enigma!” Torres, who had been silently watching the chaos unfold, finally spoke, his voice slow and careful. “So you’re sentient?” “I’d like to think so,” I said with a slight chuckle, hoping that would ease the tension. It did not. Milam, who had spent the last thirty seconds alternating between shock and unfiltered curiosity, suddenly _lit up_ with excitement. She leaned forward, eyes _sparkling_. “Wait, _wait._ If you can talk, does that mean you have memories? Since spirits are just clumps of memories, do you remember your past life?” That question made everyone pause. "Uhm, yeah. Actually, I really wanted to tell someone this, but I'm not from this world!" Finally, I've been waiting for the perfect moment to reveal this! I had so many questions boiling up, maybe this was my chance? I just had to ask one thing at a time. Asgaerious, who had been acting cool and unbothered, perked up at the question. "You reincarnated?" he said, and I could see a slight smile creeping upon his lips. "Well, why didn't you say so sooner?" "I...I was a bit hesitant because I don't know how to explain it yet. I died, and when I woke up, I saw this giant floating wheel that kept saying 'error' over and over again. Next thing I knew, I woke up in the forest as this floating ball of light." By now, the room had fallen silent more times than I could care to count. Everyone either nodded, blinked in surprise, or, like Traighan, suddenly had a sharp gaze on me. ""