The grand corridors of Ebonvale Academy stretched before him, marble floors gleaming beneath the morning light filtering through towering stained-glass windows. Each step Rynn Yogini took resonated softly, his presence like a prowling shadow against the opulence of his surroundings.

  A phone rested against his ear, its sleek, enchanted glass surface humming with static as the voice on the other end murmured low and clipped.

  “You’re late.”

  Rynn smirked, sapphire eyes flicking lazily over the hall ahead as he strode forward. “I’m fashionably late.”

  A snort from the receiver. “Where do you want us?”

  “The usual. After sundown.” He tilted his head, watching a passing group of third-years press themselves against the lockers, eyes darting away the moment his gaze landed on them. A few twitched their ears Rabbitkin, most likely. He could practically hear their hearts hammering.

  “What about the new guy?” The voice in his ear continued.

  “Bring him.” A flicker of amusement curled at the edge of Rynn’s lips. “Let’s see if he can keep up.”

  A quiet chuckle from the other end. “Got it.”

  With a tap, the call ended.

  Rynn slipped the phone into his pocket, his smirk still lingering as he took in the familiar spectacle before him students shifting, whispering, parting in his wake like ripples in still water.

  His Sheepkin heritage was evident in the thick curls that framed his face, black as soot, but it was the sharp glint in his sapphire eyes, the way his smirk bared just a hint of fang, that made people uneasy.

  A whisper of his predatory bloodline, a reminder that he was not just another docile herbivore.

  And people noticed.

  Near the lockers, a group of Foxkin huddled together, their burnished tails twitching uneasily as they stole glances at him. One, a red-furred upperclassman, muttered, “He’s worse than the Wolves.”

  “Shouldn’t even be student council president,” another Wolfkin added, ears flicking back in irritation. “Doesn’t even show up to meetings.”

  A pair of Deerkin girls near the hall’s grand columns spoke in hushed tones, gloved hands hiding their words as they exchanged knowing looks.

  “Did you hear? Yesterday in the arena, he—”

  “Shh! He’ll hear you.”

  Their eyes flicked toward him, wide with a mix of apprehension and something else morbid fascination.

  A group of younger students stood frozen by the oak lockers, staring outright. Their Kins were mixed a Mousekin, a Rabbitkin, a wide-eyed Fawnkin clutching her books like a shield. Their ears flicked nervously, their fur standing on end, caught between the instinct to flee and the inability to look away.

  Rynn’s smirk deepened.

  Good.

  A sharp voice cut through the tension.

  “Rynn!”

  He turned just as Teris Val’Quen jogged up, struggling under the weight of a precarious stack of books.

  The Catkin’s sleek black fur shimmered under the light, his golden eyes, sharp as a scholar’s, glinting with exasperation. His tail flicked, a telltale sign of irritation, ears twitching as he tried to balance the heavy load. Given that he was vice president of the student council—and their only artificer-cleric—it was no surprise he had his hands full.

  “You missed the morning student council meeting.”

  Rynn exhaled through his nose, amused. “Did I?”

  Teris huffed, adjusting his grip on the books. “Being the president and skipping made the student council look for you. Again.”

  “Of course they are. The meeting’s always dull without me.” With a lazy motion, he plucked the top book from Teris’s pile and flipped it open mid-stride.

  “History of the Allied Kingdoms?” He scoffed. “Tell me you’re not reading this voluntarily.”

  Teris’s tail twitched. “Some of us actually study.”

  “I study.”

  “You charm professors into giving you perfect scores.”

  “Same outcome. Less effort.” Rynn snapped the book shut and dropped it back onto the stack.

  They had just turned a corner, approaching the grand central foyer, when the hum of conversation around them took a sudden, collective pause.

  Rynn didn’t need to look up to know why.

  Aelor Ven’Dral.

  The Deerkin stood at the heart of the marble floor, a cluster of uniformed herbivores flanking him like a council of self-righteous priests. His uniform was impeccably dark coat buttoned to the throat, polished insignia gleaming against the deep navy fabric. His antlers, large and well-maintained, curved elegantly upward, a natural crown of authority.

  Rynn slowed his stride, sapphire eyes sweeping over them with deliberate ease before settling on Aelor.

  Then he smiled. A slow, pointed baring of teeth.

  Rynn stopped, letting his eyes flick lazily over the group before settling on the Deerkin. His smirk widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Ah, Aelor.” His voice carried just enough amusement to be mocking. “To what do I owe the honor of your disapproving glare so early in the morning?”

  Aelor’s expression remained a mask of controlled displeasure. “We need to talk.”

  “Do we?”

  Aelor’s jaw tightened, and the herbivores at his side shifted nervously.

  “You can’t keep treating this place like it’s your personal playground. Yesterday’s… your behavior in the sparring arena was unacceptable.”

  Rynn’s brow lifted. “Unacceptable? If memory serves, it was a perfectly legal sparring match. The fact that my opponent couldn’t handle losing isn’t really my problem, is it?”

  “You shattered half the training dummies.”

  Rynn exhaled, almost disappointed. “And? The crowd loved it.” He brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve, then took a step closer, his voice dropping just enough to make Aelor’s ears flick nervously.

  “But if you’d like to challenge me next,” Rynn mused, tilting his head, “I’d be more than happy to entertain the idea.” A slow smirk. “I’m sure you’d make an excellent training dummy.”

  Aelor’s voice was measured, but there was an edge to it, an irritation he couldn’t quite suppress.

  “The academy is not your personal arena.”

  “You act as if it’s your throne room. It is not.”

  A hush settled over the foyer. The student council members at Aelor’s side exchanged uneasy glances.

  A Wolfkin among them scoffed in agreement. “He’s right.”

  “He’s out of control,” whispered a Hawkkin.

  A Squirrelkin gasped softly, while a Molekin shushed them hurriedly, ears pressed flat.

  Rynn tilted his head, gaze steady.

  A challenge.

  The silence between them crackled with something tense, unspoken.

  Then Rynn’s smirk widened.

  Stepping past Aelor with easy confidence, he murmured—

  “Stags. So dramatic.”

  Aelor stiffened, but did not turn.

  Teris sighed beside him as they strode toward the combat hall’s massive double doors.

  “Did you have to antagonize him?”

  “Antagonize?” Rynn pushed the doors open with an effortless flourish.

  “This,” Rynn murmured, inhaling deeply, “is my kingdom.”

  Rynn slouched in his usual seat within the student council chamber, one leg draped lazily over the other, his boots resting on the grand mahogany table. His sharp, ink-black curls fell in disarray over his forehead as he idly twirled a fountain pen between his fingers.

  Across from him, Teris Val’Quen, vice president and the academy’s sole artificer-cleric, shifted uncomfortably, adjusting his spectacles as he recounted the morning’s gossip.

  “A white Bunnykin, huh?” Rynn mused, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Cute. I hope she doesn’t faint at the sight of blood.”

  Teris frowned. “You know, Rynn, not everyone enjoys being used as your plaything. Maybe take it easy on her? She’s probably already overwhelmed.”

  Rynn finally dropped his feet to the ground, leaning forward, sapphire eyes glinting. “Overwhelmed? She should be honored. Testing her isn’t just tradition it’s a welcome. If she’s got any real talent, she’ll thank me for it.”

  Before Teris could argue, the double doors groaned open.

  The murmuring outside fell into an uneasy silence.

  She stepped inside.

  ---

  At first glance, she was exactly as described—a Bunnykin, wrapped in an immaculate black uniform that clung to her form with a precision tailored for elegance. White fur, crimson eyes. A stark contrast to the dark sea of stares that met her.

  But Rynn’s gaze sharpened.

  There was something off.

  Bunnykin were flighty, ears twitching with the telltale skittishness of prey. This girl? Her movements were too deliberate, too composed. The way she stood, weight evenly distributed, a lingering tension in her shoulders that spoke of a readiness to move a predator’s stillness, not a prey’s submission.

  She wasn’t quite Bunnykin, was she?

  “President Yogini?” Her voice was smooth, controlled. Measured. “I’m Aria Velshade. It’s an honor to meet you.”

  “Charmed.” Rynn rose with lazy grace, his smirk widening as he extended a hand. “You’ve certainly caused a stir, Miss Velshade. I hope you don’t mind the attention.”

  Her lips curved faintly as she took his hand, grip firm but restrained. Calculated. “Attention is inevitable in places like this, isn’t it?”

  He laughed, genuinely intrigued. “You’re not wrong. But attention comes with expectations.” His fingers tightened around hers, an unspoken test of pressure. She did not yield. “Tell me, Aria, do you know what happens to transfer students here?”

  Her crimson gaze didn’t waver. “I’m aware of the tradition. I’m ready for your test.”

  Teris coughed, but Rynn waved him off, eyes still locked on Aria. “I like your confidence.” A slow, wolfish grin spread across his face. “Let’s see if it’s earned.”

  He turned, striding toward the training grounds, flicking a casual hand toward the door.

  “After you.”

  ---

  Word had spread.

  By the time they stepped onto the training grounds, a crowd had gathered students pressing against the elevated stone barriers, whispering, wagering, watching. Some with morbid curiosity, others with thinly veiled amusement.

  Herbivore students stood in tight clusters, ears twitching, exchanging uneasy glances. A Bunnykin against Rynn? It was ridiculous.

  Carnivore students were grinning, fangs bared, eager for the inevitable spectacle.

  Rynn strode toward the center of the arena, exuding an effortless, predatory dominance. His coat shifted with the breeze, the insignia of the student council gleaming against deep, storm-colored fabric.

  Aria followed, measured, unshaken.

  The murmuring swelled. Something was wrong.

  She moved too fluidly. Not the dainty steps of a Bunnykin accustomed to social graces, but something with precision, with control like a blade waiting to be unsheathed.

  Rynn turned, tilting his head as he regarded her. “Here’s how this works,” he drawled. “You and I will spar. Nothing serious, just a little demonstration to see if you belong here.” A smirk. “Of course, if you’d rather back out now…”

  “I’ll pass,” Aria interrupted smoothly.

  Her crimson eyes sharpened not the bright, nervous curiosity of a Bunnykin, but something deeper, something layered. Something predatory.

  The crowd stilled.

  And Rynn’s smirk curled into something sharper.

  “Alright then.” His fingers flexed, the air crackling around him. “Show me what you’ve got.”

  ---

  As they faced off, Rynn studied her with a newfound curiosity. That rigid control, the way she held her stance he’d seen it before.

  She wasn’t a Bunnykin.

  At least, not just a Bunnykin.

  Something old and instinctual prickled at the back of his mind as the wind shifted, carrying the faintest trace of something beneath her pristine scent.

  Something wolf.

  His grin widened.

  This was going to be fun.

  The arena roared with excitement, the gathered students pressing against the edges of the circular battleground. A mix of anticipation, bloodlust, and whispered curiosity thrummed through the crowd. Some were here for the spectacle. Others for the inevitable carnage.

  At the center of it all, Rynn stood with his usual air of careless arrogance, rolling his shoulders as his muscles coiled with restrained force. His jet-black curls framed a smirk that promised something vicious. Faint waves of psionic energy rippled through his skin, pulsing outward in silent threat. His fists, when clenched, crackled with the invisible force that made Scionic Brawlers like him the kings of close-quarters combat. He had fought dozens of challengers before. He had broken them all.

  Aria Velshade met his gaze without flinching, her stance taut, calculating. The faint shimmer of Enhancer magic ran across her body, amplifying the strength coiled beneath her limbs. As an Invoker, she wielded elemental forces; as an Enhancer, she could turn herself into a weapon. The air around her flickered with residual heat, veins of arcane energy pulsing just beneath her skin.

  There was no hesitation in her eyes only fury, barely leashed.

  The referee, a nervous-looking Foxkin professor, stepped between them. “This is an official academy duel,” he called, though his voice barely carried over the hum of tension. “No lethal strikes. If a competitor is incapacitated or yields, the match is over. Understood?”

  Neither of them responded.

  The Foxkin swallowed hard. “Begin.”

  Rynn moved first.

  With a mere thought, his psionics ignited, sending a telekinetic shockwave through the ground as he lunged forward. The distance between them vanished in an instant, his fist arcing for Aria’s ribs with the force of a battering ram. Too fast for normal eyes to track.

  But Aria was already moving.

  Enhancer reflexes. She twisted at the last second, pivoting on her heel, and the air itself rippled as her body blurred past his strike. The force of his blow shattered the stone where she had stood, splintering it into dust.

  She retaliated fast, precise, brutal. Her elbow shot forward, striking toward his sternum. Rynn barely had time to shift, taking the hit along his ribs instead. A dull explosion of magic-infused force sent him sliding backward.

  He let out a sharp laugh, rubbing the spot where she had landed her blow. “Not bad,” he admitted. “You hit like you actually want to hurt me.”

  “I do,” she said flatly, already advancing.

  Her fingertips burned with conjured fire, veins of molten energy surging through her hands. With a sharp flick, she launched a bolt of fire directly at his chest.

  Rynn didn’t dodge.

  His psionic aura flared outward like an unseen barrier, the flames collapsing against the invisible forcefield with a hiss. The fire dispersed harmlessly, leaving nothing but the faint smell of scorched air.

  “Cute,” Rynn mused. “Let me show you how to really hit someone.”

  He dropped his stance.

  Then he moved.

  Faster. Harder. Cruel.

  He came at her with a barrage of strikes jabs, hooks, elbow smashes—all blurred into one relentless assault. Every movement was sharpened by Scionic precision, his strength amplified beyond normal limits.

  Aria blocked, countered, twisted but he was overwhelming.

  Her Enhancer strength let her meet him blow for blow, but the sheer kinetic force of each strike sent her skidding, arms numb from the impact. She ducked low, shifting to sweep his legs. Rynn leapt, flipping over her with unnatural ease, then aimed a brutal downward kick at her exposed back.

  She threw both arms up, summoning a shield of wind. The impact tore through the barrier like paper, but it softened the blow enough for her to roll away before he could crush her into the ground.

  The crowd was in a frenzy.

  Herbivores watched with wary, fascinated horror.

  Carnivores bared their teeth, urging for a real fight, for blood.

  But then—

  Aria broke the script.

  She feinted left. Rynn moved to intercept. Then, in a split-second shift, she twisted mid-motion her foot cracking with condensed air magic—

  —and drove a kick straight into his ribs.

  The shockwave of impact exploded outward.

  Rynn was lifted off his feet. He twisted in the air, absorbing the hit, but it still sent him skidding back. For the first time in the match, his footing faltered.

  A hush fell over the crowd.

  Rynn touched his side. His fingers came back bloody.

  The look in his eyes shifted not rage. Amusement. Interest.

  “Well,” he exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “That’s a first.”

  He straightened, his sapphire gaze locking onto Aria’s. “You know what?” he murmured, voice dropping into something dark, almost eager.

  “I’m actually going to try now.”

  The arena cracked beneath him.

  In a breath, Rynn’s entire aura shifted.

  The cocky amusement faded. His smirk remained but it was a predator’s grin now, something without warmth.

  His psionics surged to a degree that distorted the air around him, sending invisible tremors through the stone.

  The next step he took shattered the ground.

  Aria barely had time to react before he was in front of her.

  Not moving teleporting.

  He slammed a fist forward, the kinetic force behind it akin to a battering ram. Aria tried to dodge—

  Too late.

  The impact sent her flying across the ring, crashing into the stone with a deafening crack.

  Dust and debris filled the air.

  The crowd erupted.

  Rynn flexed his fingers, shaking off the residual energy. His body still thrummed with power, but the fight was over. He didn’t even need to check no one got up after a hit like that.

  Then—

  Movement.

  Rynn’s smirk faltered slightly as Aria coughed, pushing herself up onto shaking arms.Her crimson eyes burned with defiance. Blood dripped from her lip, but she was still glaring at him.

  The crowd fell silent.

  “…Stubborn,” Rynn mused. He almost sounded impressed. Then, he stepped forward, raising a glowing fist for the final blow.

  “Enough!”

  The referee surged forward, Teris Val’Quen at his side, his hands already aglow with healing magic.

  “That’s the match,” Teris said sharply. “She can’t continue.”

  Rynn exhaled, rolling his jaw. Then he smirked. “Fine.”

  He turned away, shaking his head. “Not bad, Bunnykin. Not bad at all.”

  As Teris knelt beside Aria, his hands hovering over her wounds, his brow furrowed.

  Then he stilled.

  His hands, inches from her mouth, hesitated.

  His gaze sharpened.

  “…Aria?” His voice was quiet. “Your teeth—”

  The world froze.

  Rynn turned. The crowd gasped.

  Because peeking through Aria’s parted lips—

  Were fangs.

  The remnants of the day’s chaos still clung to the academy like smoke. Rynn leaned against a marble column in the central foyer, his arms crossed, expression unreadable. The crowd had long since dispersed after the arena spectacle, but the whispers remained, clinging to the corridors like shadows.

  The name Aria Velshade had already taken root in hushed conversations, in sidelong glances, in the cautious curiosity of those who had witnessed her stand against him.

  Now, she walked beside Teris Val’Quen, her steps measured, controlled, despite the weight of a hundred eyes tracking her every move. Crimson eyes flickered between the grand architecture of Ebonvale Academy and the students who regarded her as an anomaly. Rynn noted the tension in her posture—shoulders squared, jaw set. She had felt this scrutiny before. She knew what it was to be studied, judged.

  She didn’t like it.

  Teris cleared his throat as they reached Rynn. “I figured it’d be best if you gave her the tour,” he said, shifting uneasily. “You’re the only one who can... you know, relate.”

  Rynn arched a brow, his smirk returning, though there was little humor behind it. “Relate? Teris, you make me sound sentimental.”

  Then, he turned his gaze to Aria, head tilting slightly as he studied her.

  “But he’s right,” he mused, sapphire eyes gleaming. “You and I—we’re not like the others.”

  Aria didn’t flinch. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  Rynn chuckled. “No, it’s supposed to make you listen. Come on.”

  He pushed off the column, gesturing for her to follow.

  The tour began in the Herbivore Wing, a sector of the academy draped in soft pastels and filled with the scent of blooming jasmine. Gardens wove between pristine courtyards where students lounged in the sun, their conversations hushed yet sharp as their gazes trailed Rynn and Aria.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “This is where the herbivores convince themselves the world is a peaceful place,” Rynn said, his tone dripping with mockery. “Quiet halls, elegant diplomacy, rules upon rules. It’s a lovely illusion.”

  Aria’s eyes followed a group of students whispering amongst themselves. A Deerkin girl stiffened as they passed, her ears flicking back, lips pressing into a thin line. Others averted their gazes entirely, as if ignoring them would erase their presence.

  “They don’t like you,” Aria observed.

  Rynn smirked. “They don’t like us.”

  They left the tranquility behind, stepping into the Carnivore Wing, where the atmosphere shifted into something taut, electric. The architecture was darker, more rigid—sleek obsidian corridors lined with banners of deep crimson and gold. In the open-air training grounds, students sparred with sharp efficiency, claws and steel flashing in the sunlight.

  Here, stares were not of fear, but assessment.

  Predators watched each other, watched them, like hunters sizing up a potential threat.

  “And this,” Rynn gestured lazily, “is where the carnivores spend their days proving who belongs at the top. Power, dominance, instinct—it’s all they respect.” His lips curled into a half-smile. “They don’t know what to make of me. Too soft, too refined.”

  Teris snorted. “Too insufferable.”

  Rynn only laughed.

  Aria, however, studied him. “Because you’re a mix?”

  His smirk faded into something sharper. “Because I refuse to be one thing.”

  He turned to face her fully now, sapphire gaze piercing. “This place is built on division. Herbivores. Carnivores. Prey. Predator. But I don’t play by their rules.” His head tilted slightly. “And neither will you.”

  They stopped at a balcony overlooking the academy’s central courtyard. Below, students from both factions mingled—but the lines were still there, even if invisible. Rynn leaned against the railing, watching Aria rather than the crowd.

  “You’re not the first mixed-breed here,” he said, voice casual, but there was a weight beneath his words. “But you are the first to arrive with fangs and fireballs. That’s... different.”

  Aria didn’t break eye contact. “Should I be flattered?”

  Rynn’s smirk returned, but his tone was unreadable. “Depends.” A pause. Then, with quiet amusement: “You handled yourself better than I expected. And trust me, my expectations are high.”

  Aria’s lips twitched, almost a smirk of her own. “Should I be flattered by that?”

  Teris sighed. “Can we skip the ego contest? Aria’s probably exhausted.”

  Rynn ignored him, gaze still locked onto Aria. “You’ll get used to it,” he said finally. “The stares. The whispers. The way they think they already know who you are.” A beat. “You’ll learn to use it.”

  Aria tilted her head slightly. “Is that what you do?”

  Rynn’s grin was sharp as a knife. “Of course. If they’re going to watch, you might as well give them something worth seeing.”

  As they walked back toward the central foyer, Aria finally offered something of herself.

  “My parents run a trade consortium,” she said, voice measured. “High-end goods, rare materials. They moved here to expand their influence.” Her gaze flickered, expression unreadable. “Ebonvale was... part of the package.”

  Rynn hummed in understanding. “Let me guess. They think putting you in an elite academy strengthens their position.”

  A pause. Then, quieter: “Something like that.”

  He watched her for a moment before nodding. “Rich parents, high expectations, and a mixed-breed secret to keep under wraps.” He exhaled a short laugh. “Welcome to the club, Bunny—ah, Wolfkin.”

  Aria’s eyes narrowed at the near-slip, but there was no true irritation in her gaze. “Thanks... I think.”

  The bell rang, signaling the shift to the next period. Rynn straightened, flashing her a grin. “You’ll be fine. Just stick with me.” His voice dipped into something more amused, more deliberate. “I promise—things are never dull when I’m around.”

  With that, he strode off, his coat swaying behind him like a dark whisper.

  Teris sighed, adjusting his glasses. “Don’t take it personally,” he said, watching Aria’s lingering gaze. “Rynn makes everything about himself. But... if he says he respects you, he means it.”

  Aria said nothing, only watching as Rynn disappeared into the sea of students.

  She wasn’t sure if that was a comfort or a warning.

  The final bell rang, a crisp chime that sent waves of students flooding into the halls, their voices rising in a chaotic blend of chatter and laughter. Most were eager to retreat to their clubs, their dorms, or the comforts of their well-manicured estates. But for Rynn Yogini, school had never dictated the rhythm of his life.

  He strolled down the marble corridor, moving at an unhurried pace while others brushed past him in hurried steps. Behind him, Teris Val’Quen struggled beneath a stack of paperwork, his irritation barely concealed behind the glare of his silver-rimmed glasses.

  “I still don’t understand how you managed to get elected student council president,” Teris muttered, shifting the weight of the ledgers in his arms. “You do nothing—absolutely nothing.”

  Rynn exhaled an amused breath, rolling his shoulders. “Correction. I make sure everything gets done without having to lift a finger. That’s called delegation, Teris. Leadership. You should be thanking me for giving you purpose.”

  Teris shot him a withering look but didn’t argue. They both knew how this arrangement worked.

  Rynn’s reputation stretched far beyond the walls of the council room. He was a phantom of responsibility, a title without obligation, a ruler who rarely sat upon his throne. And yet, his influence was undeniable.

  “Are you at least attending one meeting this week?” Teris pressed.

  “Mm. Unlikely.”

  “Of course.”

  Rynn smirked, already tuning out the lecture that would inevitably follow.

  But tonight, for once, he wasn’t heading straight for the city.

  The academy’s combat gym was alive with the rhythmic sound of fists striking padded dummies, the occasional sharp grunt of exertion, and the heavy scent of sweat. Here, titles and lineage meant nothing—only skill and blood mattered.

  Rynn strolled in, a lazy king surveying his domain. His presence turned heads, murmurs rippling through the room like the shift of a tide.

  Without a word, he shrugged off his uniform jacket, rolling up his sleeves. His opponents were eager, restless. Some sought victory; others merely wanted the privilege of challenging him.

  They all left the mat in defeat.

  Rynn fought with calculated ease, a dancer in a game of violence, never exerting more effort than necessary. Every strike landed with purpose, every dodge was a fraction too fast, a reminder that he was something unnatural—too sharp for the herbivores, too elusive for the carnivores.

  By the time he was finished, the gym had fallen into hushed reverence. He wrapped his hands with the slow precision of a ritual, ignoring the weight of the gazes that followed him as he left.

  The streets of Ebonvale pulsed with a different kind of life—the hum of neon lights reflecting off rain-slicked pavement, the scent of burning oil, the low murmur of deals whispered in darkened alleyways.

  Rynn belonged here as much as he did within the academy walls.

  He discarded his uniform for something less conspicuous—a fitted leather jacket, dark gloves, a shift in posture that made him blend effortlessly into the chaos.

  His gang, The Crimson Stride, was already waiting. They were a band of outcasts, a mix of forgotten bloodlines and restless spirits who thrived in the spaces society overlooked. Most were like him—mixed-breeds, caught between two worlds that refused to claim them.

  A Ratkin, lean and wiry, greeted him first. “Boss. Heard you wrecked the new transfer today. She as dangerous as they say?”

  Rynn exhaled a short laugh, shoving his hands into his pockets. “She’s interesting.”

  That was the only answer they were going to get.

  The gang moved like ghosts through the streets, their presence acknowledged only by those who understood the weight of their insignia. They weren’t just reckless misfits. They owned these streets in ways the academy never could.

  Rynn had felt it for the past ten minutes.

  A presence.

  Not hostile, but deliberate. Someone watching him, trailing him with the kind of footwork that suggested skill but lacked experience.

  He stopped abruptly in a dimly lit alleyway, the neon glow from a distant sign casting his silhouette against the wall.

  “Alright,” he called out, voice edged with amusement. “You can come out now.”

  There was a pause. Then, from the darkness, Aria Velshade stepped into the light.

  She moved with the same careful grace she had carried through the academy halls, but here, amidst the grime and the city’s pulse, there was something different in her stance—less guarded, more searching.

  The gang tensed immediately. A Deerkin with sharp golden eyes flicked his gaze toward Rynn. “You know her?”

  Rynn tilted his head, assessing Aria with his usual unreadable smirk. “She’s new.”

  The gang didn’t relax.

  Aria crossed her arms. “You’re not as hard to follow as you think.”

  Rynn chuckled, stepping toward her with the same casual arrogance he always carried. “Or maybe I just wanted to see if you’d try.”

  She held his gaze. “I wanted to know if what you show in school is real. Or just an act.”

  Rynn studied her for a moment, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful.

  “And?” he murmured. “What’s your conclusion?”

  Aria exhaled slowly, her crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. “You are what you pretend to be. That’s more dangerous than anything you could hide.”

  Silence stretched between them, a thin thread pulled tight between predator and unknown.

  Then, unexpectedly, Rynn laughed.

  It wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t cruel. It was genuine—low, quiet, and brimming with something close to respect.

  “You’re sharper than you look, Bunnykin.”

  She didn’t flinch this time. “Wolfkin.”

  Rynn’s grin widened. “Yeah. I can see that now.”

  For the first time in a long time, someone had followed him into the dark.

  And he didn’t mind.

  The city’s back alleys were alive with tension, their darkness clinging to Rynn’s senses like a second skin. The faint glow of Ember Veil—the alchemical narcotic sold by his father’s cultists—cast a sickly red hue across the street below. From the rooftop where the Crimson Stride stood, Rynn watched the transactions unfold with an almost detached expression.

  The addicts came forward one by one, each clutching vials of blood, their faces pale and desperate. The cultists accepted the offerings without a word, their movements methodical as they handed over wrapped shards of Ember Veil. Rynn’s gaze lingered on the scene, his fingers flexing at his sides.

  “Look at them,” Milo muttered, his voice low. “Like rats in a trap.”

  “Fitting, coming from you,” Kade growled, though his tone lacked malice. The deerkin enforcer leaned against the edge of the rooftop, his eyes hard. “We should do something about this, Rynn. They’re poisoning our streets.”

  Rynn smirked faintly but didn’t look away. “It’s not our fight,” he said, his voice calm and cold. “The Conclave isn’t just some gang we can push around. Interfering with them means painting a target on our backs.”

  Aria, standing slightly apart from the group, crossed her arms. “And that doesn’t bother you? That these people are paying with their blood?”

  Her words were a barb, but Rynn didn’t flinch. He turned to her, his smirk sharpening into something darker. “Bother me? Not really. But I’ll tell you what does bother me—wasting time moralizing when there’s actual trouble brewing.”

  As if on cue, a scream tore through the night, sharp and ragged, cutting through the steady hum of the city. The gang froze, their gazes snapping toward the sound. It came from an alley just beyond the cultists, its echoes filled with raw terror.

  Rynn’s smirk faded, replaced by a flicker of something colder. “Stay here,” he ordered the gang. “This one’s mine.”

  Aria stepped forward. “What—”

  “No,” Rynn cut her off, his tone leaving no room for argument. He moved with purpose, his psionic energy already rippling along his skin as he disappeared into the shadows.

  The scene in the alley was brutal. A massive bearkin loomed over a ratkin, his claws dripping with fresh blood. The smaller man was crumpled against the wall, his breaths coming in weak, shallow gasps. The bearkin turned at the sound of Rynn’s approach, his sharp teeth bared in a feral snarl.

  “And who are you supposed to be?” the bearkin growled, his voice low and guttural.

  Rynn stopped a few feet away, his smirk returning as he cracked his knuckles. “Your worst mistake.”

  The bearkin didn’t hesitate. He charged forward, his claws slicing through the air with deadly precision. Rynn didn’t flinch. He ducked low, his movements sharp and fluid, and delivered a psionic-enhanced uppercut to the bearkin’s jaw. The force of the blow sent the larger man reeling, but Rynn wasn’t finished.

  With a sharp exhale, Rynn closed the distance, his fists glowing brighter as he unleashed a flurry of strikes. Each punch landed with the weight of a freight train, the psionic energy amplifying his strength to devastating levels. The bearkin roared in pain, his claws lashing out wildly, but Rynn was faster, more calculated.

  The fight ended with a sickening crunch as Rynn drove his knee into the bearkin’s chest, sending him crashing to the ground in a heap. Blood pooled beneath the battered figure, his breaths ragged and shallow. Rynn stood over him, his fists still glowing faintly, his expression unreadable.

  Behind him, Aria and the gang approached cautiously. When Aria saw the state of the bearkin, her face went pale. She turned away, retching, the sound stark against the quiet of the alley.

  Rynn glanced at her but said nothing. His attention shifted to the ratkin, who was barely clinging to consciousness. “Milo, get the city guard,” he said, his tone curt. “Tell them to bring someone from the Healers’ Guild.”

  The scout nodded, disappearing into the shadows. The rest of the gang exchanged uneasy glances, but no one spoke.

  The city guard arrived minutes later, their polished armor gleaming in the dim light. The captain—a grizzled horsekin with a stern expression—surveyed the scene with a critical eye before turning to Rynn.

  “Impressive work,” he said, his tone grudgingly respectful. “We’ve been after this one for weeks. He’s part of a gang extorting merchants in the area.”

  Rynn’s smirk returned, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just doing my part to keep the streets clean.”

  The captain nodded, motioning for his men to apprehend the mangled bearkin and transport the injured ratkin to the Healers’ Guild. As the guards moved to leave, the captain placed a heavy hand on Rynn’s shoulder. “You’ve got a knack for this, kid. Ever think about joining the force?”

  Rynn’s smirk widened, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I’ll think about it.”

  As the guards disappeared into the night, Aria finally spoke, her voice quiet but steady. “You didn’t have to go that far.”

  Rynn turned to her, his smirk fading into something colder. “He made his choice,” he said simply. “And I made mine.”

  For a moment, Aria didn’t respond. Then she nodded, her crimson eyes glinting with something unreadable. Respect? Fear? Perhaps both.

  Rynn sauntered up the polished stone steps of the Ven’Dral estate, a massive structure of arching windows and sprawling balconies. The residence of Aelor Ven’Dral, a prominent Deerkin family with deep roots in Ebonvale, loomed over the surrounding neighborhood like an immovable bastion of herbivore opulence. Rynn’s sharp eyes scanned the building as he knocked on the heavy oak door. He wasn’t here for pleasantries.

  The door creaked open to reveal Aelor himself, his polished demeanor intact despite the visible disdain etched on his face. The Deerkin student council treasurer always carried himself with an air of superiority, but tonight, Rynn wasn’t in the mood for games.

  “Rynn,” Aelor said, his voice sharp and clipped. “What do you want?”

  Rynn smirked, brushing past him into the grand foyer without waiting for an invitation. “Relax, Aelor. I’m not here to ruin your night. I need a favor.”

  Aelor shut the door behind him, crossing his arms. “What kind of favor?”

  Rynn turned, his eyes gleaming with a mix of charm and calculation. “I want Aria Velshade on the student council.”

  Aelor’s brow furrowed. “The Bunnykin girl? She’s a transfer, and—”

  “Wolfkin,” Rynn corrected, his tone cold. “And you’re going to make it happen.”

  Aelor hesitated, his jaw tightening. “She’s not exactly council material.”

  Rynn’s smirk widened, his psionics flickering faintly along his fingertips in a subtle show of dominance. “She’s whatever I say she is. Think of it as... diversification. Isn’t that what the council needs these days?”

  Aelor’s gaze darted to Rynn’s glowing hands before he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Fine. But if this backfires, it’s on you.”

  “Perfect,” Rynn said, clapping Aelor on the shoulder with mock friendliness. “Always knew I could count on you.”

  --

  Rynn left the Ven’Dral estate with a triumphant smirk and headed to the industrial district, where the glow of forges and the clang of metal filled the air. The address Aria had reluctantly shared led him to a squat, reinforced building marked by deep claw marks etched into the steel doors.

  Inside, the atmosphere was thick with the smell of oil and fire. Weapons of every size and shape lined the walls, from sleek enchanted blades to intricate firearms humming with alchemical energy. At the center of it all stood Cain Velshade, a towering Wolfkin with a presence as sharp and deadly as the weapons he crafted. His fur was streaked with silver, and his piercing eyes seemed to take in every detail at once.

  “And you are?” Cain’s voice was low, measured, and far more intimidating than any roar or growl.

  “Rynn Yogini,” he said smoothly, his smirk unwavering. “A friend of Aria’s.”

  Cain’s eyes narrowed. “Friend, huh? She doesn’t talk much about you.”

  “Smart girl,” Rynn quipped, stepping closer to examine the weapons on display. “I’m here to get a better sense of who’s backing her. You’re not exactly subtle.”

  Cain’s lips curled into a faint snarl. “You come into my place and insult me?”

  “Not an insult,” Rynn said, turning to meet Cain’s gaze without flinching. “Just an observation. You’re a businessman. So am I. And I know what it takes to protect what’s yours. That’s all I care about when it comes to Aria.”

  There was a tense silence before Cain nodded, his stance relaxing ever so slightly. “She doesn’t need protecting. But if she does, I’ll know who to blame.”

  “Fair enough,” Rynn said, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “She’s lucky to have you.”

  Cain didn’t respond, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes as Rynn turned to leave.

  ---

  When Rynn arrived home, the mansion was alive with music and laughter. His mother, ever the diplomat, had organized one of her famous gatherings, inviting Beastkin of every kind to mingle and set aside their differences—if only for a night. The grand ballroom was filled with glittering lights and finely dressed guests, their conversations a careful dance of politics and pleasantries.

  Rynn scanned the crowd, weaving through clusters of herbivores and carnivores alike. He caught sight of his mother—a sleek, elegant Catkin—engaged in a decidedly undiplomatic brawl with a Ferretkin noblewoman near the edge of the ballroom. Her movements were a blur of claws and grace, her opponent’s tail twitching with frantic energy as they exchanged blows.

  “Not again,” Rynn muttered, sighing as he approached the scene. “Do you two ever take a night off?”

  The combatants froze, their fur bristling as they turned to glare at him. His mother’s sharp eyes softened slightly, though her claws remained poised for another strike. “She started it,” she said with a shrug, her voice smooth and unapologetic.

  The Ferretkin huffed, smoothing her ruffled fur. “Your mother lacks decorum, Rynn.”

  “And you lack good taste,” Rynn shot back, his smirk returning. “But let’s not ruin the party.”

  Before either of them could respond, a hush fell over the room. Rynn felt the change in the air before he saw it—a heavy, almost tangible weight that settled over the crowd like a shroud. His father had arrived.

  The head of the Twilight Conclave strode into the ballroom, his presence commanding and otherworldly. Beastkin of every kind avoided his gaze, their conversations fading into uneasy silence as they began to leave, one by one. Rynn watched with mild amusement as even the most stubborn guests found excuses to slip away, their movements almost robotic.

  His father approached him, his dark robes flowing like liquid shadow. “Rynn,” he said, his voice deep and calm. “A word?”

  ---

  They moved to his father’s study, a dimly lit room lined with ancient books and alchemical instruments. Rynn leaned casually against the wall, his smirk fading as he met his father’s gaze.

  “Ember Veil,” Rynn said without preamble. “Your cultists are pushing it hard. People are dying.”

  His father studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Better they get it from us than from amateurs,” he said finally. “A controlled distribution ensures fewer casualties. Without us, they would turn to experimentation—and chaos.”

  Rynn frowned, his fingers flexing at his sides. “You really believe that?”

  “I do,” his father said simply. “And I think you see the logic in it.”

  For a moment, Rynn didn’t respond. Then he nodded slowly, pushing off the wall. “Fine. But if this blows up, don’t expect me to clean it up.”

  His father’s lips curled into a faint smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Rynn left the study, the weight of the conversation settling over him like a mantle. The party was over, the guests long gone, and the mansion was silent once more. But the echoes of the night lingered, weaving themselves into the tangled web of Rynn’s life.