D-Animal
Chapter 2 — Silence Keeps Watch…
The stadium was still vibrating when Elara stood up.
The applause for Kael Voss continued to echo, mixed with nervous laughter, loud conversations, and the mechanical sounds of the D-Armilla machines being shut down one by one. Drones hovered overhead, capturing reactions, interviewing the more excited students, recording futures they already believed were decided.
Elara didn't look back.
She adjusted the strap of her backpack on her shoulder and walked through the side corridors of the stadium, moving away from the main flow of students. Each step felt lighter than it should have. Not because of happiness — but because of control.
Her left wrist was warm.
The D-Armilla rested there, apparently ordinary, displaying only a single visible Digital Seed. Still, Elara felt it. It wasn't pain. It was a silent presence — triple — pulsing in different rhythms, like three heartbeats that were not her own… yet depended on her to exist.
She took a deep breath as she passed through the automatic doors and stepped outside.
Late afternoon painted the city in shades of orange and blue-gray. Tall buildings lined the horizon, connected by aerial walkways, power cables, and holographic panels advertising famous D-Animals, elite forces, and rankings that promised glory to those who survived long enough.
Elara walked unhurriedly along the wide sidewalks of the southeast district.
Here, the city was quieter. Fewer drones. Fewer soldiers. More ordinary life. Small shops, balconies with artificial plants mixed among real ones, open windows letting out the sounds of conversations and televisions tuned to news programs that, ironically, spoke about "the promising future of the new generation of D-Masters."
She kept her hands in the pockets of her light school-uniform jacket.
No one there knew.
No one needed to know.
The building where she lived was old, but well maintained. A reinforced concrete structure with narrow balconies and long corridors that smelled of cleaning products and homemade food. Elara scanned her access card, rode the narrow elevator up, and when she reached the floor, walked to apartment 402.
Before she could even ring the bell, the door opened.
"You're home early!"
Lucas Pack appeared holding a cheese sandwich nearly bigger than his hand, melted cheese dripping down the sides of the bread. He had the same curly red hair as their father, messy as if it had never met a comb, and their mother's deep blue eyes — always curious, always alert.
"Elara!" he said, mouth full.
"Swallow before you talk," she replied, laughing softly.
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
The apartment was cozy. An open living room connected to the kitchen, simple furniture, family photos scattered across the walls. A faint smell of coffee and fresh bread still lingered in the air.
"How did it go?" Cida Pack's voice came from the kitchen.
Cida appeared moments later, drying her hands on a cloth. Her wavy blonde hair was cut short and practical, and her deep blue eyes lit up the instant she saw her daughter.
"Is the ritual already over?" she asked.
"It's over," Elara replied, taking off her backpack and setting it on the couch.
Before she could say anything else, a larger presence filled the living room.
"So?"
Tyrant Pack leaned against the bedroom doorframe, arms crossed, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. Tall, broad-shouldered, with well-kept curly red hair and a perfectly trimmed beard, he carried the air of someone naturally confident — someone who had faced the world and was still standing.
"Let her breathe first," Cida said, shooting him a reproachful look.
Tyrant smiled crookedly.
"I can't."
Elara took a deep breath.
She knew she wouldn't be able to hide it from her family. Not completely. And… she didn't want to.
With a simple motion, she raised her left arm.
The uniform sleeve slid back, revealing the D-Armilla.
For a second, there was silence.
Then the three Digital Seeds became visible.
Three distinct pulses, harmonized within the translucent capsule: white, black, and gray. No malfunction. No interference.
Lucas was the first to react.
"THREE?!" he practically shouted, dropping a piece of cheese onto the floor. "MOM! DAD! THERE ARE THREE!"
Cida covered her mouth.
"Oh my God…"
She approached slowly, as if afraid it might disappear if she moved too fast. Her eyes traced the seeds with awe and disbelief.
"This… this never happens," she murmured.
Tyrant straightened immediately, his relaxed expression giving way to something more serious, more focused. He stepped closer, gently took Elara's wrist, and examined the D-Armilla up close.
"Three affinities," he said quietly. "That's not just rare. It's practically… impossible."
Elara watched their faces.
The surprise. The joy. The immediate pride.
She swallowed hard.
"I didn't tell anyone," she said. "Not even the teachers."
Cida looked up, startled.
"You… hid it?"
"Elara," Tyrant began seriously. "This is something that—"
"I know," she interrupted calmly. "But I also know what this means."
Silence fell again.
Lucas looked from one to the other, confused, still too excited to grasp the true weight of the situation.
"It means she's going to be amazing," he said. "Like… legend level."
Cida rested a hand on her son's shoulder.
"Lucas, go to your room for a bit," she said gently. "We'll call you later."
"But—"
"Go."
He pouted, but obeyed, disappearing down the hallway.
When only the three of them remained, the air felt heavier.
"Elara," Cida said, stepping closer to her daughter. "Do you have any idea how much attention this could attract? Three D-Animals… special forces, institutes, even the government—"
"Exactly," Elara replied. "I don't want that right now."
Tyrant stared at her for several long seconds. Then he nodded slowly.
"You want to control your own pace."
"I want to survive," she corrected.
A subtle smile appeared on his face.
"That's my daughter."
Cida took a deep breath, then… smiled.
"Then let's celebrate," she said, turning toward the kitchen. "Because, secret or not, this is still something extraordinary."
Elara blinked, surprised.
"You're not… worried?"
"I am," Cida replied over her shoulder. "But I'm also proud. Worry can wait."
She opened the fridge, pulled out ingredients, and began moving with renewed energy.
"Tonight we celebrate," she added. "Tomorrow, we think."
Soon the apartment filled with sounds: pots, utensils, boiling water. Tyrant helped, chopping vegetables skillfully while speaking quietly with Cida about possibilities, risks, and the future.
Elara sat at the table, watching.
She felt the seeds pulse more strongly, as if reacting to the safe environment, the smell of food, the warmth of family.
The silence she had carried since the stadium softened a little.
Later, the table was full.
Roasted meat, seasoned rice, sautéed vegetables, fresh bread. A true improvised feast. Lucas came running back from his room when he was called, eyes wide at the sight of the food.
"Is all this because of Elara?" he asked.
"It's all this because she deserves it," Cida replied.
During dinner, they laughed, talked, remembered old stories. Tyrant told about the time he nearly burned down the kitchen trying to cook for the first time. Lucas exaggerated school stories. Cida laughed, shaking her head.
Elara listened more than she spoke.
She felt.
She felt that this moment was precious. Fragile.
When dinner ended and night advanced, Elara went to her room.
She sat on the bed, watching the D-Armilla glow softly in the dim light. She touched the capsule carefully.
"You're going to stay quiet," she murmured, almost like a promise. "For now."
The seeds pulsed in response.
Silence kept watch.
And in that simple apartment in the southeast district, far from the eyes of the world, something grew slowly — fed by blood, secrecy, and determination.
The world did not know yet.
But the future… was already breathing with her.