In this world, a person's worth was measured by the pet at their side.
Some had Swift Hounds that could outrun the wind, their paws barely touching the ground as they carried messages across entire provinces.
Some raised Iron Turtles, patient and immovable, their shells harder than forged steel and able to shield a household from bandits.
The truly blessed commanded Thunder Hawks and Flame Lions—beasts spoken of in tavern stories, creatures that could level battlefields and decide the rise of kingdoms.
From the day a child could walk, they were taught one truth:
Your pet is your destiny.
And then there was Kian Vale, owner of a sleepy brown cat that spent most of its life yawning.
"Legendary pet my foot," he muttered, leaning his chin on his palm as he stared at the round creature licking its paw on the windowsill. "You can't even catch a mouse, Milo."
The cat blinked at him lazily, completely unbothered, as if the entire concept of destiny was beneath it.
Sunlight filtered through the dusty clinic window, painting stripes across the wooden floor. The scent of herbs, spirit feed, and wet fur filled the air—smells Kian had known longer than any home.
He was sixteen, an orphan raised by the streets and later by Old Mara, the grumpy owner of the small beast clinic on the edge of Greywall City. The building was nothing like the grand taming halls in the inner district. The paint peeled from the walls, and the sign outside creaked like an old man with bad knees.
Still, to Kian, it was the closest thing to a family he had.
Every day he watched nobles stride in with radiant, powerful pets—snow-white wolves with eyes like sapphires, serpents coiled with sparks of lightning, birds whose feathers burned like sunset. Their owners spoke loudly, throwing coins on the counter without looking at him twice.
And every day, Kian cleaned cages, mixed low-grade spirit food, and told himself not to stare.
He had tried awakening Milo twice using the public Spirit Resonance Orb in the city square. He still remembered the cold feeling of the crystal under his palm, the excited whispers of the crowd, the tiny hope fluttering in his chest.
Both times the result had glowed in cruel, emotionless letters:
— No Bloodline Detected —
No potential.
No hidden talent.
Just an ordinary cat belonging to an ordinary boy.
The academy instructors had barely spared him a glance. "Without a bloodline, there is nothing to awaken," one of them had said, already turning to the next child in line.
Those words had followed him home like a shadow.
Which meant his cat was ordinary. Painfully ordinary.
That was supposed to be the end of his dream to become a Beast Tamer.
Most boys would have given up by now—found work as porters, guards, or shop helpers. But some stubborn part of Kian still clung to the foolish hope that destiny could be wrong.
He scratched Milo behind the ears. "Maybe one day you'll surprise them all, huh?"
The cat sneezed.
"Yeah… didn't think so."
Outside, the evening bell of Greywall tolled, deep and tired. Customers thinned, and the clinic grew quiet except for the rustling of beasts settling into their cages.
Kian began sweeping the floor, already planning tomorrow's chores. Another normal day was ending.
Or at least, that was what he believed.
Until the night everything changed.