The fireworks thundered above Dawncrest Academy, scattering blossoms of essence light across the night sky. The roar of the crowd still echoed through the stands—students chanting names, instructors offering nods of approval, families cheering their children's victories.

But amidst that jubilant chaos, one man stood still.

His robe bore no insignia—neutral gray, nondescript—but his eyes told a different story. They were sharp, trained to see what others could not. He had watched the final match in silence, frozen since the moment the black rift opened on the arena floor.

A spatial distortion… From an uncored beast.

He replayed the memory in his mind—frame by frame—the kitten tearing through space itself as if reality were mere fabric. No surge of backlash, no visible exhaustion, no loss of control.

Impossible.

The man's fingers trembled slightly as he adjusted the focus lens in his monocle, the recorded footage shimmering faintly with essence light. The data glyphs flickered red—too unstable to quantify, too foreign to categorize.

A spatial tear… stable… sustained… by a three-star beast? That's beyond anomaly—that's heresy against the Laws of Spirit Beast Evolution.

He exhaled slowly, mind racing. No beast born within the Empire's known bloodlines possessed an innate affinity for space before breaking through the core stage—9-star beasts to Obsidian Core.. Even experimental crossbreeds collapsed under the weight of distortion pressure.

Yet that small, dark-furred cub had done it effortlessly.

The crowd's applause was distant thunder to him now, a muffled world fading into static. His heart pounded not with excitement, but with dread and fascination.

"If what I saw is true," he murmured, "then the Empire must know. The Bureau of Anomalous Manifestations will want this recorded immediately."

His hand brushed over the crest hidden inside his coat—a silver emblem marked with a crescent and eye.

He turned toward the exit tunnels as the crowd roared behind him, unaware of the danger—or discovery—that had just emerged before their eyes.

"A beast that bends space," he whispered to himself as he disappeared into the corridor's shadows. "And a boy who commands it… This could rewrite everything we know about potential resonance."

The crowd's cheer rose one final time as he vanished completely into the night.

—

Far above the stands, in the observation decks reserved for dignitaries and high-ranking faculty, another figure remained seated—arms folded, gaze fixed on the fading glow of the arena floor.

Darius.

His expression was calm, but his eyes burned with a storm of thoughts. He'd been silent throughout the closing ceremony, watching Aston accept his award under the golden rain of confetti. The boy's quiet composure reminded him too much of another time—another face.

You did it, didn't you…?

He exhaled through his nose, the faintest trace of frustration lacing his breath.

I don't want you to show your potential, he thought. I even bribed your teammates. Yet you still did.

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He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, eyes narrowing as he replayed the moment the rift appeared—the kitten's claws splitting the world itself.

You weren't meant to reveal that strength yet. But you were pushed… cornered by arrogance, and still came out on top.

The faintest smile touched his lips—one not of pride, but of resignation.

It seems I underestimated your resolve.

The lights of the arena dimmed one by one as the ceremony concluded. Darius rose, his long coat swaying as his aura rippled faintly with restrained power.

From his vantage point, he could still see Aston among the victors—Gray perched near him, Mirage resting on his shoulder.

"You'll draw eyes now," Darius murmured. "Too many. Even mine won't be enough to shield you if you keep shining like that."

He turned away, cloak billowing as he descended the private stairway.

Still… I'll make sure they don't reach you first.

His voice faded as he stepped into the corridor's gloom, the torchlight extinguishing in his wake.

—

But not all eyes in the arena belonged to allies—or protectors.

In the lower stands, amidst the dispersing crowd, a woman stood cloaked in black. Her hood was drawn low, concealing her face except for the faintest glimmer of ruby lips and a chain of sigils coiling around her throat. Her posture was relaxed, her demeanor almost amused.

While the others cheered and shouted, she merely smiled, eyes half-lidded in quiet amusement.

"So that's the boy causing all the ripples lately…" she whispered to herself, her tone melodic, almost fond.

From within her cloak, a small device—shaped like a serpent's fang—projected a thin illusion of the arena's earlier replay. She watched again as the kitten's claws sliced open the world.

The smile deepened.

"Spatial affinity… unbound by core limitation. How curious."

Her eyes glinted crimson under the lights. "And that haloed bird… frost layered with refraction patterns. Two beasts—one bound by glass, the other by the void."

She tilted her head slightly, as if weighing the taste of her words.

"A combination like that shouldn't exist naturally."

Her gloved fingers tapped against the railing. "Then again… neither should the Voidheart Fragments—and yet, here we are."

The murmuring crowd flowed around her, none the wiser to the quiet predator in their midst.

"Yes… you'll do nicely," she whispered, almost purring. "The Parliament will be most intrigued by you, little beastbinder."

Her voice carried no malice—only interest, as though she had just found a rare and beautiful specimen to study.

As the academy bells tolled midnight, she straightened, blending seamlessly into the departing crowd. Her aura folded into the air, invisible and silent.

Before she vanished entirely, she spoke once more—her voice a silk thread lost in the wind.

"Keep growing, Aston Rhyner. For soon… the world will come looking for you."

And with that, she was gone—leaving nothing but a faint shimmer of essence motes and the fading echo of fireworks in the distance.

—

Far above the arena, on the balcony of the Spire of Dawn, the Vice Principal stood alone, hands clasped behind his back. His gaze lingered on the now-empty arena floor, though his thoughts were elsewhere—buried deep in strategy, secrets, and the shadows of power.

Behind him, the moonlight fractured against the tower's crystalline windows, scattering pale light across the hall.

He spoke to no one in particular, voice low and calm.

"At least three… He really brings trouble…"

His eyes gleamed beneath the half-shadow of his hood.

"The storm is beginning to gather."

Then, with a faint smirk, he added almost to himself—

"Let's see if the boy can weather it."

The wind swept through the spire, scattering the last motes of festival confetti into the night sky.

And beneath that starlit expanse, Aston Rhyner's name echoed across the academy—carried by cheers, by whispers, and by the first murmurs of fate itself.

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