The six months of simulated pressure and classroom theory came to a grinding halt with a single toll of the Great Ministry Bell. The morning air was sharp, tasting of upcoming rain and the iron-scent of the beast-pens.

  Kael stood on the dusty training grounds with the other thirty rookies. They looked different now—harder, leaner—but today, the bravado was gone. They were facing the Selection

  Valen

  "You have eaten our bread, worn our silks, and learned our laws," Valen’s voice carried across the silent yard. "But a Rider without a beast is just a man with a heavy tunic. You have two monthsHigh-Canyon Reserves

  He looked directly at Kael. "And remember: A beast of the 36 cannot be bought, and it cannot be borrowed. You must catch it. You must break its pride. You must make it to follow you. If you fail to bond, the beast will eventually kill you to regain its freedom."

  The news hit the annex like a cold front. That evening, the usual warmth of the hearth felt fragile. Kael sat at the drafting table, but he wasn't drawing airfoils. He was staring at a topographical map of the Reserves.

  "Exile?" Lyra’s voice was quiet as she set a bowl of stew in front of him. She didn't sit down. "After six months of turning you into their perfect weapon, they’d just throw you back to the gutters for failing a hunt?"

  "It’s not a hunt, Lyra," Kael said, rubbing his eyes. "It’s a Compatibility TestBiological Feedback

  Taren, who had been sharpening a chisel in the corner, suddenly dropped his tool. It clattered loudly against the stone floor. He stood up, his face flushed with a mixture of anxiety and intense excitement.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "Two months..." Taren whispered, his eyes darting to the sketches of saddles on the wall. He turned to Kael, his voice cracking with sudden resolve. "Kael, you have to tell me now. What are you bringing back? Which of the 36? I need to know the Skeletal DimensionsHeat Output

  Taren stepped closer, his hands shaking slightly. Since Kael had taken him in, giving him a home and a purpose in the annex, the boy had felt a mounting debt of gratitude. This was his chance to pay it back.

  "A custom saddle takes weeks, Kael! If it’s a VaelstrixStormstripewon't."

  Kael looked at the boy’s determined face, then back at his map. "I'm not going for the easy ones, Taren. The Ministry expects me to bring back a Runner. But to win the Sovereign Races, I need a different kind of Kinetic Profile

  Kael tapped a specific region on the map—the high, wind-swept spires. "I'm going for a Zephyrix DrakeAir Current Efficiency

  Taren’s eyes went wide. "A Drake? Their scales are sensitive to Static Charge

  Lyra finally sat down, her hand resting on Kael’s arm. She looked at Taren’s frantic sketching, then at Kael’s calm, calculating gaze.

  "You're both mad," she said softly, though a small, proud smile tugged at her lips. "One of you is planning to outsmart the wind, and the other is building a throne for it. Just... come back, Kael. Don't let the 'logic' of the world take you away from us."

  At dawn, Kael stood at the edge of the Ministry Ward, looking out toward the jagged red horizon of the High-Canyons. He carried a pack filled with Lyra’s medicinal tinctures and a few basic tethers.

  He wasn't riding out. He was walking. A man on foot, heading into a realm of giants.

   dropping. To the other rookies, it was a bad omen. To Kael, it was a variable. A storm meant the beasts would seek lower ground. It narrowed the search parameters.)

  He stepped off the paved road and into the red dirt. No beasts were in sight yet—just the vast, echoing silence of the canyons and the weight of a two-month clock ticking in his head.

  The hunt had finally begun.