It rained when he slept, and his eyes opened to a shower again—the quiet year ended when a tremor ran through the mountain. The icy peak, home to the millennium ice, melted a foot when Frost shattered his raw grave and crawled his way out, ripping the glacial filaments that cocooned him down. His emergence tried the serenity of the soaked dusk, but his quiet egress met with only Ewan at the toe of the peaks, who smiled at him and petted his head.

  The rite ended in Frost’s victory; his blood was of the nobility now. The immature rune on his hands reached for his shoulders and its strokes burned for completion. And the heightening of inches brought him a step closer to an adult Imp—he could barely match shoulders with a short pre-teen human.

  [Astylind Name: Imp (Ice-Variant)]

  [Astylind Level: Level-11]

  [Astylind Grade: Grade-A]

  [Anima Affinity: Ice]

  [Skills: Ice-Favored | Snowdoll (Dormant)]

  [Gender: Male]

  [Description: Natives of Alvodor. Their talents and affinity vary based on their bloodline. But most are capable of decent spellcasting and melee combat.]

  [Grade-Exalt Requirements: Regal Rite (Galiac Lerise)—Give and take; Pay the ice for what you took from it, lower its temperature to below its initial point.]

  [Remark 1: Low wisdom. Barely crossing the line. Possibility of taming and rearing is high.]

  [Remark 2: Basic contract doesn’t work. Success rate might increase with a modified spell circuit.]

  [Remark 3: Hah, I’m a master of a Demon now. But too much torture broke his mind. Tch!]

  [Remark 4: Modified spell circuit succeeded; the contract was a success. No oppression needed. Changing their format in the database, the contracted ones will be noted ‘Astylind’ from now on.]

  Obedience and gravity often defined Frost, as they did this fine evening too when his instinct yanked at him to trigger the Regal Rite, yet he stood before Ewan with not an utterance, not even a hum for permission. It was an itch he couldn’t scratch, as long as this peak stood near him, his instinct wouldn’t quieten. But Ewan couldn’t grant him the leave just yet, not before he confirmed the details of the rite, at least in relevance to time.

  Another half a month would resolve Stefan’s second attempt at his rite—in triumph or defeat again—and a fortnight after that would let Orange exit the seething lava. The situation with the Seroyotes had also settled for now, many women with child had popped up from the initial batch. And as their men wilted away, they waited for the labor.

  The lack of any urgent task on his priority list made the Seigneur’s banquet his next destination. For information and for connection, they couldn’t miss it anymore. Thus, after an initial scan of the thawed peak handed him the bad news—its risen temperature would take several years to drop with Frost at his best—Ewan denied the Regal Rite, though with a twinge in his heart when his little imp accepted it without a wave.

  “I’ll make it up to you,” he said under his breath, hugging him.

  ….

  Stefan surfaced with a comforted smile and a poised stature, the confidence from success washing away his weary distress from a year ago. Such was his path that guilt helped him grow, it even shouldered the anguish of losing his eyes, but the severity of it also thorned his way forward—it hindered his rite that wanted his peace. When he indulged in the sin of his past, the whispers didn’t reach him, and the defeat hammered him down. It also pummeled the thorns, however, and his second attempt ended in a smooth victory.

  Orange, on the other hand, didn’t let it end with a serene smile. He stuck to his nature, and when his rite ended with his babyish roar, the lava erupted for his coronation. The little monkey soared up high, the red clouds of the dusk fluttering behind him for his cape, and the island quaked beneath as the rustling woods, the trembling earth, and the surging waters toasted him. Even the terrified screams of the winged men and women became his cheers and applause.

  He remained the same as always with a fine sheen on his coral-colored fur, the long tail swinging behind, and the blob of fire flickering on his forehead. The blue wisps floating around him though caroled a different side, they hinted at the change within.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  [Astylind Name: Fire Monkey (Mutant)]

  [Astylind Level: Level-11]

  [Astylind Grade: Grade-S]

  [Anima Affinity: Fire]

  [Skills: Fire-Recipient | Wrath-Inferno]

  [Gender: Male]

  [Description: Natives of Airadia. They are blessed with decent fire-element affinity (Recipient) but lack the skill to make use of it.]

  [Grade-Exalt Requirements: --]

  [Remark 1: Can be trained as a vanguard but require more attention with the elemental skills.]

  [Remark 2: They look cool, so can make them your mascot.]

  [Remark 3: I agree with the second remark, lol.]

  Now only Ghost remained, and when an abrupt shroud of night hid the island from the noon of the world, as the torrent of Dark-Anima surged into the black dome from Morinfair, and as the crows cried, he shattered his misery and advanced to Step-1. The conviction it birthed propelled him ahead with his chest puffed out and his head held high, he preened with pride, and Ewan answered him with another try at the grade-exalt.

  The streak indeed remained, and he succeeded with flying colors, marking his specifics with a higher but dormant affinity.

  [Astylind Name: Necros-Crow]

  [Astylind Level: Level-10]

  [Astylind Grade: Grade-B]

  [Anima Affinity: Dark]

  [Skills: Dark-Endued | Dark-Consonance (Dormant)]

  [Gender: Male]

  [Description: Possibly extinct natives of Airadia. Thought to be the harbinger of misfortune and ruination, revered and dreaded as the one closest to death. Exceptional affinity with the dark-element from the birth (Endued) but they also bear its consequences (Unproven).]

  [Grade-Exalt Requirements: Noble Rite (Nathiel Draew)—Night and day; befriend the wanderers of the night and test your mettle against the source of light, prove yourself for a cycle of season.]

  [Remark 1: Beware, pay heed to their cries, for you will lose your Astylind if you don’t.]

  [Remark 2: Suicidal tendencies, sensitive to foreign stimulus. A tougher stance combined with a softer touch appears to work well in managing them.]

  The consecutive disruptions of normalcy on Clinmere, however, from Orange to Frost and then Ghost, brought a pack of Seroyotes to his doorstep.

  “I apologize for the disturbances,” Ewan said.

  “We’re not blaming you, Sir Ewan, we were just hoping you would inform us before something like that, so we can be prepared,” Abelard said, but the disgruntled men behind him couldn’t echo his words, even their feathers stood taut to manifest their annoyance.

  The gratitude for preventing their extinction already ran thin, he’d emptied the bucket of favors. Yet, the existence of the peak for Frost’s rite and his interest in their hall of history prevented Ewan from breaking ties.

  “Of course, I’ll remember to do so for the next time,” he said.

  “There will be a next time,” a man behind Abelard grumbled, and Ewan could only smile an apology. Regardless of the contract, his status as a guest weakened his position, he could not retort the hosts’ discontent. And a wrangle here would just delay him; the sun was already a quarter up on its way and he wanted to fire Stormfalcon’s thrusters for the Enclave before it loomed over their heads. Thus, he said his byes before their words entangled any further, and pocketing a temporary token for the protective shield, he left the hut and the island that became his home for the year passed.

  . And it has 40+ chapters ahead of the Royal Road release on it!

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