The atmosphere in Ebonvale Academy had always been rife with political tension, but today, it was suffocating. Students whispered in hushed voices, tails flicking with agitation, ears twitching as they stole wary gnces at Rynn. A predator among prey, a ruler among rebels—he had done many outrageous things before, but this? Capturing a furless alien and naming it Pything was insanity even by his standards.

  The sheer audacity of it sent ripples through the academy. The feline-born students eyed Rynn with a mixture of admiration and caution, while the herbivores kept their distance, their prey instincts screaming at them to avoid the Bck Sheep of Ebonvale.

  In the grand hallway, Aelor Ven’Dral stood frozen, his hands clenched. "You named it what?" His deerkin nature kept his voice calm, but his tail flicked in irritation, betraying his disbelief.

  "Pything," Rynn repeated with a smirk, tapping the talisman at his hip where the captured fursuiter resided. The way he enunciated it, so casual yet dripping with malice, made the surrounding students shudder.

  Even Teris Val’Quen, the ever-composed vice president, adjusted his gsses and let out an exasperated sigh. "You’re not just inviting trouble, Rynn—you’re issuing a royal decree for it."

  Rynn only chuckled, reveling in their reactions. "Oh, don’t be so dramatic. She’s mine now. And don’t worry, I have pns for my little Pything." His sapphire eyes gleamed with wicked amusement, though he left those ‘pns’ deliciously vague.

  Sylvia tilted her head, arms crossed. "Are we supposed to be concerned about what that entails?"

  "Absolutely," Aelor deadpanned.

  Before the conversation could continue, a sharp chime rang through the halls, signaling an urgent summons.

  "Rynn Yogini, report to the Dean’s office immediately."

  A hushed silence fell over the students. Even the most reckless among them knew better than to ignore a call from Dean Aric Tamsin.

  With exaggerated fir, Rynn flipped his coat over his shoulder and strode toward the office, winking at a blushing Lily along the way. "Wish me luck, darlings. If I don’t return, tell my Pything she belongs to me forever."

  Aelor rubbed his temples. "This is why we need a stricter student council."

  —

  The scent of aged parchment and old wood filled the air as Rynn stepped into the dimly lit office. Behind the sprawling wooden desk sat Dean Aric Tamsin, a wiry Ratkin with graying fur and sharp, calcuting eyes framed by round spectacles. His simple robes bore subtle schorly embroidery, the only hint of the prestige his position held.

  He exuded a sense of calm authority, but his ever-alert posture told Rynn he was not a man to be underestimated.

  "Sit," Aric said, his voice even but firm.

  Rynn colpsed into the chair with a theatrical sigh, draping himself over the armrest like a lounging prince. "Ah, if it isn’t my favorite rodent. What wisdom do you wish to bestow upon me today?"

  Aric’s ears twitched, but he ignored the insult. Instead, he slid a document across the desk. "I assume you’ve heard the morning news."

  Rynn’s fingers drummed against the wood. "Ah, yes. My dear grandparents have decided to wage war over a corpse." He smirked. "I do love a good family feud."

  Aric’s gaze sharpened. "Do you even grasp the gravity of this, Yogini? The war between the Catkin Empire and the Ratkin Nation is escating faster than expected. Beastkin from every region are being dragged into the conflict, willingly or not. The academy is no exception."

  Rynn raised an eyebrow. "I see where this is going. You want me to be a good little student council president and keep the peace, yes?"

  Aric sighed. "Something like that. This academy houses students from every kin—herbivore, predator, noble, commoner. If the war influences their behavior, Ebonvale will become a battleground of its own. The student council’s role is to prevent that."

  Rynn chuckled darkly. "And here I thought I was just a pretty figurehead."

  "You’re more than that," Aric said, folding his hands together. "Like it or not, you hold influence. Your actions, your decisions—they affect more than just yourself."

  Rynn’s smirk faltered for a brief moment, but he quickly repced it with an exaggerated yawn. "Fine, fine. I’ll consider your noble plea. But I make no promises."

  Aric exhaled through his nose. "That’s the best I’ll get from you, isn’t it?"

  Rynn grinned. "You know me so well, Dean."

  Before Aric could respond, the heavy doors creaked open.

  —

  A tall, armored Ratkin Knight strode in, his polished steel ptes reflecting the candlelight. His presence commanded attention, his every step precise, calcuted. A sigil of the Ratkin Nation was embzoned on his chestpte—a clear sign of his allegiance.

  "Student Council President Rynn Yogini," the knight addressed him directly, voice steady but authoritative. "I come with a proposal from the Ratkin Nation."

  Rynn arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "How delightful. What can I do for our esteemed neighbors?"

  The knight’s tail flicked. "Given your… exceptional abilities, the nation would like to extend an invitation. Join us in battle. If you perform well, you may even be scouted for the Invader Guild."

  The room tensed. The Invader Guild—a legendary faction that operated beyond nations, known for their ruthless efficiency in handling conflicts and external threats. For many, such an offer was a dream. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

  Rynn, however, simply leaned back and ughed.

  "Me? Fighting for your cause? My dear knight, I’m fttered, but I’m afraid I must decline. War is such… tedious business."

  The knight’s expression didn’t waver. "You misunderstand. This is not a request—it is an opportunity."

  Rynn’s pyful grin turned razor-sharp. "Ah, but you misunderstand me." He stood, his imposing presence suddenly suffocating. "I don’t take orders. I give them. And I certainly don’t march to war for the sake of someone else’s ambitions."

  The knight studied him for a moment before nodding. "Very well. The nation will remember your decision." He turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. "For your sake, I hope you never regret it."

  As the door shut behind him, Aric pinched the bridge of his nose.

  "You really do enjoy making enemies, don’t you?"

  Rynn just chuckled, stretching his arms. "Life would be so boring otherwise, don’t you think?"

  The serene halls of Ebonvale Academy were bustling with the usual chaos of morning csses, whispered gossip, and stolen gnces at the infamous Rynn Yogini as he exited the Dean’s office. His sharp sapphire eyes glinted with amusement from the earlier meeting, but something unusual prickled at the edge of his awareness—a ripple that made his sheepkin ears twitch involuntarily.

  Before he could take another step, the air in the hallway shimmered, distorting like ripples on a pond. A loud crack echoed through the corridor, and a golden portal tore into existence. Gasps rippled through the gathered students, who instinctively backed away as the disturbance intensified. From the swirling light stepped a golden-furred Lionkin, her bck curls reminiscent of Rynn’s own. Her gear was unlike anything they had seen—tactical armor with sleek metallic designs, something that seemed more fitting for a warrior stepping off a starship than the grounds of a Beastkin academy.

  The Lionkin looked around, her amber eyes wide with confusion and wary determination. Her voice rang out in Gactic Common, smooth and commanding yet tinged with uncertainty. “Where am I?”

  ---

  Rynn felt it before he even saw her. A strange, magnetic pull—something deeper than instinct. His confident stride faltered for only a moment before he pivoted sharply and moved with purpose, leaving the crowd in his wake. As the hallway parted for him, his bck curls bounced slightly, his expression shifting into something between curiosity and recognition.

  His gaze locked onto the golden Lionkin. The resembnce was unmistakable: her posture, her features, even her curls. She was family. Without hesitation, Rynn reached down and, with his characteristic ease, scooped her up as though greeting a long-lost sibling.

  The Lionkin gasped, her hands instinctively pressing against his chest for bance. Her turquoise eyes widened as they met his, and she blurted out in Gactic Common, “Who are you, and why do you look like Dad?!”

  Rynn tilted his head, his sapphire eyes gleaming as a smirk spread across his lips. Switching to Gactic Common with casual fluency, he replied, “You’re on Yami. And before you ask—yes, it’s an alternate universe. No, I don’t have a way to send you back. But,” his smirk widened, “I’m extremely rich, and so are you in this world. Welcome to Ebonvale Academy.”

  The Lionkin blinked at him, her initial wariness fading into reluctant acceptance. Her shoulders slumped slightly as she let out a defeated sigh. “Well, that’s just great,” she muttered under her breath.

  ---

  Rynn set her down gently, but the moment her feet touched the ground, he leaned closer, his smirk never leaving his face. “So,” he began, his tone light but ced with curiosity, “what’s your name?”

  The Lionkin hesitated for a moment before replying, “Zeta King.”

  Rynn straightened, his bck curls catching the light as he dramatically pced a hand over his chest. “Rynn Yogini, at your service. But,” he paused, his grin turning mischievous, “to celebrate the arrival of my long-lost sister, I will henceforth be known as Rynn King. Fitting, don’t you think?”

  Zeta gave him an incredulous look, though a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You’re… something else,” she muttered.

  “Oh, I know,” Rynn replied breezily. “Now, tell me, Zeta King—what are your csses?”

  Her posture straightened slightly at the question, and she answered with practiced confidence. “Battle Priest and Ritualist.”

  Rynn’s grin widened as he draped an arm around her shoulder, steering her toward th

  e center of the academy. “Perfect. We’re going to get along famously, Zeta. Let me show you the world—our world.”