Kael learned something early in life: in this world, weakness was not a sin.
It was a sentence.
From the outside, human cities looked safe. Massive stone walls encircled them, reinforced with ancient runes worn down by time. Watchtowers rose at regular intervals, their silhouettes cutting through the sky like spears. Guards patrolled the walls day and night, some armed with steel, others accompanied by beasts whose presence alone was enough to make common people lower their heads.
Safety, however, was not free.
It was built on blood, fragile treaties between kingdoms, and a truth everyone avoided saying aloud.
Beyond the walls, law did not exist.
Kael walked through the lower district of Valdyr with a wooden crate balanced against his shoulder. It was heavier than it looked, packed with dried meat meant for contracted beasts stationed near the city gates. His hands were rough and cracked, the skin hardened by years of labor. Each step sent a dull ache through his back, but his pace never slowed.
Slowing down meant complaints.
Complaints meant fewer jobs.
Fewer jobs meant hunger.
"Hurry up," the merchant behind him snapped. "I don't pay you to daydream."
Kael didn't answer. He rarely did. Words had weight in this world, and his carried none.
He passed by groups of people who looked nothing like him. Apprentices in clean uniforms walked in clusters, discussing training schedules and upcoming evaluations. Some wore the insignia of minor families; others carried the quiet confidence of those backed by wealth or lineage. A few even walked beside young beasts—juveniles, still unrefined, but already more valuable than Kael would ever be.
He kept his eyes forward.
In the Kingdom of Valdyr, children awakened early.
Most did so before the age of ten.
Kael knew this not from books or official announcements, but from watching it happen. He had seen temple officials arrive in villages, robes pristine and expressions indifferent. He had seen parents holding their breath as glowing symbols formed around their children. Elements revealed. Compatibilities confirmed. Beasts assigned based on lineage, genetics, and investment potential.
Some cried tears of joy.
Some cried tears of relief.
Kael remembered his own day clearly.
Not because something happened—
but because nothing did.
No light.
No resonance.
No response.
The temple records marked him as unfit with a single line of ink. There was no public humiliation, no mockery. No one laughed. They simply stopped looking at him as a future asset.
In this world, that silence was far louder than insults.
Power was measured in ranks.
Even children knew them.
Infant.
Juvenile.
Novice.
Beginner.
Expert.
Master.
Near Noble.
Noble.
God.
The higher the rank, the more information one was allowed to access. Manuals, maps, forbidden knowledge—everything was gated. Strength was not just power. It was permission.
Kael did not even qualify as a Novice.
A Juvenile with a blade could kill him.
A poorly trained beast could tear him apart.
And yet, he was still alive.
That alone made him an anomaly.
For a time, Kael had a master.
The man was a low-ranked beast tamer who lived on the edge of the city, far from academies and noble oversight. He accepted children others had discarded—orphans, late awakeners, and failures like Kael. Not out of kindness, but hope. The hope that one of them might defy expectations and bring him recognition.
Kael trained harder than anyone.
He ran until his legs trembled and his vision blurred. He practiced basic strikes until his hands bled. He memorized theories about elements he could not sense and bonds he could not form. While others relied on instinct or resonance, Kael relied on repetition.
Again.
Again.
Again.
But effort did not change reality.
No matter how many times he trained, his body failed to respond the way it should have. Techniques felt hollow. Movements lacked weight. There was no flow of energy, no reinforcement, no feedback.
One evening, after another failed session, the master finally spoke.
"It's not that you don't work hard," the man said, wiping sweat from his brow. "That's the problem. You work too hard for nothing."
Kael stood still, breathing heavily.
"This world has no room for people who take and give nothing back," the man continued. "I can't afford you."
There was no anger in his voice.
No cruelty.
Only honesty.
That hurt more than anything else.
Kael left that night without packing much. There was nothing worth taking.
He wandered.
From village to village. From job to job. Carrying cargo. Digging trenches. Cleaning stables filled with earth-type beasts—massive creatures bred for endurance and defense. Their hides were thick, their eyes dull with patience. Each one was worth more than Kael's entire life.
Sometimes, people talked around him.
They spoke of nobles who raised dragons of specific elements, passed down like heirlooms. Of kingdoms investing heavily in beast tamers to avoid being swallowed by stronger neighbors. Of wild areas expanding every year, swallowing roads and outposts alike.
At night, Kael listened.
Stories of forests where beast clans hunted in silence.
Of mountains where even Masters disappeared.
Of seas so deep that sound itself was crushed.
Of dimensional rifts where reality twisted and survival depended on instinct alone.
Stories meant to scare children.
Or warn the unprepared.
Kael listened without reacting.
He did not dream of heroism.
He did not imagine conquering kingdoms.
Not anymore.
He had already learned something fundamental:
The world did not reward ambition.
It rewarded preparation… or ruthlessness.
One night, as he slept near the edge of a half-abandoned road, something changed.
There was no explosion.
No voice from the heavens.
No sudden surge of power.
Only a pulse.
A deep, unfamiliar beat echoed through his chest, slow and heavy, as if something had struck a massive drum inside him. Kael's eyes snapped open. He sat up sharply, breath coming fast, his heart pounding in response.
For a brief moment, he felt it.
Movement beneath his skin.
Not heat.
Not pain.
Something sharp.
Electric.
His fingers twitched. His vision blurred. The sensation spread through his arms and into his spine—
Then vanished.
Kael froze, waiting.
Nothing happened.
No sparks.
No resonance.
No awakened element.
"Just exhaustion…" he muttered.
He clenched his fists. The skin on his knuckles whitened. Still nothing.
Yet something lingered.
Not strength.
Not power.
Information.
Fragments of sensation, impressions without context. A vague awareness, as if the world itself had reacted to him—if only for a heartbeat—before closing itself off again.
Kael lay back down, staring at the dark sky.
"So you won't even give me answers," he whispered.
The world remained silent.
At dawn, Kael changed his route.
North.
Away from well-traveled roads. Away from city patrols. Toward places where maps became unreliable and authority thinned until it disappeared entirely.
He stood at the edge of the city one last time, looking beyond the walls. In the distance, mountains loomed like sleeping beasts. Somewhere beyond them lay forests untouched by human law, regions where beasts ruled themselves and humans died without names.
Fear stirred in his chest.
So did resolve.
If staying meant dying slowly…
then leaving meant at least choosing how.
Kael adjusted his worn cloak and stepped forward.
Weak.
Talentless.
Without a beast.
But for the first time since arriving in this world…
He walked with intent.