Origin

There were things in this world that were not meant for humans to hold. One such thing was the Beast Rings. To some, they were miracles, granting power beyond imagination.

To others, they were curses born from ambition and soaked in blood. But whatever one might believe, there was no denying their place in the world—a world forever changed by their creation.

A Beast Ring was no ordinary trinket. Forged from the heartstone of a beast, it held the very essence of the beast it came from. Whether it was its strength, its speed, or its unique ability—you name it.

What made the beat mighty was captured within a single ring.

With it, a man could run faster than the wind, summon fire from his hands, or crush mountains with a single strike. But the ring did not give without taking. To create one, a beast must die, its very soul torn from its body and bound to the will of a human.

This is why the Beast Rings are both coveted and feared.

It was said that humans could wield as many Beast Rings as they could carry. That was the aim of most humans.

The strongest of men attempted to wield such powers. But sometimes, these powers became such powers that they could not control. They were brought to ruin by their own greed.

It is not surprising, then, that the creation of the first Beast Ring was the spark that lit the fires of ambition across the world.

For in the hands of humans, these rings leveled the battlefield, allowing men to stand as equals against the beasts who had ruled the land for so long.

The tale of the Beast Rings began with a man whose name had been forgotten and lost to time. The names he went by were the First Crafter, the First Slayer, and the First Wielder.

Well, most of the time, people refer to him as the First Crafter. Though no one truly knew who he was or where he had come from.

Some people who claimed to know him said that he was a sorcerer from the other world. While some said he was an outcast, wandering the edges of the known world.

However, what was certain was this; he was the first man who changed everything.

The battles, the wars between humans and beasts, had been fought for centuries. These beasts were creatures of immense strength and terrifying power.

They were no mere animals. Some of them took the humanoid forms with intelligence on par with the humans. They could converse as humans do.

These beasts ruled the forests, the mountains, the skies, and even the seas. At that time, they were gods in the flesh. Each one of them wielded the powers that no human could match.

The only thing that was able to keep humanity going was magic. It allowed humans to fight back, though at great cost.

However, not every human could wield magic. Those who could become the shield of humanity. They were the ones that held the line against extinction.

Even so, no matter how many talented or powerful sorcerers emerged, it was clear that the magic of this world was not enough to go against the might of the beasts. Humanity was fighting a losing battle every single time.

The First Crafter changed that. He was no ordinary sorcerer, but he was nothing extraordinary, either. Other sorcerers prefer to be at their towers, hurling fire and lightning or defending their kingdoms with the spells of stone and ice.

But none of those were to the First Crafter's liking. He was obsessed with the beasts. Name anything you want about the beasts; he would go crazy over it.

Above all, there was a thing that would really drive him crazy; the strange stones that pulsed within the bodies of the beasts, the heartstones.

These heartstones, as he called them, seemed to be the source of their incredible strength. No human had ever thought or dared to tamper with such a thing. Never.

The reason was that no one had ever survived the attempt to take the heartstone of a beast. That was one of the best ways of inviting any beast's wrath.

But the First Crafter was different. He never feared the beasts. He had a secret art at his disposal.

The art he discovered was said to be not of this world. It was said he stumbled upon it in a forgotten ruin, a place older than the oldest kingdoms, where ancient runes whispered secrets into his mind.

What he learned was not magic as humans knew it. It was something older, something far more dangerous.

The Beast Slaying Art, it was called, a forbidden craft that taught not only how to slay a beast but how to extract its heartstone and harness its power.

From this art came the knowledge to create the first Beast Ring.

The sorcerer chose his target carefully. He began with a Swiftfang Wolf, a Lower Grade Beast known for its incredible speed and razor-sharp reflexes.

Despite its grade, the battle was ferocious. It was too much for the First Crafter, who did not like combat, to handle its quick movement and striking force.

Yet, he was at an advantage due to the Beast Slaying Art at his disposal. The art managed to weaken the creature and exploit its vulnerabilities where, at last, it fell.

From its chest, he extracted the heartstone, glowing with the essence of the wolf's speed and strength. With this, he performed the ritual and forged the first Beast Ring.

When he placed the ring on his finger, the change was immediate. His body moved like the wind, faster than thought, faster than any human could imagine.

Another major change that happened to him was his sharpened reflexes. For the first time in history, a human possessed the power of a beast.

Such a creation, the Beast Ring, would never go unnoticed. At first, humans were marveling at such a feat. But soon, it became a threat.

The kingdoms of the world, ever hungry for power, saw the potential of the rings. Armies equipped with Beast Rings could conquer lands, topple rival empires, and even hold dominion over the beasts themselves.

The rulers of the land began to fear the First Crafter, for in his hands was a power that could unmake their fragile order.

It did not take long for greed to turn to betrayal. The First Crafter was hunted by those who had once called him an ally.

The union of the sorcerers, kings, and emperors emerged, hunting the First Crafter. They were all driven by the same ambition and fear.

The beast rings would be the new hope of humanity, but at the same time, leaving a person exploiting its power would shake their dominion. They managed to trap him.

They combined their might in order to overwhelm the First Crafter and took him captive. Even then, he fought, wielding the powers of more beasts.

But in the end, he was only human.

What happened next is unclear. Some say the First Crafter was tortured, his knowledge torn from him piece by piece.

Others say he gave it willingly, hoping it would bring an end to the endless bloodshed between humans and beasts.

Most people believed the latter because, with all the rings he had at his disposal, it was impossible for him to be defeated.

Whatever the truth, the result was the same. The knowledge of crafting the Beast Rings was no longer his alone.

At first, humans used the Beast Slaying Arts to slay the beasts. But, as time passed and more Beast Rings crafted, they were using beasts' powers to slay the beasts.

The art and rings spread like wildfire, from kingdom to kingdom, from sorcerer to sorcerer. With this knowledge and power, the world changed forever.

Humans, who had always been at the mercy of the beasts, now stood as their equals—or perhaps their conquerors.

The balance of power shifted, but not without a price. For while the rings granted strength, they also sowed greed, ambition, and an unquenchable hunger for more.

And so, the story of the Beast Rings began with a single man and a single ring, but it would not end there.

It was only the beginning.

***

The village of Tenang sat quietly beneath the shadow of Mount Cahaya, the mountain's jagged peaks rising high enough to touch the clouds.

Life here moved slowly, like the gentle streams that wound through the terraced fields.

The villagers, all 150 of them, went about their days with the kind of calm born from years of safety, their humble walls of wood and sticks keeping the worst of the wild at bay.

"Oi, Kairon! You're late again!" called Old Vren, a wiry man with arms knotted like the roots of a tree.

He was standing by the well, an ancient yet sturdy well located at the heart of the plaza. His weathered hands were gripping on a bucket filled with water. "Hurry up, boy. Or are you waiting for the goat to milk themselves?"

Kairon strolled toward him with a wide grin, one hand resting lazily on the satchel slung over his shoulder.

"Come on, Old Vren. You know they like it when I'm late. Gives them time to prepare for my winning smile." He flashed a grin that made Vren shake his head, half in amusement, half in disbelief.

"Your charm won't feed the village, boy," Vren said, placing the bucket on the ground with a thud. "When's the last time you helped your uncle in the fields, eh?"

"I'm helping in spirit," Kairon replied, leaning casually against the well. "Uncle needs to know he's the best farmer in Tenang without me showing him up."

"You'll be the end of us," Vren muttered, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

The plaza was the place where the village women gathered. Their spot? Of course, the well. They were chatting merrily on various topics over baskets of grains and freshly picked vegetables.

It was a place where children played, too. At that moment, a group of children passed, laughing and shouting. They were chasing one another around the trees at the plaza's center.

That was when one of the boys paused his track. He stopped right in front of Kairon.

"Kai, Kai! Tell us a story!" the boy begged, tugging at Kairon's tunic.

Kairon crouched down, ruffling the boy's hair. "A story, huh? What kind? A scary one with monsters? Or maybe one about me fighting a hundred beasts with one hand tied behind my back?"

The boy gasped. "You did that?"

"Well…" Kairon paused dramatically, tapping his chin. "Not yet. But it could happen. You'll just have to wait and see."

The boy laughed at Kairon's remarks. Everyone knew that all of Kairon's tales were just tales. Nevertheless, they still brought joy and excitement.

"Kairon! Don't tell me you're slacking off again!" Aunt Myra's voice cut through the noise of the plaza like a blade.

Kairon, who had been chatting with Old Vren near the well, froze mid-laugh. He spun around with a wide, innocent grin. "Slacking? Me? I was just…" He lifted his satchel as if it were proof of his hard work. "Foraging! Look—roots, berries, the whole package."

"Hmm," Myra muttered, stepping closer to inspect the contents of his bag. Her sharp eyes scanned the half-filled satchel, and she frowned. "And where's the goat feed you were supposed to bring? Or the water I told you to fetch?"

"Goat feed…?" Kairon scratched his head, feigning confusion. "Oh! You mean for Uncle Garin's goats? I thought he handled that this morning! He's so reliable, you know. Doesn't even need me around."

"Nice try," Myra snapped, hands on her hips. "Your uncle's out in the fields, working twice as hard because someone"—she jabbed a finger at him—"didn't show up to help."

"Well, if he's managing fine without me, maybe I should focus on other things," Kairon said with a grin, spreading his arms. "Like making sure that everyone is okay… or entertaining the kids. Someone's gotta keep morale high around here."

"Don't you sweet-talk me," Myra growled. "You're lucky this village has a soft spot for you, boy. Now get yourself to the fields before I send your uncle after you."

Kairon sighed dramatically, but the twinkle in his eye gave him away. "All right, all right. Fields it is. But you know, Aunt Myra, one day, when I'm famous, you'll look back on these moments and say, 'I raised that boy.'"

"You mean I tolerated you," she shot back, already turning to shoo him off.

Kairon chuckled as he made his way toward the fields, dodging a group of children running through the plaza. "Okay, okay. Back to work, then," he muttered to himself. "Well, a main character's life is never easy."

Kairon trudged through the soft soil of the fields, the sun hanging high in the clear blue sky. The view was amazing. One could see rows of barley moving gently in the wind.

The ones catching eyes were their golden tips catching the light like tiny flames.

He could see his uncle, Garin, kneeling. He was near the edge of the field. He was inspecting a patch of young shoots.

Uncle Garin always looked like he'd stepped out of a warrior's tale. His broad shoulders and thick arms made him seem like he could snap a tree in half, and yet his expression was as gentle as the spring wind.

He looked up as Kairon approached, his ever-present smile lighting up his face.

"There you are, Kai," Garin said, brushing dirt from his hands. "Thought you might've gotten lost on your way here."

"Lost? Me? Never," Kairon said with a grin, dropping his satchel by the fence. "I just got… delayed. Important village business, you know."

"Important business, huh?" Garin chuckled, shaking his head. "Let me guess—Old Vren's stories and Aunt Myra's scolding?"

"You know me too well, Uncle." Kairon plopped himself down on a nearby rock, stretching his legs. "Honestly, though, I think Aunt Myra missed her calling. She's stricter than the guards at the gates. I'd bet she'd do better out there wrestling beasts."

"You're not wrong," Garin said with a knowing smile. "Your aunt could probably take down a beast with one hand tied behind her back if she wanted to."

Kairon laughed but then grew quiet, his gaze drifting to the distant mountains. "She probably could. Makes me wonder, though. If both of you have those rings… you know, Beast Rings… you'd both be terrifying."

Garin smiled, but something in his eyes changed—Kairon couldn't figure out what it was. The older man leaned back on his hands and looked at the sky.

"There are things that one shouldn't have, Kai," Garin said softly, his voice as calm as ever. "And things you're better off not knowing or worrying about."

Kairon frowned. "Why does everyone say that? You, Aunt Myra—every time I ask or talk about something important, it's 'not yet' or 'time will tell.' Who is this 'time,' anyway, and why can't he just tell me already?"

Garin chuckled at that, the sound deep and warm. "Patience isn't your strongest trait, is it?" He reached over and ruffled Kairon's hair, ignoring the boy's half-hearted protests. "You'll get your answers, Kai. Just not today."

Kairon huffed, crossing his arms. "Fine. But I'm going to laugh if it turns out time is really just an old man sitting on a mountain somewhere."

"That would be really funny," Garin chuckled before he stood up. He then brushed the dirt off his pants. "Now, come on. Help me with these weeds before your aunt shows up and thinks I've let you slack off."

Kairon grumbled under his breath but joined his uncle in the field. The work wasn't difficult, but it was monotonous—pulling weeds, checking the soil, and ensuring the irrigation channels were clear.

For all his joking, Kairon didn't mind helping Garin. His uncle's easygoing nature made even the dullest tasks bearable.

As they worked, Kairon stole glances at Garin. The man had the build of a warrior, the kind Kairon had read about in the few tattered books that had made their way to Tenang.

And yet, for as long as Kairon could remember, Garin had been nothing more than a farmer. The same was true for Aunt Myra, though her strict demeanor and commanding presence often made Kairon wonder if she had once been something more.

"Uncle Garin?" Kairon said after a while, his hands full of weeds.

"Hmm?"

"Do you ever… think about leaving the village? You know, going out there?" He gestured vaguely toward the mountains.

Garin paused, looking at him thoughtfully. "The world outside Tenang is bigger than you can imagine, Kai. It's dangerous, too. There's a reason the walls are there."

"I know that," Kairon said quickly. "But don't you ever get curious? About what's out there? About… the beasts?"

For a moment, Garin didn't answer. His gaze drifted to Mount Cahaya, its peaks shrouded in mist. Then he looked back at Kairon, his smile returning, though it seemed heavier than before.

"There's more out there than beasts, Kai. Some of it's worth seeing, and some of it… isn't." He clapped a hand on Kairon's shoulder. "But that's a question for another day. Right now, we've got a harvest to prepare for, and your aunt will have both our heads if we don't get it done."

Kairon sighed. He knew well that he would never get any more answers. What was told, that was it. "Fine. Still, I'm going to explore everything this world has to offer. The mountains, the forests, the beasts—everything."

Garin chuckled. "I believe you'll be able to, and I'll never stop you. But not now."

Kairon and Garin returned to their hut after taking care of the goats. Regarding the hut, it felt odd to call the huts in the village as huts.

It wasn't fancy, but it was better than the straw huts we had seen before. With a strong wooden frame and a thatched roof, it had a few separate rooms. It was comfortable and practical but felt like home.

Still, it was a far cry from the brick houses that lined the towns and cities merchants spoke of.

The smell hit Kairon first, wafting through the air and stopping him in his tracks. His stomach growled audibly.

"Smells like curry," he said, turning to Garin with a grin.

"Chicken curry," Garin confirmed, his smile matching Kairon's. "Your aunt's special recipe."

Kairon darted ahead, throwing the door open with an exaggerated flourish. "Aunt Myra! Your two hardworking men are back!"

Aunt Myra came out of the kitchen. She then wiped her hands on her apron. She looked him over carefully from head to toe. "Hardworking? You? Don't make me laugh."

"I pulled weeds!" Kairon protested, plopping himself onto a wooden stool. "And I didn't even complain that much."

"You whined the entire time," Garin said as he stepped inside, placing his tools near the door.

"Traitor," Kairon muttered under his breath.

Myra's lips twitched—just enough for Kairon to know she was amused. "Well, sit down, both of you. The food's ready."

She set the table with practiced efficiency, placing a steaming pot of chicken curry at the center alongside a plate of assorted vegetables.

A basket of flatbread completed the spread. Kairon's mouth watered as he reached for the ladle, only to have his hand swatted away.

"Wash your hands first," Myra said sharply, pointing toward the water jug near the door.

"Yes, ma'am," Kairon said quietly as he got up to help.

While they ate, the room was filled with the sound of dishes clinking and soft talking. Kairon often thought about how good the food was.

Myra's cooking made even simple dishes taste great. Even though she seemed strict, moments like this showed Kairon how much she cared for him.

"You know what, Aunt Myra. You cook the best chicken curry in Tenang," Kairon declared.

While saying so, a piece of bread made its way into his mouth. "Actually, best in the world. I'm serious, Aunt Myra. I guarantee that the quickest way for you to make a fortune is by selling this in the city."

Myra chuckled. "Is that so? When have you been outside seeing the world? And who would feed you while I'm off making my fortune?"

Kairon pretended to think, tapping his chin dramatically. "Hmm… Uncle Garin could learn to cook. I could teach him."

Garin laughed, shaking his head. "The day I cook is the day Myra lets you skip your chores."

"Exactly," Myra said, smirking.

The warmth of the meal, the laughter, and the quiet simplicity of life in Tenang made Kairon pause for a moment.

As he tore another piece of bread, he thought about the tales he'd heard from the merchants who occasionally passed through their village.

"Aunt Myra, Uncle Garin," Kairon said, his tone thoughtful now. "Why is Tenang so… peaceful?"

"What do you mean by that? Tired of living peacefully?" asked Myra.

He chuckled and shook his head quickly before saying, "I mean, the merchants are always saying how terrible things are out there. Bandits, beasts, you name it. Some of them even hire those—what are they called again? Slayers?"

Both Garin and Myra nodded.

Kairon continued, "Yeah, the merchants say they can't survive the forests without them. How come we don't have any of that trouble here?"

Garin and Myra exchanged a glance. It was quick, but Kairon caught it. He hated when they did that—it was as if they were silently deciding how much to tell him, which usually meant "not much."

"We're just lucky," Garin said finally, scooping another spoonful of curry onto his plate.

"Lucky?" Kairon frowned. "Come on, Uncle. Tenang's barely a blip on the map. We don't even have Slayers as our real guards. How are we not overrun by beasts? Or worse?"

Myra's gaze was sharp. "That's enough questions, Kairon. You're too young to be worrying about things like that."

"I'm fifteen," Kairon shot back. "I can handle worrying."

"You're fifteen," Myra repeated firmly, "which means you should focus on eating your lunch and finishing your chores, not playing detective."

Kairon wanted to argue, but Garin spoke first. "Let it go, Kai. Your aunt is right. We're safe here, and that's what matters."

Kairon quietly grumbled, poking his vegetables with a fork. To be honest, he was pretty fed up with the way they were avoiding his questions. This was not the first time.

Despite his naive question, he was actually probing. He knew Tenang's peace couldn't be due to luck.

***

That night, the moon shone brightly. The roofs and walls of the huts in the peaceful village of Tenang were lit up by the moonlight.

The sounds of the day had faded. Most villagers spent time with their families. Some gathered with friends to drink or talk.

Even though their village was not well-developed, they found ways to enjoy life. They were accompanied by the sound of the soft rustling of leaves and, of course, the occasional chirp of crickets, too.

Kairon, without anything fun to be done at night, was sleeping soundly. He was lying across his bed. One of his arms was hanging over the edge.

Outside, beneath the stars, Garin and Myra stood near the doorway, speaking in hushed tones. Garin leaned against the wooden frame, his ever-present smile softened by the quiet of the night.

Myra, on the other hand, kept her arms crossed, her gaze flickering between the hut and the shadowed forest beyond the village walls.

"How much longer can we keep it from him?" Myra asked, her voice low and tense. "He's asking more questions every day. About his parents. The village. About us. You know how sharp he is."

Garin chuckled softly, the sound almost lost in the breeze. "Yeah. He's curious, sure. But no need to be worried. Let the boy enjoy his peace while he can."

"Peace?" Myra turned to him, her expression hard. "Garin, you know as well as I do that peace is a luxury we can't afford. Not forever."

Garin tilted his head, his smile unwavering. "Perhaps. But there's no harm in letting him have it for a little longer. He's still young, Myra."

"Regardless of his age, he deserves to know the truth, Garin," Myra said quietly. "Do you ever think what will happen when he finds out the truth that we have been lying to him... all this time?"

Garin sighed, his gaze drifting toward the sky. "We're not lying. We're protecting him. There's a difference."

"Is there?" Myra's tone was sharp, but it softened after a moment.

She glanced toward Kairon's room, where faint snores could be heard through the walls. "Besides, you know how different Kai is compared to kids of his age. His way of looking at the world is... different."

Garin's smile returned, this time tinged with something deeper—pride, perhaps, or a quiet acknowledgment. "He is. And that's more of a reason for keeping the truth from him."

He paused, taking a deep breath. "Let's just let him grow into the person he was meant to be. We cannot allow the past to be the one dragging him down."

There was a pause, and the only sound was the distant rustling of the trees. Then Garin turned to Myra, his voice gentle. "And you? Are you feeling burdened by the task they left us? By what they asked of us?"

At that, Myra shuddered, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. Her expression, so often fierce and commanding, faltered. "To be honest, yes," she said. "However, you know as well as I do... We could never..."

She trailed off, her gaze hardening again. "No matter how strong we are, we would never dare go against their wish."

Garin's chuckle broke the tension, a warm and familiar sound that seemed to carry away some of the weight in the air. "Of course," he said lightly.

"You're braver than most, Myra, but even you have your limits. Besides," he added, glancing toward Kairon's room with a knowing smile, "I think he's already starting to take after him."

Myra stiffened at those words, her eyes narrowing slightly. But after a moment, she nodded, her expression softening. "Yes," she said quietly. "He is."

The two of them stood there in complete silence for a moment. There was too much for them to take on at that moment. But a promise is a promise. To them, this was more of a responsibility.

Kairon, who was inside the hut, slept soundly. He was unaware of the secrets surrounding him. That was not all. There was something, a legacy, waiting for him in the world, outside.

Both Garin and Myra suddenly turned toward the eastern gate, their gazes sharp and unyielding.

The breeze had stilled, the quiet of the night now laden with something heavier. Myra's eyes narrowed.

"They're testing the borders again," she said, her voice low. She tilted her head toward Garin, her expression firm. "Go. I don't want to dirty my hands with blood tonight."

Garin let out a soft chuckle, his usual smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You always make it sound like I enjoy it," he said lightly.

Myra didn't respond immediately. She stepped closer, her tone soft but no less commanding. "And remember, don't completely wipe them out. Kill the hostile ones only."

With a nod, Garin reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring. It was a black ring, unadorned save for the faint symbol of a horse etched into its surface. Without hesitation, he slipped it onto his finger.

As soon as the ring clicked into place, the air around him shifted. His entire frame seemed to hum with energy, his smile never faltering. "Understood," he said simply, and then he was gone.

A blur of motion and a sudden gust of wind swept past Myra, rustling her hair as Garin sped toward the eastern gate.

The guards on duty near the gate stood idly on their wooden platform, leaning on their spears as they scanned the shadowed forest beyond.

The night had been quiet so far, though they'd learned not to trust such stillness. One of them, a young man named Bram, let out a low sigh.

"Feels like it's been forever since anything happened," he said, his voice breaking the silence.

"Forever?" his companion, Dren, replied with a raised eyebrow. "It's only been a few days since we felt that… you know."

Bram shuddered. "Yeah, that. The wind, right? Like something brushing past you, but—"

Suddenly, without Bram being able to finish his words, both of them felt the sudden gust of wind sweep past them.

"Like this? Too fast to see," Dren finished, nodding. "I don't like talking about it."

Before either of them could say more, a low growl rumbled from the forest, deep and guttural. The sound froze them in place, their hands tightening around their spears.

The darkness beyond the gate seemed to shift, the faint rustle of leaves sending a chill up their spines.

"Do you hear that?" Bram whispered, his voice trembling.

"I do," Dren said, his eyes darting toward the trees. "That's no ordinary animal. That's a beast."

"Not one but… many beasts," added Bram.

The growl grew louder, closer, until it sounded as if the very shadows were growling back at them. But before they could feel the full weight of fear settled into their chests, the growl was abruptly cut off.

A new sound filled the air—a pitiful whimper, sharp and fleeting, followed by the unmistakable death cry of a beast.

And then silence.

Both Bram and Dren looked at each other. Their pale faces could be seen clearly in the moonlight. "How come? It's gone?" Bram asked. His voice was trembling in disbelief.

"What happened?" asked Bram in disbelief.

That was when another gust of wind swept past them. It was not that strong, but it managed to rustle their cloaks and make them stumble slightly.

The two of them looked around frantically. But... there was no sign of anyone—or anything. "The God of Wind," Dren muttered, dropping to his knees.

Bram hesitated, then followed suit, kowtowing toward the forest. "Thank the heavens," he whispered. "The God of Wind has saved us again."

They remained there, heads bowed, their gratitude spilling into quiet prayers. Neither of them saw the faint silhouette of Garin returning to the village, the black ring on his finger glinting faintly in the moonlight.

Garin returned quietly, his steps almost soundless as he approached the hut. Myra was still waiting outside, her arms crossed as her sharp eyes scanned the darkness beyond the village.

She didn't startle when he appeared; she had heard the faint shift in the breeze that always accompanied him.

"Back already?" she asked, her tone calm but expectant.

"Quick work," Garin said with a faint smile, slipping the black ring from his finger and tucking it into his pocket. "It was just a Lower Level Earth Bear. Nothing to worry about."

Myra arched an eyebrow. "Lower Level or not, it's still an Earth Bear. If you'd underestimated it…" She trailed off, her gaze flicking toward the distant forest.

"I didn't," Garin said, his voice steady. "But I'll admit, using the ring felt like overkill this time."

Myra turned to him, her expression firm. "It's not—it's common sense. We can't afford to take any risk. Not now, not ever. Underestimating beasts is what gets people killed."

Garin's smile faded slightly, replaced by a more serious expression. "I know," he said quietly. "You're right. We can't fall into the same trap twice."

Myra's eyes softened for a moment. Her voice maintained its resolute tone. "And it's not just about staying alive. We should wield the power once in a while.

She paused before adding, "You've seen what happens when a ring sits idle for too long. Better to keep the bond strong than risk losing control when we need it most."

Garin nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "You're right again. It's been a while since I've really used it."

"Good," Myra said simply, turning back toward the hut. "Now, let's get inside before Kairon wakes up and starts asking more questions. I'm in no mood to dodge his curiosity tonight."

Garin chuckled softly as he followed her inside. "You mean you don't enjoy his detective streak?"

Myra shot him a look over her shoulder, but there was a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Not tonight, Garin. Not tonight."