Wraithwood Botanist

Now, he found himself in an upscale restaurant with a strange atmosphere. Waitresses walked with fur coats and shorts, classy enough to feel upscale—skimpy enough to leave Aiden unsure where to look. So he focused on the exotic animals that were walking around the restaurant like it was a cat cafe, creating a surreal atmosphere.

Everen definitely chose this location to appeal to Aiden’s love for animals.

"It’s a shame these heathens are so speciesist," Everan remarked. "Just down the way, there’s women walking around with tails and fluffy ears. Would’ve made this place complete. Don’cha think?"

Aiden quickly looked away. He was glad that he hadn’t run into one of those women. He was bad with people and good with animals, but he didn’t think such people would be animals, and treating them like animals would be wrong. So he didn’t know how to approach them and felt mildly horrible, even considering whether he should treat them like anim—

"Hey, calm down guy," Everan chuckled, teasing out his anxiety. "Talked to one earlier. 100% human. Put’a hood over their head and you’d never know. Sharp and eager to please as usual."

Aiden got a whole lot of information from that one sentence.

"Look… Everen. If you’re looking to get in on me flying over that gate… it’s not happening. The only beast getting there’s that vraxle, and it’s not willing to fly. And to be honest, I don’t want to risk my life for some random person. It’s just not worth it."

Everan smirked. "Listen, Aiden… victory… isn’t about money. It’s not about prestige. It’s... different for everyone. Normal people want to be famous. Famous people want to live normal lives. Some mothers want to raise the happiest kids—some fathers want to raise the most successful. But in all cases, people have goals—something that defines their victory. What about you, Aiden? What do you want?"

Aiden’s eyes glided to the left in thought. He knew what Everan was doing, but he felt compelled to determine that question. What did he want? He didn’t know—he never knew.

"See?" Everan said after the pause. "Most people never find that answer, so they die feeling unfulfilled—filled with regret. But once they find that… it fills their calling and makes their life blossom."

Aiden swallowed. "What do you want?"

Everan smirked and looked at the waitress, following her figure for a moment with his eyes, flashing her a smile once he was "caught." She smiled and eyed him up and down and sauntered off, genuinely interested—not just being nice as a waitress. Aiden watched in fascination, wondering what allure women found in such controversial behavior. Everen was good-looking and well-dressed—but still.

Everan made eye contact with Aiden with a slight smile. "Freedom."

"Huh?" Aiden snapped back to focus, furrowing his brow. "Aren’t you free?"

"No. None of us are free. There’s laws and rules and property. Yet money opens nearly every door imaginable. It gives you the freedom to do just about anything." Everan lifted in and dropped his eyebrows before looking away. "Not that this place even needs money. Savages let you kill each other, and killin’ a peaceful gets you what… a year suspension of the Guide? A light sentence? I hear people here go on rampages then get absorbed as bruisers for the families. It’s rather disturbing, if you ask me."

Aiden shivered at the casualness with which Everan spoke of such things. His tone didn’t say that the teen was a serial killer—but someone who was just obsessed with power and wealth and glory. He wanted to own the world.

"The question is, what do you want?" Everan accepted a plate of food from the waitress, flashing her a smile and thanking her. Then he looked at Aiden. "Surely there was something in your trial that you could use powerful requests on. Healing magic. Communication spells. Flying…" He smiled at Aiden’s lighting expression as if he knew it all along. "Flying," he said. "To own the skies… imagine what it would be like to roam this world without limitations… to be free."

Aiden did imagine it and it made his ribs rattle like hands on a chain link fence.

"It… doesn’t matter," Aiden said. "It’s not willing to fly."

Everan smiled. "We’ll see about that."

Brexton walked to the front of the Cursed Aviary with his hands in his pockets. The guards tried to lock him out, but he flashed his Skieva tattoo, and five nervous, groveling aviary officials materialized out of nowhere as if by magic, opening up the gates and getting the warden for a private tour. Then he walked through the halls to a certain chamber on a certain mission—for a certain price.

3.

Once things calmed down, Aiden returned home and spent time with his pets for the first time in what felt like forever. He had quite a few, including two cats, a dog, a cockatiel, two rabbits that would soon be eight (judging by Lindy’s swollen belly), and a boa constrictor. He released all of them into his room and said sorry for leaving them with caretakers for so long. Naturally, he did this at separate times, as a snake was a snake, and snakes would eat baby bunnies whole.

He did consider what would happen if he did release them all at once. He imagined that the constrictor would try to kill his rabbits while his brown and white Border Collie, Remy, tried to save them. His cats, Layla and Tiny, would probably just watch from the top of his surprisingly elaborate leather couch, wondering if they should join the snake.

His cockatiel would screech on.

He loved them so much and he felt like he wondered if he could make them immortal so they could live together forever.

Reemada had its advantages.

Yet he felt trapped—by Everen and Brexton and the whole damn world. That, and he found himself dreaming more and more about flying—and Everen made it worse. He wormed into Aiden’s head like a parasite, painting a picture of the skies.

Aiden didn’t agree to do it. Not at first. Instead, he tried to leave and walk back to his house at night, but he was spotted on the street, and ten minutes later he was swarmed with people as if they were watching him all along. People in Theovale had scrying mirrors that were similar to FaceTime, face-to-face chatting between individuals, and they spread the news quickly. It was a reminder that advanced technology was allowed if it used magic as the driving force. It was fascinating—

—and inconvenient for him.

Brexton showed up out of nowhere, saving him and claiming his ears reached everyone. He took Aiden to an underground gambling den where Aiden nursed a whiskey sour as Brexton dealt with a group who brought in a beat-up man who was screaming for revenge.

It wasn’t a good look.

Brexton was a syndicate member—plain and simple.

"Relax," Brexton said as he picked up from the bar and walked him to a back room.

"Could you be relaxed right now?" Aiden asked, staring into the private room warily. It was like a karaoke room, with two leather couches, a table, and a bar with drinks.

"I would if I had a contract with me," Brexton said, blocking out the sound of the live band as he closed the room.

"Contract."

"Yeah. Contract. They work just like spirit beast contracts. Once you say something under oath, you can’t scam someone afterward. Get a good one, and Everen will be paying you for life."

"Why are you telling me this?" Aiden said. "No offense but…" He bit back his words.

"We make a living off exploiting people?" Brexton mused.

Aiden winced and looked away.

Brexton took a drink and shivered, grinning and exhaling. "Yeeeeeeep. That’s what we do. But. We only exploit certain things. Desperation. Addiction. Vice. A desire to have a good time. Avenues to get revenge. We thrive on these things—and the government and families allow it—within reason. There’s things we can do, and things we can’t. And one of the things we can’t do is sell resources. That’s the Melhan’s territory."

Aiden’s eyes widened. "Wait… Then what are you doing here?"

"Providing security." Brexton leaned back. "See… we can’t sell goods, but Everen can. But the thing about Everen is that if he wants to sell something, his competitors will cut off his trade routes, undercut him, and swallow him whole. And since he doesn’t want to give up 80% of his profit to the Melhan or a Middle Family, he came to us. Now, we’re providing security, information, protection, and connections to let him operate. But you see… that’s why I can tell you this."

Aiden leaned in. "What do you mean?"

Brexton took a drink and leaned forward, wrists on his knees. "I get paid no matter what. So I don’t gotta problem helping you undercut that loser." He grinned and leaned back. "He’ll be effective either way. So why don’t we bleed ’em dry?"

Aiden looked away. "I don’t want to bleed ’em dry. I don’t care about business or selling or… anything."

Brexton’s eyes glinted with a sinister light, and the atmosphere changed. "Well that’s too bad. See, unless you haven’t noticed, everyone’s gonna hound you—and they’re going to keep hounding you—forever. They’ll hunt you down. Rob you. Force you into an agreement. This isn’t going away, Aiden."

"What? How is this even fair?"

Brexton shrugged. "It’s not. Life’s not fair. I doubt Mira wanted to go to a death forest, but here we are."

Aiden trembled and stared at the table.

"But…" Brexton said. "Everen paid a pretty penny to get our aid. Now I’m here to protect you. So let’s talk. I’ll help you negotiate an iron deal with that leech and all’ll be good. In six months, you’ll be a beast taming millionaire."

Aiden finished his drink and spoke and then they met with Everen. Everen was not happy about the contract, proving that Brexton wasn’t lying about it. Despite that, the contract went through anyway.

They shook hands and slept.

The next day, they took a train to the Areswood Forest for the Trial of Survival, switching to a carriage in Restam and moving into the Second Ring.

Everen looked refreshed by that point, but Brexton still looked like a trainwreck, sipping on a flask as if it were life support—avoiding the sunlight.

Everan pinched the curtains open, a bright ray reflected off the glass and threatened to blind the group. Brexton hissed and looked away, sending a warning glance.

"It’s strange," Everen said.

"What’s strange?" Brexton asked dryly.

"To see you out here. I thought your kind were like vampires."

"What’s a vampire?"

"Someone who feeds at night and burns in daylight."

"Sounds about right…" Brexton unscrewed a fancy flask slowly. "Paradiso’s blessing doesn’t reach this one till sunset." He drank and exhaled and wiped his mouth. "But business is business."

Everan snorted slightly, and Aiden looked at the flask. It was permanently glued to his hands and sipped on religiously. It was unhealthy.

It was still surreal to see a gangster, a businessman, and a beast tamer in the same cart, and it made Aiden feel like he had made bad bets and owed the wrong people money.

Pushing the thought aside, he reviewed his legacy quest.

—---

Neophyte Aiden Roe has been offered a new Legacy Quest.

Legacy Quest: Curse Tamer

Summary: Well, look at you, you little demigod seducer, you! You just went from contracting a worker spirit beast to a cursed demigod in three days. You’re on a roll—so let’s turn it up a notch. There’s a spicy sitch brewin’ in the Fourth Ring, and we need a courier who can bring goods between here and there. Unfortunately, everyone about to take the request is about to die during the tryouts. :(

That’s where you come in! Tame a cursed avian in the third ring and drop off packages if / when they come in. If you do, you’ll get a request equal to the packages you drop up. And lemme tell you—they’re tasty.

Duration: N/A

Requirement(s):

Make a contract with a cursed bird to drop off supplies in the fourth ring.

Take the courier trial.

Drop off supplies in the fourth ring.

Rewards:

Legacy offer.

A beast taming skill (epic).

Rewards equal the highest request used by the neophyte in the Fourth Ring for successful deliveries.

Warning: Couriers are punished for failed deliveries. The punishment for failed deliveries is designated at the beginning of each drop.

—---

I don’t needa take it now… Aiden thought. Just observe. See what it’s like… decide then.

Suddenly, Aiden could hear a large crowd as the carriage slowed. They had passed through two gates, and the long lines told them they were almost there.

The driver spoke with some people, and they navigated off the path to a special unloading area.

"Listen, guy," Brexton said when they stopped. "If anyone asks, you’re our guy. If they ask more, blow ’em off. They get hot, they get dead. That’s the importance of sayin’ you’re with the Claustra first, not second or third. First. After that, you can be however rude you want—’s long as they’re not a Legacy."

"How do I know if someone’s a legacy?"

Brexton looked at Aiden with a slight smile. "Oh, you’ll know."

The door opened, bringing sun and sound in waves. People were cheering. Aiden looked up and saw black silhouettes of gigantic birds shooting across the skies in circles as large crowds made bets. One suddenly turned and shot forward toward the other, moving at a speed Aiden could barely see.

Boom! There wasn’t a sound when the two collided, but his mind created one when the other large beast crashed off a few hundred feet, tumbling before the bird righted itself. By that point, the rider was dangling from the reins.

For a moment, the crowd gasped as the individual dangled like a swing moving in the breeze. Then the woman (he could see now that she was a woman by her figure) started climbing up—only for the other bird to swoop in and bite her out of the air at surreal speed, sending a trail of black blood flying out in an arc as the two birds flew in different directions.

"W-Why the hell did they do that?" Aiden asked. Competition, sure—but he couldn’t understand why the woman needed to be eaten! She had already lost!

Everan snorted and smirked and swept his gaze at the cheering crowd. "What? You think these people came here to watch people succeed?"

Aiden turned and saw Galfer’s Gate, as large and looming as ever. Yet the wall around it was now marred by projected images, showing the POVs of different fliers and over the wall. This wasn’t an event. It wasn’t a quest. This was a gladiatorial death match in some dark and ancient colosseum.

"This’s is messed up…"

"Then take their place," Brexton said dryly. "Who knows how many idiots you’ll spare by accepting your fate."

"You think I’m joinin’ them?"

"Relax guy. If you go up there, no one’s gonna touch you. Claustra’s guy, remember? If they even roar at you, the Claustra will cut up their whole family. No one’s fucking around."

That was worse.

"Here," Brexton said, passing the flask. "If you continue on like this, you won’t make it a minute."

"I don’t day drink."

"It’s not alcohol."

Aiden eyed the flask suspiciously, shaking it. It sloshed about. Half full. If he hadn’t watched Brexton drink it nonstop for the last three hours, he would find it suspicious, but he did. Brexton hadn’t ever put it down, keeping it out in front of all these professionals. Moreover, he was awake, articulate, and normal sounding.

"Then what is it?"

Brexton shrugged. "Something you drink when you wanna take the edge off but you still have work to do, you know? Kinda like… what are you guys always asking for… coffin?"

"Coffee?"

Brexton snapped his fingers. "That’s the one. Been here two weeks, but you won’t shut up about it."

"And this’s like coffee?"

"Kinda. It’s work juice. Makes the long grind bearable."

Aiden opened up the flask and smelled it. It smelled like citrus syrup with the consistency of sweet tea. He hesitated. Then he drank.