Rain pelted down like the wrath of the gods, drenching everything in its path. A thick blanket of grey smog clung to the charred remnants of what used to be a city block. Flames flickered in the distance, screaming red and orange into the steel-colored sky. Gunfire crackled not far off—sharp, precise, methodical. Blood soaked the ground. Bodies were strewn across collapsed concrete, twisted metal, and shattered glass. It was a battlefield, no longer bound by reason or cause—just desperation and death.
In the heart of this chaos, a man crouched behind a half-destroyed tank, sweat mingling with the rain on his brow. His name was Kael.
Age: 25
Unit: Black Seraph Division—classified
Status: Engaged in a high-risk suicide mission to breach enemy lines and dismantle an experimental weapon.
Outcome: Expected failure.
He clutched his rifle tighter, breath heavy, heart thudding like a war drum in his chest. His brown eyes scanned the smoke-stained horizon, catching flashes of muzzle fire. His squad was scattered—some already dead, others trapped. The plan had failed.
No extraction.
No air support.
No command.
Kael's mind raced, replaying every choice that led to this moment. He had served with loyalty—zealous loyalty. But he had grown strong. Too strong. And that strength was now deemed a threat.
The betrayal didn't come with fanfare. It came with silence. With turned backs and encrypted comms that excluded him. With friendly fire that wasn't accidental.
His blood boiled. The very country he bled for now left him to rot in a warzone.
A sharp cry ripped through the comm—private channel.
> "Kael, it's a trap! It's—"bzzzzz static the line was cut
He knew.
He had known for hours now—ever since the lieutenant gave him that grim smile before deployment.
A bomb detonated a few meters ahead. The shockwave flung him into the air. His vision blurred. Ears ringing. Lungs burning from the force. He landed hard, body screaming in pain. His rifle skittered away, swallowed by debris.
Everything slowed.
The chaos became a blur.
The noise dulled into a haunting silence.
Above, the clouds parted for a brief second, revealing a sliver of moonlight.
He coughed blood.
His limbs felt heavy.
He lay there, waiting for death.
But death didn't come.
Instead, there was darkness. Pure, silent, suffocating darkness.
He felt cold.
Then… warmth.
A voice whispered:...o heir of crimson ..he couldn't tell what it said before
A searing pain exploded in his head. His entire being trembled. Flashes. Visions. A name. A face. Memories that weren't his clawed their way into his consciousness—an estate, a castle, a child, betrayal, a barony burned to ash.
He gasped, eyes flying open.
He was in a classroom.
Wooden desks. Tall, arched windows. A magical chalkboard displaying glowing script. Students in navy-blue uniforms sat around him—some bored, others whispering, a few asleep.
His head throbbed.
He looked down.
His hands. Small. Pale. Soft.
Not a soldier's hands.
A boy's hands.
Panic surged through him, but he steadied himself. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply.
Then it hit him—the wave of memories.
This boy... was the last heir of the Crimson Barony. A territory once lush with crimson forests and sapphire rivers, now reduced to a mere village after the purge. The boy's father, Baron Lucien Crimson, had been a man of strength and ideals. Respected. Revered. Too revered.
And so, he was betrayed—by the very court that had once knelt before him.
Framed for treason. Executed.
The boy, now him, had been spared—barely. Stripped of status. His inheritance stolen. His lands seized. Only his mother remained, shattered but proud.
And now….. he was this boy now ..He was surprised to find they shared the same name—Keane.
His blood boiled remembering the betrayal he faced—and now, that of his father.
But it didn't matter.
He was Crimson now.
And Crimson always paid back—gratitude and vengeance alike.
"Alright, class," a deep voice broke the fog. "As you all know, in five days, the Awakening Ceremony will take place. Prepare yourselves well. This is your only shot at a Beast Pact."
The Awakening Ceremony.
Right. He knew of it now.
This world was not the world he knew.
A thousand years ago, the sky cracked.
Some say it was a punishment. Others, a gift.
No one truly knows why the Cataclysm began—only that it tore the world open. Split the earth. Poisoned the seas. Drowned the stars in violet flame.
From the rift, something poured into the world. Not water. Not fire. Not blood.
Energy..pure. Unfiltered. Alien energy..And the world changed..trees grew fangs. Wolves gained horns. Fish walked. Crows learned speech. Lions breathed lightning. The fauna were no longer just animals. They became something else—Beasts. Magical, instinctive, chaotic. Some devoured cities. Others built them.
And soon, humanity followed.mankind caught up to the new world the only way it knew how through struggle. The strongest carved kingdoms. The clever bred legacies.
After being reduced to less than 10 percent the population humanity discovered way to contract with the beast restoring balance .This lead to the rise of the first beasttamers a legacy etched in history And the rest?..They survived.
That was a thousand years ago.
Now, the beasts are part of life.
From the window, Keane saw a silverback gorilla carrying heavy loads into trucks. Mastiffs patrolled alongside uniformed authorities. Eagles and other avians went toe to toe with modern-day planes. Silk moths dominated the fashion industry.
From his vintage location, he saw clearly how vital beasts had become in day-to-day life.
Every youth at fifteen would stand before the Primal Stone. It judged their soul and spirit affinity. If compatible, they would awaken their essence and form their first contract with a beast.
It was how this world measured worth.
Power.
Status.
Future.
Those who failed? Reduced to workers, servants… or worse.
The teacher droned on, but he wasn't listening.
His mind was elsewhere.
Today… was the anniversary.
His father's death.
The rain had stopped by the time he reached the hill.
The village below stretched in quiet simplicity—stone houses with moss-covered roofs, winding cobbled paths, oil lamps glowing softly in the evening dusk. Far in the distance, the forest shimmered crimson under the moonlight.
He stood alone, beneath a single ancient tree. A crude gravestone marked the resting place. Wildflowers grew around it—untouched. The breeze was gentle here.
He knelt.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there in time," he whispered.
The wind rustled the leaves like a sigh.
His mother had come earlier, laid a small wreath of white lilies. He gently adjusted it.
"I'll reclaim it all. I swear it. Everything they took from you. From us." Thunder rumbled distantly.
As he turned to leave, a glimmer caught his eye.
A strange light, deep in the woods...Blue. Faint. Pulsing..it felt... wrong..Or maybe right.
Drawn by instinct—or fate—he stepped into the undergrowth, brushing aside wet leaves and branches. The forest was alive. Insects chirped. Owls hooted. Shadows danced.
But the deeper he went, the quieter it became. The light grew brighter and brighter until he reached a clearing.
A shallow creek cut through the center, glowing with a strange, liquid-blue energy. It twisted and shimmered like a ribbon of starlight.
He approached slowly, heart pounding.
Something ancient stirred here.
And as he knelt beside the glowing stream, he felt it—something inside him trembled.
A voice, distant but familiar, echoed in his mind.
And then everything went black.