The path home had never felt so long. The cobblestone streets of the city center gradually gave way to packed dirt roads. Elegant buildings melted into increasingly humble houses until he reached the city’s edge, where his own small cabin stood, tilted and worn by the years. No, he corrected himself. It wasn’t even theirs anymore. His poor parents now had to rent the very house that had once been their own. He stopped at the door. The aroma escaping through the cracks made Leo’s stomach growl, a bitter betrayal. His parents were gifted cooks; it was the one thing that had kept them afloat all these years. Despite their low rank. With their mature Iron-rank plants—the lowest possible—they’d been incredibly fortunate to find work in even the city’s most modest kitchens. The owner was a good person, true, and didn’t discriminate, but their skill was the real reason they were accepted. It was undeniable. The smell of sweet root stew, Leo’s favorite, mingled with the scent of freshly baked bread. He stood there, hand hovering over the doorknob, the spore floating pathetically beside him. Through the grimy window, he could see his mother moving about the kitchen with a practiced grace, while his father carefully arranged the only three candles they had left on the table. They had prepared a feast, a celebration with what little they had. When he finally pushed the door open, the lump in his throat was so thick he could barely breathe. “Leo!” His mother turned a fraction of a second before his father. Their eyes found the small gray spore, and Leo watched the light of hope drain from their faces. Still, his mother wiped her hands on her apron and opened her arms. “My little tamer…” The tears Leo had held back for hours finally broke free, streaming down his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he stumbled inside, his voice cracking. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” “Oh, my child,” his mother said, wrapping him in a fierce hug. “It’s not your fault. It will never be your fault.” “You spent everything… sold everything… and I…” His father approached, his steps heavy with the day’s exhaustion. He knelt before Leo, placing his large, warm hands on the boy’s small shoulders. Leo looked up, his vision blurred with tears. “Remember when I burned an entire batch of bread last year?” his father asked. Leo nodded, confused. “And remember what we did?” “We… we cut it into cubes and made croutons.” “Exactly,” his father smiled, a sad, gentle thing. “Sometimes life doesn’t give you what you expect. But that doesn’t mean you can’t make something good with what you’re given.” “But I… the spore…” “It’s a part of you now,” his mother added softly. “And we love every part of you.” “Hey,” his father joined the embrace, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re our son. It doesn’t matter if you have a spore or a dragon…” But it did matter. Of course, it mattered. The dining room was small, but it was filled with love and the rich aroma of the best cooking on the outskirts. He tried, but he couldn’t enjoy it. His parents had scraped together everything they could: sweet root stew, fresh bread, and even a small bowl of wild berries for dessert. The three candles cast a warm glow across the table, a light so different from the spore’s dull, gray radiance. “Eat a little, darling,” his mother said, serving him a generous portion. “You’ve had a long day.” “I’m… I’m not hungry.” “Just one bite,” his father insisted. “Your mother spent hours on this.” But not even the smell of his favorite meal could cut through the bitter taste of failure. Leo pushed his chair back, fresh tears welling in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, before running to his room, the spore trailing him like a gray shadow of his guilt. “Leo!” his mother called after him. “At least take some bread!” The only answer was the sound of his door clicking shut. In the dining room, the three candles burned on, illuminating a table laden with food prepared with love and hope. His parents exchanged a look, the weight of their worry etched onto their tired faces. The afternoon’s attempts to coax him out were just as fruitless. “I’m not hungry,” he shouted when his mother knocked on his door with a tray. In the darkness of his room, the boy watched the weak, flickering light of his pathetic companion. In one week, he would have to face school. He would have to face the mockery, the contempt. One week to accept that his life would be exactly what everyone expected from someone bonded to the worst possible beast. In the small dining room, the candles illuminated the exhausted faces of two people who had just watched their last hope wither into a gray spore. The school contract lay on the table between them. It was mandatory. Once signed, he was bound to attend the Royal Academy of Beastcraft for eight years. There he would learn to strengthen his creature, develop its abilities, and become a true tamer. At one of the best schools, if not the very best. Or that was the plan. “Sixty years,” the father murmured. They were both sixty years old. Their own mature Iron-rank plants barely glowed at their wrists, granting them hair of interwoven leaves and vines, the meager result of a lifetime of limited cultivation. Their hands, chapped and worn from decades in the kitchens, trembled. “We sold everything for this. Everything.” His fingers traced the edge of the document they had signed just this Elara. The one that had cost them over one million crystals. The one they had worked their entire lives for. In their youth, they’d never had the resources to buy the secret techniques needed to evolve their beasts beyond their basic state. A simple forty percent increase in vitality and twenty percent to all attributes was all they received, but being mature plants allowed them to pass as Bronze 1—just enough standing to keep their jobs in the third-rate kitchens on the city’s outer ring. Luckily, the vitality bonus made them look and feel younger, like a couple in their forties. Today, however, nothing in their life felt lucky. “We sold everything for this,” the mother whispered, tears dripping onto her worn apron. “Everything so he could have a real chance. A good school. So his plant could grow to Bronze, evolve, and give him a better life than ours.” The school was expensive for a reason. Eight years of intensive training, access to cultivation techniques, resources for evolution, connections—everything needed to transform a common beast into something more. They had dreamed of something better for Leo. A rank that would let him walk the main streets without lowering his head. With a normal plant, Leo could have reached Bronze rank 2, boosting his vitality to eighty percent and his other attributes to forty. He might have even gotten a job in one of the city’s good kitchens, learning from them. “He can’t back out now,” the mother clutched the contract, her hands shaking as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. “The payment is made. The laws are clear. Every child with a beast must complete their basic education since they passed that law last year.” “If only I hadn’t gotten sick, we might have had enough… I was so close to buying the brown egg… But that cursed medicine was so expensive, I should have just di—” “Don’t say that! It’s not your fault. Leo wouldn’t have wanted that,” his mother cut in sharply. “Besides… maybe choosing the best and most expensive school… maybe that was just us being greedy.” “What have we done…”

Chapter 3: The Weight of Home