A Zoologist’s Guide to Surviving Magical Creatures

Seeing my silence, he pressed on.

"Do you know why mythical creatures exist?" Ricardo asked, his voice dripping with that smug, I'm about to change your entire worldview energy.

I crossed my arms.

"Oh, I don't know. Evolution? Ecosystem dynamics? Or wait, let me guess—magic?"

Ricardo smirked, all too pleased with himself.

"Exactly. It's magic. These creatures evolved through prolonged exposure to magical entities and elements. That's why they exist. And Mythica is overflowing with it—leylines, magical surges, ancient energies."

He made a vague, grandiose gesture, like magic was just some universal glitter casually sprinkled over the land.

I gave him a flat look. "Right. And?"

"We're not here to destroy them, Carl." His tone shifted to something patronizing, the way you'd talk to a child struggling with basic arithmetic. "We're here to restore them—to return them to their original animal forms. Their existence is a threat to humans and mortals."

My stomach clenched.

Something about this felt off.

Sure, some creatures in Mythica were dangerous—very dangerous—but that wasn't because they were magical. It was because they were alive. Any wild animal could be dangerous in the right circumstances. But here's the thing: a lot of these creatures weren't just acting on instinct anymore.

The magic didn't just change their bodies—it reshaped their intelligence. Their cultures. Their civilizations.

They could think. Learn. Adapt.

This wasn't some unnatural mutation that needed "correcting." This was evolution. Even on Earth, species changed over time, adapting to survive. The only difference? Here, magic played a part.

I took a steadying breath. "No." My voice came out firm, unwavering. "What you're doing—it's not restoration. It's genocide."

Ricardo's eyes flickered, but I didn't give him time to recover.

"These aren't mindless beasts," I continued. "They're sentient. They have societies. You don't get to play god just because their evolution doesn't fit your neat little definition of what's natural. Who gave you the right to interfere with an entire realm's development? Did these creatures invade Earth? Have they attacked humans?"

Ricardo hesitated.

I pressed harder. "No. Because they can't. They've existed in Mythica for eons, and they can't survive outside it. That's basic zoology. Magical or not, not all animals are able to thrive outside their natural habitats. Some don't even survive. That's just common sense."

Silence stretched between us, tense and heavy.

Ricardo's face hardened, but I caught it—the flicker of doubt.

Good. He should doubt.

Because if he thought I was going to stand by while he rewrote the laws of an entire world just to fit some half-baked ideology, he had another thing coming.

His expression darkened. Then, with a scoff, he said, "Maybe not now. But who's to say they won't in the future? The moment they realize resources are the key to survival, they'll act on instinct—expand their territory. It's only a matter of time."

I let out a sharp breath. "Right, and your brilliant plan is to commit mass extinction before they even think about it?"

I stepped closer, jabbing a finger at him. "If anything, your little 'fix' is what's going to push them toward Earth. If you destabilize Mythica, if you strip these creatures down to their primal instincts, what do you think happens next?" I leaned in, voice lowering.

"They migrate. They adapt. That's real survival instinct—not staying put, but evolving to overcome threats. And if you make them desperate? You don't stop them. You force them to find a new home."

I narrowed my eyes. "Did you even consider that? Or were you too busy patting yourself on the back for saving humanity from an imaginary threat?"

Ricardo said nothing.

His silence was answer enough.

I exhaled slowly, forcing my hands to unclench. "These are just excuses," I said, my voice steady but sharp.

"I know what the Theos really want. Control. They want to be the ones pulling the strings, dictating the fate of entire realms."

My gaze burned into his. "And as much as you believe in your so-called ideology, I believe in something else."

I gestured around us. "The creatures of Mythica—dangerous or not—are innocent. You have no right to pass judgment on them."

My blood boiled. Who were they to interfere in another realm's existence? Their goal wasn't even noble.

Preventing attacks on mortals? Please.

The creatures of Mythica weren't plotting war—they were still recovering from one. Still trying to piece their world back together. What they needed was stability, not extermination.

But these people? They weren't here to help. They were here to dismantle Mythica and carve it up for themselves, dressed up in the language of righteousness.

Not. Happening.

I was only just beginning to understand this world—its creatures, their habitats, the intricate ecosystems they depended on. And now? I had a responsibility.

Not just as a Zoologist. Not just as some outsider trying to survive.

I was an Interim Owner.

And as long as I held that title, Mythica wasn't going anywhere.

"I'm done here." My voice came out steadier than I expected, but my hands were clenched tight. "Baku will erase your memories. You won't remember coming here. You won't even remember me."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. I refused to cry—not now. Not for this.

"You're not my real father," I said, meeting his eyes. "But that never mattered to me. I always saw you as one. And I still do." My voice wavered, just for a second. I forced it steady. "So this… this is my last act as your son."

A beat of silence.

"If Mom were alive… if she knew what you were doing—" My breath hitched, but I pushed through. "She'd be disappointed in you, Dad."

There. I said it. The final cut.

I turned on my heel and walked away, not once looking back. I couldn't. If I did, I might hesitate. And right now? I didn't have time for that.

I had bigger problems to deal with than family drama.

Like the fact that somewhere out there, my real parents existed—and I was going to find them, one way or another.

But that was for later. Right now? I had magical creatures to rescue, a mystery to untangle, and a mission to complete—one that might just earn me that extra V in my status.

Not to mention, you know, surviving Mythica.

Because if I failed? If I couldn't save this world?

Then I wouldn't have a job to go back to. And let's be real—this place? This insane, magical, completely unpredictable realm?

It was the best damn use of my Zoology degree whether I liked it or not.

******

As I made my way back to the office, my mind was a tangled mess of thoughts.

There was so much I still didn't understand about Mythica, so much I needed to figure out. And just when I thought I was starting to make sense of it all, another piece of information blindsided me.

Back on Earth, zoology wasn't just about making snap judgments—we observed, formed hypotheses, ran experiments, and analyzed data before drawing conclusions. We studied patterns, behaviors, and ecosystems to understand the full picture.

And yet, here I was, running around Mythica like an over-caffeinated employee, reacting instead of thinking like I should.

I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose. Somewhere along the way, I'd let the sheer wonder of this place consume me. The magic, the chaos, the sheer insanity of it all—it had swept me up, made me forget my roots.

But after everything that just happened—finding out my entire family was a lie, realizing I was a Fragment Bearer (which Naga oh-so-casually dismissed with "You're more than that" because of course he did)—it was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head.

This wasn't a game. Mythica wasn't just a cool fantasy realm full of majestic creatures. This world was fragile, hanging on by a thread, and I was supposed to be helping it—not just gawking at it like some overenthusiastic tourist.

If I wanted to protect these creatures, if I wanted to save Mythica, then I had to stop getting distracted. I had to do what I did best—observe, analyze, and adapt.

That was what zoology had taught me. And it was about damn time I started acting like it.