A Zoologist’s Guide to Surviving Magical Creatures

Not just facts on a page. Not diagrams or ancient footnotes in dusty tomes. Empathy. That's how you understand an Emperor War Beast.

That's how you survive one.

They weren't just born of chaos—they remembered it. They carried it. They chose to evolve, to ascend, not through power, but through pain. Through loss. Through choices so impossible, even the gods looked away.

And now… somehow… one of them had shared that with me.

I pressed a hand to my chest, grounding myself.

"If I could feel that—really feel what Nian felt—then maybe…" My voice wavered. "Maybe there's a way to reach them. To reason with them. Maybe not all of them are monsters waiting to tear the world apart."

Maybe they're just… grieving.

Trying to protect something no one understands.

I slumped back into the chair, heart still racing, but a flicker of hope lighting up inside me like a spark catching dry wood.

"Okay," I exhaled slowly, my fingers already flipping back to the page. "Let's see what secrets you're hiding, Nian. If you're willing to show me this much… then maybe I can do the same."

If I could touch Nian's soul, then maybe—just maybe—I could find a way to face Indrik too. Or even the others.

Not as a god. Not as a hero.

But as someone who sees them. Hears them. Feels them.

A bridge between what they were and what they've become.

Because if there's one thing I've learned since being dropped into this world, it's that strength doesn't always roar. Sometimes, it mourns. And maybe, just maybe, that's where healing starts.

Indrik's sorrow, Nian's isolation… those weren't just backstory. They were the key.

By the time I finished reading, a strange calm settled over me. Not the kind that told me everything was going to be fine—because, let's face it, I still had a mountain of problems and maybe ten hours of sleep debt—but the kind that told me I had direction.

I knew what I had to do next.

Study them. Learn from them. Respect them.

Use that knowledge like armor—and maybe, just maybe, turn the tide.

A slow grin tugged at my lips.

"Looks like riding Indrik and snapping a legendary selfie isn't so impossible after all," I muttered, picturing myself on the back of that aurora-scaled unicorn-beast, wind in my hair, Mythigram blowing up from every angle.

Hey, a guy can dream.

And if I play this right? That dream might just become strategy.

********

The office was quiet when I arrived, too early for my own good and far too early for anything resembling productivity. A low mist hung around the windows—ocean condensation, or maybe my own sleep-deprived breath fogging up the glass.

Either way, it was just me and the slow creak of the building settling into morning.

I dropped my bag by the desk and slumped into the chair, bones aching from more than just fatigue. I hadn't slept. Not really. I'd spent the night buried in texts that kept bleeding into visions—memories, maybe—until I couldn't tell what was mine anymore.

Lucky me—the place was empty.

Perfect.

I could sink into one of the beanbag chairs like a rotting vegetable and catch a quick forty winks before anyone decided to need me for something unreasonable. Like functioning.

I was just about to rest my eyes, just for a minute, when the door burst open.

Heim strode in like someone had injected sunlight directly into his bloodstream.

He froze when he saw me, eyes wide, nearly dropping the training hammer strapped across his back. For a second, I thought he was going to chuck his warhammer out of reflex.

"GODS!" he blurted. "Don't do that! You scared me! You look like you got hit by an angry rhinobeast in a mating season stampede!"

I gave him a slow blink and a side-glance that screamed: Heim, please, I don't have the emotional strength to unpack your entire personality today.

"No. I was reading."

Heim tilted his head like a confused golden retriever, narrowing his eyes as if I'd just admitted to licking cursed runes for fun. He blinked. Then frowned.

"Reading?" he echoed with the kind of suspicion usually reserved for criminal confessions. "That's worse."

I didn't respond. I didn't need to. I sank deeper into my chair, pulling my coat tighter around my shoulders like it might shield me from whatever Heim was about to do next.

Instead I yawned so wide I almost dislocated my jaw and waved him off. "Go bash something."

And bash he did. He didn't disappoint.

I tried to rest my eyelids—just for a moment—but then I heard the unmistakable sound of Heim dragging something heavy and deeply unholy across the floor.

I cracked one eye open.

He crossed to the training room—formerly our meeting space before it was unofficially declared a warhammer dojo—and began his morning routine. A few grunts. Some wrist stretches. Then, a rustle of parchment. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.

Heim was pinning something to the head of the old practice dummy.

"Heim," I croaked, squinting. "What are you pinning to the dummy's head?"

I leaned forward, blinking hard. "Is that… is that my face?"

He nodded, entirely unbothered. "You inspire me," he said simply, and swung.

The warhammer connected with a heavy thud. My paper-faced effigy recoiled like it had just said something offensive.

I groaned and rubbed the heel of my palm into my eye socket. "Must you?"

Another strike. This one more precise. More personal.

He glanced over his shoulder, offering a crooked grin. "Think of it as team-building."

I opened my mouth to argue—but the door creaked again. Agnos entered with the quiet calm of someone who chose mornings. Jiuge followed, sipping something from a cup that smelled suspiciously enchanted.

And just like that, Heim transformed.

He straightened. Rushed to Agnos's desk like a well-trained aide.

"Agnos!" he chirped, already speed-walking over. "Good morning! Here—let me get that for you!"

He yanked Agnos's chair out with the flourish of a trained butler, wiped down the desk with his fur sleeve like a show pony with manners, and even aligned the quills in a perfect fan formation. I swear, he was half a second away from offering him warm towels and tea.

I stared.

I wasn't even sure my jaw dropped—it just hung there in suspended disbelief.

Agnos didn't blink. He sat, unruffled, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve with the quiet dignity of a man who'd been treated like royalty his entire life.

"Heim," I said slowly, pointing toward the training dummy. "Five minutes ago, you were beating my face in with a hammer."

Agnos glanced up. "Therapeutic outlet."

I stared, slack-jawed. "What the—"

"You let him beat a dummy with my face," I muttered to Agnos as he settled into his throne-like office chair, completely unfazed.

"Mm," Agnos said mildly, adjusting a cufflink. "Therapy comes in many forms."

Jiuge snorted into her mug, already half-sprawled across the lounge sofa like this was the highlight of her day. "Honestly, Carl, consider yourself honored. Most people don't inspire that level of creative violence."

I dragged a hand down my face. "This place is unhinged."

Heim grinned at me over Agnos's shoulder and gave the dummy another whack for good measure. "You're my favorite training partner, Carl."

"That's not a compliment."

I leaned back in my chair, exhaling slow.

Let them keep their rituals.

"Fine. Whatever," I muttered, rubbing my temple. "Briefing's in thirty minutes. Don't be late."

That got their attention.

Jiuge's pink eyes lit up like I'd just announced a festival. Her fox tails flared behind her, practically vibrating with excitement. "Ooh! Do we finally have a new assignment? Something juicy? Something cursed?"

Even Agnos, who usually looked allergic to interest, perked up slightly. One ear twitched. Then the other.

Across the room, Heim froze mid-swing, his warhammer hovering inches from the dummy's face—my face. He lowered the weapon slowly, brows drawn, suddenly alert.

I let the pause stretch just long enough to enjoy the weight of their anticipation. Then I leaned forward and said it.

Silence. Thick. Heavy.

Then I smiled—slow, sharp.

"We're breaking into the Eternal Prison."