Boundless Evolution: The Summoning Beast

The night pressed down heavy upon the borderlands, a black veil broken only by the pale light of the moon.

Step... step... step...

Bennet moved fast, his boots whispering across the uneven ground, cloak flowing behind him as if the darkness itself had chosen to follow.

His eyes flicked constantly across the terrain—every boulder, every ridge, every shallow ditch. He watched the way the land shifted beneath his stride, how tufts of grass bent in the breeze, how the scent of earth clung thick in the stillness of night.

Each sound sharpened his senses—the cry of an owl, the rustle of a hare vanishing into brush.

Nothing was out of place, yet everything felt waiting, undecided.

'The land breathes, but shallowly,' he thought, 'It's caught between calm and storm, like a man waiting for a verdict.'

He walked on, crossing patches of rough soil where roots cracked the earth, then stretches where the ground turned soft with lingering dew.

His mind turned as steady as his steps, 'Every mile I cover is a thread pulled tighter. Kieran better be alive, or all of this is for nothing.'

A flicker of memory pulled him from the present at that moment. He remembered a night at the academy's courtyard, when Seraphina had joined him and Kieran beneath the lantern glow.

Kieran's voice had been smug and teasing as always: "If you can't walk through the front door, Benny, you just wait until the cook blinks—then you slip straight into the kitchen before he even knows you were there. That's how you get the best bread rolls."

Seraphina had laughed, shaking her head, saying, "One day, Kieran, your mouth is going to get you locked out of every hall in the kingdom."

She had stood with arms crossed but her eyes were warm, amused.

Kieran only leaned back on the courtyard bench, smirking as he flicked a pebble across the stones, "And when that day comes, I'll just find another way in. Might even dig a tunnel beneath the whole academy. Isn't that right, Benny?"

Bennet had rolled his eyes, exhaling sharply. "You'd probably enjoy the punishment just to prove your point."

Seraphina laughed again, the sound carrying lightly under the lantern glow. Bennet remembered the way it softened the evening, how it cut through Kieran's cocky grin and made the night feel easier, safer.

The memory tugged at him now, a fragment of warmth in a night otherwise sharpened by danger.

His lips twitched into something like a smile before he shoved the thought aside.

Sentiment had no place out here.

'But damn you, Kieran. Even half a world away from safety, I can still hear you smirking in my head—and Seraphina's laughter reminding me you were never entirely wrong.'

At last, the horizon shifted.

Through thinning trees and rising ground, the faint glow of lanterns shimmered ahead.

Bennet slowed, drawing in the sight. The village of Razi finally crept into view, modest against the darkness but alive with signs of habitation.

From the ridge above, it looked like any other modest village. Wooden homes stood upright, lanterns glowed warm in windows, smoke curled faintly from chimneys. Children's toys sat scattered near stoops, and the faint sound of a lute carried from an open window.

It looked peaceful, almost inviting, but Bennet felt the weight of uncertainty pressing beneath it.

Two guards flanked the northern gate, their armor bearing Zavareth's crimson sigil. Their posture wasn't openly hostile, but it wasn't careless either—it was the stance of men told to be ready without asking why.

Bennet pulled his scarf tighter, lowered his chin, and hunched his shoulders.

No commander tonight. No noble descent. Just another weary pilgrim among many.

He shuffled forward.

One guard lifted a hand, "Papers."

Bennet produced the forged documents, keeping his head bowed. His pulse ticked faster, though his face stayed slack.

'Their tone isn't hostile, but they're weighing me,' he thought, 'They're watching for the wrong twitch, the nervous breath. Hold steady, Valen.'

The other guard eyed him, voice sharp, "What's your business here, traveler?"

"Passing through," Bennet murmured, voice low and tired, "Seeking rest until dawn."

The two exchanged a glance, weighing him in silence.

At last they nodded, handing back the papers, "Stay out of trouble. Razi doesn't welcome strangers who stir things."

Bennet dipped his head further, hiding the spark in his eyes, and melted past them.

Inside, the village lived as villages did. It was no ghost town.

Men carried buckets of water, women lingered to barter, a pair of youths argued over dice near the tavern door.

But Bennet's trained eye read the subtler rhythms.

Conversations carried on, yet villagers glanced twice before finishing their words. Guards at the gate and in the lanes moved with quiet readiness, not hostile but prepared for orders that had not yet come.

Even a barking dog fell suddenly quiet when a soldier passed.

'It wears the mask of peace,' Bennet thought, 'but it's the kind where people breathe shallow, waiting for news that could change everything.'

He scanned the pattern of streets carefully, taking in every corner, every flicker of lantern light. A cart creaked slowly through the square, its wheels groaning, the driver staring forward too intently.

A woman bent at the well, yet her eyes flicked at the armoured men nearby before she pulled the rope. Children darted behind doorways and windows, their laughter light but always brief, as if they listened for something beneath it.

Life continued, but Bennet could feel the edge of it—the uncertainty in each conversation, the way voices dipped when patrols passed, the small hesitation before a smile.

He studied the tavern closely, noting how laughter inside rose too quickly, too loudly, only to cut off whenever boots scraped the threshold.

'Not ruin,' he thought, 'but the fear of ruin hovering overhead.'

He walked with the slow, dragging steps of a tired man, but his eyes worked ceaselessly, sweeping the alleys and rooftops.

He noticed a man carrying tools home stop mid-step when two soldiers turned the corner, pretending to adjust his grip until they passed.

A shutter creaked open just enough for someone to peer out, then snapped shut.

A dog nosed along the street, ears flat, tail low.

'I should go and find Kieran fast and get out of here...'

He caught the chalk mark scrawled crookedly on a fence post—too deliberate to be chance.

A lantern turned toward the wrong street. A raven feather wedged into the beams of a shrine. Signs that would mean nothing to most, but to him they shouted clearly. Kieran's signals.

Relief pressed at Bennet's chest, but urgency smothered it, 'These marks are clever, but they stand out to those who know to look. Kieran, you've never been subtle enough for your own good.'

He passed a group of villagers clustered near the square.

One muttered something low, another shushed him quickly, their eyes flicking to Bennet before darting away.

He turned his face down, heart steady as he bowed lightly towards the villagers before continuing.

He followed the subtle signs one after another, weaving through alleys and past dim lanterns, his senses straining with every step. The chalk marks led him from street to street, the misplaced lantern directed him southward, and the raven feather guided him further still.

Each clue narrowed his path until at last, at the ruins of an old mill, he found the final signal: a strip of cloth tied inside-out to a post, fluttering in the night breeze.

Bennet exhaled once, steadying himself.

He crouched to touch it—

—and froze.

The hair on his neck bristled. The tavern in the distance behind him still roared, soldiers still patrolled, but the rhythm of the night had shifted.

Boots struck stone in closer rhythm. His hand slid to his dagger. Eyes... Someone's eyes are on me.

A shadow stirred as he turned down an alley.

A boy, twelve at most, lingered there. His eyes darted, wide and restless, but in his hand, a coin pouch gleamed faintly.

Bennet slowed, studying him.

The boy's clothes were patched, his cheeks hollow, but his eyes were sharp with a survivor's instinct.

'So they use children too,' Bennet thought, bitterness seeping into his chest, 'Uncertainty is its own currency, and even a boy can be bought.'

The boy stiffened, realising that he had been caught and hurriedly turned as if to flee, but Bennet's hand moved faster.

He produced a small scrap of bread from his pouch, still faintly warm, and pressed it into the boy's palm, closing his fingers gently over it.

The boy blinked, stunned by the gesture, and Bennet's voice dropped to a whisper edged with steel, "You saw nothing. Understand?"

The boy's gaze locked with his. For a heartbeat, Bennet read defiance there—then hunger won.

The boy's shoulders slumped. He pocketed the bread, trembling, and slipped back into the dark.

'That's all it takes here—bread over coin. Hunger stronger than fear, but both are chains tied around their necks,' Bennet let out a slow breath, 'Every alley has ears. Even in a place that looks normal, nothing escapes notice.'

He didn't linger. Pulling his cloak tighter, he moved quickly between narrow lanes.

The tavern bell rang once in the distance, laughter spilled again, and still he felt the gaze of unseen eyes track him.

He pushed past, keeping to shadows until he reached the half-collapsed barn crouched on the edge of the fields. His knuckles rapped twice, then three times.

He waited, each second stretching long.

"Bennet?" a whisper at last.

Relief burned in his chest, "Kieran."

The door creaked open. He slid inside, shoulders tight, every sense still alert.