I slept little that first night as family head. The city's silence pressed against the cracked windowpanes, broken only by the distant howl of a stray and the restless shifting of Fen at the foot of my bed. My mind replayed the council's words, the weight of their bowed heads, and the searing pain of the tattoo's transformation. I was Fenris now, for better or worse.
At dawn, Mira found me in the kitchen, hunched over a chipped mug of tea that had long since gone cold. She didn't say much—just pressed a key into my hand, her fingers lingering for a moment.
"Your father's room is yours now," she said quietly. "He… he kept things locked away. Maybe you'll find something useful."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Fen followed me up the narrow staircase, his claws clicking softly on the worn wood.
The door to my father's room was heavy, carved with the Fenris crest and battered by years of use. I hesitated, the key cold in my palm, then turned it in the lock. The door groaned open.
The room smelled of leather, old parchment, and the faintest trace of my father's cologne. Sunlight filtered through dusty curtains, illuminating shelves crammed with books, maps, and strange artifacts. A massive desk dominated the far wall, its surface littered with letters, half-finished notes, and a battered journal bound in dark hide.
I closed the door behind me and let Fen explore, his nose twitching as he sniffed at the corners. I ran my hand over the desk, tracing the grooves my father's pen had left in the wood. There was a heaviness here, a sense of unfinished business.
I sat, the old chair creaking beneath me, and opened the journal. My father's handwriting was sharp and hurried, the ink smudged in places. The first pages were filled with accounts—lists of debts, names of creditors, notes on the shrinking harvests and the ever-growing tax. But as I turned the pages, the tone shifted. He wrote of hope, of plans to restore the family, of alliances he'd tried to forge and the betrayals that followed.
One entry caught my eye:
If I fall, Lysar must know: the blood is not just a burden. There is power here, waiting to be claimed. The system is real. Trust it—but trust yourself more.
I closed the journal, heart pounding. The system. My tattoo tingled, as if in response.
SYSTEM ACTIVE. Good morning, Lysar Fenris.
The words shimmered in the air above the desk, invisible to anyone but me. I swallowed, glancing at Fen, who watched with quiet curiosity.
"Show me… what you can do," I whispered.
System Functions Available:
• Pet Evolution
• Status Monitoring
• Family Management
• Dimensional Storage: Pets
• Skill Synchronization
I blinked. "Skill Synchronization?"
When you and your bonded pet reach sufficient compatibility and training, you may access abilities related to your pet's elemental affinity. At higher levels, temporary fusion is possible. This is rare and requires exceptional trust and synchronization.
Fen cocked his head, as if understanding. I reached down, scratching behind his ears. "So if I train you—and myself—we both get stronger?"
Affirmative. Training, emotional bonding, and experience increase both user and pet potential. Would you like to view your current status?
"Yes," I said, curiosity outweighing my nerves.
Lysar Fenris: Status
• Bloodline: Fenris (Family Head)
• Pet Bonded: Fen (Wolf Pup, Element: Shadow/Neutral)
• Pet Level: 1
• Compatibility: 34%
• Available Skills: None
• Potential: High (Awakened Bloodline)
Fen: Status
• Species: Dimensional Wolf Pup
• Element: Shadow/Neutral
• Level: 1
• Loyalty: 82%
• Current Skills: None
• Rest State: Available (Dimensional Storage unlocked)
I exhaled, studying the numbers. "What about the elders? The other pets?"
Would you like to access Family Management?
"Yes."
A new window appeared, listing names—some I recognized from the council, others from whispered stories. Each had a pet listed beside their name, along with levels, elements, and loyalty scores. Most elders had pets at level 10 or higher, with elements like fire, earth, or wind. My father's name was still there, grayed out, his pet marked as "Deceased."
A pang of grief twisted in my chest. I scrolled further, noting that nearly every elder's pet was marked as "resting" in the dimensional space. I selected Mira's name.
Mira Fenris: Pet—Ember Fox (Element: Fire), Level 12, Loyalty: 97%
Impressive. I remembered seeing the fox at festivals, its fur glowing like embers in the dusk. Mira had always been strong, fiercely loyal, but she'd never spoken much about her bond.
I closed the menu, turning my attention back to the room. I opened drawers, finding old letters from rival families—Aurelius, Veyron, Valenhart—each one a mixture of veiled threats and false promises. My father had tried to bargain, to forge alliances, but the Fenris name had become a liability.
I found a small locked box at the back of the desk. The key was taped to the underside of the drawer, a trick my father had taught me as a child. Inside the box were three vials of swirling liquid, a silver ring inscribed with runes, and a folded scrap of parchment.
For emergencies only. Trust your instincts. The blood remembers.
I pocketed the ring and the vials, unsure what emergencies my father had foreseen, but certain I'd face them soon enough.
Fen nosed at the wardrobe, whining softly. I opened it, revealing a collection of old cloaks and armor. At the back hung my father's ceremonial coat, the Fenris crest stitched in silver thread. I hesitated, then shrugged it on. It was too big, the shoulders broad and heavy, but it felt right.
I stood before the cracked mirror, studying my reflection. The tattoo on my arm pulsed faintly beneath the sleeve, the runes shifting as if alive. I looked older, harder, than I had the day before.
Would you like to attempt Skill Synchronization?
I hesitated. "What does it require?"
Training session with bonded pet. Suggested activity: Shadow Walk (Beginner). Success increases compatibility and unlocks basic shadow affinity.
I nodded, turning to Fen. "Ready to try something new?"
He barked, tail wagging. I knelt, placing a hand on his head. The system guided me, whispering instructions only I could hear.
Close your eyes. Focus on your bond. Feel the shadow within.
I breathed deeply, letting my thoughts settle. I pictured Fen's dark fur, the way he melted into the night when he played in the garden. I felt a tug, gentle but insistent, pulling me into a place between light and darkness.
The room dimmed. Shadows stretched and pooled around us, cool and comforting. I opened my eyes and gasped—my hand was half-vanished, as if dissolving into smoke. Fen shimmered beside me, his outline flickering.
We held the connection for only a moment before the shadows snapped back, leaving us blinking in the morning light. My heart pounded, exhilarated and a little afraid.
Skill Synchronization: Partial Success. Shadow Affinity (Beginner) unlocked. Compatibility increased to 39%.
I grinned, ruffling Fen's fur. "We did it."
He barked again, triumphant.
I spent the next hours exploring the system's menus, learning about the dimensional storage—how I could send Fen to rest and recover, how the elders used it to keep their pets safe and healthy. I practiced the new skill, watching as my shadow lengthened and shifted at my command. It was clumsy, but it was a start.
By midday, hunger drove me downstairs. The kitchen was empty except for Mira, who was slicing bread with practiced efficiency. She glanced at me, eyes lingering on the coat and the tattoo visible at my wrist.
"You look like your father," she said quietly. "But different."
"I hope that's a good thing," I replied, accepting a plate of bread and cheese.
She smiled, tired but genuine. "It is. He was strong, but he carried too much alone. Don't make the same mistake."
I nodded, unsure how to respond. We ate in silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging between us.
After lunch, I returned to my father's room, determined to learn more. I sifted through his notes, piecing together the story of our downfall—the war my grandfather started, the arrogance that blinded him, the emperor's wrath, the loss of our lands. My father's desperate attempts to redeem our name, his final sacrifice on the battlefield.
I understood now why the council looked at me with such doubt. The Fenris legacy was a chain, heavy and rusted, and I was the last link.
But I also had something they never did—a system, a partner, and a chance to change everything.
As dusk fell, I stood at the window, watching the city below. The streets were quiet, but I could sense the undercurrent of fear and hope. The emperor's money would keep us afloat for a year, but after that, we'd be on our own.
I glanced at Fen, who lay curled on the rug, his eyes half-closed but alert.
"We have a lot of work to do," I said softly. "But I think we can do it."
He thumped his tail in agreement.
Goal updated: Restore the Fenris family. Time remaining: 364 days.
I smiled, determination hardening in my chest.
Let the world watch. The last Fenris was not done yet.