The road out of Greenstone City was quieter than Lin Yue expected.
He had imagined guards escorting him, elders watching from the walls, perhaps even someone trying to stop him before he could take ten steps beyond the arena. None of that happened. The city gates stood open, merchants came and went, and life continued as if his existence—and the strange contract he carried—had already been forgotten.
That realization unsettled him more than hostility would have.
They don't care, Lin Yue thought as he walked. They don't think I'll last.
The small beast lay wrapped inside his outer robe, pressed close to his chest. Its body was warm, its breathing shallow but steady. Each rise and fall sent a faint echo through Lin Yue's own chest, as if their heartbeats were learning one another's rhythm.
He slowed his steps instinctively.
Too fast, and it might hurt.
That thought startled him.
He had never been careful for someone else before.
Greenstone City faded behind him, stone walls giving way to packed dirt roads and low grasslands. This was the outer region—patrolled irregularly, dangerous enough to kill the careless, but not valuable enough to station strong tamers.
Perfect.
Lin Yue exhaled slowly, tension draining from his shoulders for the first time that day. No crowds. No expectations. No eyes measuring his worth.
Just survival.
He found shelter beneath a crooked tree near a shallow ravine and gently lowered himself to the ground. The beast stirred weakly, letting out a soft, rasping sound.
"I know," Lin Yue murmured. "I don't like it either."
He loosened his robe and carefully revealed the creature. Up close, it looked even more pitiful than it had in the arena. Its fur was dull and uneven, its limbs thin. The twisted leg remained bent at an awkward angle, though the swelling had gone down slightly.
That shouldn't have been possible.
Lin Yue frowned.
He extended his spiritual sense cautiously—a habit born of fear and years of avoiding trouble. It brushed against the beast and recoiled slightly, as if touching a thin membrane rather than flesh.
That glow earlier… it wasn't strength.
He swallowed.
"It was adjustment."
The beast's remaining eye opened and focused on him. This time, it didn't tremble.
That alone sent a strange warmth through Lin Yue's chest.
"I don't know what you are," he admitted quietly. "And I don't know what kind of trouble I just dragged us into."
The beast blinked once.
A pulse echoed through the bond—faint, uncertain, but unmistakable.
Emotion.
Not words. Not images.
Agreement.
Lin Yue froze.
His breath hitched as realization crept in.
"You… understood that?"
The pulse came again, slightly stronger.
Fear tightened his chest—habitual, automatic—but it was quickly followed by something else. Not excitement. Not ambition.
Relief.
"You're not alone," he said, more to himself than the beast. "Neither of us is."
He reached into his pouch and pulled out a small piece of dried meat—cheap, low-grade, the kind most tamers wouldn't even consider feeding their beasts. He hesitated, then tore it into smaller pieces and held one close.
The beast sniffed weakly before nibbling at it.
Slowly.
Carefully.
As if afraid the food might disappear.
Lin Yue watched intently, muscles tense, ready to pull back at the first sign of distress. None came. The creature chewed, swallowed, and then—hesitantly—ate another piece.
A faint warmth spread across Lin Yue's sternum.
Not pain.
Not pleasure.
Stability.
He sat back against the tree trunk, exhaustion washing over him now that the danger had passed. His thoughts drifted unwillingly back to the elders' faces. To the word classified.
"They won't leave us alone forever," he murmured.
The beast paused, lifting its head slightly.
"I'm not strong," Lin Yue continued. "I won't pretend otherwise. I won't chase glory or challenge people I can't beat."
Another pulse.
This one felt… firm.
Lin Yue blinked.
"You're agreeing again," he whispered.
Understanding dawned slowly, like light seeping into a dark room.
This bond wasn't command-based.
It was responsive.
The beast didn't obey him.
It listened.
Fear stirred—but this time, it was different. Sharper. Focused.
If we share danger… then my mistakes will hurt it too.
His fingers curled into the dirt.
"I'll run," he said firmly. "I'll hide. I'll avoid fights even if people call me a coward."
The pulse that followed was calm.
Acceptance.
Lin Yue laughed softly, a sound he barely recognized as his own. "Good. Because that's the only way I know how to live."
As the sun dipped lower, he felt it—a subtle shift within the bond. Not an evolution, not yet. More like a door clicking into place.
A threshold crossed.
The beast's breathing grew steadier. The tremor in its body faded.
Lin Yue's fear didn't disappear.
But it sharpened.
Became alert.
Useful.
Somewhere deep within the bond, a quiet realization formed—clear and undeniable.
Survival wasn't weakness.
It was the beginning of everything.
And though the world had already written their ending, Lin Yue tightened his robe around the fragile life in his arms and prepared to prove it wrong—not with strength, but with caution.
Not with dominance.
But with choice.