After finishing his classes for the day, the sun still sat lazily in the afternoon sky. Its golden rays painted the western walls of the Academy with a soft glow, while the shadows of the tall spires stretched across the yard. Most students had gone back to their dormitories or the library, but Wads, as always, had different plans.
His legs carried him to the West Wing forest, a quieter part of the Academy grounds where people rarely ventured. It was too far from the central halls and lacked the liveliness of the main gardens. Wads preferred it that way—peaceful, secluded, free from prying eyes. This was his sanctuary, the place where he usually tested his deity powers and, more often than not, sought solitude.
But today… something different waited for him.
He stepped into the clearing at the edge of the forest yard and set his satchel down by a large root. A soft breeze danced through the trees, carrying the earthy scent of moss and damp leaves. Rolling his shoulders, Wads began his routine.
He started with stretches, moving methodically from head to toe. Tilting his neck side to side until he felt the strain ease, he rolled his shoulders back with a controlled breath. His arms stretched forward, then upward, fingers brushing against the sky. He bent down slowly, touching the tips of his boots, his hamstrings pulling tight. Rotating his ankles, flexing his wrists—everything had to be loosened. Wads believed stretching was a ritual, almost meditative, before real training began.
When he finished, he dropped into his usual physical routine. Push-ups first, each press steady, his chest brushing the dirt before driving himself upward again. Then squats, legs coiling and uncoiling with disciplined strength. Sit-ups followed, his abs tightening with each rise, breath controlled, sharp. He switched into quick bursts of footwork, short sprints and dodges around the clearing as if an invisible opponent stood before him. His body moved in fluid rhythm, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead.
Finally, his breathing heavy but even, Wads slowed down into cooldown stretches—rolling his arms, bending his back carefully, exhaling long and low.
That was when he heard it.
A rustle.
His ears twitched slightly, his sharp gaze flicking to the thick bushes a few feet away. The sound was faint at first, but then came again—something moving, not the wind, not the sway of leaves. Wads froze, spine straightening.
Another rustle. Louder.
He walked toward it cautiously, his steps light, body leaning forward just enough to stalk without alerting whatever hid beyond. He crouched, ready to part the leaves—
And something leaped at him.
"—!"
Wads stumbled back, losing balance and landing on the ground with a graceless thud, his glasses slipping onto his lap. His brows shot up as his eyes landed on the culprit.
A tiny creature—no larger than a sparrow—perched right on his stomach. Its scales shimmered an iridescent blue, wings small and fragile yet elegant, a thin tail curling like ribbon. Two bright eyes blinked at him curiously, and for a moment, Wads thought he was staring at some strange hybrid between a lizard and a bird. Except… no.
It was a dragon.
A tiny dragon.
"…What the hell," Wads muttered under his breath, stunned.
The little dragon tilted its head, then, with a surprising gentleness, snuggled against his chest. Its body was warm, its breathing soft like a purring cat.
Wads blinked. "…Are you serious right now?"
He sat there in silence, his mind racing.
It reminded him of the lessons from last week. Creatures—wild or mystical—could sometimes be bound through a rare gift: taming ability. Those blessed with it could form lifelong bonds with animals or beasts, commanding them in battle or sharing companionship. But Wads… he didn't have that gift. He was certain of it.
His thoughts drifted to kingdoms far beyond the academy walls.
Jestew Rift—the "Animal Kingdom." A place where beasts and beastkin thrived. Its lands were ruled by a strict hierarchy, claw and fang dictating law. The people there resented humans deeply, despising them for their endless slaughter of animals for food, leather, or sport. To Jestew, animals were sacred treasures—not resources. They lived strictly off the land's greens, despising meat-eaters as savage. Outsiders called them zealots, but within their domain, they saw themselves as protectors of purity.
In contrast, Gersgie Peak stood as the opposite. Welcoming all, it was a kingdom of hybrids, half-bloods, and diverse species. Humans, elves, beastfolk, dwarves, and even wandering fae could find sanctuary there. It was a melting pot—imperfect, sometimes chaotic, but thriving. Where Jestew shut its gates, Gersgie opened theirs.
"What was it called again…?" Wads muttered under his breath, recalling the names as he glanced down at the creature that clung to him.
The dragon blinked at him. Then, without warning—
Splaaaash!
Cold water smacked him square in the face, dripping down his nose and soaking his tunic. Wads sputtered, blinking furiously as his wet hair clung to his forehead.
"You little—" he exhaled sharply, not angry, just annoyed. His lips curved in resignation. "…You dare spit on me."
With a sigh, Wads peeled his tunic off, the damp fabric clinging before finally loosening. His toned figure caught the golden light, muscles cut sharp from constant training. Running a hand through his hair, he pushed it back, the strands following smoothly as droplets slid down his temple.
The dragon perched on his shoulder, tail flicking, watching him with curious amusement.
Wads gave it a sideways glance, plucking it off gently and holding it before his face. "What even are you?" he muttered. "A lizard? …No, you're too smug-looking for a lizard. A dragon? But there are only three dragons in the world, and they're older than history itself."
The creature just stared, unblinking.
Wads sighed, letting it go. "Don't look at me like that. I don't have the power to tame you."
"Who are you talking to?"
Wads jolted. He turned, narrowing his eyes as he spotted Reiyell standing a few feet away, still in her uniform, casually holding a snack.
Her gaze shifted immediately to the tiny dragon now climbing up Wads's forearm. She blinked, stunned.
"Don't ask me," Wads said quickly, already defensive. "I don't know."
A soft laugh slipped out of her, melodic and light, and Wads frowned.
"It seems to cling itself on me," he muttered as she walked closer.
Reiyell's eyes flicked up and down his frame briefly—he looked ridiculous, wet tunic half-squeezed in one hand, hair messy like a drenched duck. Wads caught her stare and scowled. "This guy did it," he said, pointing accusingly at the creature.
She ignored his complaint and extended her hand. The dragon leapt onto her palm happily, wagging its tiny tail.
"This one looks happy… and carefree," she murmured softly.
"…Indeed." Wads said, reluctant but honest.
The sight was oddly… cute. Against his better judgment, he reached out with his index finger to poke it gently. The creature brightened, and suddenly—a burst of light engulfed them.
"Uh—" Wads hissed, squinting.
It faded after a few seconds, but both Wads and Reiyell froze as a strange warmth pulsed through them. Wads glanced down, tugging his collar aside.
A faint blue mark glowed on his left chest.
Reiyell lifted her wrist, stunned. A matching mark glimmered faintly there.
"…Was that even possible?" Wads muttered, clearly baffled.
"Actually, I don't know," Reiyell admitted honestly. "I know you don't have taming powers, and I'm sure I don't either."
"And what's even weirder," Wads continued, staring at the mark, "is that it chose the two of us."
"It certainly did," Reiyell whispered.
They both stood in silence, eyes falling on the small creature now curled up, already asleep in Reiyell's palm. Its breathing was soft, its tiny chest rising and falling peacefully.
"I'll name him Venn," Reiyell said suddenly, voice certain.
Wads parted his lips, caught off guard. "Venn?"
"Yes. Short, simple. It suits him."
"…You really think you can name him just like that?"
"I just did." Her lips curved in a faint smirk.
Wads narrowed his eyes at her, but the corner of his mouth almost—almost—threatened a twitch.