There are things in this world that no man was ever meant to hold. The Beast Rings are one such thing. To some, they are miracles, granting power beyond imagination.
To others, they are curses born from ambition and soaked in blood. But whatever one might believe, there is no denying their place in the world—a world forever changed by their creation.
A Beast Ring is no ordinary trinket. Forged from the heartstone of a beast, it holds the essence of the creature it came from. Its speed, its strength, its elemental power—everything that made the beast mighty is captured within the ring.
With it, a man can run faster than the wind, summon fire from his hands, or crush mountains with a single strike. But the ring does not give without taking. To create one, a beast must die, its very soul torn from its body and bound to the will of a human.
This is why the Beast Rings are both coveted and feared. To wield one is to carry the strength of a beast but also its wrath, its instincts, and its will.
The strongest of men have been brought to ruin by their own greed, attempting to wield powers they could not control. And yet, it is said that a human can wield as many Beast Rings as they can carry, their strength growing with each one they claim.
It is not surprising, then, that the creation of the first Beast Ring was the spark that lit the fires of ambition across the world.
For in the hands of humans, these rings leveled the battlefield, allowing men to stand as equals against the beasts who had ruled the land for so long.
But such power comes with a price, and the story of the Beast Rings begins with the man who first dared to pay it.
The tale of the Beast Rings began with a man whose name had been lost to time. They called him the First Crafter, though no one truly knew who he was or where he had come from.
Some said he was a sorcerer of great renown, others that he was an outcast wandering the edges of the known world. What is certain is this: he was the one who changed everything.
For centuries, humans had fought the beasts that roamed the land, creatures of immense strength and terrifying power.
These beasts were no mere animals; they ruled the forests, the mountains, the skies, and even the seas. They were gods in flesh, each one wielding powers that no human could match.
Humanity survived only because of magic. It was the great equalizer, the force that allowed them to fight back, though at great cost.
Not every human could wield magic, and those who could become the shield of humanity, holding the line against extinction.
Even so, it was always a losing battle. Against the might of the beasts, magic was never enough.
The First Crafter changed that. He was not like the other sorcerers, content to hurl fire and lightning from their towers or defend their kingdoms with spells of stone and ice.
He was obsessed with the beasts themselves, their power, their nature, and above all, the strange stones that pulsed within their bodies.
These heartstones, as he called them, seemed to be the source of their incredible strength. No human had ever dared to tamper with such a thing.
To take the heartstone of a beast was to invite its wrath, and no one had ever survived such an attempt. But the First Crafter was different.
The art he discovered was not of this world. It is said he stumbled upon it in a forgotten ruin, a place older than the oldest kingdoms, where ancient runes whispered secrets into his mind.
What he learned was not magic as humans knew it. It was something older, something far more dangerous.
The Beast Slaying Art, it was called, a forbidden craft that taught not only how to slay a beast but how to extract its heartstone and harness its power.
From this art came the knowledge to create the first Beast Ring.
The sorcerer chose his target carefully. He began with a Swiftfang Wolf, a beast known for its incredible speed and razor-sharp reflexes.
It was a Lower Grade Beast, but even so, the battle was ferocious. The wolf moved faster than the eye could follow, striking with the force of a hurricane. Yet the sorcerer was cunning.
He used the techniques of the Beast Slaying Art to weaken the creature, exploiting its every vulnerability until, at last, it fell.
From its chest, he extracted the heartstone, glowing with the essence of the wolf's speed and strength. With this, he performed the ritual and forged the first Beast Ring.
When he placed the ring on his finger, the change was immediate. His body moved like the wind, faster than thought, faster than any human could imagine.
His reflexes sharpened to perfection, his steps silent and swift. For the first time in history, a human possessed the power of a beast.
The creation of the Beast Ring did not go unnoticed. At first, it was a marvel, something whispered of in hushed tones. But soon, it became a threat.
The kingdoms of the world, ever hungry for power, saw the potential of the rings. Armies equipped with Beast Rings could conquer lands, topple rival empires, and even hold dominion over the beasts themselves.
The rulers of the land began to fear the First Crafter, for in his hands was a power that could unmake their fragile order.
It did not take long for greed to turn to betrayal. The First Crafter was hunted by those who had once called him an ally.
Sorcerers, kings, and emperors united against him, driven by ambition and fear. They trapped him, overwhelming him with their combined might, and took him captive.
Even then, he fought, wielding the speed of the wolf against his captors. But in the end, he was only human.
What happened next is unclear. Some say the First Crafter was tortured, his knowledge torn from him piece by piece.
Others say he gave it willingly, hoping it would bring an end to the endless bloodshed between humans and beasts.
Whatever the truth, the result was the same. The knowledge of the Beast Rings was no longer his alone.
It spread like wildfire, from kingdom to kingdom, from sorcerer to sorcerer. Soon, the art of crafting Beast Rings was known to all who had the skill and the ambition to use it.
With this knowledge, the world changed forever. Beast Rings became tools of war, their power sought by rulers and warriors alike.
Humans, who had always been at the mercy of the beasts, now stood as their equals—or perhaps their conquerors.
The balance of power shifted, but not without a price. For while the rings granted strength, they also sowed greed, ambition, and an unquenchable hunger for more.
And so, the story of the Beast Rings began with a single man and a single ring, but it would not end there.
It was only the beginning.
***
The village of Tenang sat quietly beneath the shadow of Mount Cahaya, the mountain's jagged peaks rising high enough to touch the clouds. Life here moved slowly, like the gentle streams that wound through the terraced fields.
The villagers, all 150 of them, went about their days with the kind of calm born from years of safety, their humble walls of wood and sticks keeping the worst of the wild at bay.
"Oi, Kairon! You're late again!" called Old Vren, a wiry man with arms knotted like the roots of a tree. He stood by the well in the plaza, his weathered hands gripping a bucket of water. "If you don't hurry, the goats will milk themselves!"
Kairon strolled toward him with a wide grin, one hand resting lazily on the satchel slung over his shoulder.
"Come on, Old Vren. You know they like it when I'm late. Gives them time to prepare for my winning smile." He flashed a grin that made Vren shake his head, half in amusement, half in disbelief.
"Your charm won't feed the village, boy," Vren said, placing the bucket on the ground with a thud. "When's the last time you helped your uncle in the fields, eh?"
"I'm helping in spirit," Kairon replied, leaning casually against the well. "Uncle needs to know he's the best farmer in Tenang without me showing him up."
"You'll be the end of us," Vren muttered, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward.
The plaza bustled with life as the village women gathered near the well, chatting over baskets of grain and freshly picked vegetables.
A group of children darted past, laughing and shouting as they chased one another around the tree at the plaza's center. One of the younger boys paused in front of Kairon, wide-eyed.
"Kai, Kai! Tell us a story!" the boy begged, tugging at Kairon's tunic.
Kairon crouched down, ruffling the boy's hair. "A story, huh? What kind? A scary one with monsters? Or maybe one about me fighting a hundred beasts with one hand tied behind my back?"
The boy gasped. "You did that?"
"Well…" Kairon paused dramatically, tapping his chin. "Not yet. But it could happen. You'll just have to wait and see."
The boy squealed with laughter and darted off, his friends chasing after him, all shouting about their future "monster hunter."p
"Kairon! Don't tell me you're slacking off again!" Aunt Myra's voice cut through the noise of the plaza like a blade.
Kairon, who had been chatting with Old Vren near the well, froze mid-laugh. He spun around with a wide, innocent grin. "Slacking? Me? I was just…" He lifted his satchel as if it were proof of his hard work. "Foraging! Look—roots, berries, the whole package."
"Hmm," Myra muttered, stepping closer to inspect the contents of his bag. Her sharp eyes scanned the half-filled satchel, and she frowned. "And where's the goat feed you were supposed to bring? Or the water I told you to fetch?"
"Goat feed…?" Kairon scratched his head, feigning confusion. "Oh! You mean for Uncle Garin's goats? I thought he handled that this morning! He's so reliable, you know. Doesn't even need me around."
"Nice try," Myra snapped, hands on her hips. "Your uncle's out in the fields, working twice as hard because someone"—she jabbed a finger at him—"didn't show up to help."
"Well, if he's managing fine without me, maybe I should focus on other things," Kairon said with a grin, spreading his arms. "Like making sure that everyone is okay… or entertaining the kids. Someone's gotta keep morale high around here."
"Don't you sweet-talk me," Myra growled. "You're lucky this village has a soft spot for you, boy. Now get yourself to the fields before I send your uncle after you."
Kairon sighed dramatically, but the twinkle in his eye gave him away. "All right, all right. Fields it is. But you know, Aunt Myra, one day, when I'm famous, you'll look back on these moments and say, 'I raised that boy.'"
"You mean I tolerated you," she shot back, already turning to shoo him off.
Kairon chuckled as he made his way toward the fields, dodging a group of children running through the plaza. "Back to work, then," he muttered to himself. "A hero's life is never easy."
Kairon trudged through the soft soil of the fields, the sun hanging high in the clear blue sky. Rows of barley swayed gently in the breeze, their golden tips catching the light like tiny flames.
He found his uncle, Garin, near the edge of the field, kneeling as he inspected a patch of young shoots.
Uncle Garin always looked like he'd stepped out of a warrior's tale. His broad shoulders and thick arms made him seem like he could snap a tree in half, and yet his expression was as gentle as the spring wind. He looked up as Kairon approached, his ever-present smile lighting up his face.
"There you are, Kai," Garin said, brushing dirt from his hands. "Thought you might've gotten lost on your way here."
"Lost? Me? Never," Kairon said with a grin, dropping his satchel by the fence. "I just got… delayed. Important village business, you know."
"Important business, huh?" Garin chuckled, shaking his head. "Let me guess—Old Vren's stories and Aunt Myra's scolding?"
"You know me too well, Uncle." Kairon plopped himself down on a nearby rock, stretching his legs. "Honestly, though, I think Aunt Myra missed her calling. She's stricter than the guards at the gates. I'd bet she'd do better out there, wrestling beasts."
"You're not wrong," Garin said with a knowing smile. "Your aunt could probably take down a beast with one hand tied behind her back if she wanted to."
Kairon laughed but then grew quiet, his gaze drifting to the distant mountains. "She probably could. Makes me wonder, though. If both of you have those rings… you know, Beast Rings… you'd both be terrifying."
Garin's smile didn't waver, but something flickered in his eyes—something Kairon couldn't quite place. The older man leaned back, resting his weight on his hands as he looked at the sky.
"There are things that one shouldn't have, Kai," Garin said softly, his voice as calm as ever. "And things you're better off not knowing or worrying about."
Kairon frowned. "Why does everyone say that? You, Aunt Myra—every time I ask or talk about something important, it's 'not yet' or 'time will tell.' Who is this 'time,' anyway, and why can't he just tell me already?"
Garin chuckled at that, the sound deep and warm. "Patience isn't your strongest trait, is it?" He reached over and ruffled Kairon's hair, ignoring the boy's half-hearted protests. "You'll get your answers, Kai. Just not today."
Kairon huffed, crossing his arms. "Fine. But when I find out, I'm going to laugh if it turns out time is just an old man sitting on a mountain somewhere."
"That'd be a sight, wouldn't it?" Garin stood and brushed the dirt from his knees. "Now, come on. Help me with these weeds before your aunt shows up and thinks I've let you slack off."
Kairon grumbled under his breath but joined his uncle in the field. The work wasn't difficult, but it was monotonous—pulling weeds, checking the soil, and ensuring the irrigation channels were clear.
For all his joking, Kairon didn't mind helping Garin. His uncle's easygoing nature made even the dullest tasks bearable.
As they worked, Kairon stole glances at Garin. The man had the build of a warrior, the kind Kairon had read about in the few tattered books that had made their way to Tenang.
And yet, for as long as Kairon could remember, Garin had been nothing more than a farmer. The same was true for Aunt Myra, though her strict demeanor and commanding presence often made Kairon wonder if she had once been something more.
"Uncle Garin?" Kairon said after a while, his hands full of weeds.
"Hmm?"
"Do you ever… think about leaving the village? You know, going out there?" He gestured vaguely toward the mountains.
Garin paused, looking at him thoughtfully. "The world outside Tenang is bigger than you can imagine, Kai. It's dangerous, too. There's a reason the walls are there."
"I know that," Kairon said quickly. "But don't you ever get curious? About what's out there? About… the beasts?"
For a moment, Garin didn't answer. His gaze drifted to Mount Cahaya, its peaks shrouded in mist. Then he looked back at Kairon, his smile returning, though it seemed heavier than before.
"There's more out there than beasts, Kai. Some of it's worth seeing, and some of it… isn't." He clapped a hand on Kairon's shoulder. "But that's a question for another day. Right now, we've got a harvest to prepare for, and your aunt will have both our heads if we don't get it done."
Kairon sighed, knowing he wouldn't get any more answers. "Fine. But one day, I'm going to see it all. The mountains, the forests, the beasts—everything."
Garin chuckled. "I don't doubt it for a second."
By the time Kairon and Garin returned to their hut after settling the goats and everything, the sun had shifted low enough to cast long shadows across the village.
Calling it a hut felt wrong somehow.
It wasn't extravagant by any means, but it was far better than the straw huts most villagers lived in. With a sturdy wooden frame, a thatched roof, and a few separate sections that served as rooms, it was comfortable—practical but homely.
Still, it was a far cry from the brick houses that lined the towns and cities merchants spoke of.
The smell hit Kairon first, wafting through the air and stopping him in his tracks. His stomach growled audibly.
"Smells like curry," he said, turning to Garin with a grin.
"Chicken curry," Garin confirmed, his smile matching Kairon's. "Your aunt's special recipe."
Kairon darted ahead, throwing the door open with an exaggerated flourish. "Aunt Myra! Your two hardworking men are back!"
Aunt Myra appeared from the kitchen area, wiping her hands on her apron. Her piercing gaze scanned him from head to toe. "Hardworking? You? Don't make me laugh."
"I pulled weeds!" Kairon protested, plopping himself onto a wooden stool. "And I didn't even complain that much."
"You whined the entire time," Garin said as he stepped inside, placing his tools near the door.
"Traitor," Kairon muttered under his breath.
Myra's lips twitched—just enough for Kairon to know she was amused. "Well, sit down, both of you. The food's ready."
She set the table with practiced efficiency, placing a steaming pot of chicken curry at the center alongside a plate of assorted vegetables.
A basket of flatbread completed the spread. Kairon's mouth watered as he reached for the ladle, only to have his hand swatted away.
"Wash your hands first," Myra said sharply, pointing toward the water jug near the door.
"Yes, ma'am," Kairon mumbled, dragging himself to comply.
As they ate, the room filled with the clatter of dishes and the soft hum of conversation. Kairon couldn't help but marvel, as he often did, at how good the food was.
Myra's cooking had a way of making even the simplest ingredients feel like a feast. Despite her stern demeanor, it was moments like this that reminded Kairon how much she cared for him.
"Best chicken curry in Tenang," Kairon declared, stuffing a piece of bread into his mouth. "Actually, best in the world. I'm serious, Aunt Myra. If you opened a stall in the city, you'd be rich in no time."
Myra raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? When have you been outside seeing the world? And who would feed you while I'm off making my fortune?"
Kairon pretended to think, tapping his chin dramatically. "Hmm… Uncle Garin could learn to cook. I could teach him."
Garin laughed, shaking his head. "The day I cook is the day Myra lets you skip your chores."
"Exactly," Myra said, smirking.
The warmth of the meal, the laughter, and the quiet simplicity of life in Tenang made Kairon pause for a moment.
As he tore another piece of bread, he thought about the tales he'd heard from the merchants who occasionally passed through their village.
"Aunt Myra, Uncle Garin," Kairon said, his tone thoughtful now. "Why is Tenang so… peaceful?"
"What do you mean by that? Tired of living peacefully?" asked Myra.
He chuckled and shook his head quickly before saying, "I mean, the merchants are always saying how terrible things are out there. Bandits, beasts, you name it. Some of them even hire those—what are they called again? Slayers?"
Both Garin and Myra nodded.
Kairon continued, "Yeah, the merchants say they can't survive the forests without them. How come we don't have any of that trouble here?"
Garin and Myra exchanged a glance. It was quick, but Kairon caught it. He hated when they did that—it was as if they were silently deciding how much to tell him, which usually meant "not much."
"We're just lucky," Garin said finally, scooping another spoonful of curry onto his plate.
"Lucky?" Kairon frowned. "Come on, Uncle. Tenang's barely a blip on the map. We don't even have Slayers as our real guards. How are we not overrun by beasts? Or worse?"
Myra's gaze was sharp. "That's enough questions, Kairon. You're too young to be worrying about things like that."
"I'm fifteen," Kairon shot back. "I can handle worrying."
"You're fifteen," Myra repeated firmly, "which means you should focus on eating your lunch and finishing your chores, not playing detective."
Kairon opened his mouth to argue, but Garin interrupted. "Let it go, Kai. Your aunt's right. We're safe here, and that's all that matters."
Kairon muttered something under his breath, stabbing his vegetables with a fork. It wasn't the first time they'd dodged his questions, and he doubted it would be the last.
Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Tenang's peace than just luck.
***
The moon hung high over the village of Tenang, casting its silver light across the thatched roofs and wooden walls.
The sounds of the day had faded, replaced by the soft rustling of leaves in the mountain breeze and the occasional chirp of crickets.
Inside their hut, Kairon slept soundly in his small room, sprawled across his cot with one arm hanging lazily over the edge.
Outside, beneath the stars, Garin and Myra stood near the doorway, speaking in hushed tones. Garin leaned against the wooden frame, his ever-present smile softened by the quiet of the night.
Myra, on the other hand, kept her arms crossed, her gaze flickering between the hut and the shadowed forest beyond the village walls.
"How much longer can we keep it from him?" Myra asked, her voice low and tense. "He's asking more questions every day. About his parents. The village. About us. You know how sharp he is."
Garin chuckled softly, the sound almost lost in the breeze. "Yeah. He's curious, sure. But there's no need to worry just yet. Let the boy enjoy his peace while he can."
"Peace?" Myra turned to him, her expression hard. "Garin, you know as well as I do that peace is a luxury we can't afford. Not forever."
Garin tilted his head, his smile unwavering. "Perhaps. But there's no harm in letting him have it for a little longer. He's still young, Myra."
"Young or not, he deserves to know the truth," Myra said, her voice dropping further. "What happens when he finds out we've been lying to him all this time? Do you think he'll forgive us?"
Garin sighed, his gaze drifting toward the sky. "We're not lying. We're protecting him. There's a difference."
"Is there?" Myra's tone was sharp, but it softened after a moment.
She glanced toward Kairon's room, where faint snores could be heard through the walls. "He's not like the other children in the village, Garin. You see it too, don't you? The way he carries himself. The way he looks at the world. He's… different."
Garin's smile returned, this time tinged with something deeper—pride, perhaps, or a quiet acknowledgment. "He is. And that's why we keep the truth from him. To let him grow into who he's meant to be, without the weight of the past dragging him down."
There was a pause, the silence filled only by the distant rustle of trees. Then Garin turned to Myra, his voice gentle. "And you? Are you feeling burdened by the task they left us? By what they asked of us?"
At that, Myra shuddered, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. Her expression, so often fierce and commanding, faltered. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't," she admitted. "You know as well as I do… I could never…" She trailed off, her gaze hardening again. "No matter how strong I am, I would never dare go against their wish."
Garin's chuckle broke the tension, a warm and familiar sound that seemed to carry away some of the weight in the air. "Of course," he said lightly.
"You're braver than most, Myra, but even you have your limits. Besides," he added, glancing toward Kairon's room with a knowing smile, "I think he's already starting to take after him."
Myra stiffened at those words, her eyes narrowing slightly. But after a moment, she nodded, her expression softening. "Yes," she said quietly. "He is."
The two stood there in silence for a while, the weight of unspoken truths settling between them like the night itself.
The boy inside the hut slept soundly, blissfully unaware of the secrets that surrounded him or of the legacy that waited for him just beyond the horizon.
Both Garin and Myra suddenly turned toward the eastern gate, their gazes sharp and unyielding.
The breeze had stilled, the quiet of the night now laden with something heavier. Myra's eyes narrowed.
"They're testing the borders again," she said, her voice low. She tilted her head toward Garin, her expression firm. "Go. I don't want to dirty my hands with blood tonight."
Garin let out a soft chuckle, his usual smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You always make it sound like I enjoy it," he said lightly.
Myra didn't respond immediately. She stepped closer, her tone soft but no less commanding. "And remember, don't completely wipe them out. Kill the hostile ones only."
With a nod, Garin reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring. It was a black ring, unadorned save for the faint symbol of a horse etched into its surface. Without hesitation, he slipped it onto his finger.
As soon as the ring clicked into place, the air around him shifted. His entire frame seemed to hum with energy, his smile never faltering. "Understood," he said simply, and then he was gone.
A blur of motion and a sudden gust of wind swept past Myra, rustling her hair as Garin sped toward the eastern gate.
The guards on duty near the gate stood idly on their wooden platform, leaning on their spears as they scanned the shadowed forest beyond.
The night had been quiet so far, though they'd learned not to trust such stillness. One of them, a young man named Bram, let out a low sigh.
"Feels like it's been forever since anything happened," he said, his voice breaking the silence.
"Forever?" his companion, Dren, replied with a raised eyebrow. "It's only been a few days since we felt that… you know."
Bram shuddered. "Yeah, that. The wind, right? Like something brushing past you, but—"
Suddenly, without Bram being able to finish his words, both of them felt the sudden gust of wind sweep past them.
"Like this? Too fast to see," Dren finished, nodding. "I don't like talking about it."
Before either of them could say more, a low growl rumbled from the forest, deep and guttural. The sound froze them in place, their hands tightening around their spears.
The darkness beyond the gate seemed to shift, the faint rustle of leaves sending a chill up their spines.
"Do you hear that?" Bram whispered, his voice trembling.
"I do," Dren said, his eyes darting toward the trees. "That's no ordinary animal. That's a beast."
"Not one but… many beasts," added Bram.
The growl grew louder, closer, until it sounded as if the very shadows were growling back at them. But before they could feel the full weight of fear settled into their chests, the growl was abruptly cut off.
A new sound filled the air—a pitiful whimper, sharp and fleeting, followed by the unmistakable death cry of a beast.
And then silence.
The two guards looked at each other, their faces pale in the moonlight.
"It's gone," Bram said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"How? What happened?" asked Bram in disbelief.
Another gust of wind swept past them, rustling their cloaks and making them stumble slightly. They looked around frantically, but there was no sign of anyone—or anything.
"The God of Wind," Dren muttered, dropping to his knees.
Bram hesitated, then followed suit, kowtowing toward the forest. "Thank the heavens," he whispered. "The God of Wind has saved us again."
They remained there, heads bowed, their gratitude spilling into quiet prayers. Neither of them saw the faint silhouette of Garin returning to the village, the black ring on his finger glinting faintly in the moonlight.
Garin returned quietly, his steps almost soundless as he approached the hut. Myra was still waiting outside, her arms crossed as her sharp eyes scanned the darkness beyond the village.
She didn't startle when he appeared; she had heard the faint shift in the breeze that always accompanied him.
"Back already?" she asked, her tone calm but expectant.
"Quick work," Garin said with a faint smile, slipping the black ring from his finger and tucking it into his pocket. "It was just a Lower Level Earth Bear. Nothing to worry about."
Myra arched an eyebrow. "Lower Level or not, it's still an Earth Bear. If you'd underestimated it…" She trailed off, her gaze flicking toward the distant forest.
"I didn't," Garin said, his voice steady. "But I'll admit, using the ring felt like overkill this time."
Myra turned to him, her expression firm. "It's not overkill—it's common sense. We can't afford to take chances. Not now, not ever. Underestimating beasts is what gets people killed."
Garin's smile faded slightly, replaced by a more serious expression. "I know," he said quietly. "You're right. We can't fall into the same trap twice."
Myra's eyes softened just a fraction, though her voice remained resolute. "And it's not just about staying alive. We should wield the power once in a while.
She paused before adding, "You've seen what happens when a ring sits idle for too long. Better to keep the bond strong than risk losing control when we need it most."
Garin nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "You're right again. It's been a while since I've really used it."
"Good," Myra said simply, turning back toward the hut. "Now, let's get inside before Kairon wakes up and starts asking more questions. I'm in no mood to dodge his curiosity tonight."
Garin chuckled softly as he followed her inside. "You mean you don't enjoy his detective streak?"
Myra shot him a look over her shoulder, but there was a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Not tonight, Garin. Not tonight."