Once in the middle of the field, Onyx stood there awkwardly for a couple of minutes, unsure how and where to start. But seeing the figure of the old man watching over him in the distance, he refused to show hesitation. So, without thinking much, he brought forth his hoe and began splitting the earth.
And so it began.
The first hour, Onyx spent getting accustomed to the handling and usage of his tools, so he wasn't very fast.
On the second, he had to stop as he was scrambling to map out in which direction he was going to dig the field.
By the third, he finally figured his pacing out and was now getting into a rhythm.
By the fourth, he began to feel blisters on his hands and soreness in his back, but he decided to power through them as there was still a long way to go.
The fifth hour he had to spend resting and catching his breath as the exhaustion was starting to pile up.
On the sixth, he was back at it, but this time slower and his movements more rigid.
By the seventh, lifting the hoe itself was a task of its own, and every strike against the hard earth was a punishment of pain that rattled through his bones.
And finally, by the eighth, Onyx was done.
He stood there in the field, leaning heavily on his hoe for support. His shirt was long since removed and tossed aside, his body long since drenched in sweat and completely covered in dirt turned to mud from breaking the hard ground and from lugging dusty stones around. He was also covered in shallow wounds and scratches from cutting and uprooting weeds. All in all, Onyx's body was a canvas of dirty brown for his torso, dusty pale for his limbs, and bloody red for his blistered, torn palms.
The sun was already setting when Onyx could go on no more. Yet, despite all that, as he lifted his heavy head and looked around at the scarred earth, he noted with a sinking heart that he had only finished a quarter of the required space. And just barely at that.
"Slow... too slow," Onyx muttered bitterly as he gazed around at the small, hard-won patch of tamed earth.
Somewhere else nearby, the old man was still watching from a distance. He smirked and said to himself, "Heh, he must have noticed it by now." The old man had been measuring Onyx's progress with a practiced eye, and he concluded that even if the boy stopped for the night and started again at first light tomorrow, he wouldn't be able to reach the deadline by noon.
Well, it would be shocking if he did show up again anyway, the old man thought. He didn't believe Onyx could pull through with the task in the first place, let alone be able to get back up again after the sheer punishment thrown at him today.
"It took me years to build the endurance to withstand the cruelty of this work. This kid is doing it for the first time in his life," he muttered to the twilight. "While I commend him for being able to commit for a full eight hours, the moment his muscles cool down... there's no way his body will allow him to get back up again, even if he wanted to. So, it's safe to say this bet is pretty much over."
With a final glance at the distant, slumped figure, the old man turned around and walked away, leaving Onyx alone in the field to accept his loss.
After one deriry night then came the next day. It was early in the morning when the old man returned to his fields, holding a mug of hot coffee steaming in the cool morning air.
The old man was preparing for yet another day of work, just as he had done countless times before. Onyx and the events of yesterday were already a distant thought in his mind by now.
"A shame…" the old man was about to say, a sigh of finality for the spirited but unsuccessful kid.
But he couldn't finish his sentence. Before a steady, rhythmic thump-thump-thump in the distance cut his train of thought.
Out in the distance, in a certain field, was a figure, a silhouette against the rising sun, methodically lifting and bringing down a hoe, breaking the earth. It was Onyx.
"I'll be…" the old man muttered, the mug pausing halfway to his lips. This was completely unexpected. He had fully believed Onyx wouldn't have the strength to come back for more. Yet there he was. At it again.
The old man gave a hearty smile seeing this. The kid's determination was truly inspiring; he couldn't help but respect it. Still, he hadn't accepted that Onyx could actually succeed.
"Well, let's see how much you can do before noon," he mused to himself, taking a sip of his coffee. "Even if you started again early, you still wouldn't—"
His thoughts were once more interrupted, cut off as his eyes, sharp despite his age, focused more intently on Onyx and the field , to which he was met with a shocking sight.
He couldn't help but jog closer, his coffee forgotten, to get a better look. But once he stood at the periphery of that field, there was no room for skepticism or mistake.
As the old man stood there in utter shock, what lay before him was the field he had assigned to Onyx. Only this field, which had been overgrown and neglected save for the quarter Onyx had fixed up yesterday, was now more than three-fourths done.
The first thought that came to the old man next was how , how did onyx do this ?
His immediate assumption was that Onyx had cheated—using some Transcendent Art or the help of a beast to accomplish this huge progress . But as he scanned the field, his practiced eyes searching for the tell-tale signs—unnaturally smooth soil , energy traces , claw marks, beast prints—he found nothing of the sort. The work was messy, human. The furrows were uneven, the clods of earth broken by sheer, blunt force. The weeds were hacked, not cleanly severed. The stones were piled in a haphazard cairn to one side, placed there by human hands.
There was no sign of outside help or supernatural shortcuts. So how?
The old man’s gaze snapped back to Onyx, who hadn’t even noticed his approach, lost in the brutal rhythm of lift, swing, and impact. Then, the old man’s eyes dropped to the ground at the edge of the newly-plowed section. His breath caught.
There, in the dew-damp soil, were footprints. Not just from this morning. A mess of them, overlapping, churning the earth in a small, concentrated area. And leading away from that spot, a single, deep, dragging trail in the dirt, as if something heavy had been laboriously pulled.
The old man’s eyes widened as he followed the trail with his gaze. It didn’t lead back toward the station. It led to a small, rough lean-to made of a tarp strung between two trees at the very edge of the field. Beneath it, he could just make out a bedroll and a waterskin.
It was at that moment that he realized it ,Onyx had never left in the first place. The explanation for the massive, impossible progress was that he must have worked through the entire last night.
"This young lad…" the old man muttered in disbelief, his voice a bare whisper lost in the morning air.
All of his opinions, all of his previous misconceptions of Onyx as a soft, prideful rookie who would buckle and quit, were now completely shattered. They were swept away under the sheer, undeniable display of grit laid out before him in the raw, turned earth and the solitary, unwavering figure still swinging the hoe.
Turning back to onyx , his condition was horrific to say the least. The blisters on his palms had torn open long ago, making the handle of the hoe slick with a mixture of fresh blood and old, dried filth. Every muscle in his body screamed with a deep, fiery agony that had settled into a constant, grinding tremor. His lungs burned and trembled with every breath , His movements no longer lifts and swings, but a desperate, shuddering series of jerks—hoist the tool, let gravity and his falling weight do the work, then use the last of his strength to pry the blade free. He was operating on sheer, stubborn will, his mind a fog of pain and a single, repeating command: keep going, keep going, keep going .
The sun climbed higher, marking the passing of the morning he no longer had the focus to track his direction. The final portion of the field was a ragged, shrinking island of weeds and hardpan amidst a sea of broken earth.
With a final, guttural cry that was more air than voice, Onyx brought the hoe down on the last stubborn clump of roots. He wrenched it free and tossed it onto the finished pile. He stood, swaying violently, in the center of a fully plowed field.
A cracked, bloody smile of pure triumph spread across his dirt-caked face. He had done it.
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Then, his eyes rolled back. His legs, which had held him for over twenty-four hours of relentless labor, finally buckled. He pitched backwards , unconscious before he even began to fall.
But before his body could hit the ground, a pair of strong, wiry arms caught him under the shoulders, halting his collapse. The old man, having watched the final moments in stunned silence, had moved with a speed that belied his age. He grunted under Onyx's dead weight, carefully lowering the young man to the soft, turned earth he had just conquered.
"His condition is bad," the old man remarked, his voice low as he observed Onyx's trembling thrashed body. The boy's breathing was shallow, his skin feverish to the touch.
The old man then closed his eyes—not to avoid the sight, but to focus. A deep, resonant connection stirred within him. And then It wasn't long until large patch of air beside him began to shimmer with a gentle, verdant light before a silhouette materialized next to him . The old man had called forth his beast.
The creature looked like a majestic mix between a cow and a yak. It had a big, powerful build completely covered in long, thick locks of fur that dropped past its knees and even dragged on the ground like a heavy, living robe. The fur was an earthy brown at the base, fading into a sandy, sun-bleached yellow at the shaggy edges.
It was hard to make out the beast's features under all that fur, but one detail was clear ,a large imposing head with a set of long, sweeping horns that spread wide to the sides like open arms before curling forward slightly at the tips. The most striking detail, however, was the layer of vegetation seemingly growing directly from the beast's dense fur. A thriving carpet of green rested upon its broad back—herbs, mosses, small fruit-bearing vines, and even delicate flowers can be seen ,creating the sight of a miniature, roaming garden.
The beast snorted once and shook its great, shaggy head, a miniature shower of pollen and petals drifting from its back. It then nudged the old man with its large head, a gentle, familiar greeting.
The old man wrapped an arm around his beast's neck, giving it a brief, affectionate squeeze. "Yes, hello, old girl. Listen, I'm sorry for asking you to start working immediately, but I really need your help here."
As if sensing her master's intentions, the large beast turned its gaze to Onyx, eyeing the fallen youth with large, gentle, watery eyes.
The old man then only spoke, "Help him."
The beast immediately moved to action. First, it lowered its great head and gave Onyx's body several deep, sniffing whiffs, as if assessing the damage.
After that, the beast turned its neck and brought its head close to the living garden on its back. It brought out its tongue—longer and more flexible than one would expect for such a creature—and began to carefully pick from the little garden, using its tongue with surprising dexterity. It selected several specific herbs, a few grasses, and a couple of small, bright fruits.
Once it had gathered everything it needed in its mouth, it brought its head back to its original position and began chewing the ingredients thoroughly. After a minute of chewing, creating a medicinal paste, the beast lowered its head once more. Then, with the herbal mixture still in its mouth, it began to methodically lick Onyx's body all over.
With every broad, warm stroke of its tongue, the beast covered a portion of Onyx's body not only with its saliva but also with a thin layer of that chewed-up paste.
It might seem gross at first, but it was undeniably beneficial. A closer observer would notice that Wherever Onyx was licked, his shallow wounds and angry scratches immediately began to mend, the redness fading and the skin knitting together with unnatural speed. But it wasn't just the wounds. As more of the saliva-and-paste mixture was applied, Onyx's overall condition visibly improved. The feverish heat radiating from him dissipated, and his violently trembling body finally stilled, slipping into a deep, restorative sleep , even his breathing became stronger .
This was definitely the result of some kind of ability this beast possessed. Such a rapid, comprehensive healing effect was impossible to achieve otherwise .
In the end, all of the medicine was applied, and Onyx's condition had stabilized. Seeing this, the old man gave a sigh of relief before turning to his beast and patting its thick neck. "Thank you, old girl."
The beast gave a deep, calm rumble in response, as if saying, You're welcome.
However, despite that, the old man still had the issue of Onyx still being unconscious. He needed the boy awake, if only to get some fluids into him and move him to a proper bed. But no sooner did the old man think about it that the beast acted once more. It brought its large, wet nose close to Onyx's face and gave a sharp, forceful snort right into it.
And the moment the beast's warm breath assaulted his nose, Onyx snapped awake. He jerked upright, coughing and sputtering, his eyes flying open as he yelled, "Aw, what the—!"
And like that, problem solved. It was hard to tell if it was the effect of some other subtle ability the beast possessed, or simply the stench of a large animal's breath . But regardless, Onyx was now fully and jarringly awake.
"HAHAHA!" the old man gave a hearty laugh, his earlier sternness completely gone. "Clever girl! Always know what to do."
The beast then also gave a hearty, rumbling mooo, as if sharing in the old man's laughter.
And while those two were laughing, poor Onyx was sitting on the ground, scrambling to make sense of what was happening. His mind, still foggy with exhaustion and the abrupt awakening, spun in circles. What's the old man doing here? Why am I lying on the ground? What is that beast? And why... why do I feel so gross and sticky all over?
After a short explanation from the chuckling old farmer, a moderate break to let his spinning head settle, and a long, desperately needed bath , Onyx was finally caught up with everything that had happened.
He learned about the old man's beast, a sweet creature named helda, and its healing abilities. More importantly, he received the news that he had fought so brutally for , the old man, who now introduced himself as Rolf, clapped him on the shoulder making him wince and gruffly informed him that he had "more than earned the damn job."
And with that, Onyx's bet with the old man—and his days-long search for work—was decisively over.
The next morning, after a night of sleep so deep it felt like falling into the earth itself, Onyx was once again in Mister Rolf's plantation, ready to start his first real day of work.
Even though the old man had offered to let him rest for a couple of days to recover fully, Onyx had refused. He wanted to get to it as soon as possible. After all the sooner he started working, the sooner he would get paid. The sooner he got paid, the sooner he would stop worrying about buying the Catalysts Tusk needed. Every day of delay was a day his Totem stayed a hungry, helpless grub.
Besides thanks to helda's healing ability, onyx felt perfectly healthy after a good night's sleep ,so he felt no need for any more rest.
Onyx first met Mister Rolf at the front of his hut, a modest, sturdy building built near the plantation to allow the farmer to live close to where he worked.
Mister Rolf crossed his burly arms and said, "Alright, kid. Before I assign you any work yet, there's a few things I have to know about you first."
"Of course," Onyx responded, standing a little straighter.
"Alright. So first thing, what beasts you got, and can any of 'em assist you in your work?"
Onyx didn't linger much before answering. "So far, I only have my Totem beast," he said before focusing inward. With a pulse of will, he summoned Tusk from his soul sea.
The air shimmered, and the soft, chubby form of the Fighter Beetle Larva materialized on the packed earth. The first thing Tusk did was move his broad head from side to side, his dark bead-eyes absorbing the new surroundings of the farm before looking up at Onyx and chirping with a confused expression.
Onyx bent down, giving his companion's head a reassuring pat. "This is my Totem beast, Tusk. He's still premature, so he can't do much yet, save for some digging , he's good at it ."
"Hmm," Mister Rolf muttered, his eyes scanning Tusk with a practiced, appraising look. He then remarked, a dry note in his voice, "Heh. Now I see why you really needed this job." The rude remark coming out of nowhere.
What's that supposed to mean? Onyx thought the moment he heard it. Well, it wasn't hard to figure out the implication—that his beast was probably weakling and a liability. Nor was it wrong, in a blunt, factual sense. But still, a hot spark of defensiveness flared in Onyx's chest. He didn't like people implying things about him or his beast.
However, he let the comment slide this time. He knew the old man probably didn't mean any offense—at least, not intentionally.
"Welp, digging isn't much, but it's helpful enough," Mister Rolf said with a shrug, moving past it. "Alright, listen up. It's sowing season, so we gotta prepare the fields for planting if we're gonna farm. So your first task is going to be just that. I trust you're already familiar with the process."
"Yes, sir," Onyx replied, already understanding his task. He turned to grab his tools from the nearby tool shed, but Mister Rolf interrupted him.
"Before you start, Onyx," the old man said, his tone shifting slightly. "Do you remember that field you finished the other day?"
Onyx was slightly surprised to hear that, but he quickly replied, "Yes, I do. Let me guess, you want me to do the other fields just like I did that one?"
Mister Rolf immediately shot back, "Hell no! That field is the worst-plowed field I've seen in all my years. I was actually going to ask you to improve your work from now on . Also," he added, his voice gruff but with a faint twinkle in his eye, "it'd be better if you repeated your work from yesterday before anything else. Properly, this time."
Onyx stood there for a moment, dum struck. The triumph of finishing the field was now being reframed as a benchmark of poor quality. He felt a flush of embarrassment, but also a grudging understanding. Back then he had been fighting the clock and the land and not aiming for proper craftsmanship so it's only natural that his work was sloppy.
"...Understood," onyx replied, the word sounding a bit strangled.
And that was how Onyx's first official assignment began. As per Mister Rolf's request, Onyx repeated his work from yesterday, but this time he was unhurried and more focused. And he also had the help of his Totem beast.
Tusk, who although wasn't capable of much yet, was more than capable of assisting with the fieldwork. The larva's natural ability to dig and soften the soil was perfect for the task. He could churn through tough clods, dig out stubborn stones with his powerful mandibles, and even chew through the roots of weeds, significantly reducing Onyx's workload. It was slow, simple work, but it was honest, cooperative, and productive.
Together, the young man and his beast began working diligently under the morning sun, no longer fighting a desperate battle, but patiently sowing the literal—and figurative—seeds for their future.
---
Elsewhere, far away, back in the North Star Station, three hooded figures moved through the shadows. They avoided the main thoroughfares and bustling crowds, slipping instead through dark alleys and along deserted service lanes, their presence meant to go unseen.
After traversing the station's underbelly like this for some time, the three figures finally ended up in a room of a building on the station's remote edges, specifically in one of the less populated, decaying sectors. The air was still and quiet, heavy with dust and isolation.
Once inside, the door sealed shut behind them. One of the hooded figures finally spoke. Though the thick, non-descript robe and featureless mask they wore completely hiding their body, the voice that emerged was discernibly a young female's, carrying a distinctive, gravelly rasp.
She spoke but one word into the dim silence:
"Nox?"
Her question was quickly given an answer by one of the other two figures, specifically the one on her left. "My beast's Shadow Trace ability has been active ever since we traversed the root. I can confirm no one has been following us," the figure said, his voice marking him as a young man.
The first figure gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod but didn't respond further. Instead, she turned her head to the figure on her right and asked once more in the same terse tone: "Athen?"
To which the figure responded, "Neither my beast's extra-sensory ability nor my Greater Sight empowerment were able to detect any attempts or intentions to seek our whereabouts by anyone." This figure's voice also identified her as a young woman.
Hearing this, the first figure stopped for a moment, the tension in her posture easing slightly. "Then we have succeeded in entering this realm undetected."
The moment those words were uttered, the atmosphere in the dusty room seemed to suddenly grow lighter, as if a huge, invisible pressure had been lifted—a pressure felt most acutely by the two called Nox and Athen.
After a shared, silent moment of relief, it was Nox who broke the new quiet. "What shall we do now, my lady?" he asked, his voice now carrying a note of deference beyond mere caution.
His question was quickly and flatly replied to by the first figure. "We stick to the plan. We will pose as a trio of rookie Beast Catalysers of no renown. Slowly, we will build our foundation and reputation under these new personas. And once we have amassed enough strength and followers..." The figure then suddenly stopped, as if the rest was too sensitive even for this secured room. "...Well, we'll discuss that when the time is right ."
She then turned her head to Athen. "How much provisions did we manage to salvage?"
Athen didn't waste any time. "Yes, my lady. Between beasts, Catalysts, and even Boons, we have enough resources and assets to support our collective development all the way up to the third level, if used wisely. Though," she added, her tone becoming pointed, "if you use mine and Nox's shares, we can guarantee your rise to the fourth level. Which I really suggest you do—"
The first figure lifted a hand, cutting her off. "There will be no need for me to short-change you and Nox. I am sure we will be able to overcome that hurdle when we reach it. Besides," she said, her raspy voice softening just a fraction, "you two are my most trusted and only confidants. I will need you to be as strong as possible if you're going to stand by my side."
Athen's hooded figure showed a hint of hesitation and reluctance, but in the end, she didn't dare argue. "If my lady says so."
"I am certain my lady is aware that the North Star station is too crowded and too "close" to Earth for us to start our plans here. So, where to first?" Nox then said, his voice pragmatic.
"Good question. The closest stations to North Star are Grey Wood to the west and Pride Rocks to the east. Realistically, those are our two options: west or east," the first figure mused. She then turned her head slightly toward Athen. "Athen, where do you think we should go first?"
Athen didn't answer immediately. She remained silent, her hooded head bowed as if meditating something. After a full minute of heavy silence, she finally responded with a single word: "East."
The first figure then inquired further, her tone curious rather than demanding. "Any particular reason for that?"
Athen simply said, her voice quiet but firm, "Just a hunch."
To which the first figure gave an ever-so-small, almost inaudible chuckle from beneath her mask. "East it is, then. Prepare quickly; we move at once."
And with that final order, both Nox and Athen gave a respectful, synchronized bow and answered in unison: "As you command, Lady Rosafey."
Separated by thousands of miles and an ocean of circumstance, Onyx had no way of knowing it, but he wasn't the only one sowing seeds for the future. And whatever seeds those maybe, Thier roots were set to grow away from him for now but that doesn't guarantee that they won't reach him one day .
