Chapter 2: A World of Teeth
Aiden's second life began with cold.
Not the sterile cold of hospitals or winter mornings on subway platforms. This was Earth-raw cold, sharp and biting, air that scraped against his newborn lungs as if testing whether he deserved the breath at all.
He came into existence screaming.
Hands caught him—large, calloused, warm in the way fire was warm after frostbite. Something rough brushed across his skin, wiping fluids away with a hurried tenderness.
"There he is," a woman whispered, her voice soft but hoarse from labor. The language was unfamiliar, vowels bending wrong in his ears, but tone filled what translation couldn't. "He's got a set of lungs on him."
Aiden blinked against the blur of lamplight. A woman leaned over him, blurred features sharpening slowly: a tired smile, dark hair plastered to her temples, warm brown eyes half-lidded with relief.
Lyssa, he later learned.
His mother.
A shadow moved beside her—a larger figure, a man whose voice sounded like gravel rolled in a steady stream.
"Small lad," he murmured, though pride softened the words. "But he's breathing true. Look at him glare already."
His vision wavered, then stabilized enough to see bearded features, a scar across the man's brow, shoulders broad beneath a wool tunic.
Joren. His father.
Aiden tried to lift an arm. It twitched, shaky, barely a gesture. His fingers flailed before closing around his father's thumb.
He froze.
The hand was tiny. Weak.
I… really am a baby.
Memories flickered like distant lightning: the subway platform, the boy's terrified scream, the metal, the flash, the void.
Then that voice, cold and curious:
Do you wish to continue?
Apparently, he had answered.
Aiden's chest tightened—not with fear, but with a strange mix of grief and disbelief. He had died. There was no undoing that. Yet here he was, warm and small and fragile in the arms of strangers who were already beginning to love him.
A roar rolled across the outside world, so deep it trembled through the floorboards.
Lyssa stiffened. "Joren…"
"It's far," Joren murmured, though his hand hovered near the spear leaned against the wall. "Probably a marshback prowling the river line. Patrol's out tonight."
Beasts. Patrol. Wilds.
The words scratched something in Aiden's mind—something ancient, like danger sinked into the bones of this world.
And somewhere inside him, faint as the last echo of a far storm:
[Beastbinder System… dormant.]
The whisper flickered out before he could seize it.
Aiden cried again—not from pain, but from the shock of sheer overwhelming existence—and Lyssa held him close, skin against skin, heart steady beneath his ear.
The world was loud.
The world was dangerous.
The world was alive.
And he was in it again.
---
Years blurred the way they always do for children, but Aiden never forgot a moment.
His body changed, but his mind held all his old memories—gaming strategies, lonely subway rides, cooking experiments, workplace boredom, and the quiet ache of being unnoticed.
At three, he toddled into Redmarsh Village for the first time, gripping a carved wooden fox Joren had made for him.
Redmarsh was a cluster of timber homes pressed close together, roofs draped in moss and smoke, fences crooked like tired spines. The earth was dark and wet, churned by rain and animal tracks. A crooked river bent through one side of the village, and beyond it rose the forest.
The forest was always there—tall, twisted, brooding. A wall of green shadow where sunlight rarely touched the ground.
Children played in the mud. Chickens darted between carts. Hunters returned with beasts slung across their backs.
And Aiden saw them up close.
Not deer.
Not boars.
Not wolves.
Beasts.
Creatures with bone plates glowing faint blue, eyes igniting in colors unnatural to Earth. Hunters carved shimmering stones—core stones—from their chests, lifting them carefully like fragile treasures.
He watched in awe as the cores pulsed with faint inner light.
That's mana. Or magic. Or something.
Whatever it was, it defined this world.
And the System watched him watching it.
Sometimes, he felt the faintest stir—like a second heartbeat somewhere behind his eyes.
Never strong.
Never active.
Just… observing.
---
At six, he learned what the forest hid.
It was a bright afternoon, sunlight spilling like honey over the grass. Older kids dared each other toward the palisade wall—wide logs sharpened at their tips, a flimsy hope against the beasts that lurked beyond.
Aiden followed, clutching his wooden fox. He wasn't brave, but curiosity tugged harder than fear.
"Look through here," one kid whispered, pointing at a gap between the logs.
Aiden hesitated.
Then looked.
Trees like skeletal giants stretched across the land, their branches weaving together overhead, choking light. Mist coiled around their trunks, thick and unnatural.
A shape moved between the foliage.
A hulking silhouette emerged—more shadow than creature—then stepped fully into view.
A marshback.
Its shoulders rose as tall as a wagon, bone ridges glowing blue, breath steaming in thick white clouds. Its eyes were pools of pale fire.
Aiden's blood ran cold.
The marshback's head lifted—sniffing.
It could smell them.
A horn blared from the watchtower. Hunters rushed to the wall. Arrows streaked downward, glowing tips embedding in the beast's hide. A ballista bolt crackled with energy and slammed into its side.
The marshback roared, the sound so deep Aiden felt it in his ribs.
Then it fell.
He stumbled backward, trembling so hard his teeth chattered.
That night, the System stirred.
[Threat proximity: Logged.]
[Survival behavior: Observed.]
[Beastbinder System: Monitoring.]
He whispered into the dark, "You… again."
But the presence fell silent once more.
---
At nine, Aiden refused to be helpless.
He trained with a wooden staff in the yard, striking a straw dummy with awkward but determined swings. Sweat rolled down his temple. His arms burned.
He had no talent.
No lineage.
No gifts.
Just stubbornness.
A laugh drifted from the fence.
"You're supposed to hit the dummy, not the air," a voice said.
Aiden turned to see Myra Lynell perched on the rail, swinging her legs. Copper glints lit her dark hair in the afternoon sun. Her green eyes sparkled with mischief and something sharper—like she was always on the edge of pouncing at the world.
"How long were you watching?" he muttered.
"Long enough to see you almost smack yourself," she said, grinning as she hopped down. "Here, give me that."
She snatched the staff and rolled it effortlessly between her palms before shifting into a stance far steadier than Aiden's.
"My uncle taught me before he…" Her voice hit a pothole, stumbled, then smoothed. "Anyway. Watch."
The staff moved like water around her body, sweeping in arcs, dipping low, cutting high.
Aiden stared. "Show me that again."
Myra smirked. "Only if you stop glaring like you hate the air you're breathing."
They trained until the sky flushed orange. Aiden's muscles screamed, but inside he felt—alive.
That night, the System murmured:
[Effort acknowledged.]
[Persistence: Above baseline.]
[Status activation preparing…]
Preparing… for what?
He found out the next year.
---
Age ten. His first fight.
He and Myra had wandered near the forest edge, baskets slung across their backs, gathering herbs. The sunlight ran thin under the trees.
A branch snapped.
Aiden froze.
Myra's breath hitched.
A ridgeback boar pushed from the brush—massive, hide lined with faintly glowing ridges, tusks long as daggers. Its eyes glowed dull blue.
Tier One.
Dangerous. Fast.
Deadly if it charged.
"Don't run," Aiden whispered. "Back away slowly."
Myra nodded, sling trembling in her hands.
The boar sniffed—once—then thundered forward.
Aiden didn't think.
He shoved Myra aside and planted his feet.
Snatched a stone.
Threw.
The stone struck the glowing ridge. Light flashed. The boar shrieked, veering off course and smashing into a tree.
A spear whistled.
A hunter stabbed the boar through the chest.
"Idiots," the hunter snapped. "You were past the marker line."
Aiden collapsed onto the dirt, breaths shaking. Myra grabbed his sleeve.
"Are you insane? You didn't run!"
"You weren't moving," he said quietly. "I—someone had to."
Anger warred with something else in her eyes.
The System hummed alive.
[Hostile encounter survived.]
[Instinctive reaction detected.]
[Basic Status: Unlocked.]
Light formed crisp text behind his eyes.
Name: Aiden Raikos
Race: Human
Age: 10
Class: Unassigned
Strength: 3
Agility: 4
Endurance: 3
Instinct: 6
Willpower: 4
Traits:
• Reborn Soul (Hidden)
• Quiet Persistence
Skills:
• Improvised Throw (F)
• Survival Sense (F)
Aiden swallowed hard.
It wasn't luck.
It was the System nudging him.
Watching him.
Preparing him.
---
The years from ten to fifteen passed with purpose.
Aiden hunted small game with Joren, learning how to track quietly, how to read footprints, how to tell when beasts were near by the silence of birds.
He cooked with Lyssa, experimenting with beast meats, noticing subtle changes: a slight clarity of mind one morning,
better endurance another day.
Sometimes, faint messages drifted across his vision:
Minor buff gained:
• Focus +1 (short)
• Endurance +1 (short)
He didn't brag.
He didn't tell anyone.
He simply took notes and grew.
Myra grew with him—loud, fiery, impossible to ignore. They sparred, argued, laughed, explored, and carved their names into trees near the river. She talked constantly; he listened, adding quiet comments that made her grin or roll her eyes.
She dragged him into trouble.
He pulled her out of danger.
They balanced.
Through the years, rumors of Ironwake Beast Academy drifted through Redmarsh like the scent of distant fire.
A place where ordinary youths became beast tamers, warriors, explorers.
A place where the weak could rise—if they survived.
Not all who left for Ironwake returned.
Those who did came back changed.
Stronger.
More dangerous.
Marked by the wilds.
Aiden wanted that.
Not glory.
Not fame.
Just survival.
In this world, ordinary meant dead.
---
On the eve of his sixteenth year, fate knocked.
The village crowded into the central hall, torches crackling, shadows dancing against old timber walls. Aiden stood with Myra and their families as the village elder unrolled a sealed parchment marked by an iron crest.
His voice rose above the murmurs.
"Ironwake has opened its gates to new candidates from the outer villages," he announced. "Each settlement may send three youths to face the entrance trials."
A ripple of emotion swept the crowd—fear, excitement, dread.
"Trials?" someone whispered.
"Survival trials," another hissed. "In the outer forest."
Aiden's pulse hammered.
The elder continued, "The entrance test begins at dawn. Those who wish to be considered will gather at the east gate. Hunters will observe your performance."
He paused.
The hall sank into stillness.
"Three will be chosen."
Myra grabbed Aiden's wrist. "We're doing this."
He nodded, throat tight.
Before he could fully process the fear knotting his stomach, the System stirred.
Quest: Step Beyond the Gate
Objective: Present yourself at the east gate at dawn and survive the selection trial.
Reward: Academy Consideration (Unknown)
Failure: Path narrows. Survival odds diminish.
The words dissolved.
Aiden looked toward the east gate, where the forest loomed beyond the palisade, black and endless and full of growls everyone pretended not to hear.
Dawn would decide his life.
For the first time since his rebirth, real fear pierced him—sharp and cold. But something else stirred beneath it:
Determination.
Hope.
Hunger.
The world outside the gate waited with open jaws.
And he was done living quietly inside them.