Evan stood in the living room with his arms crossed, staring at the white cat like it might glitch out if he didn't stare hard enough.
The creature sat with a stillness that didn't belong to anything born ten minutes ago. Its fur was pale as fresh snow, its body sleek and athletic—too large and too composed to be a house cat, but not large enough to be what Evan's instincts kept whispering it should be.
Across from him, Elara looked equally frozen—except her stillness had a different texture. Evan knew the difference between Elara being stunned and Elara processing. Stunned was rare. Processing was constant.
She stood near the kitchen doorway, her gaze locked on the cat, shoulders squared as if she were facing an opponent who might sprint at any moment.
The television murmured in the background—news anchors still begging the world to remain calm, still trying to narrate the un-narratable.
In the corner of Evan's vision, the interface hovered with the same cold patience it had shown all day.
[Time Remaining: 00:45:12]
The cat's ears flicked. Its head turned slightly, eyes narrowing toward Elara as if it had heard the countdown too. Then it moved. It padded across the carpet, footsteps silent, tail swaying once—controlled, deliberate. It walked straight to Elara and stopped at her feet, looking up.
Elara's breath hitched.
Evan expected a hiss, a flinch, anything.
Instead, the cat pressed its head gently against Elara's shin. Her hands lifted without thinking, fingers spreading as if she were about to catch something falling.
The cat rose onto its hind legs slightly, front paws bracing against her thigh, and Elara—still operating on instinct more than conscious thought—scooped it up.
The moment she did, the cat melted into her arms with a softness that didn't match its predatory build. It curled against her chest; head tucked beneath her chin as if it belonged there. As if it had been waiting for that exact contact.
"Okay," she murmured, voice low. "Okay… you're real."
Elara didn't look away from the creature in her arms. Her expression was guarded but—Evan caught it—there was warmth there too, the kind she rarely showed in public.
"It recognizes me," she said, as if confirming a fact out loud made it safer.
Evan's mind immediately jumped to the forums. The system panels.
"Do you have… the thing?" he asked.
Elara's gaze flicked toward him. "The thing?"
"The Beast Taming System," Evan clarified. "Like the posts. The panel. Stats. Rank. Anything?"
Her expression sharpened. She glanced down at the cat.
"There's… a notification," Elara said.
Evan leaned forward a little. "You can see it?"
Evan's stomach twisted with anticipation and a bitter edge of envy. Not because he wanted Elara to have less, but because he'd locked himself out of the same access with one sleepy thumb tap.
Elara shifted the cat—careful, instinctively protective—so one arm supported its weight while the other hand lifted toward empty air.
Her index finger hovered. Then tapped.
The air in front of Elara filled with luminous text—clean, sharp, otherworldly. The panel wasn't projected onto any device. It simply existed, layered over reality like the world had gained an interface because something beyond Earth had decided it could.
"Read it," Evan said quickly.
Elara swallowed once, then began, voice steady but edged with disbelief.
"Beast: Byakko."
"Species:…" She frowned. "It says… four question marks."
"Unknown species," Evan translated automatically.
Elara's gaze lifted briefly, then dropped again. "Talent Rank: Legend."
The room went silent.
Evan's heart stuttered.
Elara's voice dipped as if she didn't quite trust herself to say it loudly.
"Strength Rank: Bronze minus."
Evan exhaled sharply. "So usually it starts at Black Iron strength—except it's already at Bronze minus?" Evan's gaze snapped to the cat again.
It was larger than a domestic cat, sure. It moved like a predator. But it still looked—at a glance—like something that could curl up on a windowsill.
Legend felt too big for it.
Elara's jaw tightened. "There's more."
"Keep going," Evan urged.
Elara inhaled and read aloud, slower this time.
"Background: Inheritor of the Heavenly beasts and guardian of the West. If raised properly will be an ally in conquering the Labyrinth and surpassing the trials ahead."
Evan's hands lifted, palms up, as if he could physically shape his thoughts into something coherent. "Byakko," he said, voice rising. "That's—Elara, that's not just a name. That's Japanese folklore."
Elara blinked at him like he'd just switched languages.
Evan barreled on, because once his mind grabbed a pattern it refused to let go.
"The Four Heavenly Guardians," he said, words spilling faster. "They're like—cardinal direction protectors. West, East, North, South. The animals—"
Elara's eyes narrowed, tracking him.
Evan snapped his fingers once, trying to force his memory into order.
"Seiryuu," he said. "Azure Dragon of the East. Suzaku, Vermilion Bird of the South. Genbu, the Black Turtle of the North. And Byakko—the White Tiger of the West."
He pointed at the cat in Elara's arms.
"And that," Evan said, "is definitely white, but is not a tiger."
Byakko blinked slowly, as if judging his tone.
Elara glanced down at it, then back at Evan. "Maybe it's young."
Evan's mouth opened, then closed.
All beasts hatched at the beginning. Strength could be low even if talent was high. Evolution paths could transform something mundane into something more. Evan's pulse accelerated, equal parts awe and dread.
Elara's expression shifted subtly—still controlled, but with something new underneath it. The weight of being handed something Legend-ranked wasn't just excitement. It was responsibility.
Byakko lifted its head and nudged Elara's chin. Elara's mouth twitched. Almost a smile.
Evan tried to recover his usual tone. "So you hatched a legendary guardian cat."
Elara shot him a look. "Do not call it that."
Evan raised his hands. "I'm just saying. You could put that on a résumé."
Elara's eyes narrowed in warning.
Evan grinned anyway, then glanced at the countdown.
[Time Remaining: 00:39:06]
Evan's stomach growled—because of course it could now, of all times.
Elara glanced toward the kitchen. "We should feed it."
Evan blinked. "Do we even—?"
"We don't have cat food," Elara said, as if the words were an accusation against the universe.
Evan gestured at the half-unpacked boxes. "We barely have human food."
Elara stood, Byakko still in her arms, and moved into the kitchen with purpose. "We have frozen fish," she said.
Evan followed, watching the cat's head turn as they moved, eyes alert, ears flicking toward every sound in the house like it was mapping the territory.
Byakko wriggled once in her arms, wanting down. She hesitated, then set it gently on the floor.
Elara opened the fridge, scanning quickly and grabbing the fish. She grabbed a pan, set it on the stove, and moved with the efficient certainty of someone who'd cooked enough during moves to know how to make something edible out of limited supplies.
The cat didn't sprint away. It moved to the kitchen table and sat beside Evan's stone egg still there, looming like a silent, stubborn rock.
Byakko stared at the stone egg for a long second.
Then looked at Evan.
Evan shifted uncomfortably. "Don't judge me," he told it.
Byakko blinked again, slow and unimpressed, then returned its attention to Elara and the pan.
Elara heated the fish with minimal seasoning—because if you were feeding a mythic guardian, you probably didn't start with garlic and pepper. The smell filled the kitchen, warm and familiar enough to make Evan's chest ache with the wrong kind of nostalgia.
Byakko sat perfectly still as the fish cooked. When the fish was ready, Elara placed a portion on a plate and set it on the floor near the table.
Byakko didn't lunge.
It looked up at Elara first, as if asking permission.
Elara paused, then nodded once.
Byakko ate.
Not messily. Not frantically. Efficiently, like a creature that understood hunger but didn't fear scarcity—like it expected the world to provide because the world had always provided.
Evan watched, strangely transfixed, as the cat's jaws moved with a quiet strength that hinted at something larger beneath the surface.
As it ate, Elara leaned against the counter, arms crossed, gaze softening again.
Evan checked the timer.
[Time Remaining: 00:21:48]
Byakko finished and sat back, licking its paw once, then looked at Elara again with the same calm focus.
Elara glanced at Evan—really glanced—and saw the weight she was carrying now: not just her own fear, but his.
"Whatever happens," she said, "stay close."
Evan tried to joke and failed. "Hard to do when I'm on solo mode."
Elara's gaze sharpened. "We don't know that's what it means."
Evan's throat tightened. "The warning said—"
"It warned you," Elara interrupted. "It didn't define it."
Evan stared at his stone egg on the table, then at Byakko. Legend. Guardian of the West.
And then the bitter thought returned: If I had hatched, would I have gotten something like that?
Or would he have gotten a lizard.
Evan forced a breath. "Okay. Close. We stay close."
Elara nodded once, satisfied. Byakko stood and walked to Elara's side, brushing against her leg again—possessive, gentle, familiar. Elara's hand dropped to its head without thinking, fingers stroking fur.
Evan watched the motion and felt a twist of emotion he didn't quite name. He looked at Elara and tried to lighten the mood because the alternative was letting dread rot the room.
"So," he said, forcing a grin, "if you got the guardian of the West…"
Elara's eyes rolled instantly. "Don't."
Evan continued anyway, because annoyance was better than fear. "Then logically, I'm going to hatch the guardian of the East. You know. A dragon."
Unexpectedly, she let out a short breath that was almost a laugh—small, tired, real.
He pointed at her like he'd scored a point. "There. Laughter. You're still human."
Elara's eyes flicked up, cold composure snapping back into place. "If you hatch a lizard," she said, "I will name it after you."
Byakko flicked its tail, as if approving.
Evan looked back at the timer.
[Time Remaining: 00:06:27]
His throat tightened again.
They moved without speaking, instinctively, like they had an unspoken routine for crisis.
Backpacks and shoes on. Jackets zipped. Water bottles filled.
Elara lifted Byakko into her arms again, and the cat settled immediately against her chest, purring faintly as if the world could open a gate to an unknown trial and it still trusted her to handle it.
Evan stood beside her, stone egg cradled against his torso like a shield he didn't know how to use.
They didn't talk much in those final minutes.
Words felt flimsy in the face of a countdown that had been written into reality.
Elara's gaze stayed forward, jaw set. Her exhaustion had been replaced by focus. Whatever fear existed in her was packed away behind the same discipline that had made her a prodigy, an athlete, someone who could perform when everyone else broke.
Evan's palms were damp against the stone egg.
The television—still running—showed a news anchor speaking quickly, voice strained.
"—If you can hear this, if you're seeing the same countdown, please remain calm—"
The countdown hit ten seconds.
A new panel flared in Evan's vision, brighter than the rest:
[10…9…8…]
The air in the living room changed. It thickened, like pressure building before a storm. The windows rattled faintly.
[7…6…5…]
Elara's eyes sharpened. Evan's pulse hammered. A line of light appeared in midair.
[4…3…2…]
The seam widened, and reality tore open. A gate formed in the center of the living room—oval, vertical, edges traced in pale, shifting light that looked too similar to the eggs' iridescence to be coincidence. Within the gate, there was no room. No hallway. No visible destination.
[1]
The anchor's face froze. Then the screen went black. Silence returned—not the normal kind, but the same unnatural hush from the first announcement, the kind that made the hair on Evan's arms rise.
The interface delivered one final, indifferent statement:
[LABYRINTH: OPEN]
The gate pulsed.
And then it pulled.
"Elara—" he started.
Elara's eyes snapped to his, fierce. "Stay with me," she said, voice sharp.
"I'm trying," Evan breathed.
Byakko didn't struggle. It stared into the gate, calm and alert, as if recognizing a place it had always known existed.
They stood side by side and slowly started walking toward the gate.
The world tilted. Then the gate took them.
And the house—Earth—everything familiar—
Vanished behind them as if it had never existed at all.