I do not own the world of Neotellus, this story only depicts the views of three main characters, Adrian, Bloodmoon and Shayha. Most characters are not my own, but some are of my own creation. Full credit is given to the original artists and creator of Neotellus and all of its original contents. All chapters are in 3rd person limited. There are mentions of homosexuality, sex, drugs, strong language, alcohol and gore. Read upon your own risk. Thank you.

Chapter one is from the view of Adrian.
AUTHORS NOTE: As of June 1
st, 2019, this chapter was revised, edited, updated and uploaded. Mistakes were fixed, details were taken out and others added. This was done to better the story and the readers experience. Enjoy.

Chapter 2

The morning quickly waned into afternoon and by the time Adrian had risen from his bed again the sun had pierced through his thick green curtains. He had already dressed for the day, dark brown trousers and a cotton grey shirt. Over his shirt he wore a thin leather coat braided with emblems of his kingdom and war bands. He sighed, shivering at the cool air that passed through the open doors from his balcony. The room was private, high up on the fourteenth floor of the castle. It was simple, but elegant enough. Earthy browns and greens surrounded the walls and decorative furniture to match the banners and landscape of his kingdom. The room had been specially set up for his father when his reign began. Now it was his to use as he would. As a boy Adrian would often visit the main kingdom, Neotiya, to be trained for his rightful seat on the throne of Azeron. He had taken the room and loathed it. Young as he was, he had substantial battle experience. His expertise was of strategies for combat rather than full on battle. His sword arm was weak, and his strength was average. Instead he was experienced with a spear and bow. A distant length between him and his enemies was more than enough. In all his battles his army was successful due to his precision to maneuver his forces and give orders. But he knew the battles behind him were mere child's play. If he faltered during the next few months the blood of all innocents would be on him. He shivered again, his paranoia parading against his thoughts. After another moment of thinking he stumbled into the bathroom. The bathroom matched in decorum as his room. The porcelain bathtub and toilet were freshly cleaned. A decorative sink was squeezed into a corner of the room and was lined with soaps, conditioners, and hand towels on pegs. His arm reached to a bar above the toilet, a towel for his bath falling to the ground. Sharp pains stabbed him in his abdomen and minutes passed before his throat began to tighten. Saliva filled his mouth and his head began to pound, red dots filling his eyesight. "Come on. Come on dammit!"

His thoughts spiraled and his stomach lurched, sending a wave of bile up his esophagus. Growling with annoyance he perched himself over the toilet, grabbing either sides of the seat. He craned his neck. His body strained and a violent stream of hot vomit shot from his throat and into the bowl. With a crash, his knees buckled and slammed into the tiles. Minutes felt like hours. After the first episode he fell over onto his hip and shook, the toilet his only support. Tears streamed down his face, a mix of snot and bile dripping from his nose. The spasms in his abdomen became increasingly worse and his body quivered from cold sweats. "I can't do this…" he often repeated in his mind, episodes of crying and vomiting conforming into one act as the hour began to pass by. The cycle of retching continued. When his stomach could no longer regurgitate any food or fluids the organ and all muscles around it pulsated in painful harmony. The world around him blurred into one. He began to pant, drool rolling off of his tongue and lips, throat dry and body suffering from severe tremors. "You're so weak." He thought, his tears creating crusted rivers on his cheeks. "You're so weak; you can't even be in the same room as these people. You'll never be like your father; he'd be so disappointed in you."

At first, he didn't even realize he was sobbing, hiccuping in the process, his dry throat cracking. His heart ached in his chest. The world spun and his breathing became short and quick. Time had since been lost and finally he fainted. Slowly, his body slumped to the ground. He had no recollection of the moment, but his comatose trance was interrupted by a harsh knocking on his bedroom door. His muddied eyes slowly looked past the half-closed bathroom door. The shelves on the opposite side of the room, the bed and the desk all blended into one. He couldn't tell which direction the door was. "Help," his voice a whisper, "Please help," soft echoes of familiar voices stung at his ears. Before he could try to call for help again, his eyes rolled back behind his swollen eyelids and he fainted once more.

Water splashed his face when he awoke again, eyelids fluttering open. An intense light from the ceiling made him squeeze his eyes shut again. A surprising but terrified scream came from within him and with little strength he had he covered his face with his arms, beginning to sob and spasm. "Turn off the light, quickly!" snapped a voice.

The voice was from a woman, and Adrian knew he was safe with someone he trusted as he would a sibling. The lights shut off, but his arms remained without strength on his face. Limp and numb. The woman that had come to his aid was not alone, and both people worked on calming him down. First, they moved his arms and he faintly recognized the faces of both Bloodmoon and her partner, Niassa. They both glanced at one another, as though having a secret conversation that Adrian couldn't understand. His body ached. Minutes went by and his spasms began to subside. He gapped like a fish, lips dry and a fowl stench rising from his vessel. They let him weakly sip warm water, his head propped up on a pillow. He looked down at his body and blushed as he realized he was almost completely naked. Neither of the two helping him noticed his embarrassment and continued to help him regain enough strength to see clearly and talk. Until that moment, they remained silent. Half an hour passed before he was able to speak again. Niassa had left the room wearing only an undershirt and pants, his clothes and part of hers wrapped up in a very thick towel that she held away from her body. As she left, Adrian glanced to Blood and raised a brow. "What happened to the clothes?" his voice cracked and he groaned.

Blood shook her head, rolling down the legs of her black denim trousers and pulled on a black t-shirt over an undershirt. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she struggled for a moment to catch her breath. He realized then the amount of effort the two had gone through to care for him and keep everything clean. "When we found you on your bathroom floor you were fainted. You started to come back into reality but then you began to seize. During that we put you on your side but before we could, you kind of threw up on Niassa." She sat down in a chair next to his bed.

He could see her bite her tongue to not laugh and his face blossomed into a new shade of red. "Oh god!" Adrian exclaimed, attempting to look away.

Blood laughed, wiping off a bead of sweat on her forehead. "Don't worry, that's something to be expected," she placed a cool cloth on his head that had been sitting in a small bucket of water on this nightstand, "We take no offense. I'm just glad you're alright."

She looked at him and sighed, "You scared the shit out of me Adrian."

He flinched and looked away, feeling his anxiety rise again. "I'm sorry."

Her snort was loud and Adrian twitch in annoyance.

"You know as well as I do that you have to get in control of this," she began, "I know how stressed you are; you know I can be just as paranoid. But Adrian, you're going to kill yourself if you keep this up. Especially if you refuse to get help."

The room stayed quiet for some time before either of them could even look at one another. It was Adrian who began to speak again, his voice hoarse. "I am trying. But this weight on my chest, my shoulders," he paused.

"I only want to be as great of a ruler like my father was. But I don't feel I can do it. I feel as though I'm not strong enough, that if I make the slightest mistake everything will fall to ruin. The last thing I want is everything my father built to be destroyed because of his idiot son."

He glanced at his friend, who sat quietly, absorbing his words. The wait for her response pulled on his patience and he could feel anger rising in his chest. Before he could voice his distress, her mouth parted. Calm words rolled from her tongue. "Adrian, I do not expect you to be like your father. Nobody should. What I expect from you is your strength and faith in your kingdom and yourself. You cannot be your father, because you are you. And I'd not have it any other way; nor should you."

The bed shifted as Adrian slowly used his fatigue worn arms to help lean himself against the cushions behind him. A sigh rose from him and he grunted as all his abdominal muscles screamed and burned. He began panting but refused any help Blood had to offer him. Once he had situated himself, he leaned back and moaned, body throbbing from the small amount of work. His eyesight had since become clear and he gave Blood permission to turn on the light. It took a few minutes of blinking and looking away before he could stand it. But he preferred it over the dark room. Leaning his head back, with eyes closed he began to respond to her.

"I feel like I'm trapped. I am honored to lead my kingdom, but everything I deal with everyday piles higher and higher. It hurts so much to tell my people that I sometimes don't have time to listen to their requests. And I know their requests are justified and needed. What kind of king doesn't make time for his people? What kind of king struggles like this? What kind of king isn't strong in arms and humble? I don't know."

His eyes watered and he clamped his mouth shut as his throat began to close. The room was quiet once more as Blood soaked in his words. As she thought, Adrian looked around the room and marveled at how well decorated it was. Carvings on his dressers, desk and even bedposts were marvelous. From his knowledge he could see multiple emblems of ancient kingdoms and their ancient cryptids. They were all well-polished and sculpted to perfection. He gazed at them and fell into a trance as if to memorize every tiny detail on the black wood surfaces. But soon his trance was interrupted by the buzzing of the light over his bed. He glanced up and glared at the wire that extended from the light to the switch used to turn it on. "Why can't we use lanterns? Electricity must be more dangerous. With mages around, fire is easy to control if it should go outside its confinement. Electricity is so hard to control, even if it's contained. I'll have to ask the staff about replacing this; I only trust this technology to a point."

He rummaged through his thoughts to find good points as to why the light in his room should be replaced with traditional lanterns. The thought of changing the oil and wick of the lanterns didn't bother him as he preferred it. It was a small chore that he was happy to set for himself. "I'd even settle for a mages lantern if that's the case; anything but electricity in these walls."

Even as he ranted silently to himself, he couldn't help but glance at his pondering friend. But his eyes met with hers. He gulped, realizing she had been studying him all the time he was distracted by carvings and lights. Neither could break the gaze, her crimson eyes unflinching. He became aware of how powerful her aura was in the room and it caused him to shiver and sweat. "Stop that," he directed at her, making the words sweep over her mind. It was then evident she had been in his thoughts the entire time, the presence of her mind connected to his unknowingly. A smile spread across her lips as she felt the words, "About damn time," she replied.

Adrian snorted and crossed his arms, looking forward at the door exiting his room. "Isn't that a bit rude; to intrude on one's thoughts without their permission?"

Her head tilted and she weaved the band in her hair out, her long black locks falling down her back and shoulders. "Yes and no. You were completely open, and I am still one of the few who know you well enough to pass your defenses. You need to work on that by the way, your walls are practically gelatin. Besides, I've been trying to sift through that mind of yours since we found you."

The wood creaked beneath her as she leaned back and stretched her arms high over her head. "Well, anyways, get some clothes on and meet me in the hallway."

Her movement was lightning fast as she got up and walked to the door. Adrian gapped his mouth, "You aren't going to help me?" he exclaimed.

She shook her head, "Not at all, I doubt you want me seeing you naked either. Not that I haven't seen it all before."

Heat swarmed in his face again and he growled, body aching as he attempted to get out of bed. A grin spread across Blood's face and she opened the door. Before completely slipping out she poked her head in once more, "By the way, nice package," and with that she winked and shut the door, dodging a weakly thrown pillow.

Both embarrassed and outraged, Adrian struggled getting out of bed. His legs shook while handling his weight and his arms refused to reach past his chest, making getting clothing from his closet difficult. Using his teeth to pull a shirt down he realized the amount of effort it would take to put the thick fabric on. He moaned; unaware of how his body would be able to handle the work of putting on clothing, "Too bad being naked is considered illegal, in most places anyways," he chuckled.

Putting on his shirt and coat proved to be the most difficult, the green fibers loose and continuously getting caught on his fingers and nails. He left his coat for last, only happy that his boxers were a clean pair. But his suspicion of the two women escalated as they weren't the boxers he was wearing before his episode. Pushing the thought aside, he bent down to pull up his brown trousers. Pain surged up his spine and he almost doubled over before he could finally gain enough balance. The next struggle was balancing on one leg long enough to pull up the pants leg. He took a few minutes to successfully gain his balance on either foot, and even longer to bring his arms up and back to pull on the fabric. After a grueling half an hour, he leaned up against his bed, panting and sweating. The cotton shirt he had chosen, like his previous one, made his body heat swell. "Thank the gods it is autumn, or I'd keel over from a heat stroke outside."

As he sat, regaining his strength, he gritted his teeth in frustration as he remembered he needed socks and his boots. Even though it pained him he craned his neck down and held his face in his hands. He attempted to cry in frustration but was unable to muster any strength to do so. Instead he wallowed in anger, keeping the same position for another few more minutes before groaning. He looked around through the gaps of his fingers and spotted laces, tangled on the ground by the chair Blood had been sitting in. Lowering his hands, he saw a pair of brown boots, socks protruding from the tops, placed only a few feet from his spot. The polished surface on the boots gleamed and glared at him, mocking his vulnerability. Growling and ignoring his pain, Adrian lurched forward, dragging his boots close. Hugging them to his side he picked at the rubber bottoms and eventually began to put them on. The movement forward strained every muscle in his back, and he released three tears before finally getting the first boot on and tied. It took him less time to put on the second, however, resulting in the same amount of pain.

Once he realized he was fully dressed, he took a deep breath and began to get up. The bed was his main support, refraining from grabbing onto loose blankets. Using the bedposts, he heaved himself up, grunting as pain shot through his body. His stomach lurched when he was at full height and his body began to sweat. Another few minutes passed before he was able to unlatch his arms from the bedpost and move towards the door. As he shuffled to the door, he looked back to the bed, realizing he had forgotten his jacket. "Whatever, probably smells like this morning's agony." He snorted, annoyed, and turned the knob to exit his room.

As he slipped through a small opening in the door Blood looked up from the device in her hands. Her eyes glanced up and then back down, the screen flashing in her hands. Adrian leaned against the door and panted; body swelled with heat. "About time you came out of there. I was going to go back in, but you really are quite loud when stumbling around." Her finger curled over the back of the device and clicked a button, the bright lights shutting off.

Adrian sighed and tilted his head, "I could have used your help. What time is it?"

Blood raised a brow, "It's nearly two in the afternoon. We're late."

An unintentional groan rose from Adrian, "God, I just can't get things together."

"You better start perking up; we have to go down to the school in town, the junior academy actually. I have a meeting with the kids to talk about;" she raised her hands and did air quotes, "'What being a wielder' is all about." She scoffed and shook her head.

"Oh right, I forgot. The invitation I slipped into your room was made out to me. But-"

"You aren't an official wielder."

Adrian nodded with a bitter taste in his mouth. Blood shoved a small pouch the size of a mason jar into his chest. The pouch was tanned leather, thick and bulky. A small latch and button were on one side for clipping onto a belt; on the other side was another small button pit, where the main lip of the pouch would come down and close firmly. The leather was hard in his hands and dusty. An emblem for Azeron was carved on its front and lip, the etched surface depicting the image of an armored griffon holding a branch of holly in one talon and a spear in the other. Branches of ivy curled around the creature to create a dangerous thorn frame. He gulped, unclipping the button on its front and peered inside. The pouch was black inside; however, as his eyes narrowed, he could make out faint, distant images and gleams. "You're all still here…" he thought, both happiness and dread falling over him.

He gazed into the pouch unknowingly, annoyance beaming from his friend. A loud tapping of steel on stone caught his attention and his head shot up. Blood had since crossed her arms with a brow raised. Pain crackled in the back of Adrian's head and he winced, watching as she started to walk away. Mustering enough strength, he staggered behind her, clipping the pouch onto his belt and outlining the emblem with his fingertips.

It was some time before they arrived at the academy, taking short cuts behind buildings and alley ways. Adrian felt as though he were a thief, covering behind trash cans and laying low in the shadows as to avoid unwanted attention. He was, after all, a known monarch. They passed through the wealthy district with ease, proceeding to pass the merchant district with more difficulty. Blood weaved through areas with ease while Adrian struggled from behind. At times, she would force some of her strength upon him, her mind a boulder against his nimble frame. He trusted her to protect his mind when he could not, and he could not refuse her help even when it came to lending him her own energy. "But then again," he thought to himself, privately, "she isn't exactly human anymore."

Once they had passed through the merchant district they slowed down and walked the streets of the eastern district. Like Azeron, Adrians kingdom, the eastern district was home to some of the older residents and older families of the kingdom. The buildings were older, yet most refurbished, and its appearance was medieval. It took them no time at all to reach the academy. An hour had passed since the children had been released, but to their luck the small assembly was scheduled to be held after school. Relieved, they both entered through the main doors, the building itself newer and bricked. Its design was simple yet large to accommodate the number of children occupying the building during the school year. Maroon and white tiles lined each floor and the brick walls were painted in a creamy white hue. Large, locked cubbies lined some of the halls for students. The entirety of the school was lonesome. After school activities took place outside, while the meeting was set up in one of the larger classrooms. The principal, a short woman in what seemed to be her early sixties guided them through the halls. She rambled about the school's history, its founding members and core classes. She even mentioned how the class was full for their arrival. Many of the students were excited to learn more about wielding and its purpose. Their walk remained short and, luckily for Adrian, continued slowly with no stairs or steep slopes. They arrived at the room guarded by a large, metal maroon door, decorated with papers for late homework reminders, event posters and one sheet that read "Welcome to Neotiya Junior Academy, Visitors!"

The principal bowed respectively to them both, bidding them a farewell, her white curled hair bouncing as she waddled away in the direction they came. A small rectangular window allowed them to peer in, Blood knocking softly on the glass. A teacher sat at her desk, her hair braided and blonde and glasses low on her nose. Her sharp, beautiful features quickly went from startled to overjoyed. She hopped up from her desk, the long flowing skirt of her blue dress dancing as she clapped to get her students attention. She uttered inaudible words before prancing to the door. Both Adrian and Blood took a step back as the door swung inward and the teacher squealed in joy. "Welcome, welcome!" she cried, a grin stretching across her thin face. She ushered them in, both visitors slowly making their way into the classroom. The teacher introduced them. The students gawked and stared. Adrian distracted himself by taking in the old school feel in the room. There were black chalkboards, colored chalk, wooden yet comfortable desks and many young teens in the audience. He gulped, feeling his anxiety returning. Blood smiled to the students in the room, glancing to him. "You don't have to say much, just be prepared. These aren't warlords and other monarchs. I know what to say, you just follow along." Her voiced soothed him, dripping into his mind like warm honey.

He scoffed but smiled to the audience, "Right," he returned, "Warlords or not, these little bastards can be just as cruel if not more so."

Blood chuckled quietly and waited for her queue to speak. The teacher clasped her hands together, "The school was informed that a few guest speakers were coming today to talk about a profession that is available in the graduate's academy. The profession requires years of training, which you can go through in the next four years should you all wish to go to the next level in education. Today, we have Lord Adrian Artouri, king of the sister kingdom Azeron," most of the class perked up and began mumbling, especially the girls, "and with him today is his companion, Mistress Alexandra Bloodmoon, who has come here to explain to you all what it means to be a Wielder."

The room was shushed as the murmurs grew louder, everyone excited and awe inspired. Blood took a step forward, Adrian attempting to keep his tall but pained stature. "Hello everyone, I am so happy to see you all here today!" Blood grinned and the class responded in kind.

"Now, before I can begin, can anyone tell me what a wielder does?"

Adrian was taken aback by the sheer amount of hands that flew into the air. His friends grin widened, and she pointed to a boy sitting in the middle left part of the room. The boy brushed his blonde bangs to the side, clearing his throat. "Well Miss, a wielder is someone who can control those card creatures called cryptids."
Blood nodded slightly, "Yes, in a sense. But wielders do not completely control cryptids. Rather, they venture forth with cryptids by their side. Like loyal allies. Now, who can tell me what a cryptid is?"

Some hands remained raised but the number halved. Blood nodded to a girl in the front row, whose eyes were gleaming. "A cryptid is a being that is connected to a single soul and draws their life energy from it. It doesn't live in this world; it can only be summoned into it."

Adrian's ears burned and his own smile stretched, "I may not be a wielder, but it is a good feeling to know people are still interested in what they do. Maybe the wielder profession isn't as frowned upon as we think."

He glanced to Blood, who beamed with pride. "You are on the right track, lovely." The girl beamed behind her desk, twisting her hair with her fingers.

Blood stood up straighter, the aura around her wavering as she took in a deep breath. "Here we go." Adrian thought, and he prepared himself for a speech not often heard.

"Wielders are people, or creatures, that have a special bond with what we call cryptids. For the last thirteen years wielders have returned as a whole, and we have reshaped our bond with cryptids."

She continued with the history of wielders, how a guild of mages had first discovered a spiritual realm that consisted of only pure energy. The energy was so powerful within the realm that any who dared to pass through into would die immediately. Their bodies torn asunder by the intensity the energy had upon flesh. Instead, the mages investigated the realm from afar, using their magic abilities to feel the energy and its reactions to new magic. Soon, they found a way to transfer energy to and from the realm without harming either space. An ancient elven mage known as Thaldor began an experiment, taking a part of his soul energy and transferring it into the realm. Once done, there was a connection both terrifying and unbelievable. Once Thaldor had complete connection with the energy he had stored in the realm he directed the energy flow to an object. The first object he directed the energy at was an empty urn meant for his parting from the world. But the energy refused to pair with the urn and returned to its realm. For years he experimented with different objects to the point he was left with chairs and tables. What seemed like pure luck and accident, he one day directed it to a portrait that his late wife had painted of him. The energy flowed with ease and an aura exploded from the impact. But the connection was devastating to Thaldors home. With half of his house destroyed from the impact of magical energy, his body in the rubble, he was picked up by a large creature. As his old eyes opened, Thaldor looked upon a familiar face. He realized that the being he was looking at, holding him in giant hands, was a striking figure of him from years past. The giant being cradled him, and Thaldor marveled at what he held before him. Thaldor had grown old, even as an elf. However, the creature from the spiritual realm was like the portrait of his younger self, younger and fuller. However, its memories were few and far between. Its only knowledge was who he was connected to and his purpose to defend Thaldor with undying loyalty.

Thaldors findings were revolutionary and soon others began to experiment themselves. The members of the guild that Thaldor belonged to created more and more of these beings, naming them cryptids. Each mage created a cryptid inspired by themselves and soon began to ask wandering heroes and deities to join in their endeavors. However, as time waned by and Thaldor fell into a peaceful death, chaos ran rampant. Those within the mage's guild began to spill their energy into the realm in hopes to immortalize themselves. They became ravenous for power and fought one another in an inexplicable battle. Soon, the guild fell, their members and their cryptids destroying one another. The gods of Neotellus watched in horror as the battle ensued, and as it passed, they sealed away the scared, spiritual realm, cutting the elven race and its affiliates from its access.

As time passed, the seals started to fade, and a new era motioned by humans became aware of its existence. The gods recognized this curiosity of the creatures that roamed Neotellus and watched as they began to do as they had before, creating cryptids. They watched, the gods, and carefully from time to time, reminded them of the tragedies that may befall them. Eventually, scholars were chosen by the gods to be envoys, carrying out word to those around the world of the cryptids return. As the realm was opened once again, all energies of the old mages were lost, and no cryptid was recovered. The scholars that roamed the land began to offer a high honor to monarchs, heroes, fiends and even the gods to be connected to a cryptid. The scholars were artisans and painted portraits of being's worthy of having a cryptid to their name. Portraits were painted of the creatures, and eventually the gods presented to the scholar's stones in the shapes of cards. Each stone was etched with a symbol; a dragon bust, and element and ancient writing. The gods then said to them to connect the energies to the portraits, and from the portraits to the stone cards. The scholars did exactly as tell, the stone slabs bursting with color and life. As the energy passed through dimension, painting and finally stone, the card thrummed with energy. It was malleable like paper but indestructible. Successful, the scholars faced the gods and praised them, asking what their next step was. The gods then turned to heavenly chapels the scholars lived within, and with giant hands, they reached down and prodded the earth, creating small but seemingly endless pools of glittering water. The gods then said to them that each pool was a connection point to the realm and their world. This was the only way cryptids could be summoned. And to only those with confident enough will. The pools would then allow cryptid cards to be summoned forth from their depths. But only to those anointed to be Wielders.

The scholars had many questions for the gods, and they responded humbly. They told them how wielders many carry more than one of the same cryptids. How wielders could summon them with given reason. That without a bond, cryptids went without meaning and would turn to stone.

"What would happen to cryptids whose companion dies?" asked a scholar. The gods quivered in dismay. Their response echoed in their ears. "Should a wielder of cryptids die, the cryptids will return to their realm and await another worthy wielder," they paused, uneasy. "Or they shall revert back to stone and rest with them until they turn to dust." And the gods vanished.

Shaken but ready, the scholars created the laws and responsibilities of any creature that should become a wielder. History was dotted with occasions of those who broke the wielder laws yet could not be pursued as cryptids became too universal and accessible, even to those unconnected to the continent of Neotellus. Soon the sacred realm the cryptids originated from was named the Elemental Realm. It was found that cryptids were exceptionally strong with three of the main elements that helped create the earth, forest, water and fire. As the years passed by, cryptids began to develop into their own beings, however, greatly influenced by their wielders. Wielders found they were able to transfer the energy from weaker cryptids to their stronger cryptids, ultimately bringing a cryptid to its full potential. Cryptids were only a small fraction of the true power of most soul holders; those were chosen to have a cryptid to their name. Their sizes also differentiated, most colossal beings were small as cryptids, while others had giant versions of themselves that towered over most races. People who studied the remnants of an ancient industrial age gained a curiosity for cryptids. Their findings involved multiple statistics for cryptids to help with a technological following when events were brought into the community. Studies such as what power levels and rank certain cryptids could be classified as. Rare or common or ultra-rare and eventually even the legendary and almighty-rares. Most cryptids relied heavily on one of two attributes, whether they were offensive or defensive. However, a rare few were perfectly balanced in combat. Cryptids could also change forms. Any that were fed either the same cryptid or specialized card, the card itself would change into a new portrait and border. The possibilities of cryptids throughout the years began almost endless, from life like moving cards to multiple selections, the cryptid world began to expand, and creating a community that was both admired and feared.

Adrian was impressed with the knowledge Blood had of the wielders, yet, not surprised. She was a part of the first generation of new wielders. His fingers rubbed over his pouch and he looked at her as she continued to speak. "She is one of the few who truly put their all into what they do as wielders. Not many nowadays have those same feelings and confidence. Then again, the community is growing and she has introduced me to so many kind people. It's a shame really."

A few moments passed as Blood was offered a cup of water. The class murmured impatiently, eager to ask her questions. Adrian's own mind swirled but he bit his tongue and kept quiet. All eyes had shifted to his friend and no one seemed to pay attention to him. It was both a relief and an annoyance to Adrian. Being a prince and then a King he was used to being the center of attention. He both loathed it and liked it. Wishing to distract himself is stomach growled and he rolled his eyes, catching the attention of a girl in the second row. She shied away from his glance as he returned a surprised look and she bit her lip, quietly giggling. Blushing, Adrian faced forward again and listened to what his friend was saying once more. "The last thing I need is to encourage that type of behavior!" he thought.

After a few more minutes of answering questions, Blood finished the rest of her water. She threw the cup into a nearby trash can by the teacher's desk, a few spectators whooping at her success. The hair on Adrians necked prickled in excitement as he watched her reach down to rummage through her own pouch made of blackened leather. "Now," she began, "a wielders pouch is specially made for wielders. You can try your luck on making your own but unless you're a natural with magic, don't do it. You can get a beginners pouch pretty darn cheap, if not free."

The students watched in awe as she opened the lip of the pouch and held her hand above it. Without any words a small card floated from the pouch and hovered under her hand. Turning back to them, Blood turned her hand and the card levitated over her palm. "You guys and gals ready?"

The class stayed silent, all eyes on the card. It spun slightly in her hand, mesmerizing even Adrian. The anticipation in the room was too much, and when Adrian felt he and all the others in the room were about to burst, Blood grinned and the card fell. A rune sparked on the floor where it landed and seemed to bleach the tiles, a shadow rising in a mass of fog and dust. A large werewolf emerged from the fiery cloud in front of the audience. The creature became fully solid and stood at a staggering eight feet tall. The werewolf was adorned in silver armor, red cloth and foreign emblems. Its body was covered in grey fur. Long, braided hair fell behind his back and forward on his shoulders, with piercing red eyes, and his tail was long and slumped on the ground. He crossed his arms over his armored chest and growled, a wolfish grin twisted from its maw. "This," Blood began, "is a cryptid."

The class erupted in cheers, the sound of everyone, even Adrian, shaking the building. Adrian laughed and glanced to the door where more people had gathered and watched. He felt excited and happy, looking to the cryptid Blood had summoned. The aura around him was positively horrifying and grand; it sent shivers up his spine. As though a fire were burning inside of him.

Once the room had finally calmed down, Blood introduced her companion. "This here is Ulfhedinn, Guardian of the Queen of Light. His soul holder is one of the finest generals and loyalist members to the queen. She is his everything. As you saw, the rune on the ground burst into flames. That means, he is more focused with the fire element."

She glanced up to Ulfhedinn and he returned a loving glance. "He was one of my first cryptids, and one of my most trusted."

Ulfhedinn chuckled, his voice low and booming. The class then began to direct their questions to Ulfhedinn, most of which he answered happily. Eventually, the time came where the assembly had to end, the students and even staff unhappy to depart from their guests. Adrian was relieved that he hardly had to speak, only answering a few questions to those leaving. The principal waited for them outside the room, escorting the three of them with the teacher back out the front doors. Both women bid them farewell, the teacher especially to Adrian, and left them to themselves. Outside, they began their trek back to the castle. It took them less time as Adrian was able to regain his strength without any help from his friend. The route they took was more public, as the late afternoon gave them a short window to slip through the streets before they became overly busy. Adrian talked the most on the way back, Blood having been depleted from her long speech. As they reached the high steps to the main entrance of the castle, the white cathedral like mansion looming overhead, they sat down on the marble slabs for stairs. Blood leaned back on her elbows and sighed, head back and eyes closed. "That was exhausting," she muttered.

"But you did amazing!" Adrian exclaimed; his energy now positive.

Blood opened one eye and peered at him. "Eh, I said everything I knew. At least, everything I've read and heard about from scholars from my training days."

A breeze swept over them, chilling the air. Ulfhedinn grunted and shook his mane, standing on the steps, intimidating people passing by. "What have you planned for the rest of the day?" Adrian asked.

She took a moment to respond, "Getting ready," she sighed, "Spending my evening with Niassa mostly."

Adrian nodded, wrapping his thoughts over a question. A personal question. He hesitated and opened his mouth.

"No."

"What?" Adrian gapped, raising his brows.

"I know what you want to ask, and you can forget it."

There was a touch of venom in her words. Adrian wetted his lips, "Well, then why not? It's nearly been a year since you ph-"

Her head snapped in his direction and she glared at him. "Because it isn't any of your business. You may be like a brother to me, but this is not something I want to discuss."

Adrian held his breath as she flung herself from her position and towered over him. He looked at her as she cast her eyes on the main doors of the castle, "Well then, ok, don't answer then." He said softly.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, it's something sensitive I shouldn't have even thought of. I just want to make sure you're alright too."

Blood nodded and sighed again, "Can you make your way around just fine?"

He shrugged, "I'll manage, go, and all is well. Thank you for today."

Ulfhedinn began to ascend the steps, Blood starting to follow, "No problem, behave yourself."

Adrian laughed lightly, facing forward. He felt her conscience detach from his and he was once again alone in his thoughts. Before he could begin to think about the rest of the day, he heard Blood call his name. He twisted his torso and neck to see her. She had already gone up half-way. Hands over her mouth she called down to him, "Hey! Summon them! They miss you!"

With that, she turned and jumped up the steps, bounding over almost five or more at a time, Ulfhedinn a short distance behind her. Adrian turned back the other way, a frown creased on his face. "They miss you…" he repeated the words over and over in his head, his fingertips tracing over the small pouch on his belt.

"They miss you…"