SSS-Ranked Awakening: I Can Only Summon Mythical Beasts

The door opened with a low creak.

Arielle stepped in, boots echoing softly against the stone floor. She paused in the doorway, hand still on the latch, her eyes locking instantly on the two figures sitting loosely on the far bench—Zeke and Lira.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Behind them, Damien stood at the entrance, watching as all three of them stared at each other like reunited family members—which was true to an extent.

Arielle didn't breathe. Or rather, she couldn't.

Zeke stood first. Not fast. Not slow. He simply stood.

"…Ari," he said, voice low. Uncertain. He still found it unbelievable that Arielle was standing in front of him.

Arielle's fingers tightened on the doorframe. "You're alive."

Lira rose beside him, mouth twitching into a faint, awkward smile. "We could say the same to you. You suddenly vanished, leaving us to fend for ourselves knowing how bad that place was."

"I thought…" Arielle began, then stopped herself. Her voice wavered for the first time in a long time. "I thought they'd come after us all if I carried you all along. I also couldn't bear to tell you guys as it would endanger you. I thought they would get to you guys."

Zeke's expression darkened. "Almost. We ran weeks after you vanished. It was chaos. I figured we were next."

"I couldn't take anyone with me," she said quietly, stepping farther into the room. "I barely made it out on my own. I thought… If I stayed, I'd die. If I left with others, they'd die."

Lira's voice cracked just a little. "We didn't blame you. We just... didn't know where you went."

The tension shattered when Arielle crossed the room in three strides and pulled Lira into a tight hug. The younger woman froze in surprise before wrapping her arms around her former leader, her eyes filled with tears that were waiting to break out.

Zeke stood beside them, his jaw clenched, eyes glassy.

"We looked for you," he said. "We wanted to find you. But the trails went cold."

"I hid them on purpose," Arielle replied. "For your safety. For mine. I'm sorry."

Lira pulled back, her eyes wet. "We thought you were dead."

"Sometimes, I did too."

They all sat.

The room was thick with the weight of years passed. Of old blood ties. Of unshed guilt and fractured memories. No one had to explain what The Traversers were. They all remembered.

"Do you remember Kael?" Zeke asked suddenly.

Arielle blinked. "The twin with the crow tattoos?"

"He started his own group."

She gave a surprised snort. "Of course he did."

"And Renna?"

A shadow crossed Arielle's face. "Didn't make it, did she."

Zeke shook his head. "She tried to leave a few days after you did. We don't know what happened. But she didn't resurface."

Arielle went silent.

Lira's voice was softer. "You built something back then, Ari. You led us."

"I barely knew what I was doing."

"But we followed you anyway," Lira said. "And we still would."

Arielle smiled faintly. "You're idiots."

"Maybe," Zeke said. "But we survived thanks to you."

There was a knock on the frame, gentle but clear.

Damien leaned into the room, eyes flicking briefly between the three of them. He said nothing.

Arielle met his gaze, her expression softening.

He gave her a barely-there nod. He understood.

"I'll give you space," Damien said. "You've got catching up to do."

As Damien stepped back, planning to shut the door softly behind him, he was forced to stop when he heard a yawn and pushed the door open again, only to find Lyone shuffling out of his bed just behind where Zeke and Lies were sitting, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

The boy blinked. "You're not torturing anyone, are you?"

"Too late," Damien replied. "Interrogation's done."

Lyone yawned. "Did we win?"

"It wasn't a fight."

"Still feels like we won."

Damien gave a low sigh, then tilted his head toward the stairs. "Come on. Let's walk. Arielle needs some time."

Lyone stared at the three figures in the room and nodded. He didn't hesitate to walk past them.

Lyone fell into step beside Damien, his footsteps light, half-awake.

Outside, Greshan's night had grown thicker—lamplight glowing against the blue hues of moonlight, streets nearly deserted save for the occasional late travelers or slow-moving patrol. The inn behind them glowed gently, warm with the sounds of quiet conversations.

Damien walked aimlessly at first, letting the road lead him. Lyone didn't ask questions. Not yet. He just followed.

They passed through one of the main streets, turned down a wider alley near the stables, and that's when the noise hit them—muffled at first, then louder.

A rhythmic mix of shouting, cheers, and something slamming into stone.

"Is that…?" Lyone asked.

Damien didn't answer, but turned toward the sound.

They emerged into a half-hidden courtyard tucked behind a line of shops. The space was wide, circular, surrounded by low fences and open lanterns mounted on poles. In the center—an open stone pit.

A brawling circle.

Inside, two men circled each other—one bare-chested and wielding gauntlets, the other wrapped in enchanted chainmail, moving like a prowling cat. Magic flickered subtly around them—enhancements, not spells.

A small crowd surrounded the pit. Most were locals. A few clearly not—mercenaries, travelers, and thrill-seekers. At the far end stood a tall, scarred man handling the bets.

"Official fights every hour," a woman explained to another bystander. "Unofficial ones in between."

"What do they win?" Lyone whispered.

"Coin," Damien answered. "Reputation. Sometimes a new scar."

Lyone stepped closer to the railing, his eyes wide. "They really just… fight? With magic?"

Damien studied the fighters.

"No killing," he said. "Rules are strict. You lose when you drop or forfeit."

At that moment, the gauntlet-wielder charged in, only to be flipped over the chainmail fighter's shoulder.

Bang!!

He hit the ground hard—too hard—and groaned as the crowd erupted in shouts.

"Winner—Raithe!" the announcer called.

Lyone leaned back. "Okay, that was cool."

Damien didn't respond.

He was already watching the pit again. Not with excitement. With calculation.

The field was practical. Flat. Well-lit. No enchantments to restrict movement. And the man who ran the betting table… Damien could swear he'd seen him somewhere.

But he couldn't bring himself to remember where.

"Want to place a bet?" Lyone asked.

Damien's eyes narrowed.

"…Nope. I don't think this sort of thing suits me."