Morning in the Herd-City did not rise with bells.
It rose with a bellow.
A deep, resonant call rolled through the living streets—part horn-blast, part creature's roar. The entire city seemed to shudder in response, not violently but pleasantly, as though adjusting its posture after a long sleep. Platforms shifted subtly. Amber veins brightened along the streets. Somewhere far below, titanic muscles contracted in synchronized rhythm.
Eryndor awoke instantly. He then rushed out of the resting alcove—grown from living wood that shaped itself into bedding.
"…The city is yawning," he muttered. Eyes still half-closed. Behind him, Garruk emerged, blinking sleepily.
"That is the Herd-Beast greeting the sun." Lirien said as she stepped out from her own alcove.
"Which is essentially the same thing," Eryndor retord.
Today felt different. They could sense it immediately as at late morning they moved toward the central thoroughfares.
The usual steady bustle had swelled into something larger. Larger crowds, excited voices, decorated hides, colorful plumes braided into manes.
The culture here was loud, proud, and tactile. Every greeting was a forearm clasp, every debate a booming challenge and almost every celebrations involving a stomping thunder of hooves on living streets.
At one moment, Eryndor paused to watch two elders argued—one a massive bull-woman in bronze plating, the other a scarred ox-warrior with a huge axe on his back.
Their "argument" sounded like a war chant.
Eryndor leaned toward Lirien and whispered, "Are they about to fight?"
A passing Beastfolk snorted. "They are discussing breakfast."
Eryndor stared, then exhale. "Karshvar must be exhausting."
By midday they reached a vast plain on the western side of the city, where a platform and banners bearing the sigil of the Eastern Plateau—a yellow slit pupil encircled by spiraling runes—hung proudly above the gathering grounds.
The crowds thickened there.
Young Beastfolk from countless clans assembled beneath vast canopies woven from layered hide and glimmering roots.
The Aruq Clan, the towering bull-kin, the hosts and landlord of the Herd-City, their youngster stood prominently near the central dais. Their frames were immense, their armor looked thick and heavy.
Nearby stood the Yavvara clan youngster—sleek panther-kin with predatory grace. The Vaashir clan youngster of wolf-kin that gathered in loose clusters, alert and keen-eyed. Even youngster from Raavik clan of the raven-kin had arrived, with their sharp and mystical eyes.
More young people filled the edges of the platforms, each bearing their clan distinct markings and ornamentation.
The previous night, before Eryndor party and the beastfolk warrior split up they had finally told them about the grand event.
The Trials of the Voice of the Hunt.
Held once every twenty-five years.
From among the many who would compete, only chosen few would rise as the Beastlord's elite guardians—spiritual warriors known as the Fangguard. And today was the day to sign up for the trial.
Eryndor surveyed the gathering and murmured, "So essentially, this is the continent's version of superhero auditions."
Garruk lifted an eyebrow. "You are not wrong." He nodded.
"Or executioners," Lirien too quietly add.
As they stepped onto the outer edge of the plain, someone crashed into Eryndor from the side. He felt like being hit by a stack of boulders.
"—oof—"
Eryndor stumbled back, catching himself on a root-rail.
A tall figure stood before him.
Sleek shadow-black fur. Angular golden eyes. Pointed ears. His movements were fluid—almost too fluid—as if his bones were made of coiled springs.
He wore minimal armor: flexible darkplates and a mantle of panther feathers. A long, curved tail flicked behind him.
"Ah," the panther-kin said coolly, inclining his head slightly. "Apologies. You move too quietly for your size."
Eryndor blinked. "…I am average-sized."
"For humans," the panther replied with a smile.
Lirien failed to suppress a short laugh.
The panther-kin tilted his head, studying them with lazy curiosity.
"You are not from here," he observed. "Matrabhumi, perhaps?"
"Obviously," Eryndor replied with a snort.
The panther's lips curved faintly. "There are humans in this City. But you are different."
He inhaled subtly, nose twitching.
"You smell of metal. Dust. And something else."
Eryndor gave a smug smile. "Charm? Handsomeness? Unshakeable charisma?"
"No," the panther said without hesitation. "Exhaustion."
Garruk burst into roaring laughter.
Lirien smirked. "Someone finally said it."
The panther-kin dipped his head slightly. "I am Ashara Yavvara. Hunter. And, wishfully, one who will pass the trial."
Eryndor glanced toward the expansive field where young warriors were gathering.
"It is that important?" he asked. "The trial?"
Ashara's golden eyes sharpened.
"It is," he said evenly. "From among many capable fighters, only the worthy remain standing. Most will fail. Some will break. A few may die."
His hand clenched briefly.
"To be chosen as Fangguard is the highest honor for us."
Eryndor paused and gave a dry laugh.
"Oh… I am sorry for asking, I have no idea."
Ashara flicked his tail lightly. "It is fine. You should watch. The trials are… entertaining."
After a pause, he gestured toward the deeper districts.
"Little advice, you would be wise to learn this city customs. Outsiders can be in trouble if they walk incorrectly here."
"Walk incorrectly?" Eryndor repeated.
Ashara nodded. "In this city, stepping into a hearth-zone with your left foot signals a duel."
Eryndor blinked.
He looked at his left foot.
"You are going to say It's already in a hearth-zone, isn't it."
Ashara smirked.
"Yes."
Just as he felt few beastfolk warriors turned to stare at him Eryndor very deliberately lifted his foot and stepped backward.
"There," he said. "Resolved."
Ashara threw his head back and laughed at Eryndor antic's.
"You are funny guy." he said after a while, wiping at the corner of his eye.
"Don't worry, it was a joke little guy."
Eryndor frowned. "I dislike you slightly."
Ashara's grin widened.
Then he began to speak more about the city traditions and customs to them, the correct one this time.
After a while Eryndor noticed something beneath the celebratory atmosphere.
Eyes lingered between the different clans gathering here. The subtle hostility, but more of evaluation. Weighing, testing. Watching for signs of strength or weakness.
Seemingly also noticed the atmosphere, Ashara's voice lowered slightly.
"These trials determine more than guardians. They determine favor. Prestige. Influence. Even future clan leader."
He glanced toward the crowd.
"Then there were those who fear the old tensions will resurface."
"War?" This time Lirien asked. Straight to the point.
Ashara wanted to shake his head but shrugged instead. "I don't know. Thais is a competition. And competition between great clans often feels like or even lead to war."
The air thickened like a storm waiting for its first strike of lightning.
When their conversation paused, Ashara flicked his ears.
"You three are… unusual. Odd. But interesting."
"We hear that often." Eryndor shrugged. While Garruk snorted and Lirien ignoring his remark.
"I believe it," Ashara replied dryly.
He stretched languidly, muscles rippling beneath sleek fur.
"Perhaps we will meet again. Or perhaps not. Fate rarely bothers being polite."
Eryndor tilted his head. "Perhaps we can be friends?"
Ashara blinked. "…Do you want to be?"
"Sure."
"Hm. Then no."
Eryndor sputtered. "Wha, why?"
Ashara turned away, his tail flicking with elegant.
"Because you asked. Friendship happens like a hunt—quietly, and with blood."
Eryndor frowned. "Is that how friendship works here?"
"I believe that is progress." Garruk replied with sarcasm.
"I miss regular people." He added.
Ashara melted into the crowd of hopeful warriors.
Eryndor watched him go, yet for reasons he couldn't name, he felt faint stirrings of a thread seemingly connected their paths. Perhaps destiny or just a presence. Perhaps simply the beginning of something inevitable.
For now, the Herd-City thundered onward across the plains—alive, ancient, brimming with secrets.
And Eryndor, Lirien, and Garruk were carried deeper into its heart.