Standing in the middle of the field, the ache in my arms, back, and hips flared with every shallow breath. The soreness had settled into my bones like a curse—residual punishment from the sheep herding and Cordelia's mandated "light exercise." And if I dared shift too fast, I was certain something would snap.
Ranah stood across from me, unimpressed.
"You're still walking like you're eighty," she noted flatly. "Honestly? I agree with Lumivis. You've really, really underutilized him. Like… offensively so."
She folded her arms, eyes narrowing as if disappointed in both my intelligence and my life choices.
"What you should be doing," she continued, "is using the Machina form you've bound him to. Constantly. You bonded a divine weapon to yourself and then just shelved him like a novelty lamp. Let me see this so-called 'toy' he keeps complaining about."
I exhaled slowly and called Lumivis forth.
There was a rush of energy—a shimmer in the air as the contracted being stirred from its latent form. Silver light spiraled around me in fluid arcs, drawing intricate patterns in the air, almost like calligraphy made of stars. Within seconds, that graceful motion coalesced into something solid.
Starborn Finale.
The spinning top hovered midair for a moment, humming with restrained force. Its surface gleamed with layered sigils—celestial etchings circling its chassis like constellations in orbit. It was elegant, compact, and quietly menacing.
Ranah blinked. Then tilted her head.
"…Oh," she muttered. "It's a battle-top."
She walked a slow circle around it, examining the fine engravings with more curiosity than judgment now.
"Well, that wasn't as bad as I expected," she admitted. "I thought he'd fused himself to, like, a tea kettle or something. We can work with this. It's not traditional, sure—but it's designed for combat. Sport combat, but that still counts. You've got potential here."
Her tone shifted from disapproval to calculation.
"And now," Ranah said, clapping her hands once as if sealing a deal, "we're going to teach you how to actually use him."
Her tone carried the weight of inevitability. This was no suggestion.
"First," she continued, "start by activating him in his operations mode."
I nodded. That was easy. Familiar. I had piloted the Card Knight before, and even though the connection was still awkward at times—like wearing someone else's gloves—I could do it.
With a breath, I called the command. Starborn Finale shimmered briefly, then locked into its operational stance, hovering just above the grass, the whir of its core beginning to resonate in the air.
"Good," Ranah nodded. "Now. Keep him in this form for the day. Your command is simple: spin. Just keep spinning."
I blinked.
"You're joking. That's it?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She folded her arms. "No. That isn't it at all. But it's the first step. The more you use a True Spirit's Machina form, the more it adapts and strengthens its integration with you. Especially if you allow it time to operate independently. You're not just training yourself, you're training him—and the synchronization between the two of you."
"Right…" I muttered, watching as Starborn Finale began its lazy spin, trailing faint light across the soil. "So we just… babysit the battle-top all day?"
"You'll do more than that," Ranah said. "But for now, we're shifting focus. There's something more urgent."
I turned to her, narrowing my eyes slightly.
"That is?"
"You're behind," she said plainly. "Not permanently, but enough that it's noticeable. We've discussed it—Temptation, Morres, Barbatos, and myself. You've had setbacks. Mental strain. A cursed book. Meridian damage. All valid reasons. But we're done letting that define your ceiling."
I stayed quiet. I wasn't sure if I agreed or felt vaguely insulted.
Ranah didn't give me time to think.
"We've watched you fight," she went on. "And while you're adapting well, it's clear—you aren't built to be a standard foot soldier."
That earned a blink from me. "Then… what am I built for?"
"A mobile archer," she said. "Cavalry-style. Speed, precision, elevation. That's where you shine. Your body's too delicate right now for the slugfest style Temptation favors. But you? We're going to refine your approach. A mounted archer with magical support and a Machina-class companion? That's what we're building toward."
I let out a slow breath. It wasn't what I expected—but it wasn't a bad direction, either. And with Starborn Finale in the mix, it even sounded… promising.
"So," she said, stepping closer, "access your Mask. Use it to scan your possible riding affinities. We want to know which mount style will cost you the least. That'll give us the baseline."
I nodded and let the Mask of the Seraphim manifest over my face. Cool ether kissed my skin as it aligned with my vision, data flaring into clarity. I restricted the search to riding-focused Skillcubes.
Horsemanship – 300 FP Birdmanship – 140 FP Sharksmanship – 1900 FP Griffinship – 700 FP Dragonship – 71,000 FP Leviathanship – 68,000 FP
I stared at the numbers for a beat, eyebrows lifting slowly.
"…Why is riding a griffin cheaper than a shark?" I asked aloud, tilting my head. "Is that a cosmic joke?"
Ranah shrugged. "Maybe sharks don't like you."
"I mean," I said, letting the data dissolve, "cheapest is Birdmanship. But I could also afford Horsemanship. Or… I could just bite the bullet and go straight to Griffinship."
A grin broke over my face.
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Ranah smirked.
"Well," she said, "if you're going to fly, you might as well do it on a predator."
The moment the numbers settled in my Mask's vision, I made my decision.
Griffinship Level One has been obtained. Remaining Familiarity Points: 0
A sharp pulse of energy trickled down my spine—familiar and electric. The bond had formed. Somewhere deep within the lexicon of this world, I now understood the basics of how to ride a griffin.
I exhaled.
"Well. That's decided then," I said, dismissing the Mask with a blink. "Griffins it is. How hard can it be to acquire one?"
Ranah turned slowly, her expression perfectly flat. "You ask that after locking yourself into the skill?"
I gave her a sheepish smile. "Let me guess. I'm not the first who's done that."
"You're not. And let me take another wild guess—" she arched an eyebrow "—you grew up reading Roland and the Seven Skulls?"
"Guilty." I gave a small laugh. "The scene with the griffin saving him from the sunken cathedral? That one got me."
"It got a lot of kids. Doesn't mean it taught them realism." She sighed and shook her head. "Still, it's not the worst outcome."
I perked up. "So it's possible?"
"Griffins themselves? Sure. Not hard to find. But they're proud. Stubborn. Dangerous when young. And more importantly—they only bond properly if raised from birth. They need to recognize you as their sole rider. Which means—"
"Which means I need to hatch one myself," I finished. "Got it."
"Which also means we need to get you money," Ranah said, stepping closer and tapping her foot against the dirt. "Stable fees, egg brokerage, licensing… it's not cheap. But lucky for you, you do have assets. Sheep, namely."
I nodded and did some quick math in my head. I'd been tracking the wool yield since the flock stabilized.
"Currently estimating fourteen waxing silvers before taxes," I reported. "After fees, that's around twelve waxing silvers and eighty-nine waning."
Ranah whistled low. "That's… better than expected."
"I've got [Sheep Husbandry] and [Shepherding] now," I said with some pride. "Even with the pain, it helps."
"Well, don't get too comfortable. A griffin egg costs anywhere from fifty to eighty waxing silvers, depending on the breed and who you're buying from. That's before even factoring in the habitat or license for aerial combat units."
I let out a long groan and looked out over the pastures.
"So... roughly four or five months of wool just for an egg."
"Maybe less if you impress the right people," she said with a sly grin. "Or if you start selling something other than wool."
"Like what?"
Ranah grinned wider. "Have you ever considered sheep cheese?"
"…I don't think I have the dignity left to survive that branding effort."
She laughed. "Good. Then you'll fit right in. Welcome to the world of griffin-riders, Alexander Duarte—the glorious life of shepherds, stables, and sky combat."
I turned to look at Lumivis, still spiraling gently within the form of Starborn Finale. The Chancellor-styled Machina spun in place just a few paces from me, his presence constant and oddly serene. Even now, as Ranah and I spoke, he required no effort—no real thought or energy from me. He simply was. Existing, obeying, sustaining motion without instruction. It felt strange. Powerful, yet distant.
I wanted to ask him about it. Wanted to know how it felt on his end—this quiet, mechanical endurance. But Lumivis, as usual, remained silent. Not because he lacked thoughts, but because his voice was sealed. For now, communication would remain one-sided.
So I turned to Ranah instead.
"Hey," I said, "why isn't the skill just called 'Riding'? You know, just one unified mount-riding skill. Seems simpler. Who in their right mind even rides a leviathan?"
Ranah chuckled and folded her arms. "Because 'Riding' is a skill. A generic one, acquired passively by doing the act. But specific riding skills—like Griffinship, Horsemanship, or even Leviathanship—are what allow you to ride well. Think of them like combat forms. Anyone can throw a punch, but not everyone can box."
I hummed in understanding.
She continued, "It's not that we won't get you on a horse or bird for training—we will. You'll gain [Riding] along the way just by exposure. But our goal is to specialize you. Shape your toolkit around your preferred mount. That's why we weren't disappointed that you acquired the Mask, remember? To help you refine what suits you."
She paused then, bringing her two pointer fingers together beneath her chin in thought.
"Would you be okay sacrificing two skillcube slots in your second shell for a second beast bond?"
That made me blink.
"You can have more than one?"
"You can," she confirmed, though her expression grew more serious. "But it's not recommended. Not unless you have a very specific build to support it."
She began to list it off on her fingers. "The first bond is free. The second costs two skill slots. The third? Four. The fourth costs eight. And each one requires dedicated maintenance, loyalty building, training time—it adds up fast. Without an Arte to help manage multiple beasts, it becomes… very, very impractical."
I scratched my chin. "So if we wanted to try a second beast bond, we'd need to find a griffin spirit beast that matches my Arte's domain, right? Something with a Dimension, Crystal, or Nature aspect?"
"Or Star," Ranah added with a sly grin.
I gave her a dry look. "Right. Because that's easy."
She just smiled. "There's a reason I asked if you liked Roland and the Seven Skulls. It's a fantasy you've read, not one you've written yet. You remember what happens around the halfway point?"
I tilted my head. "That's when Roland bonds with the griffin of starlight in the buried library of the Forgotten Archive."
She nodded. "Exactly. It's not a guarantee… but it's possible."
The realization clicked into place. My smile returned—small, but full of something rare.
"I can go into the book," I said quietly. "Use my Arte. Lexicon Manipulation. Dive into Roland and the Seven Skulls... and try to acquire that griffin myself."
Ranah's smile matched mine now.
"Now that's the kind of thinking I want to see from the future griffin-rider of House Duarte."
"Technically," I said with a grin, "it'd be House Alizade. The Duartes aren't nobility. Only I am."
Ranah gave an exaggerated gasp and swept into the most mocking bow she could manage. "Forgive me, my lord."
I returned her theatrics with full affectation, lifting my chin and folding my hands behind my back. "The proper title, if you must use one, is Your Grace. I am one of the Princes of Bast. My duty is to protect the people and our patron. In this case, both the citizens of the Free City of Marr... and the people of Bast itself."
I tried to keep my tone dignified, regal even, but Ranah was already circling me like a hyena scenting an opportunity.
"And says the 'Prince' who can barely stand after stringing a bow," she muttered, before flicking a light but precise chop to my side.
Pain shot through my hips like firecrackers. I collapsed instantly, toppling onto my side with an undignified oof.
Ranah stood over me with a smirk. "Careful, Your Grace. Don't get lost in your own grandeur."
She leaned down slightly, her voice softer now—more honest.
"Vanitas isn't just the name of your pursuer. It's a sin for a reason."
The words lingered, heavier than the blow. I stayed on the ground for a moment, staring at the sky, letting the silence sit.
Because she wasn't wrong.
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