For a moment, the two Beastmen simply stared at one another.

Only the faint crackle of dying embers disturbed the silence.

Kaelith knew immediately what the panther meant.

For a moment, the memory returned.

Not as a thought.

As a sensation.

His muscles tightened involuntarily. He remembered the feeling of something burning through every vein, every nerve, every part of him.

The scent of blood.

The taste of iron.

The certainty that his body was coming apart from the inside.

And he confirmed it.

"Yeah. It hurt."

He searched Silas’s expression to see whether he already understood what that meant. When the panther remained silent, he continued.

"I’ve never heard of anyone saying the mate mark hurt."

Silas closed his eyes briefly before crossing the room toward the seating area in front of the fireplace.

The leather armchair creaked softly beneath his weight.

"It felt like acid moving through my veins."

His gaze remained fixed on the firewood stacked inside the hearth.

"I think it was the worst thing I’ve ever felt."

The admission surprised Kaelith. The crown prince never displayed weakness. And he certainly didn’t talk about it.

But now they were mate brothers.

Perhaps that changed things.

The hyena crossed to a waist-high cabinet lined with bottles and glasses.

He poured drinks for both of them. The scent of alcohol, aged wood, and honey filled the room.

The amber liquid flowed into deep crystal glasses with a pleasant glug.

Somewhere outside, wind rattled softly against the balcony doors.

Carrying them back, Kaelith handed one to Silas. The panther accepted it gratefully, raised it in silent acknowledgment, and took a long drink.

For a brief moment, notes of oak, smoke, and spice lingered on his tongue.

Kaelith set his own glass on the small table between the armchairs before crouching beside the fireplace.

A moment later, flames sprang eagerly to life and crackled cheerfully.

Warmth spread through the room again.

The shadows retreated slightly from the advancing light.

Firelight moved across glass bottles and polished wood. Golden light danced across the rugs and wooden beams overhead.

Outside, wind wisperd through the grasslands below the castle.

Every now and then, Kaelith could hear the distant call of a night bird drifting through the darkness beyond the balcony.

Only then did he sit down and take a large swallow himself. The liquor burned pleasantly on the way down.

"I thought I was melting alive." Nothing compared to the memory. He stared into the flames. "Only afterward came the euphoria everyone talks about."

"She’s different."

Silas voiced the thought both of them had been avoiding. His deep voice sounded far too loud in the room.

Instinctively, Kaelith glanced around.

"No need to worry. My shadows have screened the room. They’ll inform me if anyone comes near."

Right.

The room seemed unusually dark despite the fire. The corners swallowed more light than they should have.

And Kealith could have sworn the shadows were whispering to one another.

Not words.

Just soft rustling sounds at the edge of hearing. Like distant conversations carried on the wind.

"We need to find out what it means. Surely your mother’s library has books about mating?"

Silas looked into his glass and watched the firelight reflecting on the dark liquid.

"I think we’re more likely to find answers at the Academy of Zasar." His expression darkened. "If any answers exist at all."

Silence settled between them again.

The fire crackled.

Glass clicked softly against wood as Kaelith set his drink down.

Both males watched the flames.

Neither of them spoke.

Both were listening to the fire.

Both were thinking about the same female.

The scent she had left behind still lingered faintly in the room.

Vanilla.

Cinnamon.

Honey.

The traces were already fading. Neither male found that fact remotely acceptable.

Both understood that a visit to the university could provide enormous benefits for Mirabelle.

It could also be extremely dangerous.

Because she was different.

Because she was stubborn.

And because of her attitude toward the queen.

Silas had no issue with Mirabelle having a bone to pick with his mother.

Males had a tendency to place their female above their mother.

And he was self-aware enough to admit that his mother was far from a perfect ruler.

He had watched countless males die for her ambitions.

She had sold it to everyone as a mission to secure more females for the males of Zasar.

But he knew better.

It had always been about expanding her territory.

About power.

About ambition.

And yet...

A small smile appeared on his face.

Warmth settled in his chest that had nothing to do with the fireplace.

He was grateful for it.

Without those ambitions, he never would have met Mirabelle.

"We need to become stronger," Kaelith said quietly.

The words hurt.

Because saying them meant admitting they were still far from being the mates Mirabelle truly needed.

Silas rotated the glass slowly in his hand.

Amber liquid caught the firelight.

For a brief moment, he saw Mirabelle’s face reflected in it.

The image vanished as quickly as it appeared.

The determination remained.

The panther nodded in agreement as shadows darkened his face.

"That...

And she needs more mates." His gaze settled on the dancing flames.

"Preferably stronger than us."

---

Completely unaware that her Beast husbands had reached the exact same conclusion as the system, Mirabelle stared at the octopus mascot with eyes widened in shock.

Her mouth had fallen open in an attempt to provide her brain with additional oxygen. Hopefully enough to process what she had just heard:

"Th-that’s a joke."

Pebbles looked offended.

"Certainly not, dear Host."

He cheerfully floated in a circle around her.

"Each mate increases your survival probability by an average of five percent."

Mirabelle blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then stared.

"How many mates am I supposed to take?!"

Three were already enough.

Weren’t they?

Her life was complicated enough as it was.

Pebbles immediately answered:

"Since Host appears to struggle with basic arithmetic, I shall assist."

Mirabelle felt threatened.

"One hundred divided by five equals twenty."

The spirit raised a tentacle.

"Since Host already possesses three mates, the system recommends an additional seventeen."

A pause.

"Minimum."

Mirabelle nearly choked.

"Twenty mates?!" Her voice rose.

"You’ve completely lost your mind."

The sudden outburst startled a flock of birds resting in one of the orchard trees. They exploded into the air with offended chirping.

Wings beat frantically through the night.

Leaves rustled overhead as the birds disappeared into the blue moonlight.

For a moment, Mirabelle could even hear the rapid pounding of their tiny hearts.

The sight gave Mirabelle just enough time to collect herself.

A little.

The scent of ripe apples drifted through the orchard.

Sweet.

Heavy.

Somewhere nearby, an overripe pear had fallen into the grass earlier that evening and was slowly fermenting.

Mirabelle: "Silas is already almost Cultivation Stage Six." She crossed her arms.

"Are there even many males stronger than that?"

She still didn’t fully understand cultivation.

Or what the stages actually represented.

As far as she was concerned, Silas was simply absurdly powerful.

The memory of the forest still lingered beneath her skin.

The strength humming through her muscles felt almost unreal.

Every movement seemed so much lighter.

Pebbles looked at her with an expression that suggested she had just asked whether water was wet.

"On this continent alone, the highest known cultivation stage currently possessed by a male is Stage Twelve."

Mirabelle froze.

Pebbles continued mercilessly.

"And then there is the rest of the Beast World."

"..."

Mirabelle regretted asking.

"And where exactly am I supposed to find a male at Cultivation Stage Twelve?"

The spirit’s face split into a radiant smile.

He nodded enthusiastically.

"Don’t worry, Host." His eyes curved into happy crescents. "They’ll find you."

"That is not reassuring."

The lynx female muttered the words while kicking at a stone hidden among the grass.

Dew-coated blades brushed against her ankles.

The result was immediate.

The rock shot through the air with absurd speed. A split second later it punched clean through a very thick branch.

CRACK.

The branch groaned loudly before crashing to the ground.The sound echoed through the orchard.

Somewhere farther away, a sleeping animal startled awake and bolted through the undergrowth.

"Oh."

Mirabelle stared at the destruction in horror.

Tiny fragments of bark drifted through the moonlight like dust. The scent of fresh sap immediately reached her nose.

Pebbles observed the scene:

"Congratulations, Host. It appears your body has successfully adapted to the cultivation levels."

One tentacle rose as if expecting a high five.

When Mirabelle ignored him, he awkwardly redirected the motion and pretended to wipe sweat from his forehead.

"Adapted? I wasn’t planning for any of this to happen." Her voice dropped into something dangerously close to resignation. "Now I have to worry about accidentally killing people when I hug them."

Her fingers flexed.

The statement was only half a joke.

Unfortunately, the flying tentacle thing took it completely seriously.

"Host should attempt to hug the assassins."

_____