SSS-Ranked Awakening: I Can Only Summon Mythical Beasts

It was well past noon, and Damien sat hunched over a rough-hewn wooden desk in the room the guild had provided for him.

The warm sunlight streaming through the window illuminated the dozens of scrolls, vials, and weaponry spread out on the table like an alchemist’s ritual circle.

He was shirtless, with his scabbard lying to the left of him and an inkwell balanced precariously to the right.

In the center of the room, the red slime; Luton squirmed contentedly in its semi-liquid form, forming little blobs that popped and reformed as it obeyed its summoner’s command.

“Next, two packs of dried horse meat,” Damien muttered.

Luton shimmered, and a pouch emerged from its translucent body, landing with a soft plop on the table.

“Eighteen Grade Four Demon cores, and Thirty Grade Four from the Spectral Fanged Vultures.”

Another shimmer. The air swirled as Luton heaved out the glowing cores, each pulsing with its own eerie light. Some red, some deep violet, and others with a haunting green hue.

Damien rolled them gently between his fingers, watching as the mana inside pulsed in response to his touch.

Weapons, food, clothing, money, and cores of various Grades — from beasts and demons alike — all accounted for.

And yet, as he checked each item off his mental list, Damien’s brows furrowed slightly. ‘What am I missing…? What haven’t I prepared for?’

His gaze lingered on the pile of equipment, but his thoughts wandered elsewhere — to the journey ahead, to Lyone, and to the unsettling pieces of the boy’s past. What more would they need out there?

A knock on the door pulled him from his musings.

“Lyone, if it’s you, Arielle’s still not back,” he called without turning. “And I need at least ten more minutes of peace.”

The door swung open before he could finish the sentence.

“Save that speech for someone willing to sit through it,” Arielle’s voice rang through the room.

She walked in confidently, arms crossed, her boots tapping lightly against the wooden floor.

Arielle took one look at the table strewn with supplies before flopping down on the bed with a satisfied sigh. Her hand ruffled the sheets, and she took a long inhale, blinking. “Still smells like you. That’s comforting.”

Damien arched an eyebrow. “Should I be flattered or worried?”

“Definitely flattered,” she said, then added with a smirk, “Maybe a little worried, too.”

He watched her for a few moments, then leaned back in his chair. “How’d it go? Did you find her?”

“Oh, I didn’t just find her. I practically resurrected her career.” Arielle waved a hand dramatically. “A lot of groveling. Some light bribery. And maybe a heartfelt plea or two.”

Damien narrowed his eyes. “You? Heartfelt? That’s harder to believe than you bribing someone.”

Before she could respond with some witty jab, the door creaked open again.

“Ahem!” A soft cough followed.

Both Damien and Arielle turned as a woman stepped into the room.

Neraya.

She had the kind of beauty that made silence follow her — long dark hair tied loosely behind her back, sharp brown eyes lined with silver kohl, and lips painted a subtle rose.

Her robes, though modest, clung in just the right places, and she carried herself with the confidence of someone used to being noticed.

“I thought I’d stop you before you finished spinning your heroic tale,” Neraya said, her tone dry but amused. Her gaze moved past Arielle to Damien, and when their eyes met, she gave him a slow, deliberate wink.

Damien blinked.

Arielle groaned and jumped up from the bed. “And this is exactly why I hesitated bringing her back!”

Neraya laughed softly. “What? I’m just greeting our fine host.”

“You’re flirting with him! You’re like—what—six years older than him!”

“Probably seven,” Neraya said without missing a beat.

Damien remained still, watching the back-and-forth with an unreadable expression. His arms folded across his bare chest as the two women devolved into a familiar rhythm of bickering, like longtime rivals more than coworkers.

“—and you said you weren’t interested in him!” Arielle exclaimed, pointing a dramatic finger.

“I’m not,” Neraya said smoothly, then turned to Damien again. “Unless, of course, he’s interested.”

“Ack—!” Arielle hissed, clutching her forehead. “Why did I even come back?!”

The door opened again.

This time, it was Lyone.

And he was holding a baby.

A pudgy, wide-eyed boy — barely older than a year — whose giggles filled the room like a breeze stirring wind chimes. Lyone beamed proudly, as though he’d discovered treasure.

“I found him crawling near the reception desk,” he said. “Isn’t he adorable?”

The room fell into stunned silence.

Damien stared.

Arielle stared.

Neraya’s smile slipped for the first time. Her eyes snapped toward Lyone.

“…You forgot him at the reception again, didn’t you?” Arielle said, her voice dangerously quiet.

“I—!” Neraya began, then groaned, lifting her arms dramatically. “There was a lot happening, okay? I had to pack! Prepare to run the guild! I didn’t even—!”

“You forgot your son,” Arielle interrupted, deadpan. “Your actual baby. At the reception!”

“He wasn’t in any danger!” Neraya retorted, flustered. “Everyone in the guild knows him! He was probably safer than you were growing up!”

Lyone walked over to Damien, holding the giggling child up like a trophy. “He drooled on me, but I forgive him.”

Damien, speechless, reached out to gently take the child and bounced him once in his arms. The baby squealed in delight.

Lyone exhaled. “This isn’t going to be a disaster, is it?”

Now one answered him and so he turned to Arielle. “Is there any problem?” His eyes scanned her face, looking for any sort of answer but she gave nothing away.

“There’ll soon be if she keeps flirting with Damien,” Arielle said with a plain look.

Neraya smirked. “He can flirt back, you know.”

Damien closed his eyes for a brief moment, then handed the baby back to Lyone.

“…I’m going to finish packing,” he muttered.

But a smile played at the corner of his lips.

Despite the chaos, despite the teasing and interruptions — he hadn’t felt this… grounded in a long time.

And it was almost enough to make him forget the storm waiting beyond Westmont’s borders.

Almost.

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