Jeremiah shouldered through the packed ring of bodies, the sound of Milo's bark like a beacon cutting through the festival roar. People parted in uneven knots, until the press loosened and the scene opened in front of the stage.

  A small girl, maybe eight at most, sat on the flagstones with her knees scraped and her cheeks streaked with tears. Her fists clenched tight around the hem of her dress as if hanging on could make the world stop spinning. Stella stood over her, tall and taut with fury, one hand braced on the girl's head like a shield, the other stabbing a finger toward a man twice her size. Milo filled the gap between them, shoulders rigid, hackles raised, his bark steady and deep, a warning in every syllable.

  Opposite them loomed a thickset man in a sleeveless denim vest, forearms like hams, and hands wrapped in fingerless gloves. A ball cap shaded his eyes, but he smiled down at the other three with a kind of slow, oily smugness that made Jeremiah's teeth ache.

  To their right sat one of the Arcadium's satellite arenas, its miniature terrain glowing faintly beneath a ring of etched runelight. Sand, rock shelf, and a notched stone the size of a fist made up its little battleground. Above it, a hovering screen magnified the view, every motion caught in crisp close-up.

  The crowd's murmurs built like static, bits of outrage and defense breaking through the din.

  "—this ain’t right—"

  "—but rules are rules—"

  "—he won't call it—"

  "—it's a fight—"

  "—This is just cruel!"

  Their tone swung between argument and disgust, though most leaned toward pity for the crying girl.

  Jeremiah's jaw tightened. He stepped into the space Milo's barking had carved from the crowd, the noise dimming as people instinctively made room.

  "What's going on here?" he asked, voice level but sharp enough to cut.

  Stella's head snapped toward him, her glare flashing hot before she could speak. But the girl beat her to it, her words tripping out between hiccups and tears.

  "He won't let Paddy go!"

  Jeremiah followed her gaze to the arena screen.

  Two beetles occupied the frame.

  The first was a monster — easily the largest he'd seen today, maybe larger than even his Goliath Bark Beetle if you counted the cruel curve of its mandibles. It was an ugly, armored brute, brown as dead bark, layered with uneven ridges that jutted like broken armor plates. Its mandibles were obscene: long as a man's outstretched palm, jagged as broken bone. Each movement made its barbed limbs rasp and click; the sound was picked up by the arena's mics and amplified through the speakers.

  And wedged between the larger beetle's jaws was a bright green orb the size of a small apple. Jeremiah squinted. Not an orb. The smaller insect had rolled itself into a perfect sphere, legs and head tucked away, glistening faintly where translucent secretions coated the surface. It looked like a jade pill, and trembled as if still hoping to escape its captor's grip.

  He focused on the larger one, and a System scan appeared.

  ——————?——————

  Ironjaw Juggernaut Beetle

  Grade: G – 0.95

  Mental – (G): 0.05

  Physical – (G): 0.85

  Supernatural – (G): 0.05

  Rarity: Uncommon

  Pedigree: ★★★

  Ecology: Native to the volcanic worlds of the Lower Belt, Ironjaw Juggernauts are territorial, predatory beetles evolved for direct confrontation. Their oversized mandibles serve as both weapon and display, allowing them to grapple opponents several times their mass. When agitated, they strike repeatedly with brutal precision, using powerful impacts to stun foes before crushing or tearing through weaker carapaces. Despite their ferocity, Juggernauts are poor climbers and sluggish outside combat. They are also resistant to most natural toxins and have been recorded using their bulk to crush venomous prey outright, before ingestion. In captivity, they require reinforced enclosures and frequent environmental resets to prevent aggression loops. Ill-suited for amateur handlers, they are often banned from recreational leagues due to high injury rates among smaller competitors.

  ——————?——————

  The Ironjaw Juggernaut lifted its massive jaws and slammed its prey into the rock in front of them. Once. Twice. Three times. Crack… crack… crack. The crowd winced, flinching with each blow. The arena might have turned simple beetle flights into a spectacle, but there was a visceralness to it as well. After the third blow, the green sphere slipped from the beast's jaws and bounced, managing to roll a few inches before the mandibles scooped it up and repeated the assault.

  Jeremiah frowned and focused on the green beetle.

  Emerald Myriad Beetle

  Grade: G – 0.55

  Mental – (G): 0.10

  Physical – (G): 0.35

  Supernatural – (G): 0.10

  Rarity: Common

  Pedigree: ★☆

  Ecology: Small forest-dwelling beetles known for their iridescent green shells and reclusive nature. When threatened, Emerald Myriads curl into tight spheres and secrete a fine chemical mist from glands along their under-plates — a deterrent that confuses predators' senses and masks their scent. Though non-aggressive by nature, they exhibit remarkable endurance under pressure and can remain sealed for extended periods while dissipating stored toxins. In controlled environments, handlers prize them for their calm temperament and subtle bioluminescent patterns that shift with mood and health.

  Jeremiah turned toward the man. "Don't you think that's enough, Mr…?"

  The man's smile widened, white teeth glinting beneath the shadow of his cap. "The name is Birch. Birch Snagum. Reigning champion of this district's beetle fights. Well, before your little 'tournament' I suppose." He rolled the word as if it sat sour on his tongue. "But that's just temporary. Once this is all over, that title will be official, and I'll move on to be the best beetle master on Nexus!"

  He flicked the rim of his hat to emphasize his words.

  Milo barked once and bared his teeth. Stella scoffed, crossing her arms.

  Jeremiah held Birch's gaze a moment longer before letting out a slow breath. His shoulders eased, and he gave a small, tired shake of his head. "That may be, Mr. Snagum," he said, gesturing toward the display, "but I don't think you need to go this far to prove it. It's already clear your Ironjaw Juggernaut has won this match." He paused, then added, "Shouldn't you do the sportsmanlike thing and let her surrender?"

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  For a heartbeat, Birch looked genuinely surprised. Then his grin came back, wider than before.

  "But, Mr. Host," he drawled, voice dripping oil, "I'm just playing by your rules. This is an elimination match, isn't it? Surrenders aren't on the list. Only knockouts."

  Jeremiah blinked. Only the enchantments of his Regalia kept his face calm while his stomach dropped. Without another word, he brought up the Arcadium's admin display. His fingers flew over the spectral interface, calling up the victory settings buried deep in the system.

  Sure enough, Birch was right. Of the dozens of possible win conditions, only elimination had been enabled by default.

  Heat prickled at the back of Jeremiah's neck. Were it not for the Regalia's charm masking his emotions, he knew his face would've gone crimson — equal parts embarrassment and anger at himself for not going over the settings carefully enough.

  He corrected the oversight in seconds. The Arcadium pulsed once, and every display across the courtyard flickered, text rippling across the screens for all to see.

  ——————?——————

  Win Conditions Updated:

  – Elimination

  – Ring-Out

  – Forfeit

  – Judge Call

  ——————?——————

  Jeremiah dismissed the panel and snapped his fingers.

  The jade-green sphere clamped in the Juggernaut's mandibles dissolved into motes of light, scattering like fireflies. The big beetle snapped its jaws on empty air, clicking and circling in confusion as it searched for its vanished prey.

  A moment later, the Emerald Myriad reformed in the little girl's lap. Her sobs caught mid-breath, wonder replacing terror. Then came a delighted squeal as she cradled the small beetle against her chest, tears spilling anew — this time in relief.

  The Emerald Myriad, seeming to sense that danger had passed, unfurled. As it shifted in the girl's hands, the sides of its carapace flickered with iridescent lines of color.

  On the screen above the arena, Birch's name flared in bold letters, declaring him the winner. The crowd murmured, but instead of pride, Birch's expression twisted. His eyes narrowed, his mouth flattening into a scowl as he stared up at the display. Then he turned that scowl on Jeremiah.

  "Very… professional of you, Mr. Host," he spat. "How does someone like you end up with an Arcadium, I wonder?" His head tilted slightly, one eye narrowing, gaze drilling into Jeremiah as if he could dig the answer out himself.

  Jeremiah met the look head-on — steady, unyielding, and silent.

  For a long moment, neither moved. The sounds of the courtyard faded to a low hum, tension hanging like a live wire between them.

  Birch broke first. He clicked his tongue in irritation and spat on the flagstones. "Whatever. Like I care. I'll win this pathetic excuse for a 'tournament' and move on to bigger, better things." His lip curled as his gaze swept over the gathered crowd. "A backwater hellhole like this couldn't begin to grasp the scope or glory of the real ICBL."

  He shoved his way through the onlookers and vanished into the press of bodies, leaving behind a trail of muttered curses and disapproving stares.

  Jeremiah watched him go, the breath easing out of him in a quiet sigh. He shook his head once, then turned back toward the lingering crowd.

  Near the table, Stella had knelt beside the young girl. She murmured softly while the child clutched her beetle's case against her chest. Milo sat close, his massive head pressed gently to her side in quiet comfort, his tail sweeping the stones with a slow rhythm.

  "Why don't you take her into the café," Jeremiah said, his voice low and even. "Get her something to drink, maybe a snack. My treat — just tell Lewis or Amani."

  Stella nodded, rose, and placed a reassuring hand on the girl's shoulder. Together, they made their way toward the Menagerie's door, the child glancing back once before disappearing inside.

  When the door swung shut, Jeremiah's expression hardened again. He straightened, eyes scanning the dispersing crowd. Milo fell in beside him, silent and alert, as Jeremiah braced himself for whoever might step forward next.

  ——————————————————

  ——————————————————

  Saturday, October 22nd, 2253 — 7:11pm

  The Mystical Menagerie

  ——————————————————

  Evening settled over the Menagerie like a soft exhale. The festival noise outside came in waves — laughter, faint music, the sizzle of food carts — but inside, the shop was warm and calm. Lamps burned low, terrarium light rippled faintly, and the smell of roasted beans and sugar lingered in the air. Milo lay by the pastry case, snoring; Tish and Tosh were a tangle of ribbons and fur lying next to him. Sissy sat on her perch by the window, watching the festival goers pass by.

  Jeremiah poured tea around the big table, moving with quiet satisfaction. Mero sighed dramatically when a drip hit his saucer.

  "What has my life come to? Busing tables in a backwater cafe…" he muttered, sprawled on the back of a chair dramatically. "I used to sit next to kings!"

  Mani laughed. "As what? A jester?"

  The others chuckled while Mero glared at the boy. Mani stuck his tongue out at the fairy, and Mero snapped his fingers. An eclair appeared out of thin air above Mani's head. It fell with a splat, icing first, causing the boy to shoot up from his chair and sending a renewed round of laughter through the group.

  Jeremiah shook his head. "Well, I for one am grateful for your help, Mero," he said.

  Mero had stepped up to cover Sam once she had to leave, preventing Amani and Lewis — who had been running the shop while Jeremiah performed tournament duties — from being overwhelmed.

  Mero simply waved from the back of his chair.

  Ulrick sat in the corner, sipping from a mug the size of a coffee pot. Alan had relaxed some now that the shop was closed — though the serious young boy was still cleaning the pastry counter even after Jeremiah had told him he didn’t need to. Amani sat near the terrariums, hood up, quietly dismantling a pastry as she watched Ferrospark Matron tend to her clutch. Stella, bright as always, sat across from Jeremiah, beside her brother, and kicked his leg.

  "You look alive," she teased.

  "Barely," he said, smiling. "But we kept it together today."

  Mani leaned forward, eyes shining. "We nailed it! That cheer when the top bracket posted—"

  "Was mostly people complaining about lost bets," Mero said. "But sure, bask."

  Stella kicked his chair from under the table. The fairy yelped; Alan smothered a laugh.

  Jeremiah reached for his cup just as a familiar knock sounded. He didn't bother standing.

  "Come in!"

  The door creaked, and a blur of blue shot through, trailing mist.

  Jeremiah caught the bubble-armor with both hands, laughing as the sphere quivered and a delighted kraken pressed against his hands.

  "Hey, buddy. Did you have a fun day?"

  Color shimmered through the water — gold, blue, rose — before Billy zipped around his head. Through their bond came a rush of sensations: salty air, the sound of a busy dock, the taste of stolen pastry, a crowd too loud turning to open sky and sea spray. The emotions fizzed, bright and giddy.

  Mero cocked an eyebrow. "How many éclairs did that kid eat today?"

  "Fewer than you'd expect," a voice said from the door.

  David Roger walked through the door, the man's large frame having to turn sideways to make it through. Jeremiah stood and shook his hand as he approached the table.

  "Thanks for taking him today."

  "Not a worry, lad," David said. "He's good company. We made a day of it. Can't say blame him for not wanting to stick around here today. I saw the crowds." He nodded toward the window's festival glow. "Didn't expect your tournament to draw half the Crossroads."

  "Neither did we," Stella admitted. "I figured a few dozen people, maybe."

  "That's because you don't know how big the ICBL really is," Mani said, puffing up.

  "Please," she replied, smirking. "Don't start sounding like that Birch guy. It's bug battles, not a national sport."

  Jeremiah chuckled. "Actually… Mani's right."

  Ulrick raised a brow. "Go on."

  "I did some research after Mani pitched his idea," Jeremiah said. "Turns out the 'interstellar' part isn't a gimmick. Nearly every planet has some kind of beetle analog, it seems — and they've all developed some culture around fighting them as a result. Locally, it might be pretty niche, but when you start looking at things on a galactic scale..." his words trailed off, letting their imagination fill the void.

  Until Mani couldn't help but add more, of course. "Exactly! And not just little bugs. Some planets run Titan-class fights! Those things can get as big as a bus! With pilots and everything!"

  The table went silent.

  "Bus-sized?" Stella said. "Hard pass."

  "Imagine the bracket," Alan murmured, awed.

  "Imagine the smell," Mero added.

  Jeremiah laughed. "Let's walk before we run. Titans can stay in their sandbox. We've got another day ahead, and I'd rather not rebuild the courtyard."

  Jeremiah poured David a cup, and the evening softened into small laughter. They traded moments from the day — Ulrick praising Nic's quiet efficiency, Stella boasting about the pups' sign routine, Lewis recounting a runaway sugar cube mid-match that nearly ended in chaos. Alan recalled small kindnesses in the crowd: a glove returned, a stranger steadied. Amani listened more than spoke, but she muttered a few comments occasionally, eliciting a hidden smile from Ulrick.

  Cups emptied, crumbs vanished. Outside, laughter rose and fell alongside them, as the festivities continued long past the fights.

  Jeremiah finally spoke. "As fun as bus-sized bugs sound, we've got round two tomorrow. If I don't kick you out now, I'll never close up."

  Ulrick stretched. "You did good, lad."

  "Couldn't have done it without you all," Jeremiah returned.

  Chairs scraped, coats found shoulders. Alan stacked dishes; Lewis collected napkins. Amani paused at the terrarium wall, brushing a finger over the glass where the Ferrospark Matron glowed faintly.

  David clapped Jeremiah's shoulder. "I'll watch him again tomorrow, don't worry, lad. You just focus on what you need to do."

  Billy did an energetic loop, clearly agreeing.

  "Thanks," Jeremiah said.

  They filed out in twos and threes; the doorbell chiming soft good nights. Street sounds swelled, then faded. The Menagerie exhaled again. Jeremiah tidied — cups to sink, lights to half, registers checked, a touch to the Twin Boundaries until they shimmered calm. Milo grunted in his sleep. Tish's paw twitched. Tosh snored.

  Jeremiah looked once more around the quiet shop.

  "Day one," he murmured, the words grounding him. It had been a good day.

  He locked up, stepped into the cool night air, and pulled his coat close, Billy floating close by his side.

  Jeremiah smiled, then turned homeward, ready for whatever tomorrow would bring.