"Wonder how Fifth Miss is doing."
"Who knows? If you're that curious, go look for yourself. I'm not going."
"Tch, as if I'd go. If we weren't stationed in Snow Garden, who'd wanna babysit a fool? Sure, Master dotes on her, but Madam? She can't stand her. And with Master off to war, who runs the place? Exactly, Madam does. You think I wanna get on her bad side? I like living, thank you."
"Shhh! Keep it down. Don’t drag me into this. Don’t you remember? She hates being called Madam Zuo."
"Oh! Right, slipped my mind. Thanks for the heads-up, sis."
"Don't let it happen again, alright? This place is crawling with people. Ears everywhere, mouths too. You say the wrong thing and someone decides to tattle? You’re pretty much screwed."
"Alright, alright, I get it! Zip it. Still, what’s the deal with that little white furball Madam brought in? It’s not a crystal beast—doesn’t need crystal stones to feed and yet it’s way too vicious for a regular animal. Just one bite and the Fifth Miss collapsed like a sack of bricks!"
...
Still groggy, Luna Night found herself surrounded by a cacophony of whispers. The sudden clamor shattered the stillness of the night, yanking her harshly out of sleep.
"So noisy," she muttered irritably, her voice low and grating. Everyone in the organization knew to steer clear when she was asleep—her morning mood was infamously bad, and no one wanted to risk waking her.
Most rookies would tiptoe around her if they saw her sleeping, afraid to even breathe too loud. And for good reason: she was the only one in the squad who fought using mental strength, resting was crucial for her. Not even the instructors or Dr. Jiang dared to mess with her down time.
But her method wasn’t what most imagined. She didn’t launch mental attacks directly—instead, she used those powers to control beasts.
That's right, Luna was a beastmaster, one of the rare few who could either bond with animals through mental communication or outright dominate their minds. Her usual battle companion? A massive mutt bred from a wolf and Tibetan mastiff, cheekily named Big Meow.
Despite the cutesy name, Big Meow was no joke in combat. One time, a newbie mouthed off to her, and Big Meow responded by charging straight at him, pawing him square in the... sensitive area. Left some bloody claw marks, too. That guy? He might’ve survived, but every time he saw Luna after that, he covered his crotch instinctively and respectfully called her "Boss Luna." It became a running joke in the squad.
Back to the present—Luna stirred from sleep, feeling an ache stretching from her shoulder down her arm. Letting out a soft groan, she forced her arm up to rub her stinging eyes.
Wait—hold up. That hand? Pale, delicate, and small—definitely not hers.
The unfamiliar form and the throbbing in her middle finger sent alarm bells ringing in her brain. Memories started racing back.
She remembered, late one night, having the sudden urge to take Big Meow for a ride out to the countryside—let him stretch his legs a bit in the open fields. What she didn’t expect was to stumble across a palm-sized, injured white fox limping along the side of the road. The way it hobbled pitifully on its hurt leg had tugged at something in her.
