Prologue

  Martin glances at the empty, antiquated fireplace in his living room. He's been planning on having it taken out, and replacing it with a more modern TV set up, once his newly increased paychecks start coming in. For now, he watches to the older flatscreen, complete with three dead pixels irritatingly close to the center.

  He jerks upright, startled by the ominous buzzing from his phone. A custom vibration: two short buzzes, one long. Pain in the ass...

  "You get a partner yet?" His handler, Elia, asks for the now fifth time in two days. "Not to beat a dead horse, but you're running out of time before one gets assigned."

  "Yeah, I know." Martin replies. "Just gonna run out the clock on it." He flicks through channels on the television to keep his hand occupied, not paying much attention to what he's skipping past.

  "That's a non-decision. You don't want to get paired up with Kinkajou T, trust me. Unstarred, 16 percent success rate, and a supposed specialty in lethal eliminations but has literally never killed a magical beast before."

  Martin knows she's right. She usually is. When you don't pick a partner after reaching the rank of two-star, you get one assigned. Usually from the 'inept child of a veteran' category, or if you're unlucky, the 'didn't pick a partner once reaching two-star' category.

  "Okay. Send the one-star, no-star, and moon list again." Martin asks. One more run through, he figures, to avoid the aforementioned Kinkajou T.

  "Moon? If you say so." Her voice has a clear 'wasting my time' undertone to it.

  "Yeah. I'd rather have a squonk over a nepo baby."

  "Suit yourself. I'll talk later. Make a choice, Martin, for both our sakes."

  "Mhmm." Martin hears her phone disconnect, and taps to his email app. Elia already sent him the three requested lists, each titled and dated for a minute ago. He opens the one-star list first, eyes passing over the cloud of names and statistics, before sorting the spreadsheet by success rates above 50%. Only three in his area, all of which he knows and doesn't particularly meld with. Two urban investigators, and an assassin of human-like beasts. Martin himself prefers a non-lethal approach if possible, and the assassin has a note on their profile specifically stating they do not enjoy capturing monsters. One of the urban investigators is a sorcerer with a bit of divination ability, though. Martin pins him for later.

  For the no-star hunters, he filters by over five completed jobs and a success rate above 40%. No matches. Great.

  He opens the moon sheet mostly to entertain himself. A special 'rank' reserved for tamed or sapient magical beasts. There are a half dozen file names, each containing a specific report. AP000-083, an agropelter. LW001-156, a dwarf lindworm. WB000-031, a water bull. GG004-006, a gargoyle. KD000-002, a kynde.

  A kynde?

  He clicks on the file.

  KD000-002

  Species: Kynde (KIN-de)

  Age: appears 25-35, typical lifespan unknown

  Sex: assumed female

  Date of Capture: 338 days ago

  Taming Method: Reward System (heat), Conversation (english)

  Description: Outwardly human-like, 6', very pale. Inwardly non-human anatomy, resting surface temperature of 110°, internal temperature variable with 130°+, six chambered heart w/ BPM 200 at rest, etc

  Notes: As with all kynde, this one is unique and shares no analogues with other magical beasts. She feeds on heat and light, and uses them to cast projection magic. Recommended for experienced hunters only.

  There is a picture attached. Martin clicks it, captivated by the idea of a captured kynde. The file slowly loads, eventually displaying across the screen. There's a woman huddled in a corner. She's pallid, near ghostly, with long, loose brown hair that hides much of her face. Through the forests of stray strands, golden eyes are visible, but sunken and barely open. Thin, bare knees are held tightly in front of her body, clearly trying to keep warm. There's a certain eeriness to her, as though she's not supposed to be in her own picture.

  It's impossible for Martin to see anything other than someone in peril.

  Cold. Every day, every hour, every last second is cold. She tries desperately to curl up tighter, shivering in a corner of the jail cell the scientists and magicians call an 'enclosure.' Cold.

  Martin scrolls back to the phone app, redialing the last number. As it rings, he briefly considers hanging up, but he never closed the photo on his screen. He hopes that Elia will be supportive. He knows she won't.

  "Yeah, Elia here. You pick someone?" Her voice is more annoyed than before. Gone is the skepticism, replaced with total lack of faith.

  "ID Number KD000-002" Martin relays, already having memorized the page.

  "KD000-002... Martin, this is a really bad idea. I know you think this is an excellent opportunity or something, but a kynde is way beyond-"

  "Do it." A singular, simple command, followed by a press of a red button on his screen. It's just a meeting. No harm done.

  Elia grimaces at the dead call. "Asshole." She sets up a preliminary meeting. Might be good for Martin to be truly humbled by a monster.

  Striation

  Martin parks his car in the gravel lot directly outside the military base, checking to make sure the thick quilt is sitting on his passenger seat. Utah is littered with bases like this one, as omnipresent as the mountains, churches, and dust. Flat and dead government land is a major boon to anything involving magical beasts. If they escape, where exactly are they going to go?

  He steps out of his old white Jeep, stretching a bit before offering his ID to a quickly approaching guard. The guard briefly nods at seeing Martin's 'hunting license', and with a quick exchange, Martin follows the soldier into the base. The early spring chill is still present, causing Martin to stifle a shiver even through his thick cotton jacket. There's a gravity to military bases he's always disliked, and not being a veteran makes him feel like he's trespassing. He's thankful its a short walk to the unmarked concrete building.

  Stepping through the door is like stepping through a magic portal: What was old, stained concrete outside is now clean linoleum tile floors and smooth, pale green walls decorated in soothing paintings of natural scenery. A grizzled, tired looking magic researcher and a second, stereotypically clean cut guard wait for Martin, as the previous guard hands him off.

  "Martin K." The researcher states, studying the man before him. Average height, fairly well-built, dark hair and eyes. He didn't expect anyone to actually choose the kynde. An unfortunate turn of events.

  "Martin C, actually." Martin replies, unbothered. He can barely keep track of the codenames himself. Animal, followed by letter. Cute, but a pain in the ass to remember if you're talking to a 4' 11" girl named Rhino A.

  "Right, right." The researcher grimaces as he enters his speech. "A few words of warning before your evaluation of the potential partner. Kyndes are not human. They may appear to be, act to be, even claim to be, but they house highly individualized internal anatomy and bizarre thought patterns. This one, in particular, requires a bare minimum of 70°F for survival. It seems comfortable at 95°, and happiest around 130°."

  Bizarre, Martin thinks, but nothing too abnormal for a magical beast.

  "Secondly, do not allow the Kynde unrestricted access to heat and sunlight. Its supernormal abilities require both, and so both should be monitored carefully. I advise keeping it below 90°, even when you're using its abilities. It seems to be unable to store excess energy at or below that temperature, and can only use what's available."

  Comfortable at 95, keep it below 90. No wonder the thing looked so miserable.

  "Thirdly, do not underestimate it. We've found it to be generally cooperative, but deceitful and guarded. It will say and do anything to gain access to heat. It has killed someone before in an escape attempt. In truth, we were not expecting a hunter to select it, but we are required to offer any magical beasts to hunters within 300 days of acquisition, or they are shipped to a larger holding facility elsewhere. Do you have any questions?" The researcher scratches his neck. "Don't be afraid to change your mind. We have a Tindalos Hound that we just finished training, if you'd like. Teleports through corners, vicious, and obedient as long as you let it sleep in a special enclosure without any cracks."

  Martin weighs the option in his head. He's heard good things about Tindalos Hounds... but the kynde's visage is burned into his brain. There's no escaping its sallow, sunken eyes. "Just show me the one I came here for, for now."

  The corner is starting to warm a bit. Maybe 75°. The highest she can get it to be in this frigid hell. Only a tiny reprieve, as the cold continues to eat at her. How long has it been? Months? Years? She's been hovering on the border between two states the whole time, trying to sleep. They woke her up, and won't let her sleep. Why?

  Martin walks through the basement halls. Cells, labelled as enclosures, line the left side of the wall. Most of the inhabitants seem happy. The Tindalos Hound is napping peacefully inside a completely spherical bubble of slightly warped glass. A hidebehind, he assumes, is enjoying the half-dozen bending pillars erected in its enclosure. A cell decorated exactly like an ornate lounge room, includes bookcases, couches, a rug, end tables, and the like. He questions which object the mimic is pretending to be.

  The kynde's enclosure, though, seems to be designed with the opposite mentality: keep it as miserable as possible. It is curled up in the same far corner as in the picture, wearing only slipshorts and a loose t-shirt. A sprinkler system is on the ceiling above, unique to only the Kynde's cell, no doubt to drench it in cold water in an emergency. Below it, a plastic table, plastic chairs, and a plastic menu listing exclusively foods served at room temperature or below. There is no bed. There is no source of entertainment. Nothing besides a deck of plastic playing cards, still sealed.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Oddly, he notices, the kynde is wearing a tight-fitting blindfold now. One it can seemingly take off at any time.

  The researcher raps his fingers on the glass, ordering the kynde to come forward in a clinical, demanding tone. The kynde does not respond, remaining dormant in the corner. Like an egg, Martin thinks. He wonders what it will hatch into.

  "Like I said, difficult to manage." The researcher pinches his nose. "If you want it, then take it. It refuses to answer any questions reliably, and seems to enjoy being obstinate."

  "I would be too if I was being kept like that." Martin mutters under his breath.

  "What?"

  "Nothing. Yeah, I'll take it. I assume there's paperwork?"

  "More than you could believe."

  She hears the glass wall open. She stays curled tightly into a ball, even as she is picked up by a guard yelling at her to move. Moving is cold, exposing greater surface area to the air. She can't focus on what is being said, only on staying tightly balled up, shivering worse from being taken outside. She is placed into... a car? Transported, most likely, but not by armored truck. Strange, but doesn't matter. She hopes the new place lets her wear socks.

  Martin drives away from the military base. Far away. He takes his Jeep halfway up the section of the Wasatch Mountains that border Ogden, cradling its edges up, allowing one to see the entirety of several cities at once on a clear night. Tonight, though, it is foggy, hard to see beyond the dim lights nearby. He parks along the side of the road, next to a metal barrier that rests atop a steep drop down the side of the mountain.

  "Kynde."

  There is no response. As expected. He turns on the heater to halfway, hits the seat warmer, and tosses the quilt from his passenger seat on top of it. It takes a moment to react, before uncurling like some strange crustacean and entombing itself in its new shell on the heated seat.

  "Kynde. My name is Martin. I'm a hunter of magical beasts that cause problems, not of ones that don't. I read your file. You didn't do anything wrong, only defended yourself when ambushed. If you'd like, I can drive you anywhere in the area, and let you go." He lets the sentence hang, expecting a response. None come.

  "Your other option is to work with me. I can provide food, shelter, and heat. As much heat as I can stand, anyway."

  The Kynde seems to move beneath the quilt, but remains silent.

  "You would have to help in the capture, and potentially killing, of other magical beasts. Mindless ones, or ones which seek to prey on people. Monsters, not just non-humans." He waits for another moment, before pulling back onto the road, and driving back down the mountain towards his home. "If you're planning to kill me, I'd rather you just tell me to stop the car so I can let you out. Otherwise, I'll take your silence as an acceptance of my offer."

  It faintly mumbles something beneath the quilt that Martin doesn't quite catch. "You have to speak up." He says, keeping an authoritative tone.

  "More." It says, still barely audible.

  "More, then." He turns the heater to full, and takes off his dress shirt, leaving himself in only a white undershirt. He's burning hot, but suffers through it. Trust takes sacrifice.

  Warmth. For the first time in so long. Not much. Maybe 85°. But still, warmth. More given when asked. Her brain had started to thaw from her semi-hibernatory period. What was he saying? Something about hunting monsters? Something about letting her go? She wasn't sure. For now, just the heat. She had forgotten what it was like to not be wracked by frantic shivering as her body tried desperately to turn food into relief.

  He steers the Jeep into his driveway. A modest house, but still one he overpaid for. He opens the old wooden door, propping it open with a doorstop, and returns to the Jeep. Opening the door, he scoops up the kynde, surprised by how light it is, and sets it down on the floor in front of the brick fireplace. After locking the door to his car and reminding himself not to lock the door to the house, he crouches down besides the kynde once again.

  "I'm going to start a fire now. It's in the fireplace you're next to." He maintains the authoritative and even tone. He doesn't want to excite it until he knows fully what it does. The people at Magical Beast Research are correct: the kynde is entirely unpredictable, and likely dangerous.

  Martin tears a scrap of an old newspaper, lights it, and places it into the fireplace. With some patience and adding progressively thicker twigs, the wooden logs come alight, an aura of constant heat coming through. It's the first time he's used the fireplace since buying the house a few years ago, he realizes. He also realizes he forgot to open the flue. Cursing, he fumbles for the right iron tool to open it with, coughing as the smoke from the old wood starts to pour into the room.

  He watches through watering eyes as a pallid arm reaches into the fireplace from the blanket like a strange branch, opens the flue bare-handed, before the slinking back into the quilt cocoon.

  He stands stunned for a moment, its first action taken since seeing it for the first time. "I have more blankets. Or are you good?"

  "...more." It says again, voice still hard, but less demanding.

  "More, then." He steps away to a spare closet, taking a bedsheet and two old comforters, dropping both next to the huddled mass. Like before, it wraps itself in each blanket sequentially, as the cocoon grows thicker. "Hope that's enough. All I have to spare tonight. We can get more tomorrow, but I have to sleep now. It's pretty late. The door isn't locked, you can leave if you want. And you can keep the blankets." He waits again for a response that never comes, before heading up the creaking stairs to his own room. Once inside, he closes the door, and sits on the far end of the room. He withdraws his oversized hunting revolver, chambered in .45-70 and containing bullets made of a mix of cold iron, silver, enchanted wood, and six other typical monster weaknesses. He points it at the door, waiting for the kynde to come through and try to kill him. A long night is ahead.

  She is warm. She is comfortable. Has that happened before, since she was captured? No, she doesn't think so. It has to be over a hundred degrees inside her blanket shell. She can think, she realizes.

  She expects the man to kill her. A classic last moments paradigm? The warmth is perhaps a kind of apology present, maybe, to ease his guilt about it. She was taken by car to a house, not by truck to a facility. The people who captured her would not release her, but put her under this new person. She can't find the logic in the process. Her best understanding is that the open door is a facade, designed to make her get cold again for easier killing? But then why keep her warm? She might be killed in her sleep. That is fine, she thinks, eyes growing heavy. This is fine, even if she cannot understand.

  The sun rises. Martin hasn't slept, and the door alarm hasn't triggered. Maybe its an ambush predator, he thinks. He cautiously steps out of his room, gun drawn around every dark corner, as he steps down the creaking steps. From halfway down, he sees the pile of blankets, still in front of the dwindling fire. He waits for a moment, before shouting louder than he meant to. "Kynde!"

  The pile of blankets ruffles a bit, like a newborn bird poking at its shell. A face pops out of the pile, blindfold still on, and appearing perfectly relaxed. He almost feels silly for carrying the gun, but refuses to let the kynde's relaxed appearance disarm him. "Kynde."

  "...hello." It replies, putting him even more off balance. "Were... you intending to eliminate me?"

  He pauses, trying to think of an answer to such a direct question. "If you attacked, yes."

  "I understand." The face retreats back into the mass of fabric, leaving Martin even more confused. What the hell did it mean by 'I understand'?"

  Generosity from him, even with what she assumes is a lie about self-defense. She could fight back, almost certainly kill the human. But the human doesn't know that. The human thinks he's giving her a last grace. It is selfish, she thinks, to take advantage of kindness. So she will wait for the bullet. Acknowledgement of differing levels of comprehension, not punishing an act of kindness with malice, even at her own expense. Only, it doesn't come. And is that the smell of... bacon?

  He cooks breakfast. Bacon, eggs, cereal, waffles, toast, coffee, tea, hot water, everything he could find. He figures the kynde would probably want hot food, and hopes one of these appeals to it.

  And then, it is looming in his kitchen. He scrambles for his gun, realizing he left it on the table next to her. Stupid...

  Its taller than expected, just below six foot. Long thin arms, long thin legs. Not abnormally so, given her height, but notable. Its blindfold is still on. It stands still, draped in all four blankets around itself. It looks in his general direction, and then addresses him.

  "Bacon?"

  The kynde can eat, he thinks. Despite its thin appearance, it gobbles down the food before it can cool down, like it has never eaten before. By the time it is satiated, all he has left for himself is his backup of cold cereal. "Kynde. Do you have a name?"

  "KD000-002." It replies. Like it was trained specifically to reply as such.

  He taps his foot on the floor a few times, thinking. "You don't have a name. That makes it easier, since I have to pick a codename for you, anyway. It's uncomfortable to call you 'kynde' instead of by name."

  "Yes, human." Was that a joke? What are the limits of its intelligence? There's a very broad definition of 'sapient' ranging from 'beyond human' to 'can make a fire with two rocks'.

  He clears his throat. "I am hunting today. An omukade. Big centipede creature that lives in the mountains. I am not capturing it alive, but killing it. You are still welcome to leave."

  "I do not understand. When are you intending to kill me?" It asks, bemusement interrupting its typical straightforward tone.

  "What?" Is all he can think to reply.

  "The excessive food, the sufficient warmth. Is it not to ensure my last moments are comfortable ? I do not understand the rationale otherwise."

  "...what?"

  After a refresher on what her job is, the kynde doesn't take the blankets off as it settles into a seat in the car. It does, however, remove its blindfold, revealing it bright golden eyes beneath the messy brown hair. Wide eyes that study, with pupils that dilate and constrict rapidly. Eyes that stare out into the sun after a moment.

  "Why do you wear a blindfold?" Martin asks, looking at his new partner in the back seat.

  "Artificial light is uncomfortable. I absorb sunlight through my eyes. Other light is similar to... food poisoning."

  A surprisingly robust explanation from the formerly cagey magical beast. Definitely human-like intelligence. Maybe best to ask questions now, while its in a good mood.

  "Do you have a grudge against my group, since we're the ones who captured you?"

  "No. I am extremely dangerous and likely terrifying to humans. I would also be cautious." It says from beneath the blankets. Another joke, maybe?

  Martin pulls the car to a stop deep in the Wasatch range. "It's about 70 out today."

  It nods, and steps out of the car in its grey slipshorts and t-shirt, stretching widely.

  He gets out as well, studying it with confusion. "Aren't you cold?"

  "I can store some amount of heat. Roughly an hour or two is currently available." It replies nonchalantly. "Did you bring an extra pair of shoes?"

  The kynde follows behind Martin awkwardly, making long careful steps in the spare boots that are two sizes too large. According to the kynde, its better than getting splinters. Not what he expected from the supposed manipulative killing machine.

  "Omukade aren't hard to find. They leave distinctive footprints, and tend to stay in an area once they find a nice crack in the earth to hide in." He stops, turning to his partner. "Can you sense other magical beasts?"

  "No."

  "Can you track it based on heat?"

  "The creature is cold-blooded, correct?"

  "Partially. Nothing this large is ever fully cold-blooded."

  "In either case, I am unable to." It remains straight faced.

  He still can't tell if its joking, he thinks, before continuing up the mountain.

  An hour passes, following the path. The kynde is starting to get antsy, bouncing on one foot when stopped. Maybe they should turn-

  A sound. Waxy shell sliding against waxy shell. Its here. "Stay down!" Martin barks. He draws his gun, pointing it with practiced skill in the direction of the noise as he reveals a large cloth in his left. A bullfighting trick he's learned works excellently against the larger and dumber monsters. The omukade reveals itself, slinking from a crevasse on the mountain and slowly approaching Martin. The kynde watches on passively, more curious than concerned.

  Martin waggles the cape, waiting for a clean shot. The armor it has is thick on the outside, but his gun is strong enough. He fires. The bullet pierces through its second segment, but seems to hit nothing vital. The omukade charges rapidly, lashing out with its chelicerae. The massive jaws catch only the cape, as another shot rings out, severing a leg. A miss, considering the hundred redundant legs. The omukade writhes for a moment, before starting to circle Martin. He fires once, twice, three more times. Each connecting with the giant arthropod, but only creating a hole that leaks green blood.

  One shot left. No more chances. It tightens the writing circle around him, hiding its head. He can't figure out where it will strike.

  From above the swirling monster, eight brilliant spikes of light descend from the air, extending downward as thin spears that pin the beast to the ground. The omukade raises its head, and a sequence of three more spikes, one from above its head and two from below, bite down and interlock with each other at the point between its head and second segment, severing it instantly. The needles slowly fade away into scattering motes of light, leaving Martin with an enormous corpse whose legs start to curl inward after death.

  He turns to the thin, pale Kynde in tight shorts and loose shirt, holding its fists in an odd slanted position, before returning them to its sides. It looks at him, still passive, before speaking.

  "I have completed the objective as described."

  The chelicerae of the magical beast are strapped to the top of his Jeep, drawing the attention of a few onlookers as Martin leaves the superstore, several bags of clothes, shoes, and other essentials in tow. Behind him, the few gawkers see a younger woman, shivering in the 75° weather, wearing clothes most would only sleep in. Martin ignores the onlookers as the kynde gets into the back seat as usual, slithering into the mound of blankets like a skink in sand.

  The Jeep pulls into his parking lot, takeout bags fill Martin's hands as he leads the kynde back inside. It immediately goes to the fireplace as Martin sets the food down in the kitchen, before returning to light it for the kynde. Only, it is already lit.

  "How did you do that?" He asks.

  "Heat." She holds out a hand to demonstrate, a warm gust blowing over Martin's face, before pulling on her blindfold.

  "That wasn't in the dossier." He says bluntly.

  "There is much I have hidden from their eyes, including my insatiable lust for human blood." It, no, she smiles. Absolutely joking. Martin chuckles to himself. "Yeah, okay. You want something hot to drink with your food, I assume?"

  "Yes. If it is not troublesome. I shall attempt to be low-maintenance to enhance value in our arrangement." She says, as she sits close to the fire.

  "You might have saved my life today. I think you can afford to be a bother." He says, still laughing quietly to himself. What a strange creature, he thinks. At least she seems happy