This Beast Tamer Has So Many Questions

Two weeks passed, and in that time Elias filled three notebooks.

He had spent them studying the Butler Pigs the way he studied everything — patiently, thoroughly, with a curiosity that refused to leave any thread unpulled. He measured the reach and the limits of their telekinesis. He charted how their newly awakened mental sense let them read the moods of those around them. He recorded, page after page, the precise sequence of skills and conditions that turned a forgotten old Care Pig into something dignified and whole, until at last the shape of the entire evolution method lay clear before him.

The hardest part had not been the discovery. It had been the cost.

The mental concoction that triggered the awakening was, in its original form, absurdly extravagant — the sort of recipe only someone with a realm full of Lifebloom honey and an eight-attribute vine could ever afford to brew. That troubled him. An evolution method nobody could replicate was not a gift to the world; it was a boast. So he had spent days refining it, substituting, simplifying, testing, until he found a regular formula. It was less potent, and it granted only two skills where his lavish version gave more, but it worked, and crucially, an ordinary family could afford it.

Elias set down his pen, looked over the finished papers stacked neatly on his desk — sorted, this time, by a butler who had finally learned to read his handwriting — and decided he was ready to submit.

But not quite yet.

Before any of it went public, there was something more important to do.

The twenty-eight pigs who had arrived blind, scarred, and emotionally withdrawn had, over the past weeks, become something else entirely. They walked without flinching now. They worked with quiet pride. Sebastian's leadership, once tentative and full of fumbled instructions, had settled into something firm and sure, and the others looked to him without hesitation. They had, in every way that mattered, recovered.

That deserved a celebration.

So Elias invited his family.

Admittedly, it was not much of a surprise party. He had meant it to be — but keeping a secret in a realm where twenty-eight pigs took it upon themselves to help with absolutely everything proved impossible. Within an hour of Elias mentioning the idea to Holly, the pigs had cheerfully begun preparing their own congratulation party, sweeping the gathering meadow, arranging cushions, and folding decorative cloths into shapes that may or may not have been swans. They were, after all, the guests of honor at a celebration they were now busily setting up themselves.

Elias decided not to point this out. It was the thought that counted, and the pigs were having far too much fun to interrupt.

Holly oversaw the logistics with crisp efficiency. Honey arranged the seating with an eye for who ought to sit beside whom. Hope kept proposing increasingly elaborate additions — a fountain, a second fountain, a fountain that was also a slide — most of which were gently vetoed. And Briar, draped along Elias's shoulders as always, contributed by blooming an endless cascade of flowers down the length of the meadow's borders until the whole gathering space looked as though spring had decided to settle there permanently.

The family arrived in the late afternoon, stepping through the realm's entrance into a wash of golden artificial sunlight.

"Now this," Kyle announced, stopping dead and staring at the flower-strewn, clean and decorated laboratory with open delight, "is a glow-up."

Koda followed close behind him, the broad-shouldered Boxing Monkey carrying a crate of food that nobody had asked Kyle to bring and that Koda had therefore quietly brought himself. He set it down, took in the transformed realm, and gave an appreciative nod.

Selena came next, silver hair catching the light, crimson eyes sweeping the gathering with the sharp once-over of someone who could not turn off the instinct to assess a room. Whatever she found, it satisfied her. Her mouth twitched into something that was almost a smile. Eiren glided overhead on silent white wings, trailing the faintest shimmer of frost, and settled onto a low branch with the serene composure of an elder surveying her grandchildren.

Damian followed, elegant as ever, with Amia drifting in a floating sphere of water at his side and Floria sailing regally above his shoulder. Rime trailed last of all, the rhombus-shaped Ice Sprite drifting along in a slow, curious orbit, already turning this way and that to investigate everything at once.

And then the pigs came forward to greet them.

What happened next made Elias's throat tighten.

The pigs remembered them.

When the Arkwrights had first visited weeks ago, the pigs had been too frightened to do more than huddle. They had watched the family from a wary distance, flinching at sudden movements, trusting no one. But they had watched. And in the quiet weeks since, as they healed, they had not forgotten the people who came and spoke gently and asked nothing of them.

One old sow walked directly up to Damian and bowed her head toward him, pressing her brow gently against his chest. Damian, who had sat beside her that first day and murmured to her for nearly an hour while she trembled, went still for a moment, then laughed softly and reached down to scratch behind her ears. "You're looking well," he told her, and meant it more than she could know. His Enhanced Healing talent had done quite a work on her old joints during that first visit; she clearly remembered the warmth of it.

A pig with a notched ear — the same one who had spent the first visit hiding — approached Selena and tilted his head up at her with a long, level stare. Even standing upright on his new evolved frame, he came only to about her chest, so that she found herself looking down into his steady gaze. Selena looked back. They held that mutual appraisal for a moment, two survivors recognizing something familiar in each other, before the pig gave a single decisive grunt and planted himself at her side as though the matter of trust had been formally concluded. Selena snorted and reached down to scratch beneath his chin. "Smart pig," she muttered.

The contracted beasts mingled freely.

Koda, gentle giant that he was, immediately set about being useful, helping the smaller pigs carry the heavier platters. A pair of pigs took to him at once, trotting along in his wake and grunting up at him with evident admiration, and Koda — who quietly looked after everyone — accepted his new entourage with patient good humor.

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Floria, naturally, held court. The Lifebloom Queen settled herself upon a flowering branch and observed the proceedings with regal approval, occasionally drifting down to inspect a pig's posture or the neatness of its work. To Elias's amazement, the pigs responded to her exacting standards not with anxiety but with delight, straightening up and presenting themselves for her judgment like students eager to impress a beloved teacher. Floria found their effort entirely satisfactory, which, from Floria, was high praise indeed.

Amia, in her sphere of water, drifted over to observe the frailest of the pigs. She studied him with her cool, judgmental gaze, then released a small cloud of life-infused jade water into the air around him, a quiet courtesy she would have denied offering if anyone asked. The butler pig breathed easier. Amia blew a single satisfied bubble and pretended she had done nothing at all.

Eiren and Sebastian, the two most dignified creatures present, found each other across the meadow and exchanged a long, respectful look — one elder to another, each recognizing in the other a kindred spirit who had spent a lifetime quietly cleaning up after more energetic souls. Neither said anything. Neither needed to. Eiren simply inclined her head, and Sebastian returned a precise butler's bow, and an understanding passed between them that would last for years.

Rime, of course, understood none of this restraint and wanted to know everything.

The Ice Sprite zipped from pig to pig in a flurry of drifting snowflakes, its crystal core flashing with rapid-fire curiosity. Why do you walk on two legs now? How does the floating cloth work? Can you make ice? Why not? What's that? The pigs, who had never encountered anything quite like an inquisitive elemental made of living ice, bore the interrogation with bemused patience, and one of them eventually figured out that if it nudged a small ball of folded cloth into the air with its telekinesis, Rime would chase it delightedly across the entire meadow. This discovery kept the Ice Sprite happily occupied for a remarkable length of time.

Once everyone had settled and eaten, and Kyle had been talked out of attempting to ride one of the larger pigs ("It was a compliment!" he protested; the pig in question did not appear flattered), Elias rose to his feet.

"Before anything else," he said, "the pigs have something they'd like to show you. They've worked very hard these past weeks, and I think you'll be impressed."

Sebastian stepped forward and bowed deeply to the gathered family. Then he straightened, and with a small, dignified flourish, the demonstration began.

The first showcase was their telekinesis.

It was not the kind of raw power that could hurl boulders or shatter walls — the pigs had discovered early that their gift could not lift anything especially heavy or large. What it could do was something subtler and, in its way, far more impressive. A single pig could hold a dozen small objects aloft at once, each one moving independently, with a precision that bordered on the delicate.

To demonstrate, four pigs arranged themselves in a row and, at Sebastian's signal, lifted an entire tea service into the air — cups, saucers, a steaming pot, spoons, and a dish of honey-sweets all rising together in a slow, gleaming constellation. The objects drifted into a graceful orbit, the pot tilting to fill each cup in turn without spilling a drop, the spoons stirring, the sweets arranging themselves onto saucers, until at last the whole service floated down to settle before the family in perfect order.

Kyle's jaw dropped. "Okay," he admitted. "That's actually amazing."

Damian applauded warmly. Selena raised an eyebrow in the way that, from her, signified genuine respect. Even Floria gave an approving hum.

Then came the part that the pigs had clearly been most excited for.

Their attire — the dignified clothing Sebastian and the others wore — was not stitched from ordinary cloth. It was woven from their own mental energy, shaped by will and concentration, and that meant it could change. Over the past two weeks, the pigs had discovered this, and they had taken to the discovery with an enthusiasm Elias had not entirely seen coming.

They had, in short, invented a fashion show.

A length of flat meadow had been designated the runway. Honey, delighted to assist with anything involving elegance, took up a position at the end of it. And one by one, the pigs strutted down the makeshift stage with their snouts lifted high, their new bodies carrying them with a poise that grew more confident by the day — and with each pass, their mental-energy garments shifted and transformed.

A pig set out in a sober gray waistcoat, reached the end of the runway, turned with a flourish, and returned wearing a flowing coat of deep midnight blue scattered with tiny points of light like stars. Another transformed a simple vest into an elaborate, ruffled affair worthy of a noble's ball, then into a crisp military-style jacket, then into something with an absolutely enormous collar that served no purpose whatsoever other than drama. The watching pigs cheered each transformation with riotous grunting, stamping their trotters in approval, and the more outrageous the outfit, the louder the cheers.

Rime was beside itself with joy and immediately tried to join the runway, sculpting a tiny ice top hat for itself and gliding down the meadow with tremendous dignity. The pigs welcomed the Ice Sprite into the show without hesitation. Kyle, never one to be left out, attempted to join as well, and was promptly and unanimously booed by the pigs, who had developed standards. He retreated, wounded, to laughter from the entire family.

By the end, it became a full talent show.

Each pig took a turn upon the runway-stage to present itself — not merely the clothes now, but poise, presence, personality. One performed a slow, deliberate promenade of such exaggerated elegance that it reduced Selena to rare, helpless laughter. Another paired its outfit changes with a sequence of precise telekinetic flourishes, sending folded cloths spinning into the air like a juggler. The notch-eared pig, the one who had hidden behind only weeks ago, walked the stage with its head held high and its gaze steady, and when the others erupted into their loudest cheer of the night, Elias understood that they were not only applauding the performance.

They were celebrating how far their friend had come.

Sebastian closed the show himself. He walked the length of the stage with the unhurried gravity of a master butler, and at the very end, he transformed his attire into a magnificent formal coat of deepest black trimmed with silver — the finest thing any of them had produced, dignified and elegant and entirely his own. He turned to face the family, placed one trotter over his heart, and bowed.

The meadow erupted.

The party stretched long into the artificial evening.

The bees hummed contentedly through the flowers. Briar's clones tangled themselves into a game with the pigs that nobody fully understood, but everyone enjoyed. Valentine, who had spent the early evening watching the festivities from the side of Elias's neck with his usual wary jealousy, had eventually decided that a party with this much praise being handed around ought to include some for him, and now perched on Elias's shoulder in full dazzling display, fanning his crystal wings whenever anyone glanced his way. Elias dutifully complimented him. Valentine preened.

Damian found his son near the edge of the gathering and rested a hand on his shoulder. "You did a wonderful thing," he said quietly, watching the pigs laugh and strut and shine. "You gave them their lives back. And now you're going to give that gift to the rest of the world."

Elias watched the twenty-eight pigs — no longer frightened, no longer forgotten — and felt the old fear that had followed him through two lifetimes loosen its grip a little more.

"I just asked the right question," he said.

Damian smiled. "You always do."

Tomorrow, Elias would submit his papers, and the world would learn that even an old, discarded Care Pig could become something proud and dignified and whole. But that was tomorrow.

Tonight, there was only the warm light, the laughter of his family, and twenty-eight pigs dancing in clothes made of pure, joyful will.

It was, Elias thought, the finest celebration the realm had ever known.

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