The sound of the teacher's final announcement still echoed when I leaned back in my chair and let my gaze drift across the classroom. The kids around me buzzed with excitement, talking loudly, kicking chairs, and dreaming way too big for the size of the world. And in the middle of all that, I could only think about the Varekmon.
These creatures… they're not just cute pets or battle tools. They're part of the world. Part of the natural order of things — or at least, what's left of it. Everywhere, from the depths of the swamps to the edges of the floating cities, Varekmon appear. These beautiful little beings, full of energy, furry or slimy, are the foundation of our society. Literally. Without them, the economy would collapse, transportation would stop, and half the population would have an emotional breakdown faster than one of those viral videos that haven't even been made yet.
Here in Zone 3, we live with them from the cradle. Not as luxuries, but as part of life: pulling carts, guarding backyards, heating homes. And from time to time, young people get the chance to become Conductors — to form a Bond with a Varekmon and grow together, emotionally and literally.
Of course, that only applies to the Compatibles, Varekmon bred inside the CCCZs — the Conductor Condition Zones, gigantic facilities filled with tubes, incubators, and well-paid scientists who look like they've never touched a real animal. There, Varekmon are molded from birth for a single purpose: to be docile, loyal, attached. They were made to form quick and easy bonds with rookie Conductors. That's where their name "Compatible" comes from — a name I personally find laughable.
"A creature made to love you more than its own life may sound like a beautiful slogan. But deep down, they live in cages. And no matter how shiny the bars are, it's still a cage. Just polished with holographic gloss and the scent of a happy childhood."
The teacher kept explaining the itinerary with excitement, but my mind was already elsewhere. Not even her pretty face could stop me from sensing the smell of the apocalypse hanging in the air — and no, it wasn't just the expired deodorant of the kid beside me. It was something deeper, more familiar. Like a déjà vu that tasted like blood.
That afternoon, we were taken as a group to the yard, where the bus was waiting. Or rather, the living metal contraption, built with recycled parts, asymmetric wheels, and a propulsion system powered by "Collective Creative Energy," which is basically a fancy way of saying that the poor Conductors from Zone 3 spend hours channeling emotions into crystals to keep it from exploding.
We climbed aboard. The seat creaked under me, and the engine purred like an asthmatic cat — but it worked. The vehicle shook like it was challenging the very laws of physics, swerving through crooked streets toward the local CCCZ.
I climbed in with a sigh. The seat groaned under my childish weight. The motor vibrated like a pig with bronchitis. But it moved. Through the window, I watched Zone 3 shimmer in the midday heat — urban ruins fused with makeshift tech, curved rooftops, posts strung with organic wires, children jumping rope with Varekmon tentacles.
One trotted alongside us: small, with blue-gray velvet fur, bulging eyes, and two tiny wings that flapped uselessly. It looked like a cross between a stray cat and a sick bird — and yet, it was charming. Every creature like that had its own charm, even the weirdest ones.
As the bus carried us, I stared out the window. Little anomalies were scattered around — red eyes, deformed paws, a faint grayish glow on some creatures I knew all too well.
"It's like the whole world is trying to look magical to hide the fact it's a chaos on the brink of collapse. And I'm the idiot who remembers how it all ends, but can barely gather the proof."
Because that's the truth: no one believes you when you're ten and still look like you collect trading cards. Even if you have memories from years no one has lived yet. Memories of when this city burned, when screams became routine, when the streets were overrun by the Grays.
Morvyrus. A beautiful name. Too beautiful for something that turns living beings into walking husks.
In the first stage, the symptoms are subtle — a strange glint in the eyes, erratic behavior, gray crystals forming inside the flesh. Varekmon become aggressive, chaotic, destructive. Their bonds with Conductors snap abruptly, and the Varek turns on its former partner.
The second stage? Worse. After death, the bodies reconfigure. They reanimate. Come back as cadaverous beasts, driven by instinct, full to the brim with corrupted bodily fluid. One touch and… boom. A miniature zoo of the apocalypse.
"And, not ironically, it all begins today. The professional arrives. His Varekmon is the hateful patient zero. No one notices."
The bus stopped with a jolt that threw me into the seat in front of me. We had arrived.
The local CCCZ was small. A rectangular white building, with the shiny Cordeiro Corp logo at the entrance, surrounded by a metal gate with energy detectors. Inside, everything was clinical: polished floors, reinforced glass, the smell of disinfectant and expensive perfume.
We got off in a line, led by monitors way too cheerful to be working with kids. I'm telling you, they're getting paid well. I walked with my hands in my pockets, looking around. Cameras in the corners. Locked doors. Varekmon behind transparent panels. And of course, the Professional Conductor.
Tall, immaculate uniform, rehearsed smile. And next to him, an imposing Varekmon — large, quadrupedal, metallic scales, a mane of living lightning flickering down its back, eyes like red lanterns. It had the presence of a king. And the smell… of trouble.
Behind him, a woman and a girl.
"It can't be… already? I didn't remember the first time I saw her was here."
Her hair was tied in two side buns, eyes too alive for her age, wearing a strange combo of colorful socks and a silver vest that looked like it came from a children's cyberpunk fashion show. She had a huge grin, and when she saw me, she ran toward me.
The same way I was staring at her, she seemed to notice and stared back. My eyes widened. The more I saw those chubby cheeks, the more I remembered what happened.
"Oh crap... it's really her."
Clara was my first wife, but I remembered us meeting while fighting smugglers — seven years from now.
In the future, she becomes a beacon of hope fighting Arkhan, an organization opposing Cordeiro Corp, known for abusing and selling Varekmon. She even discovered one of their deepest secrets. Sadly, she died before she could tell me anything.
We had three kids together, and I was buried next to her in a past life. But now she was just a child of… what? Nine? Ten?
She kept walking with her hands behind her back, leaning forward like someone trying to act older than her age — with eyes full of wonder and a smile completely unaware of the traumatic future awaiting her.
She pouted. I tried not to laugh. It was hard. But the real challenge came next.
Her mother.
Oh yes.
I honestly didn't remember her that well… but now, seeing her live and in color, I wondered how I could've forgotten such a stunning woman.
Dark hair, bronze skin, intense eyes, and that kind of posture that says: "I could kill you with a look or offer you coffee and call you darling." She wore a simple dress, but fitted enough to show that good genetics definitely passed from mother to daughter.
She gave me a warm smile. The kind only experienced women can give: calm, confident, slightly teasing.
"Wow. Maybe the real mission in this timeline is something else…"
A — "Hi?" — slipped out between my teeth, shyer than intended.
The woman seemed uninterested, but still replied — "Hi, I'm Aura, Clara's mother. You two know each other?"
— "No, but if she takes after her mom in the future, I'll make sure we get to know each other right now."
Aura raised an eyebrow, like someone who just heard a flirt and isn't sure whether to laugh or slap. Clara tilted her head, confused. The Professional Conductor gave me a quick side-eye.
"Thirty seconds, one comment, and I've already made a Professional Conductor uncomfortable."
The group was gathered in front of the main hall, where the baby Varekmon were kept. I tried to focus — really — but it was hard not to notice the subtle details. One Varekmon in the corner… breathing too heavily. Skin… slightly grayish. Claws too long. Eyes just a bit too intense.
"The plague arrived before the ceremony…"
Dayana was speaking with the Conductor in the back. As we entered the room — a wide space, lit by pillars of light, with a white floor and a few bushes and trees. In the center, several containment pedestals held the adorable baby Varekmon.
Each one was a beautiful freak in its own way.
The first, curled up on a pedestal with obsidian claws, had short, dense fur in shades of dark orange and black, like embers about to die. It had the flat face of a sleeping predator, half-closed red eyes and fully-formed claws, even though it was the size of a cat. A baby beast, clearly built to tear things — or unsuspecting hearts. Its nose twitched as it slept, releasing small puffs of vapor. If magma had been born furry, this would be its name.
Next to it, on a frosty surface that hissed on contact with the air, lay a sleek, soft-bodied creature with translucent blue skin revealing tiny golden veins inside. It looked like a frog mixed with a jellyfish, its thin legs folded beneath it, semi-open membranes pulsing softly as if it breathed through the world around it. When it moved, it was like watching waves forming inside a liquid bubble. There was something serene and hypnotic about it — like it lived in slow motion.
And then, there was the smallest one.
Huddled in the corner, almost forgotten, curled like a comma shivering from the cold, was the most discreet: a dull-gray Varekmon, with no shine, no color, no vibration. Its body was thin, elongated like a lizard-insect, with legs too delicate to seem stable. Its matte scales looked like fossilized armor. Its eyes were large and black like fresh ink, but empty — not with malice, just… absence. It didn't cry, didn't tremble, didn't make a sound — and that's where my eyes stopped.
The Professional Conductor's Varekmon let out a low, subtle growl. A sound of discomfort. The man didn't even notice. But I did.
And deep in my mind, something sparked — but no one listens to the cynical boy who talks to himself.
They only hear him when it's too late.
...
Today on Varekpedia, we have:
Species: Brasalino
Type: Organic / Elemental
Origin: Post-conflict region; Harmonized Desert
Evolution Stage: Infant
Threat Level: Moderate (latent destructive potential)
Description:
With the appearance of a slumbering beast forged in ashes, Brasalino is a small Varekmon with short, dense fur in shades of dark orange and black — like embers on the verge of fading. It has half-closed crimson eyes, sharp obsidian-like claws, and a snout that emits faint puffs of vapor while it sleeps. Despite its small size, its body radiates constant heat, and its predatory instincts are present from birth. When awakened, it is agile, territorial, and fierce — yet deeply loyal to those who form a true Bond. Considered rare outside hot regions.