The sun kissed the fields around the Swallotale Beast Commune near the edge of the Grimwater province, gentle breezes caressing long blades of lush, green grass as they flowed over the low hills. The little village, composed of a myriad of colorful demi humans going about their daily business, was in a lively state as news of carts arriving from Grimwater’s main keep spread like wildfire.

  It was highly unusual for humans to come to the commune in any official capacity other than tax collection, so having carts, plural, incoming to the village was well worth talking about.

  “Think it's about Ambrose?” asked T-Lynn, the centaur mare stopping back to help her big Brother, Kayden, stack the firewood behind their stalls as Gart, the Mousa boy from two houses over, ran to tell the rest of the neighbors the news. Both centaur siblings were tall, blond and freckled, their humanoid upper torsos tanned with the kiss of the country sun. Their hides were mottled in gentle browns and cream colors and their tails were just as blond as their head hair and flicked idly as the siblings worked together on their chores.

  “Likely,” Kayden said, rotating his lean midsection at the waist in smooth, practiced motions to move each of the pieces he'd chopped onto the stack. He wasn't one for many words.

  “Way I see it, she's the only human in the village, n’ they didn' come for her birthday. They usually do that in the city, don't they? Come on the birthday for that ride into the keep?” The girl asked, stepping awkwardly from side to side to move her own blocks onto the pile.

  Kayden simply nodded, continuing with his work while his sister talked. His mind was on the situation, but he didn't have much to add. If the humans from the city were coming to their village for any reason, it was likely to deal with another human. Humans hated lowering themselves to come talk to “demi beasts” or, more derogatorily, “beasts”. They made a point of it to spend as little time in this part of the province as possible, and to send any of the less popular demi humans to the commune to live, rather than house them in the city.

  Kayden wasn't very well educated, as he preferred work to school learning, but he remembered the lessons his Pa had given about the origins of the commune. When Swallotale the ravenhag had been given this land outside of Grimwater it had been dry and fallow. The Lord of the keep had given the land out of spite, expecting her to leave. Yet she had soaked the soil in the milk of the holstaur. She had nourished it with the gentle light of the sunbird. She had her dryad lover sow seeds for tall grasses and strong saplings to grow. She had beseeched the sylphs to bless the land with gentle breezes for a hundred years.

  The Swallotale commune had grown from there, demi humans of all kinds flocking to the land for an opportunity at a good life, under the protection of the kingdom, for while humans were spiteful and cruel, they were bound by the letter of their words and contracts. Or so the tale went.

  “-go escort them!” T-Lynn said, starting to turn away from the pile. Kayden was caught off guard having not been fully listening to what his sister had been saying. Yet as he saw her start off at a gallop in a particular direction, he set down his blocks of wood and straightened up, using his 8 feet of height as a vantage to see where she was off to. When he caught sight of the city carts rolling into town, his blood ran cold.

  Without another word, he turned and took off in a rush to save his sister.

  —

  Ambrose was distracted from her almost trance-like state as a shout came from outside of the Shatterhorn house, the sound of someone scampering paws on the porch bringing her back to herself. She stopped the rhythmic press and pull of her steady fingers with gradual slowness, letting the streams of white cream slow to a low, steady drip. Leaning back, on the stool she had been using, she removed the pressure of her chest from the back of the other woman and looked to the front of the house.

  “Miz Shatterhorn!!! Miz Shatterhorn!!!” came the cry of the local pakren, Lennon, as he rushed in through the open door. Lennon was a scrawny thing, his limber, wiry frame speaking clearly of how little he ate. He was the nervous sort with dark gray, unkempt hair, dishevelled and dirty clothes, and an overall nervous affectation. His gray, dog-like ears were pinned back and his tail, long and bushy, was making frantic whipping motions. His humanoid face was a mask of worry and he bit at his lower lip with one of his sharp, canine teeth. He looked extra stressed, and Ambrose could hear the whine from the back of his throat as he looked around the house before his eyes locked on them.

  The dripping sound from the droplets of cream falling into the pail Ambrose was milking Belinda into was audible as the man's eyes widened. Ambrose wasn’t sure if he was relieved to see them, or if he was going to be awkward about seeing Miz Shatterhorn getting milked again. “Oh thank goodness!” he said, taking a step toward the two women. Relieved, it seemed.

  “Hey, Lennon,” Ambrose said, moving one of her hands away from Miz Belinda Shatterhorn’s still heavy, milk laden chest and over to the towel so that she could tend to drying the lady of the house if she needed to, but Belinda took her wrist, pulling it back toward her chest. Ambrose didn’t resist, letting the lady hold her there. It wasn’t like they knew exactly what was going on yet, and Ambrose was sure Belinda would want more attention if this turned out not to be serious. “What’s going on? Miz Shatterhorns getting her milking for the day,” the human girl said, looking at the pakren boy through her long white bangs before she felt the other woman squeeze her hand.

  “We have an emergency in town. Kayden is hurt and needs her milk!” the nervous dog boy explained, the whine in his throat increasing in urgency. He was obviously very worried about the sturdy centaur boy, which made Ambrose worry a little as well. Kayden was a country stallion and built sturdy like one to boot. Anything that actually hurt the boy was a problem.

  Ambrose looked to Belinda Shatterhorn, catching the slightly annoyed look on the beautiful older woman’s face, before the Holstaur took a deep breath schooled herself to patience. Ambrose knew it was hard on the mature cow to be stopped in the middle of milking, but something was obviously amiss. She let Ambrose start tending to her soaked breasts with tender strokes of the towel while the woman turned to address the pakren boy.

  “What hurt young Kayden, Lennon?” the woman asked, turning to face the boy with her big brown eyes focused on him. Her dark hair tickled Ambroses nose as the younger girl tried to dry off her prodigious chest from behind and remain unintrusive to the conversation.

  “He’s been shot. One of the humans in those carts at the edge of town shot him with an arrow while he was trying to protect little T-Lynn,” Lennon explained in a rush. He kept looking back at the door like he wanted to run back as fast as possible. Ambrose couldn’t blame him. In fact, she commended him for coming as fast as he could to see Belinda. Holstaur milk was second only to actual healing magic when it came to treating wounds, and was a key ingredient in most natural health potions. A bottle would save young Kayden a lot of pain in the long term.

  Those words made Belinda pale and stiffen almost immediately. “Humans? Why are they here?! Taxes were last week and they’ve been paid in full,” Belinda began protesting almost immediately as she moved to stand. Ambrose let her, setting the towel aside and lifting the mostly full pail to follow the cow toward her kitchen table. The two other full pails on the floor would be more difficult to pour quickly, and they needed to be stored so they could be taken to trade. One pail a day to keep the townsfolk healthy wouldn’t hurt, but wasting good milk was almost criminal when it was part of the way Swallotale paid to stay safe and protected by the kingdom.

  ‘Protected’, Ambrose thought to herself, putting some heavy mental sarcasm on the word, though she didn’t say anything. It wasn't the time for sass. One of the village folk had been hurt, and it was up to them to get that boy help.

  “They um…” Lennon said nervously, looking at the two women as they worked to get fresh cream into a pair of ceramic bottles.

  He hesitated on his answer long enough for Belinda to lose her patience. “Out with it, boy!” She said sternly, making the skittish pakren yelp in surprise before nodding.

  “Sorry! S-sorry!” He apologized, before continuing. “They said they're here for Ambrose.”

  Both women paused at that, and Ambrose frowned behind her bangs. She had been certain her birthday was some time in the spring, and the humans hadn't come to the village then. She had figured she had been forgotten. Some orphan, living in a commune for ‘monsters’ wouldn't be important enough for the church of Guidance to care about. She'd been sure that she'd simply never be awakened to a class and would spend her life in the village where she'd grown up.

  She had occasionally dreamed about someone coming and unlocking her class so that she could take on the life of a humble adventurer, and bring some money back to her home and the people who had come together to raise her. But this was not that situation. This was an attack on her home.

  Belinda was the first to snap out of her surprised state, moving quickly to stop the two bottles with a pair of sturdy corks. Rather than procrastinating any longer, she forced both bottles to Ambrose's chest and made her take them.

  “You take these to Kay and see what those humans want. I'll fix up this shirt and then see if I can find Radley or Will. We need them if things turn ugly,” Belinda said, starting to usher them both back toward the door. Everyone set into motion, driven by concern and confusion that permeated the moment.

  —

  T-Lynn sobbed against her brother, who had steadily been growing less vivacious since the arrow of the human and pierced his side, likely hitting a lung. There was just so much blood, and no matter who came to help, they always went and shouted for someone else. She had been such a dummy to trust those humans. She'd been a dummy to ever trust any human, and now her dear big brother might die.

  She clung to him, not hearing any of the words going on around her as the other villagers gathered together near the village entrance. She pressed her face to his chest and sobbed all the harder, begging him to stay with her, even as she felt one of his arms drop away from her back. He was losing strength. She wailed. Could no one save him, could no one hel-?

  A gentle pat on her back made the startled filly look up and about, confused, only to see the familiar face of Ambrose hovering near her. Her initial reaction was confusion, then anger at the human girl for being one of the people who had hurt her family, then desperation for someone, anyone to save her brother.

  “T-Lynn, are you okay?” Ambrose asked, focused on her so intently that even though Ambrose hadn't moved her ridiculous bangs away from her eyes, the centaur girl could feel her gaze.

  “No! I'm not okay!” She began to protest, only for the young woman to press a ceramic bottle into her arms.

  She looked down at the bottle for a long moment, confused. It was heavy with liquid and she immediately recognized it as milk from Miz Shatterhorn, who lived back on the hills. This was something that could help her brother. Why was she giving it to T-Lynn?! Was this a cruel joke?

  “I don't need it! My brother is dying, you idiot! He needs help!” She shouted, only to receive a stern smack to the back of the head.

  “Enough,” came the deep, steady voice of her brother. T-Lynn turned, surprised at his even breathing and how firmly he'd bopped her, only to see him giving her a bemused smile and waggling a bottle of his own at her while he looked down at her face.

  Tears of joy sprung to her lips and she buried her face into his chest again, hugging her dear sibling tight around his waist.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  —

  Ambrose returned the brother's sheepish shrug, acknowledging his mouthed ‘thank you’ with a quiet smile of her own before she stood and turned away from them. Taking a deep breath, she approached the group that was currently blocking the carriage's entry into the village. She had been listening to just what had been going on, and from what she could gather from the conflicting people standing at the entrance gate, T-Lynn had run at the carriages and one of the passengers had drawn a bow and shot at her, prompting Kaydin to dive into the path of the arrow to save the startled child.

  The wound that had punctured his lower right lung, and was even now being healed by the work of Belinda's miracle milk, had crippled the boy, but not before he could steer his sister into the safe boundaries of the city and the other villagers had shown up. Now the driver and the archer were making a fuss at the village folk, demanding that the archer had been provoked, and done nothing wrong. Ambrose couldn't help but shake her head in disappointment. She wanted to lash out and beat the jerk who had shot at the child, but she knew that would simply cause more trouble. So instead, with the bottles delivered, she slipped between the various people in the growing crowd and to the front where human met demi-human.

  “-to us and we will leave. It's as simple as that,” a tall human male with a slender frame wreathed in a gaudy set of vest, shirt and trouser that came together to make him look as though someone had stripped a pine sapling down to the trunk and then dyed it half red and yellow at the top, but decided to stop at the bottom. His bravado only made his choice of clothes more confusing.

  As Ambrose stepped past the line of defenders, the eyes of the humans immediately shifted to her. Many of their expressions were of mild interest. One of the boys in the back, a ruddy haired human boy with fitted clothing and an elegant bow in his hand, caught her attention with the way he clutched at the weapon, as though he thought at any moment he would be attacked. The other men and women were of the humanoid races, though three of them were in their elven adolescence, likely no older than in their fifties judging from the springiness of their ears and their slender frames and small noses. Yet the one at the front seemed to be the one whose attention mattered most, and he was eying her with confusion and contempt.

  “What manner of beast is this!?” he asked, gesturing at Ambrose as his eyes traveled down and then up her body. He seemed to linger in the usual places men did after searching for the inhuman traits he wanted to clue himself in on what her species was. It was just like a human man to do that. To see her as a monster before a woman, and a woman when it pleased his eyes. Not that elves, dwarves, gnomes, and halflings were any better in that regard.

  “This beast is of the human type,” sniggered Braska, the Ursai male who usually guarded the village during the fall and spring. The big bear of a bear man’s chuckle was enough to rumble the front line of speakers and apparently unsettle the willowy tree man.

  “Human?!” he scoffed before turning his attention to her face, where her eyes remained obscured by her long bangs. He seemed very unhappy not to be able to see her eyes. “You, girl. Are you Ambrose? The human woman who turns 18 today?” he demanded, being sure to clarify on each level before she could answer.

  She sighed and nodded, crossing her arms under her chest and simply observing the man for a moment. “Yes. I am Ambrose. Why are you shooting up my home?”

  “By order of His High Majesty the King, and the Divine Church of Guidance, I and my compatriots are here to bring you to awaken your class,” the man announced, his voice leaking self importance.

  “Then why didn’t you do as the king ordered?” Ambrose asked, the question making the man pause.

  "What?” he asked, a frown moving to mar his ratty features as he looked around.

  “Your job was to have me come with you to the keep in order to awaken my class. Yet you trounced into my village and started shooting harmless citizens with bow and arrow? How could you be so careless?” Ambrose asked, her tone motherly and scolding. With her eyes covered by her bangs, she was fairly certain he wouldn’t be able to read her expression at all, so he couldn’t see the twinkle in her eye.

  “What… What does that have to do with anything?!” the man asked, stammering as he tried to pull together his thoughts.

  “It was self defense! A monster was charging us!” the ruddy haired boy with the bow said, gripping the weapon more tightly.

  “You needed to defend yourself from an unarmed centaur filly with no horns or weapons, and the willowy legs of a spring foal?” Ambrose questioned, and the boy’s cheeks reddened in fury.

  “We’ve already been over this with this beastman,” the tree man insisted, gesturing at Braska even as he slurred him. “Charging the cart was unsettling and Henric felt it necessary to protect us, so he fired at the girl. Any monster charging a cart is a threat.”

  “Even if they are tax paying and law abiding citizens?” Ambrose asked, setting up her cage for the man to walk right on in.

  “Yes. Even then,” he nodded, giving her an imperious gaze.

  “And what if that person you shot, that monster had been my spouse?” Ambrose asked simply.

  The man frowned at that question as though he couldn’t even comprehend the idea of a human taking a demi human to wed.

  “If… If you were a monstrophile how would that prevent me from doing my job?” the man scoffed.

  “If you had, I would be completely within my rights not only to refuse to come with you under the church and our king, but I could very well have you arrested for bereaving me of my spouse, and take the year of mourning allotted to me by royal law. The right to grieve is protected by the church. So not only would this fool have gotten you in trouble with the kingdom for his cowardice, but he would have put off my class awakening for an entire year, making you fail your duty to the king,” Ambrose said, her explanation turning the man gradually more and more pale as those implications set in. Their act of careless specieism had been far more risky than they had predicted.

  The boy in the back was quaking with fury as Ambrose called him a coward in front of a crowd. “W-well she’s not your spouse!” he hissed, looking over at her. “She’s just some centaur!”

  “And how did you know that?” Ambrose asked the boy. He paused. “I… I.. uh-,” he stammered, obviously not having an answer. Ambrose smiled, feeling like she’d made the men uncomfortable enough. The simple, satisfied smirks of Braska and his friends at seeing the bigots cowed was more than enough to make her happy with her work.

  Rather than drag things out further, she stepped away from the line of people defending her village and home, moving past the man whose face was reddening with impotent embarrassment. “Where are you going!?” he demanded.

  “To the cart,” Ambrose replied, turning her face toward him, he couldn’t see her raised brow or the gleeful twinkle she felt in her eyes and the fact it infuriated him further only added to her mirth as she giggled at his silly question. “Were you not going to take me to the keep?”

  The man huffed, rolling his eyes and turning to glare at Braska and the other villagers before gesturing to her to move over to the cart so that they could load up and depart. “Yes. Yes I was.”

  —

  The carriage ride was a bumpy one as usual, the road transitioning to a poorly maintained cobble a few miles away from the Village. Humans chose not to maintain the road very well as it was “rarely used”, preferring to use the tax resources gained from Swallotale for different purposes. So shortly after the time the village had faded into the horizon, the passengers began to bump, and Ambrose became very grateful for the padding on the seats of the carriage as they would spare her bottom the soreness of the ride.

  Across from her, the boy with the ruddy hair stared as the cart moved, watching as it jostled her. Part of her wanted to antagonize him further, but she held back her urges, instead turning to the man who looked like a stripped sapling and posing a question. “So, what happens after my class is chosen?” she asked, full of curiosity. She’d always heard of the part about being taken to the keep and receiving a class, not necessarily what happened after.

  “That depends on the rank of your class,” the man replied, seeming to understand the question. “Those with low ranking classes from F to D are normally left to their own devices. If you have one of those, we’ll have a carriage bring you back here to your… friends.”

  The way he said that last word left no room for doubt on his opinion of Demi Humans, but was polite enough that any barb Ambrose threw his way would seem like unwarranted hostility. So Ambros nodded. “And above that?”

  “A C or B rank class would open options…” the man said, with a wobble of his head. He obviously didn’t expect for her to have a C or B rank class. “You would be requested to find work in the keep rather than outside of it. If you were some form of combatant or adventuring class, the guild would certainly want to scoop you up.”

  Ambrose nodded at that. By her estimation, that was about what she could expect from any class she got. So they would like for her to stay in the city, but she could join the guild. Doing so seemed ideal to her. With a class like that, she could join a group and gain money that she could send back to Swallotale. There were few things that she desired more.

  “Well, I expect an A or S rank class,” the boy with a bow said, smirking. That genuinely surprised Ambrose as she had expected him to already have his class with how he openly brandished a weapon. Apparently, though, this was also his birthday. Ambrose chose to humor his expectations, rather than tease him more.

  Turning her head back to face the other man, she gestured to him with a hand. “And what will happen to him when he awakens his A or S rank class?” She asked, keeping any sarcasm from her tone.

  The man paused, bringing his palm to his chin to stroke his bristly hairs. “Well. An A rank class is normally where the statistics become unique,” the man started, looking between Ambrose and the boy, to find that neither of them seemed to understand his words. “From rank F through B, most races have the same statistics. Strength, Constitution, Dexterity or Agility, Intellect, Wisdom, and Charisma.”

  Ambrose nodded at this explanation. Such things were fairly common knowledge to her. The only one of those stats that was even mildly variable in the lower ranks of class were dexterity and agility. The stats seemed interchangeable, but the connotation of the word seemed to take up meaning at the higher levels. Those with high dexterity seemed better with their hands and manual manipulation, while classes with agility benefited from a full body increase from the stat. Ambrose imagined that these ‘unique stats’ the man was about to explain did something similar and had further nuance to the bonus they provided.

  “These basic stats increase with levels and provide a notable boost in general proficiencies under their jurisdiction,” the tree man continued. “I am a B rank Arcanist, for example, and still have the Intellect stat. Each time I increase my intellect, my capacity for knowledge and my ability to memorize things quickly expand. Memorizing and reciting magical formulae comes naturally to me, and I have no problem recalling small things, such as what I had for breakfast the Segundrsday before last.”

  “However, my master and teacher is an A Rank Magus of high esteem. He does not have the Intellect stat, but instead the Arcane Mind stat. His ability far outstrips mine, not only in numbers, but in value of numbers. One Arcane Mind upgrade is likely worth three upgrades of my own Intellect statistic. Therefore his potency, even if the numbers of our levels and stats were the same, would outstrip mine,” the Arcanist explained, seemingly rather into the explanation. Perhaps it was just how his class fit his personality.

  “So when I gain my class I’ll have all of my stats be better than any other warrior’s?” the boy asked, genuinely excited. It was obvious that he wanted the advantage, though Ambrose couldn’t blame him, She didn’t know any person who wouldn’t want to be more powerful than the next in order to benefit themselves. She silently hoped that he wouldn’t get too many special stats though, seeing as he might use them to shoot little girls.

  The Arcanist chuckled at the enthusiasm, waffling his hand from side to side. “Not all of your stats. A ranks normally only have one special statistic. My master still has the usual wisdom and charisma stats, and his physical statistics are normal as well. As an A rank, you are very likely to be hired or taken into an academy for dungeoneering or royal service. Perhaps even requested as a vassal or employee for nobility. It’s the S rank who are the cream of the crop. Any S rank would have three to four unique stats, and likely would be taken to the royal academies to be trained and then given a noble rank. The S rank are elite and near the pinnacle of power. So keeping them happy and within the kingdom is of the utmost importance.”

  The boy preened as though he had already awakened his S rank class and was being praised by the Arcanist, but Ambrose simply shrugged. Hearing all of that made her want such a thing less. She wanted to spend her life giving back to her own community. The people who had helped and raised her. She had no interest in being made a noble and shipped off to manage more humans.

  “I’m going to be an S+ rank warrior,” the boy across from her declared before turning to leer at Ambrose. “If you’re a b rank or better, you can be one of my wives.”

  Ambrose brought her hand up to cover her mouth as she stifled a laugh at the brazen assertion. “How kind of you,” she said after mastering herself. The boy smirked as though she had been genuinely flattered, and Ambrose let it go. There would be no way she would marry this boy. Not even if his class was S.

  “S+?” chuckled the arcanist, eying the boy with bemusement. He obviously didn’t think the boy would even amount to an A rank. “Do you mean M? There are no pluses or minuses on rank.”

  “M? So there are ranks above S?” Ambrose asked, confused. She’d never heard of such a thing.

  “There is one rank above S. M,” the man nodded, smirking. “There are maybe… 3 on the continent? All of their stats are unique and potent. I daresay if you surprised us all and turned out to be an M rank warrior, then the kingdom would have to follow your whims one day.”

  The boy across from Ambrose seemed to already be fantasizing about all the wonders of his new, M Rank class. She simply shrugged. If that’s what he got, she supposed the rest of the world would simply have to deal with it.