The sheep provided another reminder that usefulness and spectacle were rarely the same thing. By the time they reached the goat enclosure, even Raymond had stopped dismissing the less glamorous visions quite so quickly.
The discussion surrounding the armored wool sheep continued all the way across the stable yard. Raymond remained convinced it belonged on a battlefield. Arthur remained convinced it belonged in a textile workshop. Neither seemed likely to change their opinion, and their argument only ended when they reached the goat pens.
Several pregnant goats had already been separated for testing. Compared to the sheep and cattle the animals appeared entirely unremarkable. Leon was beginning to notice a pattern—the crystal reacted regardless of species. As long as there was unborn life, the visions appeared.
He stepped forward and rested a hand against the nearest goat. The warmth returned and the stable disappeared. Once more he found himself surrounded by possibilities, and by now he knew better than to examine every path. There were simply too many. Instead he focused on the clearest ones.
The first possibility appeared surprisingly ordinary. A goat grazed peacefully upon a hillside, and for several moments Leon couldn't understand what made it special. Then he noticed the grass—greener, healthier, thicker. The vegetation surrounding the goat seemed to flourish wherever it wandered. Flowers bloomed. Shrubs grew rapidly. Even the trees appeared healthier. The vision shifted and months passed in moments. What had once been poor grazing land gradually transformed into fertile pasture as the goat continued eating, life following in its wake.
When Leon opened his eyes, Arthur was already watching him. "What did you see this time?"
Leon described the vision. Raymond frowned. "So... a farming goat?"
Leon shrugged. "When you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous."
"It sounds disappointing," Raymond corrected.
Arthur disagreed. "Not at all." Both brothers looked toward him. Arthur gestured toward the city beyond the stable walls. "We're preparing for a siege. Food will determine how long we survive." The humor immediately vanished from Raymond's face. "A creature capable of improving pastureland means healthier livestock. Healthier livestock means more food. More food means longer survival."
Leon nodded slowly. When Arthur explained it that way, the value became obvious.
"What about the second one?" Raymond asked, immediately drawing Leon's attention back to the vision. The second possibility had been considerably harder to ignore. He closed his eyes briefly, recalling the image.
"It was large. Very large."
"How large?" Raymond asked.
Leon pointed toward a nearby horse. "Bigger than that."
Raymond raised an eyebrow. "From a goat?"
Leon nodded. "It looked more like a boulder with legs." Arthur snorted softly—the image apparently amused him. "Its body was covered in dense muscle and the horns were enormous. But that wasn't the important part." Now he had both of their attention. "The ground moved."
Arthur's expression sharpened. "What do you mean?"
"I mean it literally moved." Leon searched for the right words. "When it walked, the earth responded." He gestured toward the ground. "I saw stone walls rise, ditches form, trenches, spikes. It could reshape the terrain around itself."
The stable grew quiet. For several moments neither Arthur nor Raymond spoke. Then Raymond grinned. "Now that's useful."
Leon laughed. "That's exactly what I thought."
Raymond glanced toward him. "Interesting?"
"Very." Arthur's gaze drifted toward the city walls. "Imagine repairing fortifications without laborers. Digging trenches. Creating barriers. Building earthworks. Road construction. Irrigation. Mining." With every example Raymond's grin slowly faded—not because he disagreed, but because Arthur was making too much sense.
Finally the City Lord looked back toward the goat. "I suspect this one may prove more valuable than the horse."
Leon stared. "The horse?"
Arthur nodded. "A stronger horse wins battles." Then he pointed toward the goat. "A creature that can reshape land changes kingdoms."
For several moments neither brother had a response to that.
The final enclosure contained the hounds. Several pregnant females rested beneath a covered shelter while a pair of kennel hands tended to them. Unlike the livestock they had examined earlier, these animals immediately drew Raymond's attention.
"Now we're finally looking at something useful."
Arthur glanced at him. "We've spent the entire afternoon looking at useful things."
Raymond grinned. "You know what I mean."
Leon couldn't help shaking his head—somehow the conversation was becoming predictable. He approached the nearest hound and placed a hand against its side. The crystal reacted immediately, warmth spreading through his forehead as the stable vanished and the vision unfolded.
Countless possibilities appeared before him once more. Leon ignored most of them. The distant paths were still there—massive, unreachable—and simply glancing toward them was enough to make his head ache slightly. Instead he focused on the clearer possibilities.
The first path immediately stood out. A hound emerged from the forest. No—calling it a hound felt wrong. The creature resembled a wolf far more than any dog Leon had ever seen, its shoulders nearly reaching the height of a grown man. Thick muscles rolled beneath dark fur and every movement carried the confidence of an apex predator. Its jaws looked powerful enough to crush bone, its claws digging furrows into the earth as it moved.
The vision shifted. Leon watched the beast sprint through a forest—nothing escaped it, not deer, not boars, not even larger predators. Everything fled before it, and whatever failed to flee died. The creature wasn't merely strong. It was built to hunt, to track, to kill. The vision faded.
Leon opened his eyes. Raymond immediately noticed his expression. "That looks promising."
Leon nodded. "It does."
Arthur folded his arms. "What did you see?"
Leon carefully described the creature—the larger size, the enhanced senses, the sheer physical strength, the predatory instincts. When he finished, Raymond looked thoroughly pleased. "Finally." He slapped his hands together. "A proper war beast."
Arthur shook his head. "A scout."
Raymond blinked. "A scout?"
"If its senses are as good as Leon describes, it would find use long before reaching a battlefield." Arthur's gaze drifted toward the city walls. "Tracking. Patrols. Guard duty. Finding hidden enemies." The more Arthur spoke, the more Raymond's excitement faded—not because he disagreed, but because Arthur was making too much sense. This story is hosted at NovelPing.
Leon chuckled. "At this point I think Father could find a logistical use for a dragon."
Arthur didn't even look embarrassed. "A dragon that can carry supplies would be extremely useful."
Raymond groaned.
Leon focused on the second path. The vision returned, and this creature looked very different—its body leaner, built for speed rather than brute strength. Dark scales ran along portions of its body, its ears stood tall and alert, and its eyes resembled those of a reptile. Most striking of all was its tail, long and whip-like and covered in sharp protrusions.
The creature opened its mouth and a stream of fire escaped between its teeth. Not a massive inferno, not enough to burn down cities, but enough to ignite dry grass, enough to set clothing ablaze, enough to turn a dangerous predator into something far worse.
The vision shifted. Leon watched several of the creatures hunting together, moving intelligently, using fire to flush prey from hiding before cutting off escape routes. The flames themselves weren't their greatest weapon. Their coordination was.
When Leon returned to reality, Raymond immediately leaned forward. "Well?"
Leon described everything he had seen. This time even Arthur looked surprised. "Fire."
"A limited amount," Leon nodded. "Nothing overwhelming. But definitely fire."
Raymond looked delighted. "I want ten."
"You couldn't afford ten," Arthur replied dryly. The older brother ignored him as Leon continued describing the creature's behavior—its speed, its pack tactics, the way it used flames during hunts.
Arthur's expression slowly grew thoughtful. "Interesting."
Raymond sighed. "There it is again."
Arthur ignored him. "A creature like that would be valuable for more than combat. Night patrols. Perimeter security. Tracking. Guarding supply depots." He paused. "And if they retain their intelligence..." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Possibly messenger duties."
Leon nodded—the vision had suggested the creatures were noticeably smarter than ordinary hounds. Not human intelligent, but clever. Far cleverer than normal animals.
For several moments the three stood silently among the kennels. Eventually Arthur spoke. "The same pattern appears again."
Leon nodded. "Every species has common possibilities. Paths that appear repeatedly." Arthur looked toward the resting hounds, then toward the horses, the sheep, the goats, the cattle. Every test had revealed the same thing—different species, different possibilities, yet similar rules. Some paths were common. Some were rare. And some existed so far beyond reach that Leon could barely look at them.
Arthur exhaled slowly. "When this began, I thought we had discovered a way to breed better horses." His gaze settled on Leon. "Now I'm beginning to think we've discovered something much larger."
Nobody disagreed. Because after everything they had seen that day, it was becoming increasingly difficult to believe otherwise. The ability wasn't creating stronger animals—it was revealing possibilities hidden within life itself. And for the first time, all three of them were beginning to grasp just how dangerous, and valuable, that might become.