It didn’t take long.
Whatever magic Woodie was weaving through the colossal tree, it was working wonders. Thick roots twisted and curled with practiced ease, crafting seventeen identical wooden keys—each one molded from nature and precision.
"Master, are we good?" Woodie chirped, eyes wide with hope, clearly fishing for praise.
John picked one up and ran his fingers along its surface. Smooth. Balanced. Perfect.
He smirked, "Well, my good girl... You really make proud this ti." His voice softened—rare, genuine. "Now I can say without a doubt—you’ve mastered your skill. Congratulations, my dear."
Then he turned toward the rest of the flock, voice raised.
"Why am I not hearing anything? Go on—Woodie here achieved sothing extraordinary. No nonsense now. I’m speaking."
There was a beat of silence. Then a chorus of chirps erupted—clumsy, mismatched, but sincere. Cheers and whistles echoed from the Alpha birds. Even Bubble, usually deadpan, gave a hearty puff of respect.
It smoothed the tension in the air. Unity was reforging.
John returned to the stamps, inspecting each one gingerly. His sharp gaze didn’t miss a flaw—and to his pleasant surprise, there were none.
"Good," he muttered to himself. "All I need now is to engrave the Mark of Deception... and gather the blood."
His eyes glead with anticipation. He weaved a series of intricate hand seals, his fingers blurring through the air.
"Silver Glow."
Mana surged.
It burned fast—too fast—but under John’s will, it didn’t spiral out of control. Silvery motes, heavy with tallic essence, shimred and gathered at his palms. The air thickened with the sharp tang of magic. Under pressure, the light condensed into a solid form—a gleaming silver knife with a razor-sharp tip.
Beautiful. Deadly. Efficient.
With steady hands and razor focus, John began carving the Mark of Deception into the first wooden stamp.
Backwards.
He mirrored the original sigil—every twist, every swirl, every etched rune. One mistake and the entire stamp would be worthless. But his rising intelligence—the reward of all his trials—guided his fingers with surprising ease.
Minutes passed.
Done.
"Alright, let’s check this."
He grabbed Woodie by the wing. "Don’t even move a muscle."
With a quick flick of the blade, he made a shallow cut along her thigh. Woodie winced. Her eyes glistened, but she stood firm.
Drops of blood pooled and dripped. John caught them on the surface of the freshly carved wooden stamp.
"That will do."
Letting her go gently, he moved to the largest of the chard birds—a bald eagle nearly ten tis Woodie’s size. John pressed the blood-soaked stamp against its back.
A beat.
Then the mark glowed.
It shimred, then lted into the eagle’s skin, sliding beneath feathers and flesh like it belonged there all along.
[Mark Of Deception — Success!]
[Beta Pet Registered: Bald Eagle (Alpha — Woodie)]
John grinned.
"Perfect."
He turned toward Woodie.
"How do you feel?"
Woodie tilted her head thoughtfully.
"Master, I feel like... I’m getting stronger. And also—" she glanced at the bald eagle "—I feel like that bald thing belongs to . Like..."
"Like what?"
"Like my first child."
John blinked. Then smirked.
"Your first child, and you call him bald. That’s certainly one way to do quirky parenting." He chuckled, then nodded. "Now, have him use his innate skill."
Woodie turned to the eagle and chirped brightly.
"Baldie, co to ma!"
The massive eagle flapped over and landed beside her obediently.
"Good boy! Now, show mama your skill, alright?"
The eagle stared at her, confused.
"What? Don’t tell you don’t know how." She scratched her head with her wing. "That’s understandable, sweetie. You’re new. Mama will show you how."
With a little hop, she chirped, and a root burst from the ground. At its tip, a white flower blood.
"See that? That’s for you. A gift from Ma."
The eagle stared at the flower, tilted his head—and then, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, dived forward and chomped it down in one bite, swallowing with a happy glug.
Laughter erupted from the other alphas.
The eagle paused, looking around, then hastily shuffled behind Woodie, trying to hide.
Too bad—he was huge. Only his head made it behind her.
Which made it worse. Or better—depending on the perspective.
The flock lost it. Cackling. Chirping. So fell over flapping.
Woodie puffed her cheeks.
"Ignore them, my child. They’re fools. Now—just show your skill."
The eagle gave a soft cry, nodding. Then, puffing out his chest, he stretched his neck long and made a crackling chirp—trying to mimic Woodie’s magical tone.
Everyone held their breath.
A beat.
Then—plop!
A tiny green sprout poked up from the dusty ground.
Silence.
Then: absolute uproar. The alphas were wheezing, crying, flapping their wings like crazy.
That realization hits like a lightning bolt wrapped in introspection—John seeing echoes of himself in his flock is a powerful turning point, especially wrapped in such a funny, lighthearted mont.
John clutched his stomach, wheezing with amusent.
"That... was the most adorably underwhelming miracle I’ve ever seen."
The eagle let out a string of high-pitched, piping chirps—clearly complaining.
Sohow, in those short few monts, his intelligence had crawled just far enough up the ladder to realize he was the butt of everyone’s laughter.
He lowered his head in embarrassnt.
"Don’t worry, my genius," Woodie cooed softly, stepping closer. "They’re just jealous of your skill. None of them managed even a sprout their first ti." She nudged his wing. "Be upright. Stand tall."
And like magic, the words took root.
The eagle straightened up, puffing out his chest like a tiny general, then trotted proudly in a circle—glancing around with pomp and pride, as if daring anyone to laugh again.
John’s grin slowly faded into thought.
Interesting. His eyes sharpened, mind turning. Very interesting. That bird—he’s carrying her character. As if... they were sprouted from the sa seed pod.
And then it hit him.
A sharp realization flickered in his eyes.
Wait a minute. If the beta carries the imprint of their Alpha’s character... then these Alphas—
They carry bits of .
The thought settled in his chest like a weight—then quickly cracked open into sothing profound.
No wonder they all feel so... familiar. Emotionally. ntally. Even physically, in so twisted taphysical way.
They’re reflections. Fragnts. Extensions. Echoes of my ssy, complicated self.
He chuckled, shaking his head.
Too bad I’ve got a shit-load of personalities—between my previous life and this one. Guess that makes them a whole flock of my emotional clones.
He looked up again, eyes gleaming with excitent.
"Let’s test this theory."
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