world of beastmen

In Terios, predators and herbivores don't erase their differences, but rather integrate them into their everyday lives—so that instincts don't interfere with living together.

Space for instincts. In transport, cafes, and homes, zones are divided: predators need visibility and semi-darkness, herbivores need light and a sense of open space. Between them are "buffers" (plants, the sound of running water) that reduce tension.

Roles instead of hostility. Predators take on "hot" tasks (surgery, piloting, security), where instant focus is essential. Herbivores are responsible for stability and planning (architecture, agriculture). Serpent people act as mediators: they sense temperature spikes and defuse conflicts promptly.

Rules for relaxation. Schools and workplaces have rituals: first, they name the instinct ("My instinct was to dominate"), then they solve the problem. For breakdowns, there are "relaxation rooms" (for predators, with a punching bag; for herbivores, quiet and bright ones). In sports, they impose limits: for example, a predator cannot press a herbivore for more than 10 seconds.

Economics and ethics. The state regulates meat consumption with quotas: this is both about resources and about controlling aggression. Synthetic meat is the norm, while farmed meat is rare. Ethical debates (farm-free activists vs. conservatives) influence politics and the market.

Trust is in the little things. Friendship between a predator and a herbivore is built on the ability to read body language: pinned ears indicate fear, a twitching tail indicates anger. Joint tasks (for example, protecting a farm from wild animals) teach them to rely on each other.

As a result, their interaction is a constant adjustment: a little quieter, a little brighter, a little further away – and clear rules that transform innate differences into a working system.

Terios's economy is mixed, with strong state regulation of key resources and market mechanisms elsewhere. Its core is the balance between the inhabitants' instincts and the need to survive as a civilization.

The main pillars of the economy

Farm belts and meat quotas. This is the foundation of social stability. Farms are either state-owned or run by large corporations under strict supervision. The state allocates quotas for the consumption of real meat: predators are entitled to a strictly limited amount. This is not only about preserving livestock but also about controlling aggression. Excesses or violations of quotas are criminal offenses. Synthetic meat is mass-produced and inexpensive: it is a basic product, "fuel" for predators.

Industry and technology. Terios is an industrial world with advanced biotechnology. Here, they can grow meat in labs, create sound-absorbing materials, and design buildings for different sensory types. High-tech manufacturing (medical equipment, drones, climate control systems) is their main export asset.

Farming for herbivores. Vast areas are devoted to grains, root crops, soybeans, and other plant-based crops. This isn't just food—it's a way to occupy and pacify large herbivore communities. Collective farms are also social projects: they teach people to work together and feel safe.

How money and work work

"Instinctive wages." Some professions (rescuers, pilots, surgeons) pay more, but they also impose mandatory stress management programs and regular assessments by snake-like psychologists. If aggression levels exceed the norm, the employee is transferred to a less responsible position, even if they are the best specialist.

The labor market by type. Professions are naturally distributed according to instincts:

Predators are in "sensitive" areas: piloting, surgery, rescue services, security, logistics of perishable goods (those same flights with meat).

Herbivores in planning, architecture, education, agriculture, resource management.

Snakemen are used in medicine, diplomacy, quality control, and security. Their ability to sense temperature makes them indispensable auditors and inspectors.

Birds are used in architecture, navigation, drone control, and any work that requires perfect spatial orientation.

Trade and regions

The city is a hub of technology and services. It's where the bulk of the money circulates, and where stock exchanges and banks operate. Speed, innovation, and status are valued here. Elite "meat houses" and expensive clinics are part of the city's economy.

Farm villages are an economy of survival and cooperation. There's less money, but more mutual assistance. Money is often used to purchase equipment to protect against wild animals. Currency is supplemented by barter and mutual aid: if you fix your neighbor's fence, they'll watch your child while you're on duty.

Nature reserves and wilderness areas are a "red zone." Almost no one goes there, and the economy there is nonexistent. It's a buffer and a reminder: nature is not for sale.

Major economic conflicts

Synthetics versus the farm. Synthetic meat producers are a huge industry that wants to completely replace farms. Farming corporations resist: they're selling not just meat, but "tradition and instinctual control." The state supports both sides to prevent famine and a surge in aggression.

Ethics and money. Activists from the "Quiet Pastures" movement are demanding that farms be closed and all predators be converted to synthetic feed. Businesses respond: this will upset the balance. In parliament and on the stock exchange, these debates directly affect stock prices and regional budgets.

Security as a commodity. Due to the threat of wild animals, demand for protection systems, self-defense training, and insurance is extremely high. It's an entire industry that provides employment for both predators and herbivores.

Money and everyday life

Electronic payments and universal cards are in vogue. Cash has almost disappeared: in a stressful situation, the smell of money or the rustling of bills can trigger instincts. Stores are clearly separated: separate checkouts and zones for predators and herbivores, to avoid crowding and tension.

Ultimately, the Terios economy is based on a simple principle: resources and rules are adjusted to biology. Money here is not just a medium of exchange, but a tool that helps a predator avoid becoming a killer, and a herbivore avoid dying of panic.

Regular City School: "Equilibrium Area High School"

It's a typical light-colored stone building with wide windows and thick walls to dampen unnecessary noise. There are no tall spires (too disturbing for predators) and no open spaces right at the entrance (too intimidating for herbivores). In front of the school is a wide, but not empty, area: low hedges stand there. They don't block the view (herbivores are undisturbed), but they create a sense of cover (predators are more at ease).

Morning: Entrance and "calming ritual" A snake-man teacher is always on duty at the gate. His job isn't so much to check passes as to gauge the crowd's temperature. If he senses tension rising (which happens when a group of teenage predators and a large group of younger herbivores approach the school at the same time), he turns on the "White Noise" system—a soft, enveloping sound of rain, broadcast through outdoor speakers. For the herbivores, this is a signal that "all is calm," and for the predators, it's a way to muffle unnecessary stimuli.

Inside, by the entrance, there are lockers. Each one has their own, but they're cleverly arranged:

For herbivores: the doors are transparent. They need to see what's inside and know that no one is hiding in the next cabinet.

For predators: the doors are solid and matte. They don't need to see the contents; they need their own space without unnecessary stimuli.

General rules: no sudden slams. The hinges are equipped with soft-close mechanisms, and the doors themselves have soft-close linings. A cabinet slamming is like a gunshot to a herbivorous child.

Classes: a compromise at every meter The regular class in Terios feels like an attempt to please everyone at once.

Desks: not in rows, but in a semicircle or small groups of 4-5 people. The main rule of layout: no one sits with their back to the door, and no one looks directly into the eyes of the person across from them for more than a few seconds (this can be interpreted as a challenge).

Lighting: Adjustable blinds. The teacher can brighten the lights if they see any of the herbivores begin to flatten their ears (a sign of increasing anxiety). Or dim them if the predators begin to fidget and lose concentration.

Floor and walls: covered with sound-absorbing materials. There's no "echo in the hallway" in Terios—it's dangerous. Echoes can trigger panic in a crowd.

The board isn't just a schedule, it's a "Class Mood Map." It's a large poster with animal silhouettes. Each student places a magnet with their name next to emojis: "calm," "nervous," "want to be alone," "want to join a group." The teacher notices this and seats the children so as to avoid clashes. For example, if the wolf cub is "hunting" today (needing movement and challenge), he'll be seated next to the teacher, not next to the rabbit, who's "panicking."

Lessons: Ordinary subjects, unusual nuances Mathematics, history, literature—it's all the same. But the presentation and details are different.

Physical education. This is the most difficult lesson. It's never taught by a regular teacher. It's taught either by a former predator who has learned to control himself, or by a snakeman. Games are always team games, but with clear roles. In football, there's a rule: a predator player cannot press a herbivore player for more than 10 seconds at a time. You have to back off, give the "prey" time to breathe. This trains self-control in predators and a sense of security in herbivores.

Biology. Instead of human anatomy, they study the evolution of the Terios species. Children look at the skeletons of their ancestors and discuss, "Here we had a powerful jaw apparatus, and now it's reduced. How does this affect our psyche today?" This helps predators not feel ashamed of their nature, and herbivores not fear it.

Body language (integrated, not a separate subject). The teacher doesn't say, "Petya, don't yell." She says, "Petya, I see your tail is up and tense. That means you're trying to dominate. Put your tail down, please. We're all equal here." The child learns to connect their physiological state with their behavior.

Changes: "Silence Zones" and "Movement Zones" In a regular school, the corridors are divided into streams.

"Quiet Zones" (near the library and the medical center). These have soft carpets, subdued lighting, and low couches. Herbivores come here to digest the stress of class, or those who've had a fight and need to cool off.

"Movement zones" (near the gym). They have a hard floor, bright lighting, horizontal bars, and wall bars. Predators come here to burn off excess energy. If a wolf cub starts twitching its tail too much out of boredom, they tell it, "Go hang on the bar for five minutes, then come back." It's not a punishment; it's a biological necessity.

And then there's the "Neutral Zone"—the dining room. It's huge and bright, but with separate tables in the shade for those who need privacy. The menu is divided: one line offers synthetic meat and plant-based foods, the other offers farm-raised meat (on a quota, reserved for carnivores only, and portions are strictly rationed). No one eats in public. If a carnivore needs a piece of meat, they do so in a dimly lit booth. It's not a secret, but it's not a show either. It's a sign of respect for those around them.

Separate schools: not elite, but "tailored to the task"

In Terios, separate schools exist not because one is better, but because it is actually easier for someone to study that way.

School for "highly sensitive" herbivores It's a small school in a quiet neighborhood with virtually no predators. Children who suffer from panic attacks too often are transferred here, and the mixed school environment becomes a torment for them.

Everything here is designed to reduce stress:

The windows overlook only the parks.

The classrooms are bare: just desks, a chalkboard, and plants. No bright posters that could irritate the eyes.

The teachers here are almost all herbivores or snake-people. They naturally move more slowly, speak more quietly, and this sets the rhythm of the entire day.

There's no competition here. Grades are given, but ratings aren't posted. The main goal is for the child to learn to cope with anxiety and one day be able to return to a regular school or at least ride the subway without any problems.

"Sports boarding school" for predators It's a boarding school for teenage predators who have energy to burn, and a regular school with its silence and rules simply breaks them.

Here everything is the other way around:

The day begins with a two-hour intense workout. Only after the initial, powerful adrenaline rush is the teenager able to sit through class.

The classes here are smaller, and the teachers are former military or rescue workers (also predators). They speak directly, without beating around the bush. "Are you angry? Great. Channel that anger into solving the problem."

Here, they teach responsibility through risk. Mountaineering, drone control, complex engineering projects where mistakes are costly. This gives predators the very "challenge" they so desperately need.

Graduates of this school often become firefighters, pilots, surgeons—anywhere that requires cold calculation and instant reaction.

Village School near the Farms: "One Roof for All"

In the villages near the Green Belts, there is only one school for the entire village, and everyone studies there together: the future wolf shepherd and the future reindeer veterinarian.

There are no complicated noise-cancelling systems here. This is reality.

Two lessons a day are held not in a classroom, but on a farm. Children learn to read the tracks of wild animals, determine whether a calf is sick by its breath, and repair a fence.

There's no division into "weak" and "strong." If a wild predator breaks into the farm, everyone comes to defend the flock. Even the most timid rabbit learns to hold a pitchfork and stand in line.

The main subject is "Neighborhood." Children are taught to understand: "Your instinct is your strength, but if you frighten the herd with your roar, we will all go without food." Here, respect is born not from rules, but from the need to survive.

Ordinary problems of an ordinary school

School in Terios isn't just about balance. It's also about the usual teenage dramas, only spiced up with a little more instinct.

Bullying through smell and gaze. A predator might intentionally stand too close to a herbivore so that the latter smells the predator and panics. Or they might stare directly into the eyes until the victim looks down. School psychologists (almost always snake people) teach how to resist this: "If someone is staring at you, don't look away abruptly. Pause. Say, 'Your gaze is bothering me. Please look away.'"

Breakdowns. A teenage predator can have a hormonal surge, and for a second, they "drop" into instinct. The teacher doesn't yell, but calmly says, "I see you're not listening right now. Go to the release room." It's dark and quiet there, with heavy blankets (they calm the nervous system) and a punching bag.

Friendship in Spite of Each Other. Every class has a pair of "impossible" friends: a predator and a herbivore. They sit next to each other, and it works because they've learned to read each other. The herbivore knows that if the tip of his wolf friend's tail twitches, it means he's angry, and it's best not to touch him. And the predator knows that if his friend's ears are pinned back, it means he's scared, and he should just sit next to him and avoid any sudden movements.

In Terios, school is a place where civilization proves every day that it is stronger than instinct. Not because instincts are bad, but because living together is more important. And every day when the wolf cub and the rabbit go home after school, neither hunter nor hunted, is a small victory for Terios.

Welcome to Terios—a world where humanity never appeared, replaced by a civilization that grew from animals. This is neither a fairy tale nor magic, but the result of a long, stubborn evolution that has left only subtle hints of its bestial past on its children: sensitive ears, expressive tails, vestigial wings, and barely noticeable scales. And yet, just beyond the city limits, there still live those who have not taken this step: ordinary animals whose lives have become part of a complex, fragile balance.

The name "Therios" itself was born not in the offices of scientists, but on the streets. In the first decades after the clans began building communal cities, the word "therion" (wild beast) sounded like an accusation. Herbivores avoided it, considering it too crude, too revealing. Predators, on the other hand, wore it as a badge of honor, emphasizing that they were not ashamed of their nature. Only generations later did it cease to be a challenge and become a neutral name for the planet—an acknowledgment that wildness cannot be eradicated, only tamed.

A city built by instincts – and divided by borders The capital of Terios, known simply as the City by its inhabitants, is a gigantic, multilayered organism where architecture is directly influenced by biology. It is divided not so much into districts based on wealth as into zones based on perceived comfort.

Predators live on the upper levels, among the spires and narrow passages. A semi-darkness reigns here: the lights are dimmed to avoid blinding keen eyes, and the wind blows freely between the buildings, creating a complex acoustic pattern. The predators feel at ease here—they feel like they're in their own territory, where every corner can be a hiding place or a vantage point. Their homes often have high ceilings and few partitions: they need the space to feel in control.

Below, on wide avenues bathed in bright, almost sterile light, lie the herbivore neighborhoods. There are no dark dead ends here—the streets are designed to allow visibility for hundreds of meters ahead. Parks and squares occupy vast areas, creating a sense of open space, so essential for the peace of mind of former ungulates and rodents. Even the benches are arranged so that those sitting can see approaching people from all directions.

Between these two worlds, like a thin layer of butter between slices of bread, there are neutral zones—business centers, markets, museums. Here, light and sound are balanced: they don't offend herbivores and don't seem pitch black to predators.

Beyond the City's borders lie the Green Belts and Wild Rings—giant fenced-off areas inhabited by pre-evolved animals. These aren't just pastures, but strictly controlled ecosystems that serve several functions:

Food source. Farms provide predators with meat, without which their instincts become less controllable.

A buffer zone. They separate the noise and chaos of the City from the true wilderness preserved in nature reserves far beyond the reach of civilization.

An ecological and ethical foundation. For herbivorous residents, this is a "return to roots," a place where grass grows as it should, and animals live free from the stresses of civilization.

Everyday life and body language In Terios, words often give way to nonverbal communication. There's no need to say "I'm angry"—a sharp twitch of the tail is enough. There's no need to admit fear—the flattened ears will tell you before your voice.

Morning in the City begins with a symphony of sounds, keenly heard by everyone. For a herbivore, the sharp slam of a door is an alarm signal, comparable to the roar of a predator in the savannah. That's why in their neighborhoods, doors are equipped with closers, and the floors are covered with footstep-absorbing materials. For a predator, however, silence is not peace, but tension. They find comfort in hearing the city awakening: footsteps, the hum of elevators, the distant hum of traffic.

Transportation in the City is also adapted. Metro cars are equipped with partitions that can adjust transparency and noise levels. Herbivores ride in brightly lit, soundproof capsules, where even the announcer's announcements are soft and low. Carnivores prefer open platforms, where they can see the entire train and feel a draft.

Even the delivery of meat from farms has become part of the city's routine and ritual. Special trucks travel along designated routes; the smell of fresh meat in sealed containers acts as a stimulant for predators, allowing them to feel "in the flow." Often, predators themselves seek employment as drivers and security guards for these deliveries—for them, it's a way to legally satisfy part of their hunting instincts without breaking the law.

A society balancing on the brink The division between predators and herbivores has long ceased to be a matter of diet. It is the foundation of social structure, psychology, and even law.

Predators are the engines of progress and protectors. They become the best pilots, surgeons, and rescuers. Their ability to focus quickly and take risks is indispensable where the cost of error is human life. But society knows that if a predator goes unchallenged for a long time, its instincts begin to seek an outlet in aggression. Therefore, their work is structured as a series of challenges, and their leisure time is a safe simulation of hunting: from extreme sports to complex virtual reality puzzles.

Herbivores are the guardians of stability. They design buildings that last for centuries, manage resources, and raise children. Their strength lies in their collective intelligence and ability to foresee long-term consequences. But their weakness is panic. For many of them, loneliness is physically painful. Therefore, their communities are very close-knit, and their social bonds are strong.

Snakemen, with their smooth skin and barely noticeable scales under their eyes, occupy a special niche. Their unique ability to sense heat and temperature changes makes them invaluable in diplomacy and medicine. It is said that a Snakemen cannot lie without another Snakemen noticing—their skin temperature changes betray them. But they are not omnipotent: a massive surge of adrenaline in a room (for example, during a dispute between a predator and a herbivore) can literally "blind" their thermal sensitivity, turning their gift into a curse. This is why Snakemen are especially sought after on farms: they instantly detect sick animals by their changes in body temperature.

Birds, whose wings have long since become vestigial, have retained incredible spatial awareness. They are the finest architects and pilots. Even without the ability to fly, they "sense" the air and space in a way no other species can. Their movements are always precise, and their gestures are expressive, as they use their wing muscles for nonverbal communication.

Food, Ethics, and Farm Economics In Terios, meat is a resource with high social value, not just food.

Quota system. Predators can't eat meat every day. There are government quotas on animal protein consumption. This is necessary not only to preserve livestock on farms but also to control their instincts: an excess of "real" animal food physiologically increases aggression.

Lab-produced meat. Most predators' diets are synthetic. It's nutritious, but lacks the "spirit of the hunt." For a predator, eating a piece of lab-produced meat is like drinking a protein shake: it's fuel, nothing more.

Farm-raised meat is a luxury. Real meat from the farm is a delicacy served on special occasions: professional initiations, anniversaries, victories in major tournaments. A dinner featuring farm-raised meat is a demonstration of status and respect for tradition.

In the City, there are entire corporations that manage farms, and a special caste of workers—farm caretakers. These are most often herbivores or snakemen. Herbivores are better at perceiving the animals' condition, understand their body language, and can calm the herd if panic begins. Snakemen are indispensable in diagnosing the health of livestock.

"Meat houses" aren't just restaurants, they're elite clubs. They're dimly lit (for predators), but the interiors are crafted from materials that soothe herbivores (warm earthy tones, rounded corners). Visiting such a place as a "predator and herbivore" couple is an act of supreme trust.

Meanwhile, an ethical conflict rages in society. Radical herbivore activists from the "Quiet Pastures" movement advocate for a complete abolition of farmed animals, reminding us: "We remember what it was like to be prey. We have no right to become hunters again." Conservative carnivores counter that giving up real meat is a betrayal of their nature; the taste and texture of farmed meat help them control their instincts, satisfying them at a basic level. Without this, they believe, predators will begin to seek "hunt" within society, leading to an increase in crime.

The compromise was "Sacred Herds"—farms where animals are raised not for slaughter, but as living monuments to evolution. School trips are held there so that children who are carnivores can see where they come from and learn to respect the life they consume.

Life on the Border: Farm Villages Not everyone lives in the City. On the outskirts of the farming belts, there are small settlements where all species mix. There are no strict divisions into districts. The houses are densely packed, but the yards are huge—a compromise between the herbivores' need for open space and the predators' love of private territories.

Here, people work side by side. A former wolf might be a shepherd, protecting his flock from wild predators that sometimes break out of the reserves. A former doe might be a veterinarian, treating both livestock and neighbors. Due to the proximity to wildlife, breakouts are common here. Wild animals, retaining their natural aggression, pose a real threat. Therefore, in these villages, everyone, even herbivores, undergoes basic military training. There is no distinction between "fighters" and "civilians" here—here, everyone survives together.

Culture, Art and Memory The kitchen in Terios is a delicate balancing act. Restaurants are often divided into zones. Carnivores dine in dimly lit rooms, where the cooking process is hidden from view, so as not to stress the herbivores. Herbivores prefer large communal tables where many people gather—it gives them a sense of security.

Art also reflects the duality of the world. Theaters stage plays where actors barely speak, conveying the plot through body language: the position of their ears, the movement of their tail, the tilt of their head. Music is written in different frequency ranges: some compositions are designed specifically for the sensitive hearing of herbivores, others for the concentrated perception of predators.

Festivals connect the cycle of life and the ethics of consumption. In villages, festivals are celebrated dedicated to the life cycle of livestock—sorrowful but solemn ceremonies where animals are thanked for their sacrifice. In the City, such festivals are considered too cruel, but their traditions live on in the form of farm food festivals, where the emphasis is on the skill of preparation rather than the process itself.

Literature and myth preserve the archetype of the "Wild Ancestor" - a huge, untamed beast that lives beyond the farms and represents the force that civilization tries to control.

Religion and philosophy in Terios are built around the idea of ​​"Embracing Instinct." No one tries to erase the animalistic nature—it's impossible. Instead, society teaches how to manage it, to see it not as a weakness, but as part of one's nature. The main ethical principle is: "Your nature is your gift and your responsibility."