Kael Vorn stumbled through the shadowed corridors of the decaying manor, Flick's shimmering form hopping ahead, a starlit beacon in the gloom. The air was thick with dust and the faint hum of magic, the walls etched with runes that pulsed faintly, like a dying heartbeat. His new body—slight, frail, barely sixteen—felt alien, each step unsteady as if he were a puppet with half-cut strings. Elara's betrayal clawed at his mind, her cold words looping relentlessly: You're nothing. Now, in this strange world of Eryndral, his uncle's venomous sneer—A Beast Tamer? You shame us—piled on the weight. Kael's fists clenched, nails biting into his palms. He wasn't nothing. Not anymore.
Flick paused at a crumbling archway, its fur glinting as it glanced back. "Keep up, kid," it said, voice dry as the stone around them. "Unless you want the servants to sweep you out with the cobwebs." Its eyes glinted with mischief, but there was a sharpness there, a warning. Kael nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. The bunny's sarcasm was the only thing keeping him grounded, a thread of normalcy in this fever-dream world.
The corridor opened into a cavernous hall, its vaulted ceiling cracked, moonlight spilling through shattered stained glass. Servants bustled about, their faces pinched with disdain as they carried trays or swept debris. Their whispers sliced through the air, sharp and deliberate. "The Vorn runt," one hissed, a wiry woman with a broom. "A Beast Tamer, of all things." Another, a man hauling a crate, snorted. "Useless. The bloodline's done." Their eyes raked over Kael, cold and judgmental, as if he were a stain on the manor's fading glory.
Kael's face burned, Elara's laughter echoing in their scorn. He wanted to shout, to demand why they hated him, but his voice caught, trapped by the weight of their gazes. Flick hopped onto his shoulder, its tiny claws pricking through his tattered cloak. "Ignore 'em," it muttered. "They're just mad they're stuck cleaning this dump while you've got potential." Kael glanced at the bunny, its smirk oddly reassuring. Potential? He didn't feel it, but Flick's confidence sparked a flicker of defiance in his chest.
A heavy door groaned open at the hall's end, and Lord Vorn emerged, his black robes billowing like a storm cloud. The servants froze, their whispers dying. His hawk-like face was a mask of contempt as he fixed his obsidian eyes on Kael. "Still here, boy?" he said, voice low and venomous. "I'd hoped you'd crawl into a corner and spare us your presence." He stepped closer, towering over Kael's slight frame. "A Beast Tamer. The gods mock us with you."
Kael's heart pounded, his uncle's words echoing Elara's: You're nothing. But he straightened, forcing his voice steady. "Why does it matter? What's a Beast Tamer?" The question burned, a desperate grasp for answers in this world that despised him.
Lord Vorn's lip curled. "A relic of our shame. The Vorn bloodline once commanded armies, wielded magic that shook the heavens. Now, you—our last heir—carry a class fit for children and fools. Bonding with beasts?" He spat the word. "You'll be devoured before you're useful." He turned, dismissing Kael with a wave. "Stay out of my sight. The council will decide your fate tomorrow."
Kael's hands trembled, anger and fear warring within him. "What council?" he called, but Lord Vorn was already gone, the door slamming shut. The servants' whispers resumed, louder now, their laughter a blade in his gut. Flick's tail flicked against his cheek. "Told ya," it said. "Miserable family reunion. Let's find somewhere less hostile before they start throwing brooms."
Kael followed Flick through a side passage, his mind racing. Beast Tamer. The term felt heavy, like a curse and a promise. He didn't understand it, but the servants' scorn and his uncle's rage made one thing clear: it was a mark of shame here. Yet Flick's presence, its snark and strange loyalty, hinted at something more. He glanced at the bunny, now hopping along a cracked staircase. "You said I've got potential," Kael said, voice low. "What's that mean?"
Flick paused, glancing back with a glint in its eyes. "Means you're not just a sad sack with a tragic backstory. Beast Tamers—real ones—can do things others can't. You feel things, kid. Deeply. That's your edge." It hopped up a step. "But don't get cocky. You're still a walking target."
Kael's chest tightened. Feel things? Elara's betrayal was a fresh wound, raw and bleeding. If that was his edge, it felt like a curse. He followed Flick into a small chamber, its walls lined with dusty tapestries depicting wolves and flames—the same crest as his cloak. A single window let in pale moonlight, illuminating a straw mattress and a rickety table. His new home, he supposed. It was a far cry from his cramped apartment on Earth, but the loneliness felt the same.
He sank onto the mattress, the straw crunching under his weight. "Eryndral," he muttered, testing the word. "What is this place, Flick? Why am I here?" The questions spilled out, each one heavier than the last. The truck, the pain, the new body—it didn't make sense. Was this a second chance, or a punishment?
Flick hopped onto the table, its fur shimmering faintly. "Eryndral's a mess of a world," it said. "Magic in the air, monsters in the shadows, and politics nastier than a dragon's breath. You're here because… well, let's just say fate's got a twisted sense of humor." It tilted its head. "As for why you're a Vorn with a bunny sidekick? Beats me. But you're stuck with it, so better figure out how to survive."
Kael's jaw tightened. Survive. The word felt like a challenge. He thought of Elara's cold eyes, his uncle's sneer, the servants' laughter. "I will," he said, voice firm despite the tremor in his hands. "I'm not letting them win."
Flick's smirk widened. "That's more like it. Now, get some sleep. Tomorrow's gonna be rough." It hopped off the table, curling up in a patch of moonlight. "Oh, and if you dream of horned shadows, don't scream too loud. I'm a light sleeper."
Kael frowned. "Horned shadows?" The phrase sent a chill down his spine, though he didn't know why. He lay back, the straw poking through the thin blanket. Sleep felt impossible, his mind a storm of questions. Who was he now? What did it mean to be a Vorn, a Beast Tamer? And why did Flick's warning about dreams feel like a prophecy?
That night, sleep came in fragments, broken by a dream that felt too real. Kael stood in a void, the ground slick and black, like polished obsidian. Elara stood before him, her auburn hair glowing unnaturally, her smile cruel. "You're nothing," she said, her voice echoing in the dark. Behind her, a shadow loomed—tall, horned, its eyes burning red. It held a broken crown, its jagged edges dripping with light. "Thrice broken," it whispered, voice like grinding stone. "The tamer's heart will quake worlds."
Kael jolted awake, heart hammering, sweat soaking his cloak. The chamber was silent, Flick's soft snores the only sound. Moonlight still streamed through the window, casting long shadows that seemed to writhe. He clutched his chest, the dream's weight lingering. Elara's face, the horned shadow, the broken crown—it felt like a warning, or a curse. His uncle's words echoed: A cursed bloodline. Was this what he meant?
He rose, pacing the small room, his bare feet cold against the stone. Flick stirred, one eye cracking open. "Told ya not to scream," it muttered. "Bad dream?"
Kael hesitated, then nodded. "Elara. And… something else. A shadow with horns. It said something about a tamer's heart." His voice shook, the words sounding absurd in the quiet.
Flick's other eye opened, its gaze sharper now. "Hmph. Sounds like Eryndral's welcoming committee. Dreams here aren't always just dreams, kid. Keep that in mind." It yawned, curling back up. "Get some rest. You'll need it for the council."
Kael's stomach twisted. The council. Lord Vorn had mentioned it with a smirk, like it was a death sentence. He lay back down, but sleep wouldn't come. The dream's words looped in his mind: Thrice broken. He didn't understand it, but it felt tied to his pain, to Elara's betrayal, to this world's hatred. He stared at the ceiling, the runes' faint glow pulsing like a challenge. He wasn't nothing. He'd prove it—to his uncle, to the servants, to himself.
Morning came too soon, the chamber filling with gray light. Flick hopped to the table, nudging a stale loaf of bread toward Kael. "Breakfast," it said. "Eat fast. The council's waiting, and they're not the patient type."
Kael tore into the bread, its dryness sticking in his throat. "What's the council?" he asked, crumbs falling. "What do they want with me?"
Flick's tail twitched. "Bunch of old nobles who decide what to do with embarrassments like you. My guess? They'll try to ship you off somewhere you can't tarnish the Vorn name." It paused, eyes glinting. "Or worse. So, you gonna sit there moping, or show 'em you're not as useless as they think?"
Kael's jaw tightened, the spark of defiance flaring brighter. Elara's betrayal had broken him, but this world wouldn't. He stood, brushing crumbs from his cloak. "Let's go," he said, voice steady for the first time. "I'm not running."
Flick's smirk returned, a glint of approval in its eyes. "That's the spirit, kid. Let's see how long you last." It hopped toward the door, leading Kael into the unknown, the weight of scorn heavy but his resolve heavier. The council awaited, and with it, the first step toward unraveling the mystery of his rebirth—and the curse that bound him.