Kael Vorn's breath fogged in the chill of the cell, the straw mat beneath him damp and biting through his tattered cloak. The torch outside the iron bars flickered, casting shadows that danced like specters across the stone walls. His new body—frail, sixteen, and achingly unfamiliar—shivered, but the warmth of his bond with Flick, the time-hopping bunny curled against his side, kept despair at bay. The serpent and flame-hawk he'd tamed earlier that day rested nearby, their presence a quiet reassurance. Elara's betrayal still seared his heart, her You're nothing looping with Lord Vorn's scorn and the council's laughter. Yet Garrick's gruff training had sparked something in Kael—empathy, he'd called it, a tamer's blade. The dagger from the servant's attack pressed against his hip, hidden beneath his cloak, its weight a grim reminder of the danger stalking him in Eryndral. The council's judgment loomed at dawn, but the horned shadow from his dreams—Thrice broken—haunted him more, its cryptic warning a puzzle he couldn't solve.
Flick stirred, its starlit fur glinting faintly. "Stop brooding, kid," it muttered, voice dry as ever. "You're loud even when you're quiet." Kael managed a weak smile, stroking the bunny's ears. "Just thinking," he said, voice low. "About the council. The curse. That… shadow." Flick's eyes narrowed, glinting with unease. "Told you, dreams here aren't just dreams. Something's got its eye on you. Best not to dwell 'til we know more." Kael nodded, but the shadow's words clung to him, heavy as the cell's damp air.
The manor's magical hum pulsed through the stone, stronger now, like a heartbeat quickening. Kael's fingers tightened around the dagger's hilt. Garrick's words echoed: Empathy's your blade. Sharpen it, or it'll cut you. He'd tamed beasts with it, felt their loneliness mirror his own. But could it protect him from a council that saw him as a stain on the Vorn name? Or from the unseen enemies who'd already sent one blade his way?
A faint scrape broke his thoughts—metal on stone, soft but deliberate. Kael froze, heart lurching. Flick's ears shot up, its body tensing. "Trouble," it whispered, hopping to the floor, fur bristling. The torch's light wavered, shadows stretching unnaturally. A figure emerged at the cell's bars, cloaked in black, face hidden beneath a hood. The glint of a dagger flashed in their hand, its blade longer and crueler than the one Kael held. "Kael Vorn," the figure hissed, voice low and venomous. "The cursed heir. Time to end this."
Kael's pulse roared, Elara's laughter blending with the figure's threat. He scrambled to his feet, the serpent hissing, the flame-hawk screeching softly. Flick's voice was a sharp whisper: "Stay back, kid. Let me handle this." But Kael's defiance flared, hot and unyielding. He wasn't nothing—not anymore. "Who are you?" he demanded, gripping the dagger, its weight grounding him. "Why do you want me dead?"
The figure laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "You're a spark that could burn Eryndral. Better snuffed out now." They raised the dagger, the lock clicking as they worked a key. Kael's heart hammered, but his empathy—the tamer's blade—reached out instinctively. He felt the figure's malice, sharp and bitter, but beneath it, a flicker of fear, like a beast cornered. It wasn't enough to tame, but it gave him a moment's clarity.
The cell door swung open, and the figure lunged. Kael dove to the side, the dagger slicing the air where he'd stood. The serpent struck, its fangs grazing the figure's cloak, forcing them back. The flame-hawk swooped, embers trailing, singeing the hood. Flick darted forward, a blur of silver light. "Now!" it shouted, and Kael felt time lurch—a dizzying pull, like falling backward. The cell shimmered, the figure's lunge rewinding a heartbeat. Flick's time-hop had bought him seconds.
Kael seized the chance, tackling the figure as they stumbled, confused by the temporal shift. They crashed to the floor, Kael's dagger at the figure's throat. "Who sent you?" he growled, voice shaking but fierce. The figure's hood fell back, revealing a young man's face, pale and sharp, eyes wide with panic. "You can't stop it," he gasped. "The Vorn curse lives."
Before Kael could press further, the man twisted, a hidden blade flashing. Pain seared Kael's arm, blood welling from a shallow cut. The serpent lunged again, sinking fangs into the man's wrist. He screamed, dropping the blade, and Flick darted in, nudging Kael back. "Enough, kid! He's done!" The man slumped, poison from the serpent's bite dulling his eyes. Kael staggered back, clutching his bleeding arm, heart pounding. The flame-hawk perched on his shoulder, its warmth soothing the pain.
Flick hopped to the man's body, sniffing. "Dead," it said, voice flat. "Nice work, team. But we've got bigger problems." It nodded to the cell door, still open. "Someone sent this guy. And they'll send more."
Kael's breath came in ragged gasps, the dagger trembling in his hand. Blood dripped onto the stone, his arm throbbing. Elara's betrayal flashed—her cold eyes, her noble's smirk—but this was different. This was survival. "Why me?" he whispered, more to himself than Flick. "What's the Vorn curse?"
Flick's ears twitched. "Wish I had answers, kid. All I know is you're a target 'cause you're a Vorn and a tamer. That combo scares someone powerful." It hopped to the door, glancing back. "We need to move. Council's tomorrow, and this—" it nudged the body—"means they're not waiting for a vote."
Kael nodded, tucking the dagger into his belt. The serpent coiled around his leg, the hawk gliding above. Their bonds pulsed, warm and steady, a reminder he wasn't alone. He tore a strip from his cloak, binding his wound, the pain sharp but bearable. "Where to?" he asked, voice steadier now.
Flick's eyes glinted. "The library. Old Vorn secrets might be there. Plus, it's got better hiding spots than this damp pit." Kael followed, the manor's halls dark and silent, the magical hum louder now, like a warning. They slipped through shadowed corridors, Flick's glow a guide. The library's double doors loomed, carved with the Vorn crest—wolves and flames, their eyes seeming to watch.
Inside, shelves towered to the ceiling, books crumbling with age. Dust motes danced in the moonlight streaming through cracked windows. Kael's wound throbbed, but he ignored it, scanning the shelves. "What are we looking for?" he whispered.
Flick hopped onto a table, knocking over a candelabra. "Anything on the Vorn curse. Or tamers. Your family's got history, and it's not the fun kind." Kael pulled a tome, its leather cover etched with runes. The pages were brittle, but one passage caught his eye: The tamer's heart breaks thrice, worlds quake. His breath caught, the dream's words staring back at him. "Flick," he said, voice tight. "This is it. The shadow's warning."
Flick peered over, ears twitching. "Creepy. Keep reading." Kael traced the faded ink: Vaelor's wrath fell upon the Vorns, their power bound to beasts, their hearts cursed to shatter. Thrice broken, the last heir will rise or ruin. His hands shook, Elara's betrayal a fresh wound. Was he the last heir? Was her betrayal the first break?
Footsteps echoed outside, heavy and fast. Flick's fur bristled. "Hide!" it hissed. Kael ducked behind a shelf, clutching the tome, the serpent and hawk pressing close. The doors creaked, a guard's voice barking: "He's gone! Search the manor!" Kael's heart raced, but Flick's warmth steadied him. "Time to hop, kid," it whispered, and the world shimmered again, time lurching backward a few seconds. The guards' footsteps retreated, giving Kael a moment to slip deeper into the library.
He crouched in a shadowed alcove, the tome heavy in his hands. "What now?" he whispered, blood seeping through his makeshift bandage. Flick's eyes glinted, a mix of mischief and resolve. "We dig deeper. That book's a start, but we need more. And you—" it nudged his arm—"need to stay alive long enough to figure out why you're so damn important."
Kael's jaw tightened, the spark of defiance burning brighter. The council, the curse, the shadow—they wanted him broken. But he had Flick, the serpent, the hawk. He had empathy, a blade sharper than any dagger. He wasn't nothing. Not anymore. As the guards' footsteps faded, he opened the tome again, determined to unravel the Vorn curse—before it unraveled him.