The afternoon sun lay across the Kyoshi gardens like liquid gold, warming the grass beneath my bare feet. I stretched out on the soft earth, letting the warmth seep into my bones, letting the quiet of the day wash over me. Days like this, rare as they were, felt almost stolen—a respite from the relentless drills, from Stipo's booming voice, from the constant reminder that I was… different, weaker.
I closed my eyes, letting the gentle breeze carry the scent of blooming flowers and distant smoke from the kitchens, when movement at the edge of the courtyard caught my attention. Merchants, arriving in the usual clatter of carts and shouts, yet something about them made me pause.
I didn't approach; my pockets were empty—wasted long ago on a sword that wasn't worth a quarter of what I paid. But I could watch from afar.
And what I saw made my pulse quicken.
They were Beastmen—anthropomorphic, like me in some ways, but not quite. Fur glinting in the sun, ears twitching at every sound, tails flicking with anticipation. Humans who had been touched—or cursed—by animal traits. Eyes sharper, noses keener, reflexes honed to predatory perfection. I could almost sense the energy thrumming through them, each one a perfect balance of human and beast.
I let my thoughts wander, as they often did when confronted with such things. I, too, was a hybrid—but not like them. My existence was the product of a more delicate, insidious balance. To be an hybrid, to bear both blessing and curse, one had to be the child of a cursed noble and a blessed plebeian. Yet, in the veins of the first five ancestors of that line, there had to be a Beastman—a trace of untamed, primal blood.
A cursed lost something at birth: a sense, a limb, a potential that would never flourish. A blessed gained something extra: heightened senses, strength, or affinity for the energy that flowed through all living things. The union of these forces—lost and gained, yin and yang—created me.
I clenched my fists, letting the thought sink in. The balance I carried in my blood felt heavier in the sunlight. The same hands that wielded tantos with shaky determination, that fumbled with energy, now felt foreign—too human, yet not entirely. I was in between, always that fucking between!
The Beastmen traders set up their stalls at the edge of the yard, calling out wares in a strange rhythm that blended human speech with subtle, animal-like intonations. Their presence was a reminder of what I could have been—or might yet become—if the lines of blood had twisted differently.
The merchants were unlike any humans I had seen—two Beastmen, a strange blend of man and animal. The first was rabbit-like, tall and lean, with long ears that twitched constantly, alert to every sound. His soft, pale fur covered his arms and neck, and his small, sensitive nose sniffed the air as he arranged wares with surprising dexterity. His eyes, a sharp golden hue, flicked nervously around the courtyard, betraying both curiosity and caution.
The second was fox-like, slender and agile, with russet fur streaked with darker tones, a pointed snout, and piercing amber eyes that seemed to measure everything. His bushy tail swayed behind him, balancing his graceful movements as he darted from crate to crate, organizing goods with a fluidity that was almost mesmerizing. His sharp ears pivoted constantly, catching even the faintest sounds of the garden.
Both moved with uncanny awareness, a mix of human precision and animal instinct, every gesture highlighting the heightened senses that their unique blood had granted them. Watching them, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of recognition—they were hybrids too, though shaped by a wilder, more primal lineage than mine.
A pang of melancholy struck me. Was I stronger? Perhaps. Wiser? Rarely. Lucky? The world didn't know luck; only survival.
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of fried bread, distant laughter, and finally, the faintest hint of mischief.
A voice thundered behind me, cracking through the lazy hum of the afternoon.
"Abel!"
I froze.
"Do not get tricked again!"
Stipo's shadow fell across the garden like a storm. The Beastmen turned their heads, ears twitching in alarm, sensing the tension radiating off him. His face was a storm of red hair and booming authority, eyes blazing with frustration at my wandering attention.
I swallowed, cheeks hot, realizing I had spent far too long staring and thinking. Stipo's booming scolding reminded me, as always, that curiosity without discipline was dangerous—especially for someone like me.
I lowered my gaze, muttering under my breath, "I WASN'T GOING TO!!!"
And in that moment, as the sun warmed my back and the Beastmen whispered among themselves, I felt the uneasy weight of my blood. I was neither fully human nor beast, neither fully cursed nor blessed—just a hybrid, walking the thin line between worlds, trying not to fall.
To be continued…