Kael Vorn's heart pounded as he faced the servant's dagger, its blade catching the pale dawn light filtering through the manor's overgrown garden. The man's sneer mirrored Lord Vorn's contempt, his words dripping with venom: "The council's ready, runt." Flick, now a singular entity fused with the time-hopping spirit beast, bristled on Kael's shoulder, its starlit fur glowing faintly. "Stay sharp, kid," it whispered, voice a blend of sarcasm and urgency. "This guy's not here to escort you to tea." Kael's new body—frail, barely sixteen—trembled, but the warmth of his bond with Flick steadied him. Elara's betrayal still burned in his chest, her cold You're nothing echoing in the servant's glare, but the spark of defiance he'd kindled last night flared brighter. He wasn't running. Not from this.
The servant lunged, dagger flashing. Kael stumbled back, his boots slipping on frost-slick gravel. Flick's voice snapped in his ear: "Duck, dummy!" Instinct took over, and Kael dropped, the blade whistling over his head. He scrambled to his feet, heart racing, as Flick leapt from his shoulder, a blur of silver light. The bunny darted between the servant's legs, tripping him with a well-timed hop. The man cursed, sprawling into a thorn bush, the dagger skittering across the path.
"Nice moves," Kael gasped, adrenaline surging. Flick hopped back, smirking. "Thank me later. Grab the knife and move!" Kael snatched the dagger, its weight unfamiliar but grounding. The servant groaned, struggling to rise, but Kael was already sprinting toward the rusted gate, Flick bounding ahead. The garden's thorny vines seemed to close in, their shadows writhing under the fading moonlight. The manor loomed behind, its crumbling spires a silent judge.
They burst through the gate into a courtyard, its cobblestones cracked and mossy. Kael's breath came in ragged bursts, the dagger clutched tightly. "Why'd he attack me?" he panted, glancing back. The servant hadn't followed, but the air felt heavy, charged with the same magical hum he'd sensed in the manor's halls.
Flick's ears twitched. "You're a Vorn, kid. Last of a cursed bloodline, remember? Some folks want you gone before you figure out what that means." It hopped onto a broken statue, eyes glinting. "Plus, you're a Beast Tamer. That scares people more than you'd think."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Scares them? They call it useless." His uncle's words stung, layered over Elara's betrayal. But Flick's bond, warm in his chest, was proof he wasn't nothing. He tucked the dagger into his belt, its cold metal a reminder of the danger lurking here. "What's the council going to do with me?" he asked, voice low.
Flick nibbled a blade of grass, feigning boredom. "Best case? They lecture you, maybe lock you in a tower. Worst case? Exile to some monster pit. Or they feed you to a wyrm. Depends on their mood." It paused, smirking. "But you've got me, so they'll have to try harder than that."
Kael managed a weak laugh, the bunny's bravado easing the knot in his stomach. "You're all talk, you know that?" Flick's tail flicked, a mock offense. "Talk? I just saved your sorry hide. Now, come on. We've got a council to crash."
They crossed the courtyard, entering a narrow hall lined with faded tapestries. The air grew thicker, the magical hum stronger, vibrating through Kael's bones. Flick led him to a heavy oak door, its surface carved with wolves and flames—the Vorn crest. "Council's in there," Flick said, hopping back to Kael's shoulder. "Chin up, kid. Don't let 'em smell fear."
Kael nodded, pushing the door open. The chamber was vast, its domed ceiling painted with fading stars. A crescent of nobles sat at a long table, their robes rich with embroidery, their faces stern. Lord Vorn stood at the head, his obsidian eyes locking onto Kael. The air crackled with tension, the hum of magic now a low roar. "Kael Vorn," his uncle said, voice cold as the stone floor. "You dare show your face?"
Kael's knees trembled, but he straightened, Flick's warmth grounding him. "You summoned me," he said, voice steadier than he felt. The nobles murmured, their gazes sharp. A woman with silver hair and a hawkish nose leaned forward. "A Beast Tamer," she sneered. "The Vorn bloodline ends in mockery."
Laughter rippled through the room, sharp and cruel. Kael's face burned, Elara's You're nothing blending with their scorn. But Flick's voice cut through, low and fierce: "They laugh now, kid, but wait 'til you tame a dragon." The words sparked something in Kael—defiance, raw and unyielding. He stepped forward, meeting his uncle's gaze. "Tell me what a Beast Tamer is," he said, voice firm. "Why does it scare you?"
The room fell silent, the nobles' laughter dying. Lord Vorn's eyes narrowed. "Insolent boy," he hissed. "Beast Tamers are relics, binding beasts with weak hearts and weaker wills. Your kind fell to divine wrath centuries ago. You're a curse reborn."
Kael's heart raced, the dream's words—Thrice broken—echoing. "Divine wrath?" he pressed, ignoring the nobles' gasps. "What does that mean? Why me?"
Lord Vorn's lip curled. "Enough. Your existence is a stain. The council will decide your fate tomorrow." He waved a hand, and guards stepped forward, their armor clanking. "Take him to the cells."
Flick's fur bristled. "Cells? Really?" it muttered. Kael's pulse spiked, but he held his ground. "I'm not a prisoner," he said, voice shaking but defiant. "You can't just—"
"Silence!" the silver-haired woman snapped. "You're a Vorn in name only. Begone." The guards seized Kael's arms, dragging him toward a side door. Flick leapt to the floor, dodging a guard's boot. "Stay cool, kid," it whispered. "I'll find you."
The cells were damp and cold, a stone chamber beneath the manor with iron bars and a single torch flickering. Kael sat on a moldy straw mat, the dagger hidden under his cloak. The guards hadn't searched him, their disdain making them careless. Elara's face haunted him, her laughter mingling with the nobles'. But Flick's bond, a steady warmth, kept despair at bay. He wasn't alone.
Hours passed, the torch's light fading. Footsteps echoed, and a figure appeared—an old man, his face weathered, eyes sharp with curiosity. "Kael Vorn," he said, voice gruff but not unkind.
"I'm Garr施
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