The cell's damp chill seeped into Kael Vorn's bones, the straw mat beneath him prickling through his tattered cloak. The torch's flickering light cast jagged shadows on the stone walls, their dance mirroring the chaos in his mind. Elara's betrayal—her cold You're nothing—burned raw, intertwined with Lord Vorn's scorn and the council's laughter. Reborn in Eryndral, in a frail, sixteen-year-old body, Kael was a stranger to himself, marked as the last of a cursed Vorn bloodline and a mocked Beast Tamer. Yet the warmth of his bond with Flick, the time-hopping bunny now curled in his lap, anchored him. Its starlit fur glowed faintly, a reminder of the contract forged in the garden—a connection born from shared loneliness. The dagger he'd taken from the servant pressed against his hip, hidden beneath the cloak's folds. The council's judgment loomed, but Kael's defiance, kindled by Flick's snark and his own pain, refused to flicker out.
Footsteps echoed beyond the iron bars, heavy and deliberate. Kael tensed, stroking Flick's fur to steady himself. The bunny stirred, one eye cracking open. "Trouble's coming," it muttered, voice a dry rasp. "Hope it's not another dagger-happy lackey." Kael's lips twitched, a ghost of a smile. Flick's sarcasm was a lifeline, cutting through the cell's oppressive gloom.
The door creaked open, revealing the old man from the corridor—Garrick, his weathered face etched with lines like a map of battles fought. His gray eyes, sharp despite his age, studied Kael with a mix of curiosity and pity. A heavy keyring jangled at his belt, but he carried no weapon, only a lantern that cast a warm glow. "Kael Vorn," Garrick said, voice gruff but lacking the nobles' venom. "Up. You're wanted."
Kael stood, Flick hopping to his shoulder. "For what?" he asked, voice steady despite the knot in his stomach. "The council's games?"
Garrick snorted, unlocking the cell. "Not yet. They're still bickering over your fate. I'm to train you—see if there's anything worth salvaging in a Beast Tamer." He spat the title, but his eyes softened, betraying a flicker of something like respect. "Move, boy. We've got work to do."
Kael followed, clutching the dagger's hilt through his cloak. The corridor twisted upward, its walls pulsing with the same magical hum he'd felt since waking in Eryndral. Flick's warmth steadied his racing heart. "Train me?" he asked, glancing at Garrick. "To do what? They think I'm useless."
Garrick's laugh was a low rumble. "They think a lot of things. Doesn't make 'em right." He led Kael through a rusted gate into a walled yard, its ground packed dirt, ringed by crumbling statues of wolves and flames—the Vorn crest. Dawn's light painted the sky in streaks of pink, the air sharp with frost. "Beast Taming's a lost art," Garrick said, setting the lantern down. "Most see it as child's play, bonding with critters. But it's more. It's empathy, boy. Feeling a beast's heart, binding it to yours. That's power—if you've got the guts for it."
Kael's chest tightened. Empathy? Elara's betrayal had left him raw, his heart a bleeding wound. If that was his strength, it felt like a curse. "And if I don't?" he asked, voice low. Flick's tail flicked against his cheek. "You do," it muttered. "Quit doubting."
Garrick pointed to a wooden crate in the yard's center, its slats rattling faintly. "Test number one," he said. "There's a beast in there—a lesser wind-serpent. Tame it. Not by force, but by feeling its soul. Fail, and it'll bite your head off." He crossed his arms, eyes glinting with challenge. "Go on, Vorn. Show me you're not just a cursed name."
Kael approached the crate, heart pounding. The serpent's hisses echoed, sharp and angry. Flick hopped to the ground, smirking. "Don't die, kid. I'd hate to find a new tamer." Kael shot it a glare, but the bunny's confidence sparked his own. He knelt, peering through the slats. The serpent was small, its scales glinting green, eyes like slits of fire. Its fear hit him like a wave—trapped, alone, raging against its cage. Kael's breath caught. He knew that feeling. Elara's cold eyes flashed in his mind, her laughter caging him as surely as this crate held the serpent.
"Hey," he whispered, voice soft. "I know you're scared. I am too." The serpent hissed, coiling tighter, but Kael kept his gaze steady. "You're not alone. I see you." His words felt clumsy, but they came from the ache in his chest, the pain of betrayal and rebirth. The serpent's hisses softened, its eyes locked on his. The hum of magic surged, warmth spreading through Kael's chest, mirroring Flick's bond. A thread of light flickered between them, faint but real.
The crate's lid creaked open, the serpent slithering out. It didn't strike. Instead, it coiled around Kael's arm, its scales cool but its presence warm. Garrick's eyes widened, a grudging nod. "Well, damn," he muttered. "You've got the spark." Flick's smirk widened. "Told ya he's not useless."
Kael's heart swelled, a small triumph cutting through his doubt. The serpent's trust was a mirror to Flick's, proof he could be more than nothing. But Garrick's next words chilled him. "Don't get cocky," he said, voice low. "The Vorns fell to divine wrath long ago. Your bloodline's cursed, boy. Taming's just the start."
Kael's grip on the serpent tightened, the dream's words—Thrice broken—echoing. "What curse?" he demanded. "Why does everyone hate me?"
Garrick's gaze darkened. "Old stories. The Vorns wielded power that rivaled gods, but they crossed one—Vaelor, they say. His wrath shattered your line, left you with nothing but a name and a tamer's gift." He spat into the dirt. "Some say you're doomed to repeat it. Others want you dead before you try."
Kael's throat tightened, Elara's betrayal blending with this ancient curse. Was his pain tied to it? Flick hopped closer, nudging his ankle. "Don't buy the doom talk," it muttered. "You're here, aren't you? That's something." Kael nodded, the serpent's warmth grounding him. He wasn't doomed—not yet.
Garrick led them to a training ring, its edges marked with runes that pulsed faintly. "Again," he barked, tossing a leather glove. "Tame something harder. A flame-hawk, this time." The bird screeched from a cage, its feathers flickering like embers. Kael's heart raced, but he knelt, reaching out with the same empathy. The hawk's rage was sharper, its loneliness deeper. "I'm here," Kael whispered, his voice cracking with his own pain. The bond formed, slower this time, but real. The hawk settled, perching on his glove, its eyes softening.
Garrick grunted, impressed. "Twice in a day. You're no ordinary runt." He paused, eyes narrowing. "But the council won't care. They see a threat, not a tamer." Kael's stomach twisted. A threat? He was barely holding himself together. Flick's voice cut through: "Let 'em try to squash you. We'll bite back."
The training stretched into hours, Kael taming a series of lesser beasts—a stone-toad, a shadow-moth—each bond strengthening the warmth in his chest. Garrick watched, his gruff exterior softening slightly. "Empathy's your blade," he said finally. "Sharpen it, or it'll cut you." He tossed Kael a waterskin, gesturing to a bench. "Rest. Tomorrow's the council. They'll decide if you live or rot."
Kael sat, the serpent coiled beside him, the hawk perched nearby. Flick sprawled on the bench, nibbling a stolen carrot. "Not bad for a dead guy," it said, smirking. Kael laughed, the sound raw but real. For the first time since waking in Eryndral, he felt a spark of purpose. He wasn't nothing—he was a tamer, and that was enough for now.
But as night fell, the dream returned. Kael stood in the black void, Elara's laughter echoing. The horned shadow loomed, its broken crown dripping light. "Thrice broken," it whispered. "The tamer's heart will quake worlds." Kael woke, gasping, the cell's cold stone beneath him. Flick stirred, eyes glinting. "Again?" it asked. Kael nodded, heart pounding. "It's not just a dream, is it?"
Flick's tail twitched. "Eryndral's dreams are never just dreams. Something's watching you, kid. Something big." Kael clutched the dagger, its weight a reminder of the servant's attack. The council, the curse, the shadow—they were pieces of a puzzle he didn't understand. But as he looked at Flick, the serpent, the hawk, he knew one thing: he'd fight to unravel it. His pain, his empathy, his bonds—they were his strength. And he'd use them to prove he was more than a cursed name.