The night air was colder than Aren expected.
Each breath hung in the air like mist, vanishing just as quickly as it came. He stood at the forest's edge, the ancient trees looming before him like silent watchers of fate. Their leaves whispered in the wind, and the scent of moss and damp earth filled his nose. It wasn't just a forest—it was the edge of the known world. Beyond this line, everything blurred into danger, mystery, and death.
And yet… he stepped forward.
His heartbeat echoed louder than the rustling branches, louder than the quiet crunch of his boots on the dried leaves. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from resolve.
He was done waiting.
Every child from a respectable family bonded with their beast by the age of twelve. At fifteen, Aren Valen still remained without one. His younger cousins had already formed their pacts, some even riding on the backs of their growing companions like heroes out of old tales.
But him?
He was the boy who didn't belong. The one whispered about at family gatherings. A stain on the Valen name.
He had tried. Gods knew he had tried. Dozens of beasts. Long hours meditating in bonding halls. Rituals. Herbs. Even seeking out rare affinity testers from distant merchants. Nothing worked.
Some said he was cursed. Others claimed his soul wasn't compatible with any beast. The most generous said he was simply late.
But Aren wasn't sure how long he could keep hoping. His dreams had begun to rot into something hollow.
So tonight, he walked alone into the forbidden forest.
---
Branches reached out like skeletal fingers, grabbing at his sleeves and hair. Insects buzzed louder here, unnatural in their cadence. The moon barely pierced the thick canopy overhead, and every shadow seemed alive. The deeper he walked, the more the air changed—thicker, almost humming with unseen energy.
He'd heard stories of this place. The Forest of Hollow Beasts. A cursed land filled with corrupted monsters twisted by hatred, malice, or something worse. Few entered. Fewer returned.
But Aren didn't care anymore.
Better to die searching for his beast than to live shackled by shame.
He moved cautiously, stepping over tangled roots and ducking beneath low branches. His dagger was gripped tightly in one hand, not that it would do much against a real threat. Still, it gave him a false sense of control.
Then came the sound.
Low. Guttural. And close.
He froze, ears straining.
A second growl followed. Then a crack of branches.
They were fighting.
He crouched low, crawling to the edge of a small ridge that overlooked a shallow clearing. There, illuminated by slashes of moonlight, two corrupted beasts tore into each other with primal fury.
One was a bear-like creature, covered in patches of stone-like armor, its eyes glowing red with rage. The other—a lithe serpent beast, scales black as pitch and steaming with some toxic vapor—lashed out with fangs and coiled aggression. They clashed like titans, snarling and screeching, their blows shaking the ground.
Aren's breath caught in his throat.
He knew corrupted beasts were dangerous, but seeing them up close… they were monsters. These weren't creatures to bond with. These were nightmares.
Then the bear turned suddenly—its head snapping toward the ridge.
Toward him.
Aren didn't wait.
He bolted, crashing through underbrush and thorns, slipping on wet leaves. Behind him, heavy footfalls and guttural roars followed. He wasn't sure if they were still fighting or if he'd become the new target. He didn't want to find out.
His lungs burned, legs aching. A claw swiped past him, catching the side of his arm. Pain flared, hot and blinding. He yelped, stumbled, and fell hard onto a slope of gravel and moss.
He tumbled, rolling through vines and stones, until he landed in silence.
It took him a moment to realize he was no longer being chased.
The world around him had shifted.
He pushed himself up, wincing at the wound on his arm, and looked around.
He was in a clearing—but not a natural one. Stone columns, broken and overgrown, jutted from the earth like the bones of something ancient. Moss draped across shattered walls. Carvings peeked through the ivy, half-erased by time.
A temple.
Or what was left of one.
It was old, far older than anything he'd seen in books or family scrolls. Something about it felt untouched by time, like the forest itself had forgotten its presence.
Drawn by a force he couldn't name, Aren limped forward.
At the center of the ruin stood a stone altar. Cracked, dust-covered, and glowing faintly in the moonlight that filtered through the canopy.
He didn't know why, but he felt… watched.
Not in fear—but in anticipation.
He approached the altar slowly, one hand pressed against his bleeding arm. As he reached out, a single drop of blood dripped from his wound and landed on the stone.
The glow intensified.
Aren stumbled back, heart racing. The air shimmered, humming with sudden energy. He took a step away—then stopped as something moved behind him.
A soft rustle.
He turned.
There, nestled atop a fallen pillar, was a small beast.
It was unlike anything he had ever seen.
Its fur was a sleek silver, almost metallic under the moonlight. Two tiny, curved horns poked through its head, delicate yet regal. And its eyes—deep, glacial blue—watched him with intelligence far beyond its size.
It looked almost like a cat, but there was something otherworldly about it. Something too perfect. Too... ancient.
It tilted its head.
Aren's breath caught. His instincts screamed caution, but something deeper pulled him forward.
He reached out.
The beast didn't flinch. Its gaze never left his.
When his fingers brushed the soft fur, a jolt ran through his body—not pain, but warmth. Familiar. Safe. Complete.
His mind flooded with emotion not his own—curiosity, pride, a strange kind of amusement.
Then the bond formed.
He felt it. Not just a tug or a spark—but a surge. A connection as natural as breath. Their souls wove together like threads in a tapestry, harmonizing in a way he had only dreamed of.
His eyes watered. He didn't even notice the tears until they fell.
He'd done it.
He had bonded.
"I…" His voice cracked. "I really… I really did it…"
The beast blinked slowly.
Then it rolled its eyes.
Literally rolled them.
Aren stared. "Wait, are you… mocking me?"
The creature let out a soft exhale—something between a sigh and a purr—and turned away, tail flicking with mild annoyance.
He laughed. The sound came out half-crazed, half-elated. "Oh, great. I finally bond with a beast, and he's already too good for me."
The creature turned back to him and narrowed its eyes in what could only be described as judgment.
"I'm going to name you," he said with mock sternness.
The beast did not look impressed.
"Let's see… Fluffy?"
A twitch.
"Moonlight?"
A deadpan stare.
"…Spiky?"
The creature lay down and turned away again, as if the conversation was over.
Aren sighed. "Fine, fine. What about… Sharu?"
At that, the beast paused.
Then, slowly, it turned its head.
Their eyes met once more—and this time, Aren saw it. A flicker of something deep behind those blue eyes. Recognition. Acceptance.
It gave the faintest nod.
"Sharu," Aren whispered again, smiling. "That's your name."
The silver beast—Sharu—settled beside him on the cold stone floor, wrapping its tail around itself like a royal curled on a throne. It didn't speak, but the connection between them pulsed steadily. Aren could feel its presence now, like a companion beside his heartbeat.
He didn't know where Sharu had come from, or why he was sealed away in a place forgotten by time. But he would find out.
Together.
Aren leaned against the broken altar, his wounds aching but his spirit lighter than it had ever been.
He wasn't beastless anymore.
He wasn't alone.
---