Aren Valen stood quietly near the stone archway of the training grounds, watching the midday sun glint off the armored back of his cousin's beast. A sleek obsidian panther with glowing green eyes and rippling muscles dashed across the yard, leaving trails of shadow in its wake. The young nobles cheered, laughter echoing off the estate's marble walls.
Everyone here had a beast.
Everyone except him.
He tucked his hands into his sleeves, ignoring the familiar sting in his chest. At fifteen, Aren was well past the age when most children formed a bond. Twelve was standard—thirteen rare but acceptable. After that, the looks began. The whispers. And in the Valen family, where legacy and strength were everything, it was more than just shame. It was failure.
"Aren," called a voice.
He turned to see his younger sister, Lina, running up to him. Her small wind fox followed close behind, leaping playfully at her heels. She smiled sweetly, eyes shining with innocent concern. "Father says you missed this morning's assembly."
"I wasn't needed," he replied.
She frowned but said nothing more. Her beast nuzzled her ankle and then gave Aren a curious look before turning away. Even the beasts sensed something was off with him.
Back inside the mansion, the halls were filled with portraits of beast riders past—towering warriors with dragons, wolves, lions, and more. Aren's gaze lingered on one painting: his grandfather standing proud beside a radiant silver griffin.
The further he walked, the heavier his footsteps felt.
At dinner that night, the atmosphere was quiet, formal. His father, Gareth Valen, sat at the head of the table, eyes sharp and distant. His mother, Mira, maintained her usual calm expression, though her gaze often drifted past Aren as if not seeing him at all. Cale, his older brother, leaned back in his chair, smirking faintly.
"So," Cale said, cutting into a roasted fillet. "Still no signs?"
Aren didn't respond.
"You know," Cale continued, "they say even wild beasts avoid ones who lack presence. Maybe you should try the chicken coops next."
Lina glanced nervously between them, but Gareth didn't reprimand Cale. He didn't say anything at all.
After the meal, Aren sat alone on the veranda overlooking the moonlit fields. From a distance, he could hear roars, chirps, and howls of bonded beasts. There was power in those sounds. Unity.
And he had none of it.
His fingers tightened around the wooden railing. He didn't know why no beast answered him. He had tried everything. Meditation, ancient bonding rites, exposure to various types—nothing worked. Some instructors hinted that perhaps no beast was compatible with his soul.
Or worse, that his soul lacked what was needed altogether.
He refused to believe that.
Even if no one else did.
The wind shifted gently, brushing his hair across his face. Somewhere behi
nd him, the great hall's bell began to toll.