The rain came down in cold, bitter sheets, turning the dirt path to sludge beneath Leo's bare feet.
No one looked back.
The gates of the orphanage groaned shut behind him, sealing his fate with a final clang that echoed through the storm. The sound rang like a sentence—final, uncaring. Leo didn't flinch. He stood there for a moment, soaked to the bone, watching as the only place he'd ever known slowly vanished behind the curtain of gray.
They had called him cursed.
Mad.
The red-haired boy who whispered to animals.
The "beast boy."
They said he was dangerous.
They said he didn't belong.
Leo had stopped defending himself long ago. Words did nothing. Fear shaped people faster than truth ever could.
Now, he stood on the edge of nothing—with nothing. Just a threadbare bag over one shoulder, an empty stomach gnawing at him, and the weight of rejection settling deep into his bones.
He lowered his head. Water dripped from his tangled red hair and down his freckled face. His bare arms trembled with cold, but he made no sound. His eyes, tired and too old for his fourteen years, stared into the horizon.
But somewhere deep within—beneath the hurt, beneath the hunger—something stirred.
It was always there. Quiet. Waiting.
A caw cut through the rain.
Leo looked up.
A crow, perched on a crooked branch above him, stared down with dark, intelligent eyes. It tilted its head, as if in recognition. Then it cawed again—once, sharp and clear—and flew east, disappearing into the mist.
Leo hesitated only a second before following.
The forest greeted him like a cathedral—vast, solemn, and ancient. Trees loomed high and close, their gnarled trunks forming columns and arches of moss and shadow. Rain dripped from the canopy in slow, rhythmic drops, like nature's heartbeat.
Each step took him further from the world he knew.
Further from scorn.
Further from cruelty.
Closer to… something else.
The deeper he went, the quieter everything became. The sounds of the village vanished. Even the wind hushed. Only the crunch of wet leaves underfoot and the faint rustle of unseen creatures remained.
He paused beside a fallen log.
Something was watching him.
A low, steady presence.
Glowing eyes—pale silver—blinked from the thicket.
Leo's breath caught.
A wolf.
No… not a wolf.
Larger. Broader. Shadow-black fur shimmered like ink when it moved. Its eyes held an unnatural light—neither beast nor spirit, but something between.
It stepped forward from the brambles, silent as dusk.
Leo's instincts screamed run, but his feet held. His heart pounded, but his voice was calm.
"You followed me, didn't you?" he said softly.
The creature tilted its head.
Leo took a cautious step forward. "Everyone said I was mad. For talking to animals. Maybe I am." Another step. The rain softened. "But I don't think you're here by accident."
The creature didn't move. It didn't growl or bare its teeth.
Instead, it lowered its head… almost respectfully.
Lightning cracked overhead, and for a heartbeat, the world lit up in silver light.
That's when Leo saw it.
Etched faintly into the creature's fur, glowing just behind its shoulder, was a crimson sigil—elegant, ancient. A crown made of thorns and fangs.
At that moment, warmth bloomed on Leo's forearm.
His eyes widened.
He pulled up his damp sleeve—and there, glowing through the grime, was a matching mark. Fainter, but pulsing.
His hand trembled. "What are you?" he whispered.
The creature stepped closer.
Not a beast.
Not a pet.
Not even a friend.
Something more.
A bond clicked into place. Unseen, but undeniable.
Like chains forged from magic itself, binding soul to soul.
The warmth in his arm became a soft heat—steady, alive. The mark pulsed once, then dimmed, like a heartbeat syncing with another.
The creature bowed its head again.
Leo stared.
He didn't understand what had happened. He didn't need to.
Because in that moment, for the first time in his life…
He wasn't alone.
No Matron to scold him.
No children to mock him.
No cold beds or empty meals.
Just him. And this.
This creature. This connection.
Something that saw him. Chose him.
He didn't know what it meant. Didn't know if it made him blessed or cursed. All he knew was that the world had shifted.
He wasn't just Leo the orphan anymore.
Not just the red-haired mad boy.
Not just the beast whisperer.
He was something else now.
A spark of legend. A ripple in fate.
He was a Tamer.
Leo and the creature—his creature—made their way deeper into the forest. Twilight settled like a bruise over the trees, and the sound of insects rose in quiet chorus. The beast walked beside him without a leash or command, its gait regal, measured.
Eventually, they came upon a clearing where a circle of stones stood like forgotten sentinels.
Leo paused. "You led me here, didn't you?"
The creature looked up at him. Its eyes were knowing.
He stepped into the center of the circle. The sigil on his arm tingled.
Suddenly, the air shifted.
A gust of wind whipped through the clearing, tossing leaves into a spiral. The stones glowed faintly. For a moment, Leo felt weightless—as if he stood between two worlds.
He dropped to one knee, instinctively placing his hand on the ground.
The mark on his arm flared.
A voice—not spoken, but felt—rippled through his chest:
One who listens. One who bonds. One who commands.
Leo gasped. The forest fell still again.
The creature sat beside him.
They waited together in the growing dark.
But the forest was not empty.
From deep within the tangled underbrush, unseen eyes watched. Shapes shifted in the gloom. Ancient things that had slept for centuries stirred, drawn by the spark of power awakening in the circle.
A pair of yellow eyes opened in the darkness.
And they were hungry.
Elsewhere, far beyond the forest, in a tower of obsidian glass, a man clothed in robes traced a similar sigil in the air. It pulsed red, flickered, and disappeared.
His lips curled.
"A Tamer," he murmured. "After all these years."
The fire in his hearth roared higher.
He turned to a raven perched on the sill. "Watch him."
The bird vanished in a blur of shadow.
Back in the clearing, Leo lay on his back beside his creature, watching the sky through the shifting leaves.
Stars began to emerge.
He whispered to them, the way he'd whispered to stray cats and wounded birds.
He told them his name.
He told them he wasn't afraid.
And the stars listened.
For the first time in centuries… they listened.
Because something old had awakened.
And it had chosen him.