Six years had passed.
"Get up!"
The voice rang sharp through the room.
"You get your ass up now, dark spawn, and take the beating you earned. Come on!"
Tamura tried to push himself off the ground, but the moment he rose to one knee, a heavy force slammed into him and sent him back down. His body hit the floor with a dull thud.
Laughter followed soon after.
A young wolf beastkin stood over him, baring his teeth in a grin that held no humor. His grey fur bristled along his arms, and his piercing yellow eyes burned with his open hatred.
"Are all dark elves this pathetic?" he sneered.
Tamura didn't answer.
He tried to rise again.
The wolf stepped forward and shoved him back down with his foot.
Another voice joined in.
A larger boy this time—bearkin. Taller. Broader. His long brown fur hung heavy around his shoulders, and his presence alone seemed to fill the room.
"Every time I look at you…" the bearkin muttered, looking down at Tamura with disgust, "I still can't figure it out."
Tamura lay still, breathing slowly.
"Why is it," the boy continued, "that the Mistress keeps you around?"
A lantern flickered dimly above them, casting uneven light across Tamura's body.
It revealed everything.
The dirt that clung to his brown skin.
The bruises layered over older bruises.
His long, coarse dark locks, tangled and uneven.
And his eyes—deep, sunken, violet.
But what drew the most attention… were his ears.
They were short and misshapen.
As if someone had tried to cut them with a jagged blade and failed.
The room fell quieter.
"You're disgusting," the bearkin said flatly.
"A lowly, foul-blooded, umbral creature."
He crouched slightly, lowering himself closer to Tamura's face.
"You exist to do nothing more than obey your superiors."
Tamura's gaze didn't move.
That… was what bothered them.
"You don't even have any Verdance," the wolf added, clenching his fist. "Nothing that could make you special, but every time I look at you… it feels like you're looking down on us."
The wolf pulled his arm back, ready to strike.
"Enough, Tasheen!"
Several of the other children stepped forward at once.
"You're twice his age and his size," one of them said. "What are you two trying to prove?"
"If you break him," another added quickly, "Mistress Vayra will punish all of us."
Tasheen froze for a moment, his jaw tightening. His eyes flicked between Tamura and the others before he clicked his tongue in frustration.
"Tch."
He stepped back, lowering his fist.
"Pathetic," he muttered again, though this time it lacked the same bite.
Still—
As he turned away, something twisted in his chest.
It was humiliation.
And somehow… he blamed Tamura for it.
Tamura stayed on the ground for a while after they left.
Not because he couldn't move.
But because it was easier that way.
He had learned quickly.
Very quickly.
Within the first six months, he had learned how to hide the bruises. How to swallow the pain. How to keep his breathing steady, even when his body screamed.
He had learned how to hide the tears.
Eventually—
He had stopped needing to.
He was given just enough food to survive.
Just enough rest to keep working.
Nothing more.
While the other children maintained the estate—cleaning halls, tending to rooms, serving guests—Tamura's role was different.
He served her.
Only her.
Tamura didn't understand why.
He had tried to understand.
Why was he hated?
Why was he different?
Why was he the one she chose?
The questions used to come constantly.
Now…
They barely formed at all.
Because there was something stronger.
Something deeper.
Fear.
The fear of his own name.
"Tamura."
The voice echoed through the halls. It was always unavoidable.
"Tamura, come to the front. We have guests."
His body moved before his thoughts could catch up.
"Why can't she love someone else…?"
The thought slipped through his mind like a whisper. Even the boy's private thoughts were afraid.
No answer came.
It never did.
The dining hall was always overwhelming.
Cold, fluorescent light spilled across the polished floors, reflecting off towering obsidian columns that stretched endlessly toward the ceiling. The scale of the room made Tamura feel smaller than he already was.
Insignificant.
He stepped forward quietly.
The moment his foot crossed into the center of the hall—
Snap.
His attention locked instantly.
Mistress Vayra.
She sat at the head of the table, elegant as ever, her posture perfect, her expression calm. Her wine glass rested lightly between her fingers, her red eyes already fixed on him.
She didn't repeat herself.
She didn't need to.
She simply pointed down.
Tamura followed her gaze.
A dark red puddle spread across the polished floor.
"Tamura, darling," Vayra said smoothly, her voice carrying effortlessly across the room, "it appears one of the other children made a mess."
Her lips curved slightly.
"Be a dear and clean it for me."
The smell hit him immediately.
Thick and metallic.
Tamura froze.
"…i-is this blood?"
His hands tightened slightly at his sides.
He lowered his head, staring closer.
There—
Mixed within the dark red—
Brown fur.
His breath caught.
Tasheen.
Was this… his?
Was he hurt?
Was he—
Tamura's thoughts began to spiral.
Did she find out?
Did she see what happened earlier?
Did she punish him?
A strange, heavy feeling pressed against his chest.
Grief.
Confusion.
Something deeper he couldn't name.
He had been taught something once.
What felt like a long time ago.
Something he barely remembered.
Protect your brothers and sisters.
All of them.
No matter what.
The sound of laughter broke through his thoughts.
The guests continued eating.
Drinking.
Talking.
As if nothing had happened.
As if the blood on the floor meant nothing at all.
Tamura's eyes lingered on it.
No one cared.
Not one of them.
"Tamura."
Vayra's voice snapped again, sharper this time.
His body stiffened instantly.
"Kindly… clean this mess."
Silence.
Then—
"Yes, Mistress."
Just like that, the noise in his mind vanished.
The questions.
The fear.
The grief.
All of it.
Gone.
Tamura stepped forward, kneeling beside the blood without hesitation.
Quiet and obedient.
But most of all... empty.
The cloth in his hand pressed against the polished floor as he began to wipe. The deep red smeared before slowly fading under repeated motion. His movements were steady, almost mechanical.
The voices around him blurred together.
Laughter.
Glass clinking.
None of it reached him.
For a moment, there was nothing.
No thoughts. No fear.
Then—
Something shifted within the boy.
Tamura's hand stilled. The cloth remained pressed against the floor, soaked in blood.
His breathing deepened, slow and heavy.
And for the first time—
It wasn't fear that filled him. It was something else. It was hot and unfamiliar.
His fingers tightened.
The feeling rose from deep within his chest, spreading outward like something was waking up inside of him.
Tamura didn't understand it.
But it grew anyway.
His eyes lifted slightly.
The violet faded—
Burning into crimson.
A faint glow flickered at the ends of his locks. At first, barely visible. Then brighter, like embers catching.
"…Do any of you guys smell that?" one of the children whispered.
"Yeah… something's burning."
Across the table, a guest shifted uncomfortably, loosening his collar.
"…Why is it so damn hot in here?"
The heat began to spread subtly through the room.
Tamura's grip tightened once more.
The cloth slipped from his hand.
His fingers pressed against the stone.
A soft crack echoed beneath him.
Thin fractures spread along the polished floor.
Stil, no one looked at him.
Tamura's body trembled.
His teeth clenched.
Fangs pressed forward in the back of his mouth.
His breathing grew uneven—
Then broke.
Tears spilled from his eyes, but vanished almost instantly, evaporating into faint wisps of steam.
A quiet, broken sound escaped from him.
Not quite a cry.
Not quite a growl.
His hands pressed harder into the floor, cracks widening slightly.
His head lowered.
His shoulders shook.
And for the first time—
Tamura felt it clearly.
Anger.
It was raw and burning intensely within him.
The room carried on as if nothing had changed.
Laughter.
Voices.
The clink of silverware.
All of them were painfully unaware.
All—
Except one.
At the head of the table, Vayra had gone still.
Her glass hovered just below her lips.
Her eyes were locked onto the boy.
A slow smile formed.
"I was right to take you in it seems... Tamura."