In the quiet early hours of the morning, Ipoh's mist-laden forests were serene, save for the soft rustle of leaves under Ragnar's feet. This particular stretch of forest, just outside town, had become his hidden training ground—a place where he could push his skills, alone and uninterrupted. Today, however, something felt different. The air was thick with a strange tension, as though the trees themselves were holding their breath.
Then, amidst the low hum of the forest, a faint sound reached his ears. It was a whimper, almost too quiet to hear, carrying an edge of pain. Ragnar paused, his senses instantly heightened. He scanned his surroundings, trying to pinpoint the direction, and his instincts—honed from a lifetime of beast-taming—urged him to investigate. Leaving the beaten path, Ragnar stepped deeper into the woods, moving carefully through thick underbrush until the sound grew clearer.
He stopped suddenly as he spotted a creature lying beneath a tree, half-hidden by the foliage. It was unlike any beast he had seen in this region: a large, wolf-like creature with sleek, blue-gray fur that shimmered faintly in the early light. Piercing golden eyes flicked up to meet Ragnar's gaze, filled with a fierce independence but also marked by weariness. The creature's body was taut with tension, yet its labored breaths and the blood staining its fur told Ragnar it was wounded.
The beast bared its teeth, issuing a low growl, a clear warning to stay back. Ragnar raised his hands, his posture calm and unthreatening. He could feel the creature's wariness, its distrust in every quivering muscle. But there was something else—an undercurrent of sadness and pain that seemed all too familiar to Ragnar. He couldn't shake the feeling that he understood this creature, that in its guarded, wary eyes, he glimpsed echoes of his own struggles.
"Easy there," Ragnar murmured, his voice low and soothing, the same tone he had once used with countless beasts as the 13th Champion. The beast's growl quieted, though it watched him intently, muscles coiled, ready to flee if needed. Ragnar took a cautious step back, deciding to leave the creature in peace for now, but he couldn't ignore the pull he felt toward it.
The next morning, Ragnar returned to the forest, carrying a small pouch of food and water. He was unsure if the creature would still be there, but something urged him to try. Sure enough, he found the wolf-like beast curled up in the same spot, its head resting on its paws. The sight stirred a pang of empathy in Ragnar; the creature looked so powerful, yet so vulnerable.
Slowly, he approached, setting the food a short distance away and then stepping back to give it space. The beast eyed him suspiciously but eventually stretched out its neck to sniff the offering. Ragnar could see its hesitation as if it was torn between accepting help and preserving its pride. After a long pause, it finally gave in, nibbling at the food while keeping a wary eye on him.
Over the following days, Ragnar established a routine. Each morning, he would visit the creature, whom he had started calling Kiran, meaning "ray of light." Kiran was a fitting name; his blue-gray fur seemed to catch the morning light and refract it, giving him an almost otherworldly appearance. Day by day, Ragnar would sit nearby, observing, letting Kiran adjust to his presence. He noticed small things: the way Kiran's ears perked up when he spoke, how the beast's golden eyes followed his movements more curiously than cautiously.
With time, Ragnar began inching closer, enough to extend a hand, letting Kiran sniff his scent. He didn't rush; he allowed Kiran to set the pace. And one morning, the breakthrough came—Kiran tentatively pressed his nose into Ragnar's outstretched palm, accepting his touch. Ragnar's heart swelled as he felt the warmth of Kiran's breath and the hesitant trust in the beast's gaze.
Ragnar began to notice more about Kiran's unique abilities. He was far more agile and observant than any typical creature, able to pick up on the subtlest changes in the environment. One day, when Ragnar playfully tossed a stick for Kiran, the beast's reaction was immediate, darting after it with a fluidity and grace that left Ragnar in awe. He realized then that Kiran wasn't just any creature; he possessed qualities that made him extraordinary.
Over the weeks, Ragnar grew closer to Kiran, but he also started noticing certain scars along Kiran's back and sides, deep and oddly symmetrical, like marks left from restraints. At times, Kiran would flinch or shy away from sudden movements, his body tensing as though expecting a blow. Ragnar had seen such reactions before—signs of beasts who had been mishandled, broken by cruelty. These observations ignited a fierce protectiveness in him, mingled with a deep sadness.
Ragnar couldn't bear the thought of anyone hurting Kiran. The scars, the skittishness—they all pointed to a tragic past, and Ragnar couldn't shake the feeling that Kiran had once belonged to someone who had betrayed him. The more he watched Kiran, the more he saw himself in the creature's weary resilience, the cautious trust that was slowly beginning to blossom.
One evening, during one of his visits to Kiran, Ragnar overheard a couple of tamers talking in the forest, discussing local rumors of a rare, wolf-like beast who had escaped captivity. From their descriptions, Ragnar realized they were speaking about Kiran. They speculated that Kiran had been a prized companion once, forced to fight or perform, and that his former master had abandoned him when he was no longer of use. The anger in Ragnar's chest swelled as he thought of Kiran's scars, his distrust, and his longing for freedom.
Ragnar crouched beside Kiran, feeling the weight of the beast's past settle heavily between them. Kiran looked up at him, eyes deep and searching, as if sensing the storm of emotions within him. Ragnar reached out, gently resting a hand on Kiran's head. "They don't deserve you, Kiran," he whispered. "But I'll be different. I'll prove it to you."
Kiran's eyes softened, and he leaned into Ragnar's hand, allowing himself to trust just a little bit more. In that moment, Ragnar felt a profound bond solidify between them, an unspoken pact to protect one another.
As Ragnar rose to leave, he turned back to Kiran, feeling a surge of purpose that he hadn't felt in a long time. His own journey, his quest to reclaim his lost honor, was now intertwined with Kiran's path to healing. They were both haunted by betrayal, by the sting of broken trust, but together, they could forge something stronger.
Leaving the forest that evening, Ragnar's mind whirled with determination. Kiran's presence had rekindled his drive not only to rise again as a beast tamer but to show Kiran that he was worthy of loyalty, of respect. In the golden eyes of his new companion, Ragnar saw the reflection of his own struggle, his own resilience, and he knew that whatever lay ahead, they would face it as one.