In this harsh world, lived Felix, a gentle soul who had always been underestimated. Most people viewed him as weak, seeing only his kindness and mistaking it for helplessness. But what they didn't see was his resilience, the quiet strength he had developed from years of enduring others' scorn. He worked tirelessly, often helping others in their tasks without any thought of reward, yet never earning their respect.
As Felix neared the age of taming, he felt both anticipation and dread. He yearned to prove himself, to finally be seen as something more than a kind-hearted nobody. But the idea of facing a creature born from his own inner fears was terrifying. In Eryndor, each person's beast mirrored something deep within them—whether it was pride, anger, sorrow, or, in Felix's case, a sense of invisible worth.
The night before his trial, Felix sat alone, feeling the weight of years of rejection and scorn. Fear gnawed at him, not just of the beast he would face, but of failing before the people who already saw him as a failure. He felt crushed under the expectations he had never fulfilled, weighed down by years of being unloved and unwanted. He was haunted by the possibility of being abandoned or left to face his greatest fears alone, another reminder of how small and weak everyone believed him to be.
The next day, Felix entered the forest with this burden on his heart. He walked into the shadows alone, determined but breaking inside, fearing that he was as powerless as everyone believed. But somewhere within him, beyond the wounds of his past, a spark of defiance began to flicker—a quiet, desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, he was more than they saw.