The sound of wood cracking against flesh echoed through the training yard. Velric Thorne staggered back, clutching his ribs as his opponent, a taller Lapinite boy named Joan Greymane, smirked down at him. Around them, students from Burrowhold Academy the only institution in Wildcrest that accepted Lapinites snickered and whispered.

"Pathetic, Thorne," Joan scoffed, twirling his training staff. "You're not just weak you don’t even try."

Velric spat to the side, tasting blood. He wasn’t even mad. He was used to this.

He was the lowest of the low.

In Burrowhold Academy, a place meant to train young Lapinites to survive in a world ruled by stronger, nobler beastfolk, Velric held a special title: the weakest student in the academy’s history.

His grades? Awful.

His combat ability? Nonexistent.

His agility? Below average an embarrassment for a rabbit.

His family name? Worthless.

Even among the Lapinites, who were already considered the bottom of society, Velric was trash. And everyone made sure he knew it.

"That's enough," the instructor, Master Garrick, finally said, sounding bored. The grizzled old rabbit folded his arms and looked down at Velric with disappointment. "You're not even worth punishing anymore, Thorne. You’re just a lost cause."

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Velric sat up, rubbing his sore ribs, but he didn’t argue. There was no point. He had stopped trying to prove himself a long time ago.

Because in this world, bloodline was everything.

The elite Lapinites at Burrowhold Academy all came from strong warrior families ones with secret techniques passed down through generations. Even though Lapinites were weak compared to the other beastfolk, some of them could still carve a name for themselves.

But Velric?

He had no bloodline powers. No secret technique. No powerful lineage.

And because of that, he was nothing.

"Alright, enough standing around! Next group up!" Master Garrick barked, and the crowd dispersed, eager to move on from yet another Velric Thorne failure.

Velric sighed, dusted himself off, and limped off to the side of the training yard. He glanced up at the academy towers, where the Burrowhold Crest a silver rabbit on a broken shield hung above the entrance.

A broken shield. That about summed it up, didn't it?

He wondered, not for the first time, why he was still here.

Later That Evening

Velric sat alone in the mess hall, pushing his gruel around his plate while the other students laughed and ate together in their little cliques. Nobody wanted to sit with him, and he didn’t blame them. Who would want to associate with the weakest rabbit in the school?

"Hey, deadweight," a voice sneered behind him.

Velric didn't even look up. He already knew who it was.

Rorrin Briar, the top student at Burrowhold. Fast, strong, and the closest thing Lapinites had to a true warrior. He and his friends towered over Velric, sneering down at him.

"You know, I heard Master Garrick talking earlier," Rorrin said, smirking. "He said the only reason they haven’t expelled you is because they pity you. But honestly, I think you'd be doing us all a favor if you just disappeared."

Velric didn’t react. He just kept stirring his food.

He was too tired for this.

Rorrin scoffed, then knocked the plate out of Velric's hands. "Oops." His friends laughed. "Clean that up, trash."

Velric clenched his fists under the table. He wanted to fight back. But what was the point?

He wasn’t strong.

He wasn’t fast.

He wasn’t anything.

The other students turned away, not bothering to intervene. That was how things worked in Burrowhold Academy. If you were weak, you were nothing.

Rorrin leaned in close. "Face it, Thorne. Some rabbits are just meant to be prey."

With that, he and his friends walked away, laughing.

Velric stared down at the mess on the floor. His hands shook, but not from fear. From something deeper.

Something he didn’t understand.

Something angry.

For years, he had accepted this. For years, he had told himself that this was just how things were.

But tonight, as he sat in the filth, as the laughter of stronger bloodlines echoed around him, a thought crept into his mind.

'What if they were wrong?'

To be Continued

Velric Thorne had been beaten so many times that he no longer bothered to count the bruises.

Maybe if he had some rare Lapinite bloodline power, his body would have grown tougher by now. Maybe if he had any talent, his reflexes would have improved. Maybe if he had been born as literally anything else, he wouldn’t be limping home like a broken ragdoll for the hundredth time.

But nope. No special talent. No strong lineage. No miracle.

Just Velric the Useless, dragging his sore, battered self through the cold, empty streets of Burrowhold’s Lower District.

“Ugh… I swear my ribs have been hit so many times, they’re probably learning to flinch on their own,” Velric muttered to himself, wincing as he clutched his side. His voice echoed through the narrow alleyways, but no one was around to hear it. Not that anyone would care even if they did.

The Lower District was the kind of place where Lapinites too weak or too poor to matter were left to rot. The buildings leaned like old drunks, the lanterns barely worked, and the air always smelled like a mix of damp wood, unwashed fur, and disappointment.

Velric adjusted his torn shirt and kept his head down. His legs were still wobbly from the "friendly sparring session" back at the academy. By sparring, of course, he meant getting his soul smacked out of his body by Joran Greymane while the entire class watched in amusement.

His face still stung from the bruises. Not that it made a difference his fur was already pitch black. No one could even see the damage properly.

Funny. Even his own injuries avoided him.

He let out a long sigh. Almost home.

A mistake.

Because the second he stepped into the last alley before the orphanage, he felt it.

The familiar shift in the air. The sudden silence.

Then a fist slammed into his gut.

Velric wheezed as pain shot through his ribs. He barely had time to register it before another blow cracked against the side of his face, sending him sprawling into the dirt.

Stars. His vision blurred. The world spun.

Oh great. This again.

"Didn’t even see us coming, huh, Thorne?"

Velric groaned. Yep. Same routine, different bullies.

A group of older Lapinite thugs not even academy students, just some nobodies looking for easy fun stood over him, grinning.

"You’d think a black rabbit would be something special," one of them scoffed, kicking Velric’s side for emphasis. "But nah. You're just another weakling pretending to matter."

Velric curled up, bracing for the next hit. He could already guess how this would go.

Step 1: Get beaten.

Step 2: Get called trash.

Step 3: Pretend he was too numb to care.

Step 4: Go home and sleep it off like the failure he was.

A punch cracked against his jaw.

Yep. Right on schedule.

Eventually, they got bored and left, laughing about how they had "taught him a lesson" or whatever nonsense made them feel important.

Velric lay there for a moment, staring up at the night sky, letting the cool air soothe his aching body.

“…Wow. If there’s a god up there, they really handed me the worst stats imaginable.”

With a grunt, he forced himself up and continued home.

Home If You Could Call It That

Warren’s Hollow Orphanage was exactly as chaotic as ever.

The moment Velric stepped inside, he was greeted by the usual sounds of children screaming, furniture being dragged across the floor, and someone probably losing a fight over a half-eaten piece of bread.

The orphanage matron, Miss Clove, sat in the corner looking five minutes away from giving up on life entirely.

No one looked at Velric. No one ever did.

He shuffled past, making his way up the rickety staircase toward the tiny storage space he called his room.

Inside, there wasn’t much: a thin mattress, a cracked mirror, and a stack of old clothes. Just enough to remind him that, yes, he was still alive and failing spectacularly.

Velric sighed and sat in front of the mirror.

His reflection stared back.

Black fur. Messy ears. Tired golden eyes that looked more like they belonged to a rabbit who had given up on life entirely.

The bruises were there, but thanks to his fur, they weren’t visible. Maybe that was a blessing. Maybe it was just another sign that even his own body didn’t want to acknowledge him.

Velric ran his fingers over his newest set of injuries.

"You really outdid yourself today, huh?" he muttered. "A new personal record for getting smacked around like a training dummy."

He let out a dry chuckle. Not like he expected anything else.

Eventually, exhaustion pulled at him. He flopped onto his mattress and let sleep take him.

Velric had a problem of always having the same dream since he became orphaned

It always started the same way.

Running.

His feet pounded against endless stone. The world around him twisted, shifting into something unnatural dark corridors, towering walls, empty space stretching into nothingness.

And behind him, it followed.

A shadowed silhouette.

Not beast. Not man.

Something else.

Velric had never seen its face. He had never needed to.

Because he was always running.

And yet

Tonight felt different.

His legs burned, his breath came in ragged gasps, but something cold settled in his chest.

'Why?'

"Why am I always running?"he said

He didn’t know. But suddenly, his feet slowed.

His body halted.

The air grew heavy. The silence stretched.

For the first time Velric turned.

And he looked.

The silhouette stopped, standing just a few feet away.

It had no face, no shape just an empty black void where a presence should be.

Yet Velric could feel its eyes locked onto his.

For the first time…

He wasn’t running.

For the first time…

They stared at each other. Eye to eye.

To be Continued

Velric stood frozen, chest heaving and legs trembling as he stared at the silhouette in front of him. The darkness around them seemed to breathe, pulsing with a suffocating energy.

The figure didn’t move just stood there, towering over him by at least a head. Broad shoulders and muscular build made Velric feel even more pathetic in comparison. It was a Lapinite, just like him, but far more imposing. The figure’s fur was the same pitch-black as Velric’s, and despite the lack of light, his eyes glowed a deep, sorrowful gold.

Velric couldn’t bring himself to speak.

'What was this thing? Why did it feel so familiar?'

The silhouette leaned down, its massive hand reaching out. Velric didn’t flinch. Maybe it would just end him. Maybe that would be easier.

Instead, the hand touched his forehead, and suddenly...

His world shattered.

His mind was pulled into a vortex of memories not his own, but countless others. Images flashed before his eyes, faster than he could comprehend. He was living and dying, over and over again.

A young Lapinite ran through a village square, fear twisting his face as a crowd closed in, shouting and cursing his black fur. His legs burned, and his lungs felt like they would burst. He slipped between carts and down alleys, desperately searching for a way out. But no matter how fast he ran, they always caught up always cornered him and the blades always found him.

Velric felt his throat tighten as the scene blurred and shifted.

A warrior sprinted through a forest engulfed in flames, heart pounding as the howls of his pursuers grew closer. His instincts screamed at him to fight back, but he couldn’t he wasn’t strong enough. He pushed forward, leaping over roots and ducking under branches, but his foot caught on a root, and he crashed to the ground. Claws raked across his back, and the world faded to black.

Another memory washed over him an old Lapinite staggering through a frozen wasteland, his body frail and broken. Snow whipped against his fur as he forced one foot in front of the other. He muttered something under his breath an apology to himself, perhaps. He collapsed into the snow, his life slipping away, and his final thought was of all the times he had run from the truth.

Velric’s head pounded as the memories continued life after life, always the same. Always running. Always dying.

The memories settled, and Velric found himself standing on a vast, desolate plain. The sky was an ashen gray, and a cold wind cut through his fur. In front of him stood the silhouette, now clearer a Lapinite warrior of immense presence, towering and powerful, with the same dark fur and sorrowful golden eyes.

Velric swallowed hard, barely able to breathe. “Who... who are you?”

The figure regarded him with a gaze that seemed to pierce his soul. His voice was deep and steady, carrying the weight of countless lives.

“I am the First. The one who stopped running.”

Velric felt a shiver crawl down his spine. “Stopped running? What does that mean?”

The First looked past him, as if seeing something far beyond. “All who came before you chose to flee from fear, from fate, from themselves. The curse of our bloodline is not weakness... it is cowardice. A refusal to face who we are. I broke that chain once. I stopped running and faced my fear.”

Velric bit his lip. “Then why did you die?”

The First smiled a grim, tired smile. “Because when I stopped running, I found that fate was crueler than fear. I awakened to my inner being and fought. But in the end, something stronger found me something greater than what I could become.”

He stepped closer, placing a massive hand on Velric’s shoulder, the weight of it both comforting and crushing.

“We are destined to break free or die chained to our fear. I chose to stand and fight, even if it meant death. You... you have that same choice.”

Velric clenched his fists, anger and frustration bubbling to the surface. “But I’m not like you. I’m nothing.”

The First gripped his shoulder tighter. “No. You are more than you know. The fear that binds you is your greatest enemy not your peers, not your bloodline. Yourself. Break the cycle. Stop running. Face fate. Whether you stand or fall, make your choice and carve your own path.”

The First’s form began to fade, his figure melting into the shadows. His final words whispered through the air:

“It’s your turn.”

Velric awoke with a gasp, clutching his chest as sweat drenched his fur. He sat upright, heart still hammering from the dream or was it a vision? The ache of the beatings remained, but his mind burned with something new.

Something shifted within him like a chain snapping. He didn’t fully understand it, but for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel completely worthless.

As dawn crept through the cracked window, Velric whispered to himself:

“No more running."