Chapter 2:The runner

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.