This Beast-Tamer is a Little Strange

There is a flower, Somnum's Lament, that was as breathtaking as it was insidious. Its petals shimmered had a soft, spectral glow—hues shifting between baby blue and deep indigo.

It was said to give off a faint, sweet scent, that was reminiscent of a tempting fruit. To the unsuspecting, it was a beautiful, otherworldly flower.

To the Empire, it was a plague.

At first, Somnum's Lament was discovered centuries ago and seemed like a miracle. Beast-tamers, particularly those below the coveted seven-star rank, found themselves drawn to it like moths to flame.

Those with weaker talents—whose progression was a slow, grueling path riddled with setbacks—claimed the flower heightened their sensitivity to spiritual power, spiritual skills that once eluded them came naturally, and an intoxicating clarity settled over their minds. A rush of euphoria accompanied every use, as if they were finally breaking free of the limitations shackling their talents since birth.

But the high never lasted.

The more one indulged, the more one needed.

The moment the effect faded, withdrawal set in—sluggishness, confusion, and an overwhelming hunger to chase that high once more. The flower did not grant strength; it only let them dream of it.

Yet no matter how much they took, they weren't growing stronger. It was an illusion, a fragile mirage that twisted their minds.

Some, lost in the delusion of power, sought out dangerous battles or tasks far beyond their capabilities. Others turned on their own comrades in violent frenzies, their perception of reality warping beyond recognition. And some... simply lost themselves entirely, trapped in a waking dream from which they would never return.

The epidemic spread like wildfire, and with it, the Empire's concern…so a massive campaign was launched to push the insidious flower to the brink of extinction hundreds of years ago, not long after it had first appeared.

But it was almost impossible to fully get rid of it. Rather than the delicate flower it presented itself as, it was more like a resilient weed.

Even centuries later, outbreaks of addiction would flare up, spreading like rot through hidden corners of the Empire. Each time, the royal family sent elite forces to stamp it out before it could take root again.

Serena's father, one of the top beast-tamers and a high-ranking official, was among those tasked with controlling the crisis whenever it would reappear. And it was through him that she first witnessed the flower's horror firsthand.

A noble house had called for her father's help in the dead of night, their third son locked away in the depths of their estate where he couldn't be accidentally found by anyone and tarnish the name of their family.

He was not like his brothers—where they had flourished, he had struggled, never quite living up to the weight of his lineage. He was a natural target for dealers of Somnum's Lament— desperate for power, blinded by envy, and, most importantly, rich.

Serena remembered the way he looked when they found him.

Gaunt. Hollow-eyed. A shell of a man drowning in a haze. His once-proud aristocratic posture was hunched, his limbs trembling uncontrollably.

His pupils, blown wide, barely seemed to recognize those around him. And yet, even in his wasted state, his lips curled in a sick, serene smile, as though he still believed himself to be growing stronger—surpassing his brothers.

But he had no strength. No control. Only hunger.

That expression haunted her for weeks after.

Now, as Serena watched Kain, unease curled tight in her stomach.

Serena had known something was wrong for days. She watched as Kain consumed core fragments one after another, his obsession growing sharper with every piece he absorbed. At first, it had been a necessity, a means of strengthening Pangea. But now—now, it was different.

His hands never stopped shaking. When he thought no one was looking, she caught him clenching and unclenching his fists, as if trying to contain something just beneath the surface. Sleep came in brief, restless bursts, and when he did manage to drift off, his expression was tight, jaw locked in a grimace as if his very dreams were hunting something.

Malzahir had noticed too. He said nothing, but Serena had seen the wary glances he shot at Kain, the way his body tensed whenever Kain moved too quickly. The way his fingers twitched toward his weapon, just in case. And yet, Kain didn't seem to notice at all.

She did. And the growing pressure and feelings of foreboding in her chest wouldn't let her ignore it.

Then it happened.

Kain had been absorbing yet another fragment, a small, insignificant one—one that should have done nothing.

But as the energy entered him, something inside him cracked.

"Kain." She called his name, stepping forward cautiously. Then she saw them.

His eyes.

They glowed—a deep, unnatural violet that pulsed with an eerie light. She thought it was exhaustion playing tricks on her—until he turned toward her.

The moment their eyes met, an uneasy chill curled down her spine.

Serena had faced countless life or death situations—managed to defeat or successfully flee from people and creatures far stronger than her.

But this was the first time in her life that she truly felt as though she were prey.

It was evident in the way he looked at them. The way he looker at her.

Not the way he usually did, with that sharp, competitive glint, tempered by the rare, begrudging trust they'd built and, even if neither would admit it, comfort in each other's presence due to their forced repeated proximity.

This was something else entirely. The way his gaze dragged over her left her skin crawling, a primal instinct screaming at her to move, to flee. It wasn't recognition in his face.

It was appraisal. Cold. Calculating. Like she was a cut of meat.

Her muscles coiled, her body instinctively shifting into a combat stance.

She was afraid of Kain. She had denied it, dismissed it, convinced herself it was paranoia. But now?

She was afraid of the seeming increase in strength he gained with each fragment. But, more than that, she was afraid of the changes to his mind after he appeared to become addicted to the fragments.

The signs were different, but the feeling was the same. The trembling hands, the sleepless nights, the growing distance in his gaze—like he was seeing something beyond this world, something she could not see. And worst of all, the hunger. That unrelenting, insatiable hunger that flickered behind his eyes when he absorbed those fragments.

Somnum's Lament had tricked its victims into thinking they were growing stronger when, in truth, they were spiralling toward ruin.

Kain, in truth, was growing stronger. And that was the most terrifying part of all.