THE VOID BEAST

CHAPTER 1: THE LAST PAGE

The knock came like a hammer against my skull.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I slammed my book shut, the worn paperback smacking against my palm. The illustration on the cover stared back at me—a Shadow Wyrm, scales shimmering with inky darkness, its rider a hero named Valen who'd just completed the impossible bond.

I'd been waiting for this chapter for weeks.

"Can't a guy get five minutes of peace in this house?" I muttered, tossing the book onto my pillow. The pages fluttered open, revealing the exact scene I'd been reading—Valen, standing before the Wyrm, earning its loyalty through sheer will. The moment where everything changes.

I wanted that. I ached for it. A world where strength came from courage, where even the weakest could rise, where bonds meant something.

Instead, I got this.

My room was a shoebox. Barely enough space for a bed, a desk, and the shelves that groaned under the weight of my collection. Every inch of wall was covered in illustrations I'd drawn myself—dragons, griffins, phoenixes, wyverns. Beasts that existed only in the pages of my novels.

My sanctuary. My escape. My pathetic little lie.

"Alex! Are you deaf?" The knocking rattled the cheap wooden door. "Open up!"

I dragged myself off the bed, my socks scuffing against the threadbare carpet. The floor had a permanent dent where I paced when the loneliness got too heavy.

I yanked the door open, ready to snap.

The words died in my throat.

My brother, Lukas, stood in the doorway. His arm was wrapped possessively around her.

Elena.

My girlfriend. Or, judging by the way she was practically melting into him, my ex-girlfriend.

Her lipstick was smeared. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar. They both had the audacity to smile.

"Well, well," Lukas drawled, stepping past me into my room like he owned the place. "Hope we're not interrupting anything important, little brother."

Elena followed him, her heels clicking against the floor. She didn't look at me. She was too busy gazing at Lukas with an expression I'd once believed was reserved for me.

"What..." My voice cracked. I cleared my throat. "What the hell is this?"

Lukas laughed, tossing himself onto my bed like it was his throne. "Oh, don't be so dramatic. Elena and I have been... connecting lately. She finally realized she was wasting her time with a nobody."

Connecting.

The word hit me like a slap to the face. I looked at Elena, desperate for her to say something—anything—to deny it.

She finally met my eyes.

Nothing. No guilt. No shame. Just cold indifference. Like I was a stranger. Like the past two years meant nothing.

"Don't you dare."

"Or what?" Lukas sat up, his grin turning cruel. "You'll hit me? Go ahead, little brother. I'd love to see you try."

My fists clenched. My blood burned. Everything they were saying—the mockery, the betrayal, the casual cruelty—it was too much.

I swung.

I didn't even see him move.

One moment, my fist was arcing toward his face. The next, I was on the floor, my jaw screaming in agony. Lukas loomed over me, his boot connecting with my ribs.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

"Stop it!" Elena shrieked, her hands flying to her mouth. But she didn't move to stop him. She just stood there, watching.

Lukas grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking my head back so hard I thought my neck would snap. "You think you're better than me? You think you deserve anything in this life? You're pathetic, Alex. You've always been pathetic. Mom's dead. Dad doesn't care. And now your girlfriend's realized what a waste you are."

Blood dripped from my nose. I tasted copper.

"Lukas, please—"

"Please?" He laughed again. "That's rich. You know what, little brother? I'm tired of you."

His hand released my hair, reaching toward my desk.

The letter opener.

I saw it too late. The glint of metal. The way his fingers closed around the handle.

"Lukas, no!" Elena screamed.

But he brought it down anyway.

The blade buried itself in my chest.

I felt it—cold, sharp, wrong. A pressure that built and built until my body couldn't contain it anymore. I gasped, but no air came. My hands flew to the wound, and I felt the warmth of my own blood spilling over my fingers.

This is it, I thought. This is how I die.

Lukas stepped back, his face pale. He stared at his hands like they belonged to someone else. Like he'd just witnessed a murder committed by a stranger.

"I... I didn't mean..." He shook his head. "He attacked me. I was defending myself. You saw him attack me."

Elena nodded numbly. "Yes. Yes, he attacked you. I saw it."

And then they were gone. The door slammed. Footsteps pounded down the hall.

I lay alone in the silence.

The ceiling stared down at me—the same cracked, stained ceiling I'd stared at for eighteen years. I'd dreamed of escaping this room. This life. This meaningless existence. I'd dreamed of traveling to distant lands, of seeing wonders beyond my imagination.

But I'd never left. I'd been too scared. Too poor. Too stuck.

I never even got to see the world, I thought bitterly. I never got to be anyone important.

My eyes drifted to the bookshelf. To the novels that had been my only friends. Valen. Kira. The Shadow Wyrm. They were all waiting for me to finish that chapter. I'd never know how it ended.

If only life were like those stories, I thought. If only I could be like them. Strong. Powerful. With a beast at my side.

If only...

The wind started.

At first, it was just a whisper—a breeze that ruffled the pages of my open book. But then it grew. And grew. And grew.

My curtains billowed like sails in a storm. Pages tore from their bindings, spiraling through the air in a frenzy of paper and ink. My book—the one I'd been reading—flipped open, its pages turning faster and faster, until they blurred together.

A light bloomed from between the pages.

It was gold and silver and blue, all swirling together like a nebula. It pulsed with a rhythm that matched my fading heartbeat. It grew brighter and brighter, until I had to shield my eyes.

Is this death? I wondered. Does death look like a cheap special effect?

The light consumed everything.

And then—

A hand grabbed my shoulder.

"Wake up! Please, wake up!"

Wake up? I was dying. I wasn't sleeping.

The light faded. A face swam into view—a woman, her eyes red from crying, her clothes strange. Old-fashioned. Like something from the novels I read.

"Darian! Darian, can you hear me?"

Darian? My name is Alex. Who's Darian?

But the woman kept shaking me. "Please, young master! Don't leave us! Your mother... your mother would be so sad!"

Voices. So many voices. I turned my head and saw them—a crowd of young people, all dressed in strange robes. Their faces were twisted with fear, disgust, confusion.

"Is he dead?"

"Look at his wrist. He really did it."

"I heard he tried to drown himself. Over that girl."

"Pathetic. Even for a bastard."

A girl threw herself onto the floor beside me, sobbing uncontrollably. "It's my fault! He did this because of me! Because I rejected him!"

I stared at her, genuinely baffled. I'd never seen this girl in my life. And I sure as hell had never tried to kill myself over anyone.

Before I could speak, a sharp slap cracked across my cheek.

My head snapped to the side. A boy—tall, well-dressed, with the same face as the crying girl—glared down at me. "How dare you, you bastard! How dare you try to frame my sister! She's innocent! You tried to make her look like the villain!"

What is happening? I touched my cheek. It stung. This felt real. Too real.

The crowd was growing. More faces. More voices.

"It's obvious he's a bastard."

"How could he do that to his sister? But then again, he's from a lowly cramp. What do you expect?"

"He's just a lowlife. He'll never be among the greats."

"They shouldn't have taken mercy on him."

The words hit me like stones. One after another. Each one heavier than the last.

And then, just as suddenly as they'd come, they left. One by one, the crowd dispersed. The crying girl was pulled away by her brother. The others followed, shaking their heads, muttering their judgments.

Soon, I was alone with the woman.

She helped me sit up, her hands gentle despite her frantic energy. "Young master, please, let me get you to your room. You shouldn't be out here. You need to rest."

"Where... where am I?" My voice came out hoarse. Weak. Not my voice.

The woman looked at me with confusion. "The East Wing, of course. Your quarters. Young master, are you feeling well? You hit your head quite badly."

"I don't understand." I gripped her arm, desperate for answers. "What's happening? Who are you? And why does everyone keep calling me Darian?"

The woman's face went pale. "Young master... you are Darian. Darian Vex. The fourth child of House Vex." She lowered her voice, glancing around as if afraid someone might hear. "The... the illegitimate one."

Illegitimate. The word hit me like a slap.

"I don't have a beast," she continued, her voice trembling. "Your mother... she didn't have one either. That's why they've always looked down on you. But that doesn't mean you should—"

"Beast?" I interrupted, my head spinning. "What are you talking about? What beast?"

The woman stared at me like I'd grown two heads. "Young master, are you... are you truly confused? The beasts that bond with us at seventeen. The creatures that choose us. Every noble house has them. House Vex is one of the strongest because of their beasts."

My mind raced. Beasts. Bonding. Noble houses. This sounded exactly like—

"Where are we?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"At the Academy, of course. Apex Spire. You've been studying here for three years — your letters, your history, your etiquette. Don't you remember?"

The Apex Spire. The Academy. The beast-taming academy from my novels.

No. No, this can't be real. I'm dead. I'm in a coma. This is some kind of fever dream.

I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but the woman cut me off.

"You need to rest, young master. You've been through too much today. We'll talk more in the morning." She tucked me into the bed, pulling the covers up to my chin like I was a child. Then she was gone, the door clicking softly behind her.

I lay there, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling.

This isn't my room. This isn't my body. This isn't my life.

I sat up abruptly, ignoring the ache in my head. My eyes scanned the room—a luxurious space with dark wood furniture, silk curtains, and a mirror standing in the corner.

The mirror.

I climbed out of bed, my legs shaky, and approached it slowly.

The face that stared back at me wasn't mine.

This boy was younger—maybe seventeen. Dark hair, sharp cheekbones, eyes the color of storm clouds. A bruise purpled his cheek. Cuts marked his wrists, still fresh. He was handsome, in a sharp, cruel kind of way.

I waved my hand.

The reflection waved back.

"No," I breathed. "No, no, no."

I grabbed the nearest object—a vase—and hurled it at the mirror.

The glass shattered. Shards scattered across the floor.

"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?" I screamed.

The reflection was gone. But I knew the face now. I knew it would be there whenever I looked.

I'm Darian Vex now, I realized. And I have no idea how to get back.