CHAPTER 29: THE LINE CROSSED

The tension there was a living thing—thick, coiled, and hissing between every breath. Principal Anthony stood tall despite the weight pressing down on him. His sharp gaze was locked onto the figure standing in front, Mark Williamson—the feared underworld don, a man whose name alone made seasoned men tremble.

"Mark Williamson," the Principal's voice rang out, calm yet cutting like honed steel, "you are crossing a line you know better than to cross. Killing a Beast Tamer? You understand what that means. If you even try to harm a Tamer here, the consequences will be beyond your imagination. Your reputation, your empire—everything—will crumble. People will forget you were ever a big-shot don. You're a smart man, Mark. I'm sure you understand."

Mark chuckled, low and bitter, like gravel rolling in his throat. His eyes, cold and calculating, flicked from the Principal to the boy standing beside him—John.

"Oh, I can't kill a Beast Tamer, is that it?" he said, his tone mocking. "But what if the boy isn't a Tamer yet? You want to play by the rules, Anthony? Fine. Let's do that."

He stepped forward slowly, the soles of his polished shoes echoing against the marble floor.

"This boy—this whelp who dared lay a hand on my son—isn't a Beast Tamer," Mark snarled, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "Not now. Not legally. He's just a junior student, too young, too raw. To be recognized as a Tamer, he needs to be twenty. He needs to be in the senior classes. And this boy? He may have formed a Neuro-Core early—big deal. But he hasn't tamed a single beast. No contracts. No marks. No recognition."

He turned, slowly, deliberately, to face John.

"As far as I'm concerned," Mark continued, venom dripping from every word, "he's just a burden on this earth."

A rustle broke the moment.

A strange bird—small, yet terrifying—drifted into the room. Its feathers shimmered faintly like forged steel, and its beak resembled a pair of tiny daggers. It moved unnaturally, its wings barely stirring as it glided toward the boy on the ground.

John's vision blurred and his breathing was ragged. The world felt distant—until the creature came into focus. It was unlike anything he had ever seen.

The bird's eyes locked onto his.

Stop, John pleaded in his mind, eyes wide with fear and disbelief. Please… stop.

And the creature stopped.

It tilted its head, curious, birdlike, but with a depth of intelligence that sent chills down John's spine. A few sharp chirps followed—like coded notes of some long-lost language.

Can you... hear me? a strange, disembodied voice whispered—not spoken aloud, but felt, deep within John's thoughts.

John gasped inwardly. Am I… imagining this? he wondered, his heart thundering in his chest.

Yes, he replied cautiously, not moving his lips. I… I can hear you.

Before he could say more, the bird screeched—a sound of icy triumph, alien and ancient.

"Good," it said aloud, its voice slicing through the air like a blade. "The first person to talk to me while dying!"

And with that, it lunged.

Everything happened in a blur. The bird's dagger-like beak gleamed as it cut through the air, a death sentence on wings.

Principal Anthony shouted something, but the sound was distant, muted.

In that final moment before impact, John's eyes locked with the creature's once more, and a single thought erupted within him—not of fear, but of connection.

Don't, he begged.