Age of Beast Tamers and Exorcists

The scent of smoke lingered in the air, faint but persistent, like the remnants of a dying fire.
Zmey Ashbane stirred, his fingers brushing against the rough surface beneath him.
His head throbbed with slight intensity, but he did not move immediately.
He leaned against the jagged surface behind him, his eyes shut. For a moment, his posture might have seemed relaxed, as if in a state of blissful ease.
But his mind was anything but calm. 'Where could I be?' he wondered, unwilling to open his eyes just yet.
When he did, his gaze immediately fell on a golden door in the distance, flanked by flame-lit torches.
The firelight danced along the edges of the door, making it shimmer like a mirage.
"Where's this…?" His whisper felt hollow in the empty space. Suddenly, a shrill, piercing sound exploded in his mind.
He clutched his temples, gasping as his back arched away from the wall.
The sound demanded his focus. Though it wasn't pain that unsettled him.
Instead, it was a strange urgency, as though the noise was pointing him to something unseen.
And just as suddenly, it stopped. Zmey had little time to process the silence before everything shifted again.
Darkness flooded his surroundings, swallowing the golden door and the flickering flames.
He blinked, his eyes darting from one shadowy corner to another, but no light broke the void.
Still, the seat beneath him was solid. Its cold surface pressed into his skin, a cruel reminder of his reality.
In the distance, a faint glow emerged. A single flame flickered into life, no larger than the size of a thumb.
But the tiny fire didn't stay small. It grew, stretching and swelling. That was until its light lit the cobblestone floor ahead of him.
Zmey's breath caught as the flicker took shape. It was a winged figure, growing larger by the moment.
It unfurled, molten and fierce, the heat of its form licking at the air.
'What's this about?' Zmey wondered. The flame seemed to roar, surging towards him with terrifying speed.

Yet Zmey didn't flinch. Instead, his lips curled into a defiant grin, and he slouched back into his seat.
"Good," he muttered. "I didn't want to live this life either. The suffering.... It's damn enough!"
The fire raced towards him, but Zmey shut his eyes. His mind spiralled back into his memories.
This forced him to relive the endless cycle of pain that had defined his existence.
The Ninefold Resurrection. He knew it too well.
The curse dragged him through nine lives, one after the other, each more painful than the last. And each time, it ended the same way—with betrayal, heartbreak, and death.
He clenched his fists, remembering the face of his killers in his first reincarnation.
Porridge sellers being couples had locked him up in the coal room. The desperation in his heart had hurt far less than the grief in their eyes.
They hadn't been at fault; he had never blamed them.
He was the interloper, an uninvited ghost from another time. He didn't belong to her era, or any era for that matter.
But no matter how many times he died, the curse brought him back.
It didn't just claim him. It also tied his killers to him. And dragged them into the endless cycle of the Ninefold Resurrection.
He wasn't the only one cursed.
'I should have died long ago as Orin Stonewood,' he thought with bitterness.
The light flared again, pulling Zmey from his memories.
This time, his surroundings solidified into something new... a grand throne room with black stone walls.
A red carpet stretched out before him, flanked by twin golden dragon statues.
Above, towering spires pierced the sky, their bases shrouded in churning clouds.
Red dragon banners with respective emblems hung atop some of the spires.
Then... a memory flashed in his mind: a large Western dragon soaring in the orange twilight sky.
As it burned roofs and buildings with its breath, people fled. Astonishment coursed through Zmey.
He felt both the observer and the participant in the memory.
Zmey glanced down at himself. His hands, bulkier and rough-skinned, gripped the armrests of an obsidian throne.
He sat at the peak of a short stone stairway, his posture straight and regal despite the turmoil inside him.
'This body…' His thoughts trailed off as a strange certainty filled him.
The person whose body he now inhabited—he was no ordinary type.
This was the red dragon he had seen in the memory. Zmey's grin returned, though this time it was smaller and colder.
Before he could process the thought further, a voice called out.
"Your Majesty?"
.... Zmey tensed. He turned his head, and his sharp gaze fell on a figure standing near the edge of the red carpet.
It was a woman, her lotus-white gown trailing behind her like mist. A green jade phoenix, translucent and delicate, hung from the sash at her waist.
Her long black hair shone under the dim light. She pinned it back with a flowered hairband.
Two intricate buns framed her temples. Despite himself, Zmey felt a wave of calm at her presence. Her crimson eyes, sharp yet soft, seemed to anchor him.
'Aura DrakeBorn.' The name surfaced from the fragmented memories of the body he now occupied.
A Celestial Dragon, his right-hand and best friend at the same time.
"Your Majesty?" she asked again, her voice steady but tinged with concern. Zmey cleared his throat, shifting on the throne.
He had to play the part—at least until he decides to take action on himself.
"Why are you so worked up, Aura?" he said, his tone cold but measured. "As you can see, I'm fine."
Aura's brow furrowed, but she lowered her head in a gesture of respect.
"Forgive me, Lord Zmey. I was… concerned. The curse usually fades after a few hours, but this time, you were unwell for far longer. I feared the worst."
Zmey paused, caught off guard. He didn't yet know how this body's true owner behaved, but he forced a dismissive wave.
Why was the memory coming in fragments, though?
"I'm fine now," he said.
Aura studied him for a moment longer, then exhaled with a gentle sigh. A faint smile touched her lips.
"Very well, my Lord. I'm relieved to see you improving. The next full moon is still some time away. Until then, you'll have time to recover."
Zmey leaned back on the throne, his thoughts racing.