The morning began, as mornings apparently did now, with a monkey landing squarely on Kalen’s stomach.

  He woke up with a grunt, blinked blearily at the ceiling, and triggered the bond without thinking.

  A pulse of mana answered, and Milo shrank with a familiar ripple of blue light — smaller, lighter, and less likely to suffocate him before breakfast.

  Kalen yawned and swung his legs off the bed.

  Milo was already clambering toward the door, chittering excitedly.

  From the distant courtyard, a familiar low quack-honk suggested Daisy was awake — and impatient.

  Kalen smiled faintly and shoved his feet into his boots.

  Time to face the day.

  Breakfast was... ambitious.

  By the time Kalen stumbled into the kitchen, Milo had already climbed onto the pantry shelves, Daisy was flapping angrily at a loaf of bread twice her size, and Webber had spun a thin sticky line between two chair backs like a mischievous tripwire.

  Dozer was rolling back and forth in front of the fireplace, making small pleased noises every time he bumped into a wall.

  Akari perched neatly by the hearth — pristine, regal, and silently judging the chaos unfolding around her.

  Threx crouched near the far window, his scales gleaming faintly, golden eyes following every movement like a beast preparing to hunt.

  Kalen sighed.

  He was still brushing sleep from his eyes when Milo triumphantly toppled a jar of dried berries off the shelf.

  It exploded across the floor, sending a hailstorm of red-black seeds skittering into every corner of the room.

  "Breakfast!" Kalen barked, half pleading.

  Milo chittered and launched himself off the shelf in excitement.

  Daisy tripped over the berry seeds and slid halfway across the floor, feathers flaring.

  Dozer bumped into the kitchen table, making it lurch dangerously to one side.

  Kalen barely managed to salvage the oatmeal pot and a pile of chopped fruit.

  He tossed bowls onto the table like a man laying down suppressing fire.

  One by one, the cubs attacked their food with single-minded enthusiasm.

  Kalen collapsed into a chair, nursing a bruised shin and contemplating the strange life choices that had led him to this moment.

  He had just gotten halfway through a cup of lukewarm tea when the summoning started.

  A soft shimmer of mana curled around Dozer’s shell —

  — and with a faint pop, the tortoise vanished, summoned to Jace’s side.

  Webber followed seconds later, his many legs twitching in protest as Talia called him away.

  Akari rose with smooth, dignified grace, vanishing in a swirl of silver light as she answered Keir’s bond.

  Finally, Threx’s gaze lingered a moment longer — steady, unreadable — before he dissolved into golden threads, drawn back to Ashen.

  The kitchen felt startlingly empty all of a sudden.

  Only Milo and Daisy remained, both licking stray berry seeds off the floor with a kind of stubborn pride.

  Kalen chuckled quietly to himself.

  "Well," he said. "That thinned the herd."

  He pushed back from the table and knelt down to sweep the seeds into a pile.

  And that’s when he heard it.

  A faint noise — not inside the kitchen, not in the courtyard — but somewhere outside.

  A soft thump.

  A rustle of grass.

  Maybe even a tiny sneeze?

  Kalen froze, broom still in hand.

  Milo straightened sharply, ears twitching.

  Even Daisy paused mid-peck, her round eyes narrowing as she peered toward the window.

  There was someone — or something — still out there.

  And it wasn’t just the wind.

  Kalen set the broom aside and grabbed his jacket off the hook by the door.

  He checked that his satchel still held a spare mana crystal and a light-scroll, then whistled once.

  Milo scampered to his side immediately.

  Daisy waddled after him, fluffing her feathers like she expected a fight.

  Kalen smiled.

  The Sanctuary wasn't empty.

  It had simply been waiting.

  Time to find out who — or what — was still calling Hearthwild home.

  The Sanctuary stretched wider than Kalen remembered.

  Beyond the familiar main courtyard, the land rolled gently into pockets of wild growth — tangled gardens, crumbling training yards, half-buried statues worn smooth by rain and time.

  Moss blanketed nearly everything, softening stone paths and climbing the bases of twisted old trees.

  Mana-flowers bloomed in strange places — tiny flickering lanterns of color dotting the undergrowth.

  Kalen walked slowly, Milo riding on his shoulder, Daisy waddling faithfully at his heel.

  Every so often, Kalen stopped to touch an old rune carved into the stone walls — runes that pulsed faintly when he brushed them, like heartbeat echoes from a time when the Sanctuary was bustling and full.

  He could almost hear it if he closed his eyes.

  Laughter. Footsteps. Roars of challenge. Soft coos of newborn cubs.

  A living place.

  And now... a place waiting to be alive again.

  As he moved deeper into the grounds, Kalen began to notice signs that he wasn't alone.

  At first, it was just instinct — the way the breeze carried odd, short sounds: scrapes, faint chitters, rustlings that cut off the moment he listened too closely.

  Then came the more obvious clues.

  A cluster of half-gnawed fruit cores tucked beneath a fallen bench.

  Tiny scratch marks along the base of a storage shed door.

  A bundle of feathers near an overgrown water trough — not the molted feathers of wild birds, but softer, finer plumes like those from a young, mana-touched cub.

  Kalen crouched beside a trail of paw prints — no larger than his hand — pressed into the muddy edge of an old training ring.

  Milo leaned forward on his shoulder, sniffing curiously.

  "Looks like we're not the only ones living here," Kalen murmured.

  Daisy gave a proud little quack, as if she'd personally defended the whole territory herself.

  Kalen smiled faintly and rose, brushing dirt from his palms.

  The Sanctuary hadn't been abandoned.

  It had become a shelter — even without a keeper.

  And those who had stayed behind... they were surviving, somehow.

  Waiting.

  The deeper he went, the stranger the signs became.

  Not just small scratches and food caches now — but broader paths worn into the moss.

  Large swaths of bark scraped away from old trees, long vertical gouges deep enough that Kalen could fit two fingers side-by-side into the scars.

  He paused in front of one of the gouged trunks, his breath misting faintly in the cool morning air.

  Milo shifted restlessly. Daisy fluffed her feathers nervously.

  These marks weren't from small beasts.

  And they weren’t fresh.

  They spoke of size.

  Of weight.

  Of something that had lived here for years, pacing these woods with a slow, implacable patience.

  Something that had claimed Hearthwild as its home long before Kalen had come stumbling back into its care.

  Kalen followed the tracks further, heart thudding faster now.

  Low tree branches were snapped, not by storms — but broken by something passing through that didn’t bother ducking.

  Moss was scraped bare along a sunken trail where heavy feet had passed again and again, carving the earth into shallow grooves.

  He stopped at the crest of a small hill.

  Beyond it, hidden between the trees, he caught a glimpse:

  An old training field, almost perfectly circular, now overgrown with wild grasses and glowing moss.

  The edges were reinforced by crumbling stone — ancient walls meant to hold larger beasts safely inside during early training sessions.

  And near the far edge of the field, past the fallen hurdles and broken mana pylons,

  a shadow shifted.

  Heavy.

  Steady.

  A low, slow crack of a branch underfoot drifted toward him on the breeze.

  Kalen exhaled slowly, his hands tightening slightly on the straps of his satchel.

  He knew — somehow — before he even saw it clearly.

  Gromp.

  The last guardian of Hearthwild.

  And if he was still here...

  then maybe Kalen had a chance to rebuild something real.

  Something lasting.

  Kalen approached the old training field slowly, careful to keep his steps even.

  The clearing was hushed, the wild grasses whispering under a lazy morning breeze.

  Ahead, near the broken remains of an old obstacle course, the massive shape shifted again.

  He caught the full sight of it now:

  An elephant.

  No — something more.

  Gromp stood nearly a head taller than any ordinary elephant Kalen had ever seen. His hide was rough and scarred from old battles, his tusks thick and slightly curved, gleaming faintly where the sunlight caught the worn ivory.

  He was broad, powerfully built, with shoulders like living stone and a presence that pressed against the world around him without needing to move.

  He didn’t turn. Didn’t charge. Didn’t even lift his head.

  He just stood — a monument of patience and silent expectation.

  Kalen swallowed and kept walking.

  Milo tightened his grip slightly on Kalen’s shoulder. Daisy, unusually quiet, stayed close to his heel, feathers fluffed but steady.

  Kalen stopped about twenty feet away, heart hammering.

  "Gromp," he said softly.

  The old elephant’s ear twitched, but he didn’t move otherwise.

  Memories surfaced — fuzzy, but real.

  He remembered a smaller version of himself — barely reaching Gromp’s knee — scrambling up thick, wrinkled legs to perch proudly on the beast’s broad back.

  He remembered Reo Darnen, Gromp’s Tamer, laughing uproariously nearby while Kalen’s uncle pretended not to worry.

  Reo had been a regular at Hearthwild once. An old adventurer — rough, loud, fiercely loyal.

  When he went on long expeditions, he would sometimes leave Gromp behind at the Sanctuary, trusting Kalen’s uncle to watch over his partner.

  Over time, Hearthwild had become more than just a stable or resting post to Gromp.

  It had become home.

  Even when Reo stopped visiting regularly... Gromp had stayed.

  Waiting.

  Watching.

  Guarding.

  Kalen stepped forward another pace and lowered himself to one knee — not out of fear, but out of respect.

  "I’m not him," Kalen said, voice steady despite the tightness in his chest. "I’m not my uncle. I don’t know half the things he did. I don’t have a whole life of Tamers and beasts and old friends backing me up."

  He took a breath, letting it out slow.

  "But I’m here. And I’m going to rebuild Hearthwild. Not just the walls. Not just the fields. The family, too."

  Milo leaned forward, little hands gripping tighter.

  Daisy gave a quiet, supportive quack.

  Kalen smiled faintly.

  "I’m not asking you to follow me," he finished. "But if you’ll stay — not because you have to, but because you want to — I’d be honored to have you here."

  For a long moment, nothing moved.

  The breeze ruffled the grasses. A distant crow called overhead.

  Gromp remained still.

  Then — slowly, deliberately — he turned his head.

  His massive eye settled on Kalen — a deep molten brown, flecked with weathered gold and the weight of long memory.

  A color like worn copper under river water.

  For a heartbeat, Kalen wondered if he had misstepped — if this was about to end very, very badly.

  But then Gromp huffed.

  Not a warning.

  Not a rejection.

  Just... a deep, weary sound, like an old man reluctantly agreeing to babysit the neighbor’s kids again — because someone had to.

  Gromp shifted his weight and began ambling toward the center of the clearing, massive feet crushing moss and low brush without effort.

  He stopped near the crumbled remains of an old obstacle post and settled down onto his side, sending a deep vibration through the earth.

  An unmistakable message:

  I’ll stay.

  Kalen released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

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  "Thank you," he said quietly.

  Milo chattered triumphantly. Daisy flapped her wings once, almost in salute.

  Kalen stood and dusted off his knees, heart lighter than it had been in days.

  As he turned to leave, Gromp shifted again —

  lazily, almost carelessly.

  His massive trunk swung toward Kalen and, with surprising gentleness, plucked a stray leaf from his hair.

  The trunk lingered for a breath longer, then gave Kalen’s head a soft, clumsy nudge — a half-gruff, half-fond gesture that spoke of long memories and silent acceptance.

  Kalen blinked, startled — and then smiled.

  Milo let out a delighted chirp. Daisy fluffed up proudly, as if the whole thing had been her idea.

  Kalen chuckled and shook his head.

  He wasn’t alone.

  Not really.

  Not anymore.

  Hearthwild was waking up.

  And it was stronger than he had dared hope.

  The walk back to the main courtyard felt lighter than when Kalen had left it.

  Milo perched proudly on his shoulder, scanning the overgrown grounds like a sentry on patrol.

  Daisy waddled at his side, puffing herself up with every step — as if daring any other beast to challenge their growing little flock.

  Kalen chuckled under his breath.

  When he reached the cracked flagstones at the heart of Hearthwild, he paused — and dropped to one knee.

  He rummaged through his satchel and pulled out a small wrapped bundle: scraps of dried fruit, leftover oatmeal balls, a bit of salted jerky.

  Simple things.

  He laid them carefully in the center of the courtyard, arranging them on a worn stone that might once have been a pedestal for something grander.

  Then he sat back on his heels, resting his hands calmly on his knees.

  "Come on out," he said quietly, voice soft but sure. "It's alright. You're safe."

  At first, there was nothing.

  Only the lazy hum of insects, the soft rustle of the breeze through the vines.

  Milo shifted slightly on his shoulder, but didn’t make a sound.

  Daisy stood very still.

  Then — a shuffle.

  A scritch-scratch of tiny claws.

  A small figure crept out from under a crumbled bench, moving sideways in a series of awkward lunges.

  A crab cub — its shell gleaming faintly with patches of mineral growth — eyed the food with deep suspicion.

  One pincer opened and closed rhythmically, the other clutching a small, glittering pebble like a priceless treasure.

  Kalen smiled.

  "Hello there," he murmured. "Hungry?"

  The crab inched closer, step by halting step, until it could snatch a berry with a lightning-fast snap of its free claw.

  It retreated two steps, suspicious, but didn’t leave.

  Milo chirped softly, and the crab's shell shivered briefly, as if trying to puff itself up larger.

  Shiny, Kalen decided instantly.

  Flashy little troublemaker.

  A second visitor emerged a few moments later —

  this time from the shadowed base of the old mana well.

  A small bird cub, feathers a dusty gray-brown, hopped unevenly into the open.

  It flapped its wings once, twice — but couldn’t get more than a foot off the ground before thumping back down awkwardly.

  The little bird froze, embarrassed, then scuttled forward in fast, jerky hops to snatch up a bit of oatmeal.

  It kept glancing at Kalen and the others as if expecting scorn — but found none.

  "You're perfect," Kalen said gently.

  The bird's tail feathers twitched.

  Pippin.

  Small. Quick. Full of stubborn energy.

  The third arrival came in a tiny, rolling ball of pointy stubbornness.

  From beneath a collapsed training post, a hedgehog cub waddled into view, nose twitching, dark eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  Its quills sparked faintly with static — harmless for now, but promising trouble as she grew.

  She snuffled toward the food, every movement radiating caution and challenge.

  It gave Milo a glare so fierce that the monkey actually leaned back in surprise.

  Daisy, unfazed, fluffed herself twice as big and flapped once, causing the hedgehog to bristle indignantly.

  Kalen laughed softly.

  Bramble.

  Sharp, fierce, and ready to fight the world twice her size.

  The fourth cub took longer to appear.

  At first Kalen thought it was a trick of the light —

  a shimmer of mist where no mist should be.

  But then the fawn emerged.

  Small, willowy, almost translucent in the shade — as if his body hadn't fully decided whether to be part of the real world yet.

  Delicate blue-green markings traced faint patterns across his thin legs, and his large, dark eyes blinked slowly at the sight of the gathered group.

  He approached not directly, but in slow arcs —

  testing the air, testing the moment.

  Kalen didn’t move.

  Finally, after what felt like forever, the little fawn brushed against the stone pedestal and nibbled a piece of dried apple.

  "Welcome home," Kalen whispered.

  Wisp.

  Dreamy. Shy. Half here, half not.

  The last arrival made herself known not with stealth —

  but with noise.

  A sharp yowl echoed from the collapsed remains of an old greenhouse, followed by a clatter of wood and an outraged hiss.

  A tiny cub, orange-furred with darker black stripes, tumbled into view —

  fur standing on end, tiny teeth bared ferociously.

  She planted herself between the wreckage and the food pile, all seven inches of her vibrating with righteous fury.

  Kalen bit back a laugh and simply offered a bit of jerky on an open palm.

  The kitten stiffened... then, without warning, bounded forward and snatched the treat, devouring it with wild speed.

  Her tail flicked side to side like a living whip.

  Cinder.

  Fire and pride in a very small, very loud package.

  Kalen sat quietly, watching them all.

  Five new lives, each with their own scars and stories, drawn out not by commands — but by trust, food, and quiet patience.

  Milo dropped down from his shoulder to sit cross-legged next to him.

  Daisy waddled around the group, occasionally letting out tiny satisfied quacks.

  Slowly, the little courtyard filled with a new kind of noise —

  tiny munching sounds, soft shuffles, faint flutters.

  Life.

  Not the life Kalen had imagined when he first stepped through Hearthwild's gate.

  But maybe the life he needed.

  Maybe the life he could build something beautiful from.

  He let his eyes close for a moment and just breathed.

  Hearthwild wasn't empty anymore.

  It was growing.

  The courtyard glowed in the warm light of early evening.

  Kalen wiped his hands on a faded old towel and stepped back to admire his work.

  He’d cleared a space along one side of the courtyard, spreading out old but serviceable blankets into small beds.

  Nearby, a wide basin of warm, herb-scented water steamed softly, warmed by a mana stone tucked beneath it.

  The faint smell of rosemary and mint drifted through the courtyard, mingling with the cooler scent of moss and stone.

  It wasn’t fancy.

  It wasn’t perfect.

  But it was clean, it was safe, and it was theirs.

  And for Hearthwild’s first true night awake...

  it was enough.

  Kalen ducked inside the sanctuary’s main building and returned carrying a pair of heavy baskets —

  simple foodstuffs he had pieced together from the old storerooms:

  fresh bread, a few bundles of dried fruits, strips of lightly-cured meat, and some softer greens.

  Not much.

  Not luxurious.

  But it would do.

  He divided the food into rough wooden bowls and placed them carefully on the stone path near each blanket, spacing them like tiny islands of welcome.

  Just as he finished setting the last bowl, he heard the familiar thumps and scrapes of paws, claws, and heavy footsteps from inside the house.

  Webber was the first to appear, his many legs clicking softly across the stones.

  He stopped just inside the courtyard, lifted his head, and sniffed the air delicately.

  With a pleased chitter, he spun a small thread between two fence posts — as if claiming his spot — and scuttled forward toward the food.

  Dozer followed at a much slower pace, blinking owlishly in the gathering dusk.

  He sniffed the nearest bowl once, then plodded toward the blankets and flopped down with a contented grunt, clearly deciding he had done enough moving for one day.

  Akari was nearly silent, her white fur catching the firelight in flashes as she glided into view.

  Her gaze swept the courtyard, lingering on Kalen with calm acknowledgment before settling into a comfortable crouch beside one of the closer beds.

  Last came Threx, low to the ground, his tail twitching in the dirt.

  His slitted eyes scanned the gathering beasts warily, nostrils flaring once, twice — but after a moment, he padded cautiously toward the fire, settling near a low wall with one eye always on the newcomers.

  Kalen smiled.

  It was starting to feel less like a lonely shelter...

  and more like a home.

  He returned to the food basket, pulling out a few more bowls.

  He had barely begun to lay them out when he heard soft, tentative sounds from the edge of the courtyard.

  Turning, he saw them.

  The new cubs.

  Shiny crept forward sideways, his small body low to the ground, pebble still clutched stubbornly in one claw.

  Pippin bobbed nervously behind him, fluffing himself up every few steps like a tiny, indignant balloon.

  Bramble rolled a few feet before unfolding cautiously, her quills rattling faintly.

  Wisp glided almost unnoticed through the shadows, so light he seemed half air himself.

  And Cinder —

  Cinder stomped right into the clearing with all the indignant authority of a kitten demanding tribute.

  Kalen laughed under his breath and quickly placed fresh bowls near the far side of the blankets.

  "You’re part of this now too," he said, mostly to himself.

  The older beasts noticed the newcomers immediately.

  Webber watched them curiously, tilting his head in slow, deliberate motions as if cataloging each new scent.

  Dozer cracked one eye open, grunted, and returned to his nap, apparently deciding the matter did not concern him unless it involved food.

  Akari remained still but alert, muscles tense for a moment before relaxing once she saw the newcomers were small, scared, and more likely to trip over themselves than pose any threat.

  Only Threx remained rigid, his tongue flickering in and out — tasting the air.

  His tail gave a few slow thumps against the ground, low and warning.

  Kalen caught his eye and gave a small, firm shake of his head.

  After a long moment, Threx huffed through his nostrils and sank lower to the ground, eyes narrowed but no longer hostile.

  The tension bled out of the courtyard.

  The cubs edged closer —

  drawn by the smell of food, the glow of firelight, and something deeper, something warmer that was harder to name.

  One by one, they accepted the bowls Kalen had set out.

  They ate cautiously at first, then more hungrily, sneaking glances at the older beasts around them.

  Milo beamed with open pride, as if certain he personally had organized the entire affair.

  Daisy stayed close to Milo’s side, her feathers ruffling protectively whenever one of the newcomers stumbled too close.

  Kalen simply sat back against the wall, watching it all unfold.

  No orders.

  No demands.

  Just space.

  Just welcome.

  At the very edge of the firelight, where the woods pressed close and the trees whispered overhead, a silent figure stood watch.

  Gromp.

  The massive elephant barely moved —

  his form blending so naturally with the dark that he seemed carved from it.

  Only the faint glint of his eyes — old and wise and patient — betrayed him.

  He didn’t step forward.

  He didn’t need to.

  He was there.

  Watching over them all.

  Kalen let his head fall back against the wall, exhaustion pulling at him — but smiling nonetheless.

  Hearthwild was alive again.