Another week passed at Hearthwild, and the sanctuary had begun to hum with its own kind of rhythm.

  The sun rose soft and golden through the trees, casting long shadows across the training ring and garden patch. Birds chirped overhead — some wild, some watching the cubs like nosy neighbors who didn’t want to admit they were impressed.

  Kalen stood near the fence, arms crossed, a steaming cup of something herbal in one hand. He sipped, slowly, and watched.

  The cubs were different now.

  Not dramatically. Not like a light had flipped. But there were changes — the kind that built up slowly over meals shared, naps taken, and stories whispered beneath the stars.

  Wisp’s hooves glowed faintly now when he walked, leaving soft impressions in the grass that faded after a few seconds.Shiny’s shell had taken on a new gleam, subtle but unmistakably reflective — like a polished gemstone coated in sass.Bramble's quills were beginning to shift color at the tips, from brown to a dusky copper.Pippin hadn’t stopped moving in three days, which wasn’t new, but now he left behind tiny gusts of wind when he darted around corners.Cinder’s eyes burned a little hotter when she glared — which, admittedly, was often.

  And Milo...

  Kalen glanced to his left, where the monkey sat proudly atop a post, arms crossed and tail flicking with exaggerated authority. A breeze tousled the fur across his back — right over the faintly shimmering rune that had deepened in color. His aura was steadier now. More confident.

  Even Daisy, who still moved quietly and preferred to observe rather than lead, walked with more purpose. Her feathers were neater, her posture straighter. Something inside her had settled — not fully, but enough to begin.

  They were close.

  Not quite Bronze Tier.

  But they were knocking on the door.

  Kalen let out a slow breath, feeling the comforting weight of possibility settle over his shoulders like a cloak. No breakthroughs yet, but the signs were there. The Sanctuary — their stories, their bonds — it was working.

  Behind him, Dozer barreled past with a joyful holler, chasing a fluttering leaf like it owed him money.

  "Still fast," Kalen murmured, sipping his tea. "Still lazy."

  In the distance, Webber dangled from a perch, spinning slow, deliberate strands into a web Kalen didn’t recognize. It looked like a spiral — not a trap, but a pattern. Something intentional. Something new.

  Kalen smiled to himself.

  Hearthwild was growing. Not just stronger — but wiser. Sharper. Closer.

  And something told him…

  Today would bring another piece of the story.

  The gate creaked open midmorning.

  Kalen looked up from where he was brushing Cinder’s fur — a daily ritual she pretended to tolerate while secretly loving it — and saw a figure standing just outside the threshold.

  A girl. Young, maybe his age. Cloak wrinkled. Hair tied hastily. Her posture was stiff, like someone bracing for rejection.

  She looked familiar in that vague academy way — not a memory, but a name he’d heard once, maybe twice. Then it clicked.

  Talia mentioned her.

  Rinna. One of the recruits who’d gone on the rental mission.

  In her arms, wrapped in soft cloth, was a shape that wasn’t moving.

  Kalen didn’t hesitate. He walked to the gate and opened it wide.

  “You were with Talia and Jace, right?” he asked gently.

  She nodded. “Yeah. Rinna.” A pause. “You weren’t there, but… your name came up a lot after. And your cubs. People were talking.”

  Her arms tightened around the bundle.

  “That’s why I came.”

  Kalen gave a single, welcoming nod. “Come in.”

  He led her to the shaded bench near the herb garden, where the air was cool and calm. Sanctuary cubs watched from a respectful distance, sensing the heaviness she carried.

  Rinna sat, carefully unwrapping the cloth.

  Inside lay a Shadow Lynx cub.

  His fur, normally sleek and mist-like, clung to his frame. His chest rose and fell in short, unsteady breaths. Faint mana shimmered under the skin — not a healthy glow, but a flickering warning light.

  “Kip,” Rinna said, barely louder than a whisper. “He’s mine.”

  Kalen crouched beside her, eyes tracing the cub’s lines. He didn’t touch him yet.

  “Mana poisoning?”

  She nodded, jaw tight. “After the Rift mission. I think one of the beasts left a residue — Kip must’ve caught it. Maybe a scratch I didn’t see. He was fine at first. Quiet. But then he wouldn’t wake up the next morning. Not for ten minutes.”

  Kalen winced inwardly.

  Rinna pressed on. “I panicked. I… didn’t tell anyone. I was scared. The Guild doesn’t take risks with bonded beasts. I thought I could fix it on my own.”

  Her gaze locked onto Kalen’s. “I couldn’t.”

  He didn’t flinch. “You should’ve come sooner.”

  “I know.”

  She wasn’t defensive. Just... cracked.

  Kalen leaned closer, gently peering at Kip’s twitching ears and faint aura flares. “He’s not past saving. But his core’s fighting itself. The tainted mana is interfering with his natural rhythms. It needs to be drawn out before his channels reject everything.”

  Rinna’s composure fractured. “Can you help him?”

  “Yes,” Kalen said without pause. “But it’ll take a few days. And he’ll need a stable environment. Calm. Structured.”

  He didn’t need to say Hearthwild was built for that. The truth hung in the garden air.

  “Let me help,” he said again, quieter.

  Rinna nodded.

  “Milo — tonic bag,” Kalen called.

  The monkey zipped past like a lightning bolt and returned with a small pouch of healing supplies.

  Kalen worked quickly: lunegrass for stabilizing aura flow, Riftroot vinegar to draw out the poison, and nectar sap to soothe the channels. He soaked a wrap, then tied it gently around Kip’s torso and front legs.

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  Finally, he placed his palm over the cub’s chest and pulsed a slow stream of pure mana into the cloth.

  The wrap hissed.

  Thin tendrils of black mist leaked from Kip’s fur — not smoke, not steam, but Rift corruption made visible as it fled the body.

  Rinna flinched, but didn’t look away.

  When Kalen lifted his hand, Kip exhaled sharply.

  And moved.

  A stretch. A tail flick. One paw curled. His eyes opened — cloudy at first, then clearer. He blinked once at Kalen, then again at Rinna.

  And smirked.

  It wasn’t big. It wasn’t even appropriate.

  But it was smug.

  Kalen blinked. “Well. That’s a face.”

  Rinna let out a half-laugh, half-sob. “He always does that when he gets away with something.”

  “He’s going to be fine,” Kalen said, sitting back. “But the treatment needs to continue. Daily. Steady pacing.”

  He waited a moment, then added gently, “You can leave him here. I’ll treat him and keep him stable. He can sleep with the others. You can summon him when you train.”

  Rinna looked torn.

  “I’m not telling you to give him up,” Kalen said. “Just… let us help.”

  She looked at Kip. He smirked again, as if to say, You know I’ll do what I want anyway.

  She exhaled. “Alright. But I’m coming every morning.”

  “Deal.”

  As she reached for her satchel, Kalen stopped her. “You don’t have to—”

  “I’m paying you,” she interrupted, pulling out a pouch of coins and placing it firmly in his hand. “That was a real treatment. I’ll owe you more before the week’s over.”

  Kalen smiled faintly. “Then I’ll send you a receipt.”

  Rinna gave a breath of laughter, exhausted but real. She knelt and rested a hand on Kip’s head. “Don’t give him any trouble.”

  Kip blinked… and curled up with his tail over his nose like an innocent child.

  Kalen just shook his head. “He’s going to fit in just fine.”

  Kip didn’t move much the first two days.

  Kalen kept him bedded down in the shade near the herb garden, where the air was cooler and the mana thinned into gentle waves. The other cubs instinctively gave him space — not out of fear, but respect. Even Shiny limited his chaos radius, only pausing once to place a single polished pebble beside Kip’s pillow, like an offering.

  Rinna didn’t try to summon Kip during those days.

  She came in person.

  Each morning, she arrived just after breakfast — no fanfare. Just a quiet presence in a place that welcomed silence as much as laughter.

  She brought a book one day, reading softly beside Kip’s sleeping form. Another day, she helped Milo carry water buckets and laughed when Wisp gently nosed her shoulder like a deer offering thanks. Cinder ignored her. Bramble panicked when she stepped too close, then immediately regretted it and tried to follow her for the rest of the afternoon. Daisy watched her with still, evaluating eyes.

  By the third day, Kip was walking again.

  Slowly. But deliberately.

  His gaze tracked the cubs as they moved through the courtyard. His ears twitched at every sound. When Rinna scratched behind his ear, he didn’t smirk — he closed his eyes and leaned in, like he was finally letting his guard down.

  Kalen watched all of it from the porch with quiet approval. He hadn’t asked her to stay each day.

  But she did.

  And Kip… didn’t seem to mind.

  On the fifth morning, Rinna arrived as usual — but this time, there was a different energy about her. Not urgency. Readiness.

  Kip was already stretching on the sun-warmed stones, tail flicking with content precision. His fur shimmered faintly, like moonlight threading through smoke. He looked… better. Not just healed. Hearthwild-better.

  Rinna walked up beside Kalen.

  “I think I’ll try summoning him to my side today,” she said quietly. “Not for long. Just to see how he handles being out in town again.”

  Kalen nodded. “He’s strong enough. And he’ll come back when he’s had enough.”

  She smiled faintly. “He likes it here.”

  Kip, as if on cue, prowled over to Milo’s perch and flopped beside him with maximum dramatic flair.

  Milo blinked at him. Kip blinked back.

  Then grinned.

  Milo sighed and scooted a few inches away. Kip inched closer, purring.

  Rinna groaned. “He’s going to be insufferable.”

  Kalen sipped his tea. “He’ll fit right in.”

  The night air was still, warm with summer’s breath, and the courtyard glowed under a scatter of soft lanterns and mana-woven threads. The cubs had gathered again — not by command, but by habit. Their own little flock of fur and fang and feathers, curling up around the firepit where Kalen sat with his usual relaxed posture and a thoughtful look in his eyes.

  Kip sat apart, not aloof but angled — half in shadow, half in light. His tail flicked rhythmically. His ears rotated with every soft shuffle. He didn’t sprawl like the others.

  He observed.

  Kalen didn’t comment on it. He just opened his journal, flipped a few pages, and began.

  “Tonight’s story,” he said, “is a little weirder than usual. It’s not about heroes or monsters, not really. It’s about a girl named Alice… and the nonsense she wandered into.”

  That earned a few curious blinks.

  Kalen smiled.

  “Alice fell into a rabbit hole — a literal one. Down, down, down she went, into a world where nothing made sense. Where animals talked, clocks ran backward, and logic was… more like a suggestion.”

  Pippin squeaked in agreement.

  “There was a queen who shouted ‘Off with their heads!’ at the drop of a hat,” Kalen continued. “A caterpillar who spoke in riddles. A tea party that never ended.”

  “And…” he paused, letting his voice drop, just slightly, “there was a cat.”

  At the edge of the circle, Kip’s ears pricked forward.

  “This cat didn’t walk like normal cats,” Kalen said. “He… appeared. In trees. In shadows. Sometimes just as a grin hanging in midair.”

  Wisp blinked, confused. Milo visibly shuddered and tucked his tail tighter around himself, ears flicking flat for a moment. His tail — once long and wiry — had grown thicker lately, the fur darkening and slowly receding toward a more powerful, primate shape. He didn’t notice it happening. But Kalen did.

  Kalen chuckled. “He was strange. But he knew things. He saw things others didn’t. He spoke in riddles, but those riddles always meant something — even if it took Alice a while to figure it out.”

  Daisy tilted her head.

  “He didn’t fight,” Kalen said. “Not really. He didn’t need to. He could be anywhere, or nowhere. But he helped Alice in his own way — by giving her just enough truth to keep her thinking.”

  Kip had not moved.

  But his eyes were fixed.

  “He taught her that sometimes being a little mad… was the only way to survive a mad world.”

  Kalen closed the book.

  The fire cracked once, loudly.

  Silence followed — thoughtful, not awkward.

  “Anyway,” Kalen added, with a stretch, “probably not one of my better stories, but... there you go.”

  The cubs murmured sleepily. Milo stretched and leaned against Daisy. Cinder rolled onto her back and snorted once. Wisp nuzzled Bramble gently with a sigh.

  Kip said nothing.

  He simply turned and padded off into the deeper shadows near the trellis, tail flicking behind him like a living question mark.

  Kalen didn’t notice.

  But Kip had not blinked once during the story.

  And his grin… lingered longer than it should have.

  The sky was lavender, but the light came from nowhere.

  Kip stood on a branch that floated in midair — no tree, no ground, just mist and the hint of a breeze that didn’t move anything. Beneath him, shapes shifted in the fog. Not beasts. Not threats.

  Whispers.

  He blinked.

  A checkerboard path assembled itself in front of him, tile by tile, spiraling downward into a glade full of blooming mushrooms the size of wagons. Some pulsed. Others… laughed?

  He leapt from the branch.

  He didn’t fall.

  He landed — without impact — right in the middle of the impossible.

  His paws made no sound.

  Kip stalked forward, body fluid, tail twitching lazily. But when he looked behind him, his own pawprints evaporated like steam on stone.

  A smile appeared in front of him before the rest of the creature did.

  It was enormous, too wide, too knowing. Then two slitted eyes opened beside it — upside down at first — and slowly rotated into place.

  The body formed last. Slender. Purple-furred. Floating. Feline.

  It looked nothing like Kip.

  But also exactly like Kip.

  The larger cat tilted its head.

  “You’re early,” it purred.

  Kip didn’t speak — dream or not, he was a cub. But he crouched slightly, head tilted in return.

  “Good,” the Cheshire-like cat said. “That means you’re listening.”

  The forest around them shimmered. Trees folded in on themselves. A teacup passed by, flying like a bee. A signpost turned upside down.

  “What you are isn’t broken,” the floating cat continued. “It’s unfinished. That’s what they don’t tell you.”

  Its tail curled — then vanished.

  “Truth hides best in nonsense,” it said, now circling Kip like a ribbon of shadow. “If you want to be feared, grow claws. If you want to be loved, grow soft.”

  It paused.

  “But if you want to be remembered…”

  The cat's grin spread again — and this time, it appeared on Kip’s own face. For just a heartbeat.

  “…collect secrets.”

  The scene shifted.

  He stood on a branch again — but now he was larger. His paws were sure. His fur rippled with violet light. He stepped forward and disappeared into the shadows — not into hiding, but into presence.

  His tail flicked last, curling like a question mark.

  A whisper followed him:

  “Smile like you know something they don’t.”

  In the real world, Kip stirred beneath the garden awning.

  His eyes flicked open briefly, glinting faint violet in the moonlight.

  And for a moment…

  His grin didn’t quite match his face.