When Khal woke, the creature was still there.

  It had nestled itself into the crook of his arm sometime during the night, tail flicking rhythmically in sleep. Khal didn’t move. He was afraid that if he did, it would vanish like a dream.

  He wasn’t sure what they were to each other yet. It hadn’t spoken, or shared some magical pact. But it had stayed.

  And that meant something.

  He sat up carefully, brushing aside the rough wool blanket. The morning light filtering through the cracked wooden walls painted the fox-thing’s silver fur in soft gold.

  “Do you have a name?” Khal asked softly.

  The creature yawned in response.

  “Right. Stupid question.”

  Later that morning, Khal wandered to the edge of the village, the creature trailing behind him like a shadow. He’d skipped chores — again — and his caretaker wouldn’t be happy. But he couldn’t stay cooped up. Not today.

  He needed… space. And air. And maybe a reason not to crawl back into bed.

  He made his way toward the field where some of the older boys trained with wooden weapons. Not to join — gods, no — just to watch. Maybe learn.

  Maybe wish he was them.

  But he didn’t even make it halfway before someone called out.

  “Oi! You’re the quiet one, right? The ghost kid?”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Khal flinched.

  A girl, maybe a year older than him, stood beneath an old tree, arms crossed, squinting in the sun. Her clothes were too big and stained with dirt, like she’d been climbing or hunting or both. Short, wild curls framed a face that didn’t smile often — but didn’t seem cruel either.

  Khal blinked. “...Me?”

  “No, the other boy with a haunted look and a mystery fox.” She jerked her head. “You’re the only one who walks around like the wind’s gonna knock you over.”

  Khal opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, “I—I guess that’s me.”

  She stepped closer, brow furrowed. “Didn’t mean it as an insult.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, too awkward to respond.

  “You got a name?”

  “…Khal.”

  “I’m Lira. I saw you practicing the other day. That thing you were doing with the branch.”

  He turned red instantly. “It wasn’t anything. I was just messing up.”

  She tilted her head. “Didn’t look like that to me. Looked like you were trying.”

  Khal blinked.

  Trying.

  That word sat strangely on his chest — not heavy, just… unfamiliar. No one ever said it like that. It was usually “Don’t bother,” or “Why do you even try?”

  He lowered his eyes. “I’m not good. I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

  “Yeah, but you showed up. Most kids don’t.”

  There was a pause.

  Then, before he could shrink back into the safety of silence, she tossed something at him.

  He fumbled it. It was a small wooden stick, sanded and shaped vaguely like a dagger.

  “You can keep that. I’ve got better ones.” She stretched. “Come back to this spot tomorrow morning. If you want.”

  Khal stared at her.

  “…Why?”

  Lira shrugged. “Don’t like bullies. Don’t like wasted potential either.”

  With that, she turned and walked off.

  Khal stood there for a long time, holding the wooden dagger.

  The fox bumped its head against his shin, as if nudging him forward.

  “…That was weird,” he muttered.

  The fox flicked its tail, unimpressed.

  But Khal looked down at the dagger again.

  And this time, he didn’t feel entirely pathetic. Just mostly.

  Which, weirdly, was an improvement.

  [SYSTEM NOTICE: Connection Forming – Ally Path: Lira of the Wild Edge.]

  [Trait Progression Registered: Hesitation → Curiosity]

  [Bond Level with Soul-Familiar: 4% – ‘Trust in Fragility’ recognized]

  For the first time, Khal whispered something under his breath.

  “…I think I want to try again.”

  And for the first time — the system didn’t answer.

  Because this time… the words were meant for himself.