The sky above Hearthwild was a lazy sweep of pastel clouds, and the ground below buzzed with movement.

  Milo paced near the front gate, tail flicking with uncharacteristic tension. Daisy was adjusting the strap of her courier harness with quick, efficient beak snaps. And Bramble — compact, spiny, and low to the ground — sat entirely still, eyes half-lidded in a state of what Kalen had learned to call weaponized serenity.

  “They’ll be fine,” Talia said softly beside him, her arms folded as they watched from the shaded steps of the central hall. “You’re acting like you’re sending them into a war zone.”

  “I know,” Kalen muttered. “I just… I’ve never handed them off before. Not like this.”

  “You’re not handing them off,” Jace chimed in as he approached with a rolled contract scroll. “You’re temporarily leasing out legendary figures in the making for the extremely affordable rate of three Bronze Coins per head.” He grinned. “It’s practically a public service.”

  Kalen gave him a flat look.

  Jace just kept grinning. “I already filed the paperwork with the Guild liaison. Three contracts, clean and simple.”

  The renters were starting to arrive now.

  The first was a three-person scout team — light armor, forest tones, friendly enough on approach. They shook Kalen’s hand respectfully and exchanged names with Milo, though they flinched slightly when he offered his full-toothed grin.

  “He doesn’t bite,” Kalen said with a faint smile. “Unless you’re a Tier 2 Rift Beast. Then you’re breakfast.”

  The second group was far more polished — a pair of high-class couriers in matching riding cloaks. They gave Daisy a formal bow and complimented her sleek feathering. Daisy bowed back. Kalen tried not to puff up with pride.

  Then came the last: a solo adventurer with a thick beard, scorched leathers, and a faint limping gait. He eyed Bramble with mild curiosity.

  “She fast?” he asked.

  “Very,” Kalen said.

  The man grunted. “Explodes?”

  “Not yet,” Kalen said, and meant it as reassurance. Somehow.

  With contracts signed and mana threads linked through the rental bracelets, the teams moved into final prep.

  Kalen crouched in front of Milo. The monkey stood taller now — nearly to Kalen’s chest — and had to lean down to make eye contact.

  “No charging in unless you’re sure,” Kalen murmured. “No playing dead. And for the love of mana, no throwing boulders unless they throw first.”

  Milo nodded seriously. Then booped Kalen on the forehead with one finger before turning and walking off like a general on parade.

  Next was Daisy.

  “You stay close. No showing off,” Kalen said.

  She tilted her head.

  “Okay… limited showing off.”

  She nodded and honked once — soft and prim.

  And finally, Bramble.

  “You don’t need to act tough,” he said, kneeling to her level.

  Bramble blinked slowly.

  “I mean it. Just… be careful, alright?”

  She curled her lips into a smile — which was deeply unsettling given her dozen tiny needle teeth — and trundled off behind the bearded man like she owned the ground.

  When the gate finally closed behind the departing groups, Kalen just stood there for a while, staring at the dust in the air.

  “They’ll be okay,” Talia repeated beside him.

  He nodded.

  “They will.”

  Then he turned, took a deep breath, and looked over the sanctuary.

  The training yard was empty. The grooming circles still faintly outlined in the grass. Webber’s silk lines hung like forgotten harp strings, unmanned. Even the nests and bedding dens were still and quiet — most of the others already summoned by their bonded Tamers for the day.

  Kalen rolled up his sleeves.

  “If I’m going to worry all day,” he said, “I might as well scrub floors while I do it.”

  Jace gave him a mock salute. “Sanctuary first. Anxiety second.”

  “Anxiety while scrubbing,” Kalen corrected.

  They moved into the side halls, beginning the slow work of wiping away another year of dust, overgrowth, and the long shadow his uncle’s absence had left behind.

  And for the first time in a while, Hearthwild felt too big.

  Too quiet.

  Like it was waiting for something.

  Kalen wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm and leaned on the broom handle like it was a walking stick. The hallway smelled better now — less mildew and dust, more wood polish and fresh air.

  Across from him, Talia was inspecting the patched section of the central den roof, one hand on her hip and the other twirling a mana-threaded nail.

  “Another dozen repairs like this,” she said, “and Hearthwild might pass for intentional architecture again.”

  Kalen let out a tired laugh. “Intentional chaos counts, right?”

  “Only if it’s charming.”

  They’d been at it for hours — replacing rotted boards, sweeping cobwebs from beams, even resealing two of the smaller side dens that had gone mostly unused since Kalen’s uncle vanished. The silence wasn’t oppressive, but it was… strange. The kind of quiet that only felt natural after a storm — or before one.

  Just as Kalen moved to refill the wash bucket, a soft chime echoed from the message bell near the registry box.

  Talia straightened immediately. “Rental report.”

  Kalen jogged over and unfurled the spell-sealed scroll that had appeared.

  Field Note: Courier Group – Daisy

  “Subject: Daisy, duck-class Bronze support beast

  Status: Stable

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Observation: Exceptional in navigation. Demonstrated situational awareness and pathfinding ability beyond standard courier beasts.

  Additional: Created an impromptu honk-based rhythm that the entire group subconsciously marched to. It was… oddly effective. Would request her again.”

  Kalen blinked. “She made them march to the beat of her honks?”

  “I’m both impressed and scared,” Talia said flatly.

  He set the scroll aside. “One down.”

  Moments later, chime.

  Another scroll.

  Field Note: Solo Adventurer – Bramble

  “Subject: Bramble, hedgehog-class Bronze burst-type

  Status: Returned from mission perimeter for brief break. Sent back out after solo food-run stunt.

  Observation: Resourceful, durable, and concerningly creative with projectile acorns.

  Additional: Do not let her near mana explosives. Seriously. She watched me throw one once and immediately started testing trajectories.

  Also she tried to chew open my ration pack. Twice.”

  Kalen choked on a laugh.

  “She’s learning tactics,” Talia said, hand over her mouth. “She’s turning into a walking turret.”

  “She is a walking turret,” Kalen corrected, already drafting a note to triple-check the stockroom lock enchantments.

  They stood in silence for a moment, letting the scrolls roll up and vanish in a soft shimmer. Then Kalen sat back on the edge of a supply crate and let his shoulders relax.

  “It’s weird,” he said. “Not having them here.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” Talia said gently.

  “I don’t think I want to.”

  She sat down next to him. The wood creaked. Somewhere behind them, Webber’s silk rustled as he adjusted a net frame in the rafters.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she said.

  “That’s never a good sign.”

  She elbowed him.

  “I’ve been thinking about what happens if this keeps working. If more cubs evolve. If more people start noticing.”

  “They already are.”

  “I mean really noticing,” she said. “Like, Guild interest. Political attention. People who want to buy power and don’t care where it came from.”

  Kalen’s jaw tightened.

  “I’m not selling them,” he said immediately. “Not ever.”

  “I know,” she said. “But not everyone’s going to ask nicely.”

  Before either could say more, the outer gate slammed.

  Jace sprinted through, panting hard, mud clinging to one sleeve.

  Kalen was on his feet instantly. “What happened?”

  “Milo’s team—” Jace gasped, “—they’re back. Early. Everyone’s fine but… something happened.”

  Kalen didn’t wait.

  He ran.

  The scout team looked like they’d been through a thornbush. Scratches, scuffed boots, frayed edges. Milo stood in front of them like a shield, eyes narrowed, arms crossed. He didn’t look injured.

  Just… ready.

  “What happened?” Kalen asked, striding up to the lead scout.

  The man looked sheepish. “We took a wrong turn near the outer Ridge.”

  Kalen’s stomach sank. “A Rift pocket?”

  “Yeah. Bronze Rank Rift Beast. Wasn’t supposed to be active there. Came out of nowhere.”

  “And Milo?”

  The scout glanced at the monkey, then looked away.

  “...He handled it.”

  Another scout — younger, quieter — spoke up. “He didn’t just handle it. He wrecked it. Jumped on its back, knocked it off balance, used a tree like a club. I’ve never seen a Bronze move like that.”

  Milo huffed and looked sideways, clearly resisting the urge to flex.

  Kalen stepped forward and examined him — a few small scratches, some dried blood that clearly wasn’t his, and a new tension in the way he held his arms. Not injured.

  But bulkier.

  Again.

  “You’re growing,” Kalen whispered.

  Milo met his eyes — and for a heartbeat, there was something ancient in them. Then he grinned and leaned into Kalen’s side, resting his weight there like an oversized toddler.

  Kalen exhaled and let his hand rest on the back of Milo’s neck.

  “Next time,” he murmured, “wait for backup.”

  Milo made a vague shrugging motion and hugged tighter.

  The rest of the day passed in a blur.

  Daisy returned a few hours later, proudly trotting through the gate with the courier team singing her praises.

  “She coordinated a waterfall crossing,” one rider gushed. “By flapping in a specific rhythm to time our footing!”

  Kalen nodded along, pretending not to feel vindicated.

  And Bramble?

  Bramble was carried back in the adventurer’s satchel, snoring contentedly.

  He handed her over and said, “Good instincts. Dangerous curiosity. Don’t let her near alchemy kits.”

  Then he tossed a pouch of three Bronze Coins onto the table and left without another word.

  The sun had dipped below the treeline by the time Kalen finally got Milo alone.

  The monkey sat on a wide stone near the back field, staring out over the horizon with that quiet, contemplative stillness that had become more frequent lately. Not sleepy. Not sulking. Just… thinking.

  His shoulders were broader. His limbs thicker. His tail shorter still — barely more than a thick tuft at this point. The muscles along his back rippled with subtle shifts every time he moved.

  Kalen approached quietly and sat beside him.

  For a moment, neither of them said anything.

  Then Kalen took a damp cloth from his side pouch and gently began wiping dried blood from Milo’s arms. The monkey didn’t flinch. Just watched the clouds turn orange and gold and then blue.

  “You scared me today,” Kalen said softly.

  Milo didn’t react — until Kalen got to a scratch on his collarbone. Then he grunted and made a small “I didn’t mean to” kind of huff.

  “I know you didn’t,” Kalen said, rinsing the cloth and wringing it out again. “But I need you to understand… you’re not invincible. You can’t fight every Rift Beast that shows up. Especially not without backup.”

  Milo’s tail tapped the rock twice. His version of “I hear you, but…”

  Kalen set the cloth aside and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

  “You were faster than they expected,” he said. “Stronger. Smarter.”

  Milo glanced over at him, brow raised.

  “They didn’t see you as a Bronze-rank beast. They saw you as a weapon.”

  Now Milo’s ears twitched.

  “I know you protected them. I’m proud of you for that. But you could’ve been hurt. And if something had happened—” He stopped. The words caught like dry splinters.

  Milo leaned closer and nudged his head under Kalen’s arm.

  And Kalen, with a sigh, let the worry drain into a hug.

  “You’ve grown so much,” he whispered. “And I don’t know if that’s because of me… or despite me.”

  Later that evening, Milo climbed up to the topmost tree branch near the sanctuary’s back wall and didn’t come down.

  He stayed there until the stars came out.

  Kalen watched him from below, arms folded, worry curling in his stomach.

  He wasn’t sure what scared him more — that Milo had become powerful enough to defend an entire team of adventurers from a Bronze Rift Beast… or that Milo had done it without hesitation.

  When Kalen returned to the main hall, Talia was waiting for him with a mug of warm leafroot tea and a tired smile.

  “He okay?” she asked.

  “Physically? Yeah.”

  She handed over the tea. “Emotionally?”

  Kalen looked into the mug for a long moment.

  “I think… he’s starting to understand what he is.”

  Talia tilted her head. “And what’s that?”

  Kalen’s throat felt dry. “Something the world’s going to come looking for.”

  The hallway was dim and quiet. The others had all retired or gone home for the night, and the sanctuary lay still.

  Kalen paused at the record table, brushing his fingers over the day’s rental log.

  Three names.

  Three returns.

  And one reality he couldn’t shake:

  They were growing faster than anyone had anticipated.

  And somewhere inside him — buried beneath reason, under layers of humility and care — something else stirred.

  Not fear. Not pride.

  Recognition.

  He was beginning to see patterns.

  He didn’t realize it consciously yet, but in his dreams, Daisy’s wings glowed like stage lights, Bramble rolled and detonated like a cartoon tank, and Milo stood taller than the trees.

  He hadn’t made the connection yet.

  Not fully.

  But his subconscious had.

  And deep down, it whispered:

  They’re becoming stories.

  The sanctuary was quiet.

  Not the unnatural hush of danger or waiting — but the kind of peace that came only after exhaustion. After sweat had been spent, nerves had frayed, and questions had gone unanswered just long enough to settle back into stillness.

  Kalen sat at his desk near the central hearth, fire crackling softly nearby. A mostly empty mug of tea sat at his elbow, and in front of him, his journal lay open, the parchment rippling faintly from a few dried water stains he refused to admit had been tears.

  He flexed his fingers once.

  Then began to write.

  Rental Day One.

  Three returned. No injuries. No serious damage. One Rift encounter.

  Milo stopped it. Alone.

  He fought off a Bronze Rank Rift Beast by himself, and somehow I’m not surprised.

  He’s always been like that. Braver than he should be. Fiercer than I ever asked for. And still so… him. Loyal. Silly. Proud. Mine.

  But I’m starting to wonder if I’ve mistaken his pace for ours. I’m still figuring out how to run a sanctuary, and he’s already crossing thresholds I can’t track.

  He isn’t just growing.

  He’s changing.

  Kalen tapped the pen gently against the edge of the page, watching the ink swirl in the lamplight.

  He thought about Daisy — how she honked her team into coordinated movement like a battlefield conductor.

  He thought about Bramble — inventing new combat techniques with acorns like she’d been studying siege warfare in her spare time.

  And he thought about Milo.

  The way the scouts had looked at him. Not with fear… but with respect. The kind of respect given to weapons. To wildcards.

  To leaders.

  I used to think I was raising cubs to be companions.

  Now I think…

  Maybe I’m raising legends I won’t get to keep.

  Kalen’s hand froze.

  Then he slowly drew a line beneath that sentence, letting it rest.

  He didn’t cross it out.

  Didn’t add to it.

  Just closed the journal softly and stared at the fire.

  Milo would come down from the tree eventually.

  Daisy would demand her evening grooming, probably in a huff about road dust.

  Bramble would try to sneak into the pantry again, pretending she was lost.

  And Kalen?

  Kalen would greet them with the same quiet smile. The same gentle voice.

  Even if, deep down…

  He was beginning to understand that the stories he told weren’t shaping their paths.

  They were revealing them.