TTheweasel came back on the third evening after the snare incident.
Not alone.
Aiden was in the garden after supper, kneeling between rows of young lettuce, pressing crushed chamomile mulch around the bases to keep slugs away. The sun had just dipped behind the birches, turning the sky a bruised lavender. The Twin Moons were already visible—one pale silver, one soft gold—hanging low like lanterns someone had forgotten to take down.
He felt them before he saw them.
A subtle shift in the air: warmer, muskier, carrying the faint iron tang of wild fur and the sharper note of curiosity rather than hunger.
Aiden didn't stand.
He simply sat back on his heels, hands resting open on his thighs, and waited.
Three shapes emerged from the alder copse edge—low, liquid shadows flowing between the last fence posts.
The one he'd healed led: same lean body, same notched left ear, but moving with new confidence, no limp. Behind it came two siblings—smaller, rangier, one with a white blaze across its muzzle, the other almost black except for silver tips on the ears. All three paused at the garden boundary, noses twitching, eyes fixed on him.
The healed weasel chittered once—soft, interrogative.
Aiden tilted his head.
"Hello again," he said quietly. "Brought friends?"
The lead weasel took one cautious step onto tilled soil.
The other two hung back, tails low but not tucked.
Aiden reached slowly into inventory without looking away.
Pulled out a small wooden bowl he'd carved last week (Carpenter + Village Weaver synergy: self-polishing finish, impossible to crack).
Into it went six fresh eggs from the morning collection—golden-yolked, still warm—and a handful of moon-touched bean pods he'd harvested at noon.
He set the bowl down midway between himself and the weasels.
Then backed up five slow steps and sat cross-legged again.
The lead weasel crept forward first. Sniffed the bowl. Nudged an egg with its nose.
Cracked it neatly with one sharp bite—shell parting clean, yolk spilling golden onto the dirt.
The other two darted in then, no longer hesitant. Noses buried in the bowl. Soft crunching sounds. Tails lifted in cautious pleasure.
Aiden watched without moving.
The system chimed—gentle, approving.
[Beast Tamer Initiate Lv.4 → Lv.7]
[Passive Evolution: Gentle Touch (Lv.1) → Soothing Presence (Lv.2) – Calming aura radius increased to 15 feet; +60% effectiveness on group encounters with non-hostile wildlife]
[New Perk Unlocked: Pack Recognition – Creatures you have previously aided remember you & are 40% less likely to show aggression toward your home territory]
[Synergy Pulse: Beast Tamer Initiate + Farmer + Herbalist = 71% toward Verdant Warden (Advanced)]
[Village Guardian Progress: 27% → 44% – Minor territorial wards forming around homestead]
The weasels finished the eggs and beans in under two minutes.
They licked whiskers, groomed faces with quick paws, then turned as one to look at Aiden.
The lead weasel chittered again—different cadence this time. Almost conversational.
Aiden smiled.
"You're welcome," he said. "Come back if you're hungry or hurt. Just… try not to eat the chickens, okay?"
The white-blazed one sneezed—almost like a laugh.
Then all three melted back into the shadows the way they'd come, leaving only tiny paw prints in the soft soil and an empty bowl.
Aiden stayed seated another minute, breathing in the cooling air.
Then he heard the porch door creak.
He turned.
Elara and Garrick stood at the top step—Elara with a shawl around her shoulders, Garrick still holding the axe he'd been sharpening by lamplight.
They had watched the entire thing.
Neither spoke at first.
Aiden stood, brushed dirt from his knees, walked over.
Elara reached him first.
She cupped his face in both hands—gentle, searching.
"You just fed three dire-weasels like stray cats," she whispered.
"They were hungry," Aiden said. "And the one I helped before brought the others. They won't hurt us."
Garrick exhaled through his nose—half laugh, half sigh.
"You're sure?"
Aiden nodded.
"They remember kindness. The system… helps with that."
It was the first time he'd said the word "system" out loud to them.
Elara's thumbs stilled on his cheeks.
"System?"
Aiden hesitated.
Then—because the moment felt right, because the moons were watching, because three wild things had just eaten from his hand without biting—he decided to give them a little more.
"Not magic," he said quietly. "Not exactly. It's… like rules inside me. Things that make helping easier. Growing things faster. Fixing things better. Talking to animals so they listen."
Garrick rubbed the back of his neck.
"And it's been there since…?"
"Since I was born," Aiden finished. "I didn't know how to say it before. Didn't want you to think I was strange. Or dangerous."
Elara pulled him into a hug—fierce, sudden.
"You're not dangerous," she murmured into his hair. "You're ours. Strange or not."
Garrick joined them—big arms wrapping around both.
For a long minute they stood like that on the porch step: mother, father, son, under the Twin Moons.
When they separated, Garrick cleared his throat.
"Right. Practical things first. If those weasels come back—"
"They will," Aiden said. "Probably tomorrow night. I can make more calming poultices. Leave out scraps. Keep them from getting bold with the chickens."
Elara nodded slowly.
"Then we tell Marta and Tomas quietly. No panic. Just… eyes open. And maybe a few extra eggs set aside for 'the garden friends,' as you call them."
Aiden grinned—relieved, bright.
"Garden friends. I like that."
Garrick ruffled his hair.
"Inside, sprout. Bath. Then bed. You smell like valerian and weasel."
Aiden laughed.
Went inside.
While he soaked in the tin tub by the hearth, Elara and Garrick stayed on the porch a while longer.
They didn't speak much.
Just sat shoulder-to-shoulder, watching the alder copse line where three shadows had disappeared.
Elara opened her notebook in her lap.
Added two new lines by moonlight:
• Feeds wild dire-weasels by hand (they come when called)
• Has something called a "system" that makes miracles ordinary
She closed it.
Leaned her head on Garrick's shoulder.
"He's still six," she whispered.
Garrick kissed her temple.
"And he's still going to hate turnips when he's sixty."
She laughed—soft, watery.
Inside, Aiden finished his bath, dressed in nightshirt, climbed the ladder to his small loft bed.
He lay there listening to the crickets, the distant hoot of an owl, the faint rustle of something small moving through the garden rows.
The system window hovered above him—soft blue glow only he could see.
Village Guardian (Rare) Progress: 44%
Next Threshold: First successful defense of homestead against hostile intent
He closed his eyes.
Tomorrow he would make poultices.
Tomorrow he would leave out more eggs.
Tomorrow he would keep watching the tree-line.
But tonight the garden was quiet, the weasels were fed, and his parents knew a little more of the truth without fear.
That was enough.
For now.
[End of Chapter 8 – Book 1]
Chapter 9 will bring the first small escalation: a lone adult dire-wolf (scout from a larger pack migrating through the region) appears at the garden edge two nights later. Aiden confronts it alone at first—using Soothing Presence, calming poultices, and sheer stubborn kindness—but the wolf is hungry and aggressive. Elara and Garrick rush out with improvised weapons; the family stands together for the first real "defense," tipping Village Guardian over the unlock threshold and granting Aiden his first combat-adjacent class perks without bloodshed.