Yao Yao trailed after the fox, mostly because she had no idea where else to go—and partly because she wanted to see how an "ancient landlord" ran a forest. What did he even get out of it? Apples? Berries? Rent paid in acorns?
They walked in silence, shadows deepening as the light thinned through the canopy. The air grew cooler, the forest sinking into mist and long, stretching shapes. Then the fox stopped, ears twitching, nose lifted toward the sky.
"It's getting late," he said. "We should stop."
Yao Yao frowned, hugging her sleeves against the chill. "But there's no shelter. Where are we even supposed to go?"
"My den," he said, glancing back. "It's close."
"…Your den?"
"Safer than staying out here."
She scanned the trees. The forest was already darkening, and wandering at night was a bad idea. Not that she hadn't already regretted storming off in a fit of spite—now the thought of freezing out here felt a little too real.
Still… a fox den.
The thought made her stomach knot. Maybe it was the adult part of her being too cautious, and she had already stretched her luck enough just by tagging along this far, half convincing herself that "ancient landlord" probably meant something in a spirit world that didn't follow human logic.
But following a stranger home? That was a line she wasn't ready to cross.
"I think… we should stay here," she said finally. She pointed at a thick tree root curling out of the ground. "I can just curl up there and wait until sunrise."
He studied her, then glanced at the root. "It's getting cold. You really want to sleep out here?"
"I'll be fine," she said. "You should go home."
It was a lie. The words sounded braver than she felt. Inside, she was starting to panic. If she'd known it would come to this, she never would've left that warm cavern—even if it had been scorched to nothing.
And honestly… she didn't even know the way back to the portal. She had only ever fallen through it, never seen where it opened. What if she really was trapped here?
With a sigh, she slid down against the bark and curled up slightly, testing if the roots were comfortable enough to pass for a pillow. Maybe if this ancient landlord sees me pitiful enough, wandering around like this, he'll send me some help out of pity?
The fox watched her a moment as she patted the roots. Then, without a word, he turned and slipped into the undergrowth. Twigs snapped softly between his teeth as he bit them free, carrying each one back and settling them down in a neat pile at her feet.
"What are you doing?"
"Making a fire," he said, not looking up. "The woods get really cold at night."
"But we don't have… anything. No torch. No matches."
"I have fire," he said, almost offhand.
She blinked, baffled—then his tails lifted, faint sparks gathering until the middle one flared alive with fire. The sudden crackle made her jolt. "That's amazing," she breathed, eyes wide, fixed on the glow curling around his tail. "Your tail's amazing."
For a brief instant, his eyes widened, as though her words had landed somewhere he hadn't expected. His middle tail gave a small, restless flick before stilling again. Then the moment was gone, his face smoothing back into calm as he turned to the brush to gather more branches.
Yao Yao stared at his back for a moment, then bent down herself, scooping up a few sticks and carrying them over to add to the pile.
When the pile was ready, he flicked the lit tail and the twigs caught fire at once, sparks snapping up.
Warmth rolled over Yao Yao's sleeves, and only then did she realize how cold she'd been. A light sweetness threaded the smoke. She rubbed her nose and sneezed once.
At least there was fire now. If she'd been left to her own devices, she doubted she would've lasted the night.
"Erm…" She hugged her knees. "What's your name?"
"Name?"
"Yes, your name."
"I don't have one."
"What do you mean don't have one? Everyone has a name."
"Wild spirits don't. No contracts, no names. We wander. Fox, toad, river, wind. That's enough."
It landed oddly heavier than she expected, as though spirits like him were meant to vanish without an identity. "That's… kind of sad."
"Sad?" he repeated, the word sounding almost unfamiliar.
"Well, yeah. A name makes you someone. Otherwise, how do people even call you? What if there are two foxes? How do you know which one people are yelling at?"
He stared into the fire as if the idea itself was strange. "We just know."
"That doesn't make sense at all." Yao Yao wrinkled her nose, voice softening. "Everyone deserves a name."
Her gaze lingered on him. The crescent on his forehead glowed white, while the red of his fur gleamed faintly silver, like tempered metal. For a heartbeat, he looked less like a creature of the forest and more like something shaped from light itself.
The word left her lips before she realized it.
"Lumen," she blurted.
He tipped his head. "Lumen?"
"Yeah." She nodded quickly, a small smile tugging at her mouth. "It means light. That's what you look like—silver and fire tangled together, like you don't quite belong in the mortal world. So… Lumen."
He watched her quietly, his expression unreadable. His three tails brushed against the ground with a faint rustle. Then, dipping his head, he murmured the name, "Lumen," as if testing the sound over on his tongue.
When his gaze lifted again, his voice carried a faint softness. "All right."
Yao Yao smiled, repeating the word under her breath with quiet delight. "Lumen."
Somehow, hearing him accept it left a quiet comfort in her chest, as if the name had pulled him a little closer—even if he still carried that air of mystery.
"And you?" he asked. "What's your name?"
"Me? I'm Yao Yao."
"Yao Yao." He echoed it once, slowly. His eyes held on hers across the flames, steady enough that she shifted uncomfortably under the stare.
"Who named you?" he asked after a pause.
She leaned her head back. A few slivers of night showed through the branches. "…My mom? My dad? Maybe both." Her voice dropped. "I don't really know."
"Why did they name you?"
"Because people need names," she said, frowning slightly at the question.
He watched her for a moment, then asked quietly, "Why are you here alone, Yao Yao?"
"Mm… It's complicated."
"Why?"
She pulled her knees tighter to her chest. "I came here to find my spirit."
"Then did you find it?"
The words dragged out of her. "Yeah. Well… I kind of did."
"Where is he?"
The question caught in her throat, sharp enough to sting. Still, she forced the words out. "He didn't want me."
No tears. Not now. It wasn't a big deal, she told herself. Not really.
Silence stretched between them, the fire snapping softly in the space she couldn't fill. Across the flames, Lumen tilted his head, eyes still locked on her. "That's really a pity," he said.
The word stung. Yao Yao pressed her chin into her knees, biting back the ache. "Well… pity him," she muttered. "He's the one missing out."
"But… why didn't he want you?"
Her chest squeezed. She lifted her head with a stubborn little smile. "He's blind. Who wouldn't want me? I'm useful. I'm funny."
She jabbed a finger at the fire as if it had a face. And in her mind, it did—the Spirit King's face, smug and cold, with flames curling at his fingertips just like the blaze before her. "I would've made the perfect partner. So it's his loss," she spilled, sharp and full of angst.
The smile that tugged at her lips afterward felt more like a shield, thin and unconvincing even to herself. When he didn't so much as twitch, her little burst of defiance fizzled out.
With a huff, she dropped her hands and tugged at the laces of her boots, restless.
Another silence settled between them. Her thoughts slipped back over the day, each moment pressing harder than the last until her chest ached with the weight of it. She was tired. Too tired to keep fighting for pride that didn't matter.
"I'm a Crevitine fox," he said after a while. "Three tails."
Her head lifted, caught off guard by the shift.
He nudged the one curled by his side with the tip of another. "My clan… everyone around me kept growing. Fourth. Fifth. Some reached seven."
His head dipped, eyes falling to the tail lying across the dirt. "But I'm still here. Still only three."
Yao Yao's gaze followed his, landing on the tail. Her irritation faded, replaced by something else. Pity, maybe—the same kind he had shown her earlier across the fire.
"They didn't want me either," he added.
"... How do you get more tails?" she asked, stabbing the dirt with a twig. "Eat more? Exercise?"
"Power," he replied. "The number of tails reflects how strong you are."
"So like… leveling up?"
He narrowed his eyes at her choice of words, but didn't press. "The strongest in my clan had nine tails. Rumor says she earned the ninth after contracting with a human…"
Yao Yao's eyes widened a little at that. "Nine…" she whispered.
"Three, by comparison, is weak."
Her grip on the twig tightened. This again. Weak meant ignored. Weak meant being left behind, abandoned. The world seemed to determine worth by the same cruel measure, and it wasn't fair—none of it was fair.
"Then it's their loss." she lifted her chin, her voice sharper than before. "I'm sure it'll grow. You just have to find the right way to fix it."
Lumen's ears twitched. "… Fix it… how?"
"You know," she said quickly, leaning into her words, "Like if my magic is weak, then I'll study magic. I'll train. I'll build it up until one day they can all eat their words."
Her knees pressed into the earth as she leaned forward, eyes lit by the fire, fierce in a way that looked almost ridiculous on her small frame. "You can too! Study, train, and build your power! Then one day your clan will eat their words too."
The flames crackled between them. But to her, they weren't just flames anymore. They were sparks—sparks of her stubborn belief, burning so fiercely it almost felt like they could bend the world.
Enough, maybe, for the fox to understand.
But he didn't.
Because what she offered was human.
And he was not.
"Can doing that really make one stronger…" The words left him softly, not at her, more like he was musing to the fire itself.
His middle tail swept over the pile, sending sparks crackling higher. Smoke curled up with it, carrying another faint sweetness into the air. "…I found a book once," he said, voice almost detached. "Old. It spoke of spells… rituals meant to shape a spirit's power. Strange things. Nothing like what the clans taught."
A book? She narrowed her eyes, struggling to follow as his voice seemed to drag, slow and heavy.
"Strange things," he said. "Hard things. You could study till your eyes bled and gain nothing."
The smoke thickened, its sweetness clung to her tongue, thick, syrupy, almost rotten in its intensity. She sneezed into her sleeve, but the haze only pressed deeper, sinking into her chest.
Why does it smell so sweet? The thought flickered weakly, then slid away as her vision blurred at the edges.
Lumen's voice carried through the fog, low and distant, almost as if he were speaking from behind a wall.
"There was a passage," he murmured. "A magic. Ancient blood… said to be a rare ingredient for power."
Blood? Did he say… blood? The word cut through everything, sharp enough to pierce the haze.
The fire across from her swayed, flames stretching higher and wilder. Her knees slid against the ground as she pressed her palms down for balance, but the strength in her arms drained with every breath.
Her chest lurched. She tried to speak, but nothing came. Her head grew heavy, her vision swaying, as the fire smudged into streaks of yellow. She tipped sideways, and the world tilted with her.
She hit the ground hard, her cheek slamming against the cold earth. The impact jarred through her skull, pain spreading sharp and dull in waves from her temple.
Yao Yao lay there on her side, unable to move, her lips parting in a broken attempt to speak. The chill seeped in. Something damp clung to her temple, but she couldn't tell if it was the soil beneath her or her own blood trickling down.
Through the blur, she caught him—silver fur edged in firelight, eyes glowing. Her lashes fluttered, thoughts fumbling and scattering as she fought to stay awake.
Then, in the haze, his voice slipped through, low and almost gentle, like something whispered at the edge of a dream.
"…Your blood smells sweet."
Her lashes trembled once more, then everything went dark.