Deep within the heart of Atherias forest lay a den. It wasn't a hole dug into the dirt, nor a tunnel carved out by instinct alone. This den had a master artisan. Every detail hinted at the careful touch of someone with patience.

The entrance was just a narrow opening that was framed by roots. Within it, the floor was a smooth stone. Rugs were scattered about, each embroidered with pale moon-shaped symbols.

The walls had sturdy wooden beams, and a bar stood at the corner of the room, surrounded by short, cushioned chairs. It wasn't grand, but it had the air of something lived in.

There were signs of magic here, too. A collection of unusual stones floated above dishes on the tables and shelves. On the floor lay piles of well-worn leather-bound books with hand-drawn symbols. Several other books lay stacked neatly nearby, their spines marked with simple sigils — a crescent moon. The faint glow came off every crest.

Above, two glass windows were set into the ceiling, cleverly placed so the sun’s early morning rays could pass through.

But in the far corner of the den, craftsmanship gave way to something far simpler.

A bed sat on a mound of soft grass, its frame crafted from rough tree bark, unevenly stacked and crudely held together with clay and leaves. It was as if the one who built it had given up halfway through, satisfied with "good enough."

Curled on that bed, nestled snug in the tangled mess of grass and bark, was a little fox. But not an ordinary fox.

Their fur was light and baby blue, with soft brown spots dotting their coat. The most striking feature was their ears. Two fox ears sat upright on top of their head, while two smaller ones rested on the sides like an afterthought of nature’s design. A thin golden chain hung from their right upper ear, a tiny crescent moon dangling at its end, and a small golden cylinder from the lower left ear.

Then a sound.

Not from within the den, but outside. Soft crunches of grass and twigs. The fox's ears twitched at the noise but didn’t open their eyes.

The crunches grew closer and louder.

Their eyes opened lazily, staring at the door.

Then, the figure emerged from the forest’s edge. A feminine sheep-like figure. Not quite human. Not quite a beast.

She had two horns that curled back, one of them broken. Her face was lined with the wrinkles of age. She had a sheep-like nose, with a long scar along the bridge. Her eye was green with yellow around the outer edges. A red eye patch covered her left eye with a symbol.

She wore a metal chest-plate with gold trim. A crimson coat hung over their shoulders, not on entirely. Beneath the chest plate, she wore a long red sheath dress, split at both sides for simple movement. Her sleeves, long and wide like bells, were trimmed in wool cuffs. Grey wool covered her from the neck down. Other than her hands. Her legs ended in thick hooves that crushed the grass below her with every step.

At her side, she carried a sword. It hung low on her hip and had the same symbol as her eye patch.

The sheep-woman stopped just outside the den.

"Arbor, wake up. You'll sleep the whole day away if you linger any longer, and Goddess Atheria would not like that."

The fox lying in the bed didn’t move. They squeezed their eyes shut tighter, curling in on themselves like a ball of fur. Their nose wiggled, followed by a low growl. It wasn’t an angry growl, more like a child's playful grumble when asked to leave a warm bed on a chilly morning.

"Arbor," the voice said again. "You know I can't understand you when you're like that." The fox huffed loudly.

“Fine. Fine. I’m up.” Arbor thought.

Their limbs stretched out slowly and a flicked of their tail. A sudden swirl of blue smoke burst from them. It spiraled upward, thick and twisting, until it cloaked the den in a soft blue fog.

Where the fox had been, now lay a figure.

Arbor, in their more humanoid form, lay sprawled on the floor, forgetting their tail. In another poof, their poofy tail reappeared. “I don't know how people go around without these. It feels wrong,” Arbor thought with a puzzled face.

"I'm up, Freya," Arbor called, voice muffled by the stone floor. "No need to keep tapping on the glass."

Outside the den, the familiar voice scoffed. Freya.

"Every day I come here, you wake up later and later," she said. "One day, I swear I’ll leave you in your little hole. And when Atheria sends someone less kind than me, maybe then you’ll take mornings seriously.” Her hooves crunched softly against the grass as she moved just outside the entrance.

“Now get up, Arbor. And put some clothes on. I’ll be out here.”

Arbor groaned, pressing their face into the smooth stone floor. “Yes, Freya,” they muttered into the icy surface.

They stayed like that for a moment longer. But the moment passed. Reluctantly, they pushed themselves up, stretching with a loud yawn, jaws wide and sharp teeth on display.

“Fine. Clothes it is.” Arbor mumbled.

The room was dark beyond the light coming through the ceiling glass. Their eyes drifted to the wooden shelf across the room. On the top shelf, were tiny flying light bugs in tinted glass jars. Arbor stepped closer, rising to their toes as they reached for one jar.

Their hand brushed against the jar at the wrong angle, and it tipped over, clinking against the edge of another jar. That second jar tipped too. Then a third. A chain reaction of disaster.

Clatter! Crash!

Three jars hit the ground, their glass lids rattling loose. Light Bugs shot out in all directions. Little glowing orbs of yellow, green, and soft blue zipped through the den.

"Ah, seriously?" Arbor said, hissing, swatting at one of them. Then sat and waited.

One by one, the lights slowly floated down. The bugs hovered near Arbor’s lap, spiraling down in slow, lazy circles before finally settling on the fabric of their shorts. Their soft glow illuminated the floor like a lantern.

"Finally," Arbor muttered. “Now they could see.”

They turned to face the far wall. A wooden closet. Its frame was dark, aged oak, but faint blue light seeped from the cracks around the door.

The carvings on the wood told a story. Intricate images of warriors clashing under a storm-filled sky, a tree sprouting from the center of battle, roots reaching beneath the ground. The story wasn’t one Arbor knew. They’d asked the artisan about it once, but all they got in return was a shrug and a laugh.

"Doesn’t matter who it belonged to," the artisan had said. "It’s yours now. Use it well."

It was a magic closet. One that made clothes, new ones, every day. And each outfit it created carried a tiny reserve of magic, a buffer of energy that Arbor could call upon when their own magic ran dry.

Arbor reached for the handle and pulled it open. The glow of blue light flooded the den like a wave of calm water. Their eyes squinted at the brightness for a moment before adjusting.

Inside, folded neatly on a hook, hung the outfit of the day.

A kimono. Slightly oversized. Its colors shifted from soft pinks blending into deep purples and embroidered along its hem was the image of a towering tree, its branches reaching toward the shoulders. Beneath it hung a sleek black bodysuit with a small metal moon symbol nestled just below the neckline.

Arbor smiled, sharp teeth poking through their grin.

“Not bad,” they muttered.

They dressed quickly, slipping into the bodysuit first. The kimono draped loosely off their shoulders, hanging just enough to not get in the way. The final touch was a pair of knee-high boots, each one adorned with the same metal moon symbol as the bodysuit.

At the edge of the room sat a simple cylinder-shaped bag of light brown leather with small crescent moons stamped on both sides. They looped it around their waist, securing it behind them like a belt pouch. Next, they picked up their journal with a scrap of fabric tied around its binding and slipped it onto their hip. Lastly, they grabbed a few small, jagged stones from the dish on the table, the ones with faint streaks of shimmering color.

With everything in place, Arbor stood before the small mirror near the entrance. They adjusted the tuft of hair at the center of their forehead, tugging it down just slightly so it sat in perfect defiance. Their reflection grinned back at them. Sharp teeth. Mischief in their eyes.

“Looks good,” they said.

Turning on their heel, Arbor strode toward the entrance of the den.

They stepped outside.

Freya sat against a tree. “Finally.” Her voice was dry. “I was starting to think you’d gone back to sleep.”

“Don’t tempt me. I just might.", Arbor said.

Outside the den, the world was in a misty fog. The trees above were not the usual shade of green, but deep blue. The tree's bark had green oozing.

Freya was already moving ahead.

She glanced over her shoulder, her one green eye watching as Arbor trailed behind.

"Alright," Freya called back. "We can get going now."

Arbor followed with their hands folded behind their head, eyes half-open, still asleep.

On occasion, Arbor would go off the path just long enough to snatch up a rock. Not just any rock — the good ones. The ones with odd shapes or weird colors. Rocks with “personality,” as Arbor liked to think of them. With every few steps, they’d find a new one, brush it off with their thumb, and slip it into their side pouch.

The walk stretched on until Arbor finally let out an exaggerated groan. Their ears flattened slightly as they tilted their head back.

“I’m tired of waking up sooooo early,” they whined. Their tail swished behind them, slow and dramatic.

Freya didn't stop walking.

“You know why we have to do this, Arbor." Her words were steady and practiced."The Goddess Atheria sees potential in you. More than most. She’s giving you the chance to join the Elite Legion and protect this Eden.”

She glanced over her shoulder again. “A chance most people would beg for.”

Arbor tilted their head to the side, staring at her with that dry, unimpressed look. Their fingers fiddled with a small stone they’d just picked up, rolling it. Their eyes flicked down to it, inspecting the surface like it was infinitely more interesting than Freya’s "motivational speech."

“Don’t see much worth protecting out here,” Arbor muttered. “No strange outsiders. No other warring factions. No ‘great enemies’ to fight. Just fog, weird trees, and sap that sticks to everything.” They tossed a glance at one of the blue-leafed trees, watching the sap ooze down its trunk. “Seems like a lot of work for nothing.”

Freya stopped walking.

Her ears twitched slightly as she turned, resting one hand on her hip.

“That’s because the Legion does a good job protecting you all,” she said plainly. She didn’t blink or flinch. Just stared them down, waiting.

Arbor's mouth opened like they had a retort ready, but nothing came out. Their teeth clicked shut with a soft tch. Their ears twitched in mild irritation.

They hated it when Freya did that. It wasn’t the words that got to them — it was the way she said it. Certain. Like it was a fact they couldn’t argue with. They scratched the back of their neck, eyes flicking to the side.

"Yeah, yeah," they muttered, kicking a small stone off the path. It tumbled into the fog with a soft thump.

Then there was a long silence as the two walked.

After a while, Arbor glanced at Freya again, eyeing the way her bell-sleeved dress shifted with every step. The way she walked in a way that felt… stable.

“Why’d she pick you anyway?” Arbor asked, ears tilting toward her. “To train me, I mean.”

Freya's face stayed still, but her fingers tapped against the hilt of the sword at her side.

“Because I’m one of the few willing to do it,” she said flatly. “You’re difficult. No sense of discipline. No control over your magic. No patience.” She let that sit for a moment. “You see why nobody volunteered?”

“Ouch.” Arbor placed a hand over their heart. “You wound me, Freya.”

Freya rolled her eyes. "If you were wounded, you'd have to heal yourself, and we both know how that'd turn out."

Arbor smirked. "Rude."

“True,” Freya countered. “Now stop dragging your feet. The sooner we get to the training grounds, the sooner you can complain about something new.”