Once the farmer had gone inside, Fuku and Ben slipped away. The dog barked once after them, but trapped in the pen, it couldn’t give chase—so their escape went clean.

They walked—or in Fuku’s case, bounced—until they reached a small copse of trees. The undergrowth was thick with saplings, and as they approached, a family of deer bounded free, vanishing into the fields.

Pushing deeper, they found a clearing at the center. The air was heavy with pollen, rich with the scent of verdant life. Unlike the carefully tended fields, this place was wild and untamed. The smell struck something deep in Ben, reminding him of his youth.

They made no fire, but Fuku happily produced his rations and offered them to the Minotaur.

“I can only eat the fruit of the vine within the Labyrinth,” Ben said, shaking his head.

“Are you sure?” Fuku asked. Right on cue, a low growl rumbled from Ben’s stomach. “You’re not in the Labyrinth anymore. Those rules might not apply out here.”

Ben frowned. The hunger was real, but the sensation was so unfamiliar after centuries that he had brushed it off as nerves. What else had he dismissed? Was he… thirsty?

“Do you have water?” he asked at last.

“Not the fountain stuff—the kind you’re used to, but I do have regular water. But I could offer you something a little stronger, if you’d rather,” Fuku replied with a grin.

He set the jerky and bread he’d been nibbling on across his stubby legs. His fluffy, striped tail whipped around as he plunged both paws inside, rummaging for something unseen. Several long seconds passed before one paw emerged gripping a waterskin, the other following close behind with a corked clay jug.

Ben watched in amazement, curiosity prickling at him—but he held his tongue, unsure if asking about such things might be considered inappropriate.

“Water… or sake?” Fuku asked, holding both up in offering.

“Water will be fine, thank you,” Ben said as he reached for the skin.

“More for me,” Fuku said cheerfully as he handed over the water and uncorked the jug. He tipped it back, holding it by the small handle near the top and letting the amber liquid pour down his throat.

Ben caught the scent of alcohol—it smelled good—but he stuck with the water, sipping a little at first to test it.

The moment it touched his tongue, his taste buds seemed to reawaken, his throat—parched without him realizing—soaked it up and begged for more.

So Ben obliged and turned the skin upside down, draining it in one large, long gulp.

When he lowered his head again, the skin now empty, he found Fuku staring at him.

“They say Tanuki drink fast, but none I’ve met could hold a candle to you,” Fuku grinned. “Water and sake are very different, of course, but good sake can be just as smooth when it’s made right.”

Ben’s stomach growled again.

Perhaps I should at least attempt to eat something… if you truly don’t mind,” Ben said, dipping his head in embarrassment.

“There’s plenty of grass. Munch all you want,” the Tanuki teased, pointing toward a tall patch nearby.

Ben followed the gesture, staring at the grass. His stomach rumbled again, and with a sigh, he started to push himself up.

“I’m just kidding, cow. Here.” Fuku shoved a piece of dried meat and bread into his hands. “Sorry this has to be your first meal. I wasn’t exactly planning to leave the way we did. Have you ever tried the beef kabobs in Knossos? They are so good—”

Fuku stopped mid-rave, realizing just how offensive that might sound.

“I mean… Knossos… what a dump. And chicken, yes, chicken kabobs. Those are good. Mmm… chicken.”

Ben just stared at him.

Fuku looked back into the Minotaur’s large brown eyes, uncertain what emotion he might find there after his slip-up.

Then Ben’s lips curled at the end of his long snout in a smile. “Chicken… sure,” he said, holding up the slab of jerky before biting into it.

At the sight, Fuku lost it. He tumbled backward, nearly spilling his sake as he roared with laughter.

While Fuku laughed, Ben chewed thoughtfully. The jerky wasn’t heavily spiced, and it was extremely dry—but it was still the first food, other than the vine’s fruit, to pass his tongue in a very long time. It didn’t taste like the dried meat he remembered from his youth; this was overly salty, and the unfamiliar spices left him feeling more peculiar than satisfied.

“You… you made a funny! That was great, Ben,” Fuku said once he’d finally regained control of himself.

Ben smiled again. “Just don’t call me a cow anymore, if you would. If anything, I’m a bull—though Minotaur would be the more proper term.”

“Oh, I know… you’ve got those low hangers to prove it. That sack’s bigger than what I have, and I ride on top of mine.”

They both chuckled at the comparison, then ate in silence for a few minutes.

But Ben’s mind was heavy with questions.

“Fuku, may I ask you something?” he finally ventured.

“Go ahead, cow… I mean, Ben. I still need a pet name for you. Brownie? No. Bully? No…”

Ben cut him off. “I would like to know what has happened over the last—”

This time Fuku interrupted. “Seven… uhh… seven hundred years.” He said it slowly, looking up at Ben with genuine compassion.

“Seven hundred…” Ben’s voice trailed away.

“You said you entered around the year 3000 of the Silent Age. That age ended around 3500, and it’s now the year 201, so…”

“The Silent Age?” Ben questioned, his voice a mix of shock and curiosity. “Then what is this age called?”

“This is the Time of Confluence,” Fuku said, then began explaining, knowing Ben needed to know. 

“Just over 200 years ago, something happened. The entire world shook. No one I have talked to knows why, but the shaking caused something both wonderful and dreadful to happen. The lines of power—the ley lines—which crisscross the world fell into proper alignment.”

“They were misaligned before?” Ben asked.

“Apparently. According to the gods—the new gods, at least—the lines were out of balance, and the shaking reconnected them. So with those connections came a new wellspring of magical power. And with the gods' return came an influx of knowledge.”

Fuku paused here for a moment and drank from his jug once more. “Not everything was great, though. Some places were blocked by the alignment. Paths, which were open before, closed.”

Ben stared at the Tanuki and saw an expression he hadn't seen before. It spoke of loss and hardship. It made Ben wonder if Fuku’s journey had been more difficult than he let on.

“You weren’t there… were you?” Ben asked, trying to find the source of the Tanuki’s sad expression.

“I was… though I was barely a pup,” Fuku continued. “But that leads me to what I’m doing, and how you can help.”

Ben blinked. He knew there was more story there, but didn’t want to pry too far into Fuku’s past. “I can’t believe… I mean you seem so young, it’s…” he trailed off.

He hadn’t really considered much beyond today. He was free, but now faced life as an outcast. That was all he’d been able to deal with. Things were changing much too fast.

“Why, thank you for noticing!” Fuku said suddenly, his grin returning. “I have a very strict skin-and-fur routine that keeps my youthful glow.”

He swept his tail up in front of him like a fluffy stole, stroking it gently with both paws as his eyes blinked rapidly, lids turned down in what he clearly thought was a sultry expression.

Ben only tilted his head, brow furrowed, clearly baffled by the display.

With a sharp flick, Fuku tossed the tail back down. His ears twitched in annoyance, and he gave a quick roll of his eyes before his small face grew serious again. “Ugh, fine… I think there’s a way to reopen some of those paths I mentioned, and I need someone strong—like you—to help me find what I’ll need to do it,” he said bluntly.

“Me?” Ben asked, still shocked at being included in all this.

“Yes, you! A big, strong, handso… I mean handy, yes, a handy man like you is exactly what I need to find the oddities I seek in order to…”

Fuku stopped mid-sentence, looked up at Ben, and exhaled. “Look. I really need you to come along with me, to help me. But if you’re not ready to do that, then I can’t tell you exactly what I’m looking for.”

He stoppered the jug with his other paw, looking forlornly at the remaining liquid inside. “This is important to me, and I need your help. You vowed to give me whatever you could… I don’t want to use that oath against you. I’d really like you to accompany me, but only if you’re willing. It has to be your choice. I know it’s quick, but I need a decision before I go on.”

Fuku was right; this was a big decision. 

And it took Ben all of two seconds to respond.

“I have no one and nothing now. You are my only tie to this new world. Of course I will follow you. I owe you my life.” His voice was raspy, filled with solemnity—tinged with sadness for all he’d lost, but gratitude as well.

The Tanuki’s eyes met Ben’s, and Ben saw the wetness of tears ready to fall.

“Thanks, Ben,” Fuku whispered.

Then he leaped forward and crashed into Ben's stomach. The Tanuki wrapped his arms around the Minotaur—at least, as far as his stubby appendages would go—and buried his face in his hide.

Ben’s reaction was… complicated.

First came the flinch of surprise at the Tanuki’s quickness. He tilted back, arms half-raised, unsure what to do with this small creature that had suddenly attached itself to his abdomen.

He had been alone for so long that every touch felt odd—uncomfortable, even. It made his skin crawl.

And yet, beneath that discomfort, something stirred. The touch felt… good? Normal? Like something he’d missed for a very long time—but had never allowed himself to admit he wanted. Inside the dome, there had been no one, nothing. Over the years, even the desire for another’s touch had faded, so that now it felt strange, almost disturbing.

So it took several long moments—his skin writhing from the unfamiliarity—before Ben finally managed to wrap his arms gently around the Tanuki, offering only a clumsy pat.

Fuku stayed there for minutes, until Ben had moved from initial shock to a new sensation of distinct, undeniable awkwardness.

“Uhh… Fuku?”

“Yes, Ben?” came the muffled voice from near his sternum.

“You know how normal people… have to do certain things after they eat and drink?”

Fuku’s head popped up, his eyes blinking curiously. “Like what?”

“You know—the afterwards part. When… stuff comes out?”

Fuku’s eyes widened in sudden understanding. “You have to poop?”

Ben felt his face flush, though he wasn’t sure if any reddening would even show beneath his fur in the dim light. “And the other… I believe.”

“See? I told you things are going to be different out here,” Fuku said and finally let go.

Ben tried to smile, tried to keep calm, but during the awkward hug, those sensations had crept up on him. It was something he hadn’t felt before in this body and had taken a while to recognize. But now it felt as though his bladder was about to burst, and the other… well, he hoped he could stand and move away before he had an accident.

He managed to stand and stumble away from camp just in time.

Behind him, Fuku’s cackling rang out as Ben’s body decided that seven centuries of fountain water and fruit needed to make their exit all at once.