Chapter 5

Once recovered from his body’s explosive ejections, Ben made his way back to where they had been sitting.

He kept his head low, shame still heavy on him even though Fuku’s laughter had died down long ago. The urgency of his body had taken him by surprise, and the sheer auditory and aromatic violence of it had left him mortified. But he couldn’t truly blame himself—it had been seven hundred years of fountain fruit and water to purge.

Now, though, he felt dirty but strangely light, as though an invisible burden had been lifted. He had never realized how weighed down he’d been, carrying all that waste inside him.

Fuku was sitting by his jug again. The Tanuki looked up and gave him a half-smile, one with no humor in it. Oddly, that helped ease Ben’s embarrassment; at least Fuku wasn’t about to start laughing again.

Instead, Fuku was twirling a small plant between his clawed fingers, his attention fixed on it.

Neither of them spoke at first. Ben lowered himself across from the Tanuki, intending to pick up their earlier conversation, but his eyes kept drifting back to the plant spinning in those small, deft paws.

“Where did you get that?” he asked at last.

“I think you already know the answer,” Fuku replied.

And Ben did. It was a piece of the vine that had covered the walls of the dome where he’d been imprisoned—a short stem with several jagged leaves sprouting along its length.

“This is why I entered the Labyrinth in the first place,” Fuku said, twirling it lightly between his claws. “This is what I needed to retrieve.” He looked up, meeting Ben’s gaze. “What I haven’t told you… is that this is only the beginning. It looks like a silly piece of vine, but it’s carrion vine. And these days, you’ll only find it in one very specific—and very dangerous—place.”

Fuku’s grin tilted higher on one side. “It’s things like this I need to collect.”

Ben realized he hadn’t seen Fuku take the clipping. But then again, the Tanuki had been nothing but a floating leaf while inside the dome. 

That was one of his tricks, Ben understood now. At the time, though, the leaf hadn’t just eluded him—it had eluded the very magic of the Labyrinth. And in doing so, it had created the opening for his escape.

Not that he’d been able to notice much of anything back then. He had been locked in his eternal struggle, fighting against the rage that always rose up and pushed him out of his own body whenever violence was called for.

“What does it do?” Ben asked.

“Nothing by itself. Maybe nothing at all. But if I can gather enough of these inherently magical things—these pieces of the past—I think I can reopen the paths to Kakuriyo, the land where all the Yōkai—Tanuki, Kitsune, Oni, and the rest—live,” Fuku said.

He tucked the sprig back into the floof of his tail.

Ben listened closely. The terms—Yōkai, Kakuriyo—meant nothing to him, yet the sorrow in Fuku’s tone told him they meant everything to the Tanuki.

“The Alignment,” Fuku went on, “it brought immense magical power, and with it, a flood of technical knowledge. But the old paths—the ones traveled by spirits and ancient beings—closed. I was here, on the mortal plane, when it happened. I’d run away like the foolish pup I was… and I’ve been trapped on this side ever since.”

His voice grew heavier, carrying years of longing. “If I can collect the right things, maybe I can reopen the path… and finally go home.”

He had never heard the Tanuki sound so somber—so honest, so filled with desperation. Ben could hear the homesickness in his voice. He had felt that way many times himself; it was a feeling he knew instantly.

He nodded. He didn’t fully grasp everything Fuku was saying, but he knew a noble goal when he heard one. And it was something he could see himself helping with, however he was able.

“How many things do you need?” he asked.

Fuku looked up, a glimmer of hope shining in his eyes. “I don’t know. This is all experimental; there’s no recipe, no guide. But it’s essential—not only for me, but for all those trapped away from their home realms. I believe the land of the Fae—or Faerie, as some call it—has been closed off too. I’ll probably have to open that path first, free those trapped within, and ask for a boon before I can finish my goal.”

Once again, Ben didn’t fully understand. His world had always been small, centered on the island of his birth and the gods upon Olympus—gods whose inbreeding and cruel games had shaped mortal lives. He knew of wider worlds, of other lands, but as a human he had never had the chance to visit or learn about them.

He nodded, then spoke once more.

“That is a noble goal, Fuku. I confess I don’t understand all of the terms you used, but I hear the truth in your words and the desire in your heart… though I think you may have misspoken slightly.”

“What? What did I say wrong? Did I…?”

Ben raised a single large finger, cutting off Fuku’s retort. “You kept saying ‘I,’ rather than ‘we.’”

He watched as the Tanuki’s expression shifted—argumentative at first, then irritated… before melting into awestruck wonder, and finally bursting into jubilance.

“Wait… you mean—you said you’d accompany me, but are you saying you want to be an active participant in this? That you’ll help me of your own free will?” Fuku asked, already bouncing in place.

The phrase free will snagged in Ben’s thoughts. There was something about it—something more than a casual turn of phrase. He could feel it carried weight, something important. But lacking the context, he chalked it up to the Tanuki’s odd way of speaking… and let it go.

“My opportunities are few. I greatly appreciate your assistance in freeing me, but this world no longer belongs to someone like me. In truth, my place in it died the moment I drank from the fountain of Adrasteia. I have nowhere to go, and no one else to go with. I’m not just from the past—I am the past. A relic that doesn’t belong here.”

Ben noticed some of the spark dim in Fuku’s expression as he continued.

“So if this world has no place for me, why not seek out those places lost to time? And besides… who better to travel with—and keep me hidden—than a Tanuki with magical leaves?”

But instead of the elation he’d hoped for, Fuku’s bouncing slowed. The Tanuki hesitated before replying.

“I could find you a place among the beast-kin, you know. You might not be exactly like them, but close enough that you’d be accepted. If… if a normal home is what you want.”

Ben frowned in thought. The term was unfamiliar.

“What is a beast-kin?” he asked.

“There’s so much you don’t know… I keep forgetting,” Fuku said, rubbing his paw over his snout. “When the Aligning happened, it shifted the flow of magic. Some people with strong ties to certain animals… changed.”

“Changed?” Ben asked, curiosity sharpening his tone.

“Yeah. They took on traits of the animals they were closest to. Or maybe the animals took on human traits? There’s still debate. Probably both.” Fuku’s paw rose to his twitching ear, scratching behind it.

“Basically, those people—the beast-kin—are like walking, talking animals. Some have more human qualities, like how you’ve got the body and hands of a man—mostly. Others might not have hands at all. Just paws. Or wings. Or claws.” Fuku grimaced, clearly struggling to explain.

“Look… it’s like taking a human and an animal and smashing them together. They’re all intelligent—they talk, they think—but they’ve still got animal parts.” His paw dropped meaningfully toward the sack he bounced on, eyebrows bobbing in a conspiratorial waggle.

Ben’s brow rose, catching the unsaid meaning—his tail gave an involuntary flick.

“There aren’t many of them—not compared to humans—but I know at least two villages on this island. They even have a few bovine beast-kin. You could probably find a home there… maybe even a mate.” His voice dropped so low on the last word that Ben’s ears barely caught it.

Ben mulled over the strange thought. People with animal traits? He pictured dogs and cats walking on two legs… then sheep, chickens, cattle. His mind, against his will, shaped an image of a female cow-woman—his own body with softer lines, udders, and a feminine face. The thought repelled him, and he quickly forced it away.

When he finally spoke, his voice held quiet hesitation.

“I would like to see one of these villages… but I don’t believe I would ever truly fit in among them.” 

He blinked hard to banish the lingering image, then lowered his gaze to Fuku. “I vowed to give you all I had, but I knew I had nothing. At that moment I was naïve—I imagined a world I could return to, a place where I could work and repay. But somewhere deep inside, I already knew the truth. I wasn’t offering what I could do, but what I was. All I had to give was myself. So I intend to keep true to that oath. I give you myself, in whatever capacity is needed. I’ll stay by your side, through whatever this journey entails. We face it together.”

As he spoke, Ben braced himself for the inevitable leap Fuku would make toward his torso… but it didn’t come. To his relief—and, strangely, his regret.

Instead, the Tanuki looked down at his feet, fidgeting with his paws.

“Have I misspoken?” Ben asked.

“No,” Fuku said curtly, then sighed. “No… it’s nothing you said. It’s me.”

Ben wasn’t sure what the Tanuki meant, but he stayed silent, giving his companion space to find the words. It was clear Fuku had something heavier to share.

The sun dipped below the horizon as he waited, leaving the sky pale and the ground stretched with long shadows.

“You are too good, Ben. I mean, I know there’s a lot you don’t understand yet, and more you still have to learn—but you’re too good for this world.”

Fuku shifted nervously, then finally looked up. “When you said ‘we,’ it sounded like you want to be partners… which is great, but… my idea of ‘partner’ might not be quite the same as yours.”

Ben’s brow furrowed, his confusion plain.

“The reason I left—the reason I ran away—is because I’m not like most Tanuki. My people are known for their love of drink, their mischievous tricks… and their tendency to make babies.”

He hesitated, his voice softer. “That last part… it’s different for me.”

Ben felt a faint inkling of where this was going.

“When I saw you in the Labyrinth, I thought you were just another boss monster, unintelligent, running on instinct… but then you saved me from the fountain,” Fuku began.

“I am not sure if there could be more than one Minotaur, so I may have denied you the blessing without the consequences,” Ben said, his head lowering in shame. “I had not considered that until afterward.”

Fuku just shrugged. “I wasn’t looking for that anyway. I just wanted a sample to take with me. Don’t worry about it.”

Ben’s eyes lifted slightly, curious. Fuku fidgeted, his paws twitching against his tail, but pressed on while he still had the nerve.

“Look… I’m going to be honest.” He inhaled deeply, then finally met Ben’s eyes. “At first I thought—hey, a Minotaur would make a great protector, a bodyguard. But then…” He hesitated, ears flicking nervously. “I thought, well… he’s really—handsome.”

The word hung between them. Fuku’s ears twitched, and he looked away, only to sneak a glance back up at Ben’s unreadable face before continuing. His voice grew smaller, but more urgent.

“But I’m learning that there’s so much more to you. You’re kind. You’re funny. You’re… a real guy. And I like you.” He swallowed hard, forcing the words out before his courage failed. “I mean—I like-like you. So when I say partner… I mean—a real partner. A life partner.”

Suddenly, all the hugs, the banter, the lingering touches—they clicked into place. Ben instinctively leaned back, unsure how to respond.

“Oh… I see…” he managed, fumbling for words.

Back when he was human, he’d had many partners—most of them women. But he’d also been a soldier, and later a mercenary. He understood that on lonely nights, men sometimes turned to each other. He had even taken part in that, and in time had formed bonds with several male companions of his own. They had been more than lovers; they were his family. So the idea itself was not foreign to him.

In fact, he knew many men who became soldiers for that very reason. Their desires weren’t for women, and they feared the shame it might bring their families. So they enlisted, or they ran away, or they buried their secrets, sharing them only with a trusted few. It was a common tale, one he’d heard many times—and he understood, at least in part, how Fuku must feel.

But that was when he had been human, and those others had been human as well. He looked down at the chubby, furry creature before him… and felt no spark. Not because of Fuku’s sex, but because Fuku wasn’t human. Ben wasn’t sure if he could ever find anyone outside of humanity attractive.

And yet—he wasn’t human anymore either. He looked down at his body, covered in thick hide, and felt a strange disconnect. He’d had seven centuries to come to terms with this form, yet in all that time, sex and attraction had never entered into it. His body—or perhaps his mind—had been locked away from such desires. As though those parts of him were nothing more than excess flesh.

He didn’t know if that part of himself would ever return.

“Fuku… I’m sorry, but I can’t commit to that type of partnership,” he said softly, watching as some of the light dimmed in the Tanuki’s eyes. “Those parts of me… they simply don’t function. And the people I was drawn to—back then—they were human, and now…” He trailed off, unable to finish.

The grove fell silent, as if even the insects held their breath. It wasn’t the peaceful hush of nightfall, but a heavy quiet. It left them feeling awkward. Their gazes searching for anything to look at besides each other.

“I get it. It’s fine. It was just a thought,” Fuku finally said, breaking the silence. “I think I’m going to try to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

Ben reached out, but Fuku turned his back and curled up on the ground.

He wanted to say more—to explain, to give his new friend some hope—but he couldn’t. He had none for himself. That part of his life had died when he drank from the fountain.

So he lay down too, inching closer until their sides touched.

I may not have desire, but I can still offer warmth, Ben thought, justifying his roll toward the small, furry being beside him.

It was strange—his instincts recoiled from the closeness—yet despite the awkwardness, he chose to stay. He placed an arm around Fuku, drawing him gently into the shelter of his chest, offering warmth and protection. The few things he knew he could give.

It wasn’t exactly comfortable, nor was it exactly uncomfortable. It just felt… strange. But also right.

Like something he might have done in the past.

Like something he needed to do now—not just for Fuku’s sake, but to remind himself that he wasn’t only a monster.

That he could still be a person. Capable of more than violence.

He meant to comfort his companion. Instead, he found comfort for himself as well.