Velren continued his ditation. Both of his eyes were closed, and he focused inward, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath—a calming tide ebbing and flowing through him. Inhale... exhale. His ka pulsed gently beneath his skin, circulating through his core and extending to the tips of his fingers and toes. It was like tracing the course of a quiet river, with each of its loop bringing a fleeting sense of warmth and clarity.
For a mont, peacefulness engulfed him—until—
THUD!
"Ow!"
Velren winced, snapping his eyes open as sothing heavy bounced off his head and landed beside him with a dull thump. Disrupted from his focus, he shot an irritated glare at the culprit.
Standing there, lazily swishing his tail with an expression that was unapologetic as ever, was Sköll.
"Aren't you hungry?" the wolf asked, his tone was far too casual for soone who'd just launched a projectile at soone's head.
Velren rubbed his scalp.
"The hell did you do that for?"
Sköll simply tilted his head toward the object. Velren sighed and turned his attention to the basket lying beside him. Peering inside, he found it filled with an assortnt of fruits—plump berries, glistening grapes, and at the very top, a vibrant red apple.
Initially hesitant, he plucked the apple from the pile. Well... might as well. Bringing it to his lips, he took a bite. The sweet juice exploded across his tongue, crisp and refreshing. He paused, savoring the taste.
"...Not bad," he mumbled between chews.
The fruits must be from Gramps' garden. For all the old man's notorious fondness for alcohol, he sohow managed to keep a flourishing garden out back. Velren recalled how, despite his drunken attitude, the old man would occasionally stumble out to tend to his plants—an odd contrast to his usual antics. The garden itself was surprisingly well-maintained. Rows of vibrant vegetables, aromatic herbs, and fruit trees stretched across the small plot, ticulously cared for. It was puzzling—how soone who spent most of his days drinking could produce sothing so... alive.
As Velren polished off the apple, Sköll sat down beside him.
"Still haven't manifested it yet, huh?"
Velren froze mid-bite, lowering the fruit.
"...No," he admitted.
"Don't be disheartened." Sköll's tone softened.
Velren huffed, leaning back against the tree trunk.
"How much longer do I have to wait, though?"
The wolf chuckled.
"Fact is, you're already impressive. Most kids your age can barely sense their Ka, let alone circulate it. You've co far, kid. Awakening your Vital Crest isn't a race."
"I get that part... but—" Velren started, a trace of frustration was lingering in his voice.
Before he could finish, another voice joined in:
"Sköll is right. It is not a race."
Velren turned toward the source. And Fenrir erged from the trees. The wolf's sharp gaze softened when it landed on him.
"Did you finish collecting the wood?"
Still chewing, Velren gestured with his half-eaten apple toward the neatly tied bundle resting nearby.
"All done," he mumbled around the bite.
Over the past six years, Velren's relationship with the trio had solidified into sothing resembling an odd family.
Sköll, with his sharp tongue and easygoing attitude, was the one Velren grew closest to—teasing yet always there when it mattered. Gramps, despite his eccentricities and love for booze, took the role of an odd ntor, occasionally helping Velren study or offering cryptic advice that only made sense in hindsight. Fenrir, on the other hand, wasn't soone Velren talked to as much, but there was a quiet understanding between them. The black wolf rarely showed warmth through words but was always there—reliable and gentle in his own reserved way.
Fenrir turned his gaze to Sköll.
"Another carriage is passing by," he inford.
At that, Sköll's deanor shifted, and he stood on all fours, alert.
Velren's curiosity flared as he imdiately stood up.
"Can I co too?"
This wasn't the first ti he'd asked. Occasionally, carriages from neighboring lands would pass through the outer roads near the forest. Fenrir's ntion of it almost always piqued his interest.
Gramps had once insisted Velren to study the basics of the surrounding kingdoms—even if his entire life had been spent within these woods. "A sharp mind sees farther than wandering feet," that's what the old man had said while shoving books into his arms.
The kingdom in question today was most likely Elyndra, a neighboring place known for its expansive trade routes and diplomatic reach. And the reason Fenrir and Sköll kept tabs on these passing carriages wasn't just curiosity—it was due to the Verdant Accord, a centuries-old agreent.
One of the clause was simple: inhabitants of the Sylmare Forest—magical creatures and guardians like Fenrir and Sköll—were entrusted with ensuring that those traveling along the designated paths remained safe and that none would strayed into protected territories. In return, the kingdoms respected the sanctity of the forest and its denizens.
Velren didn't fully understand the intricacies of politics or ancient pacts yet, but he knew this much: the forest watched over the roads, and the roads, in turn, respected the forest.
Fenrir sighed, flicking his tail with mild irritation.
"How many tis must I tell you? This isn't a re ga."
"I know," Velren replied with an earnest tone.
"But I've been here doing chorus and ditating for days. It's always the sa routine. I just... I want to see more than trees for once."
His gaze softened.
"Besides, I promise I'll stick to Sköll. I won't wander off."
Sköll stretched lazily, flicking his ears toward Fenrir.
"It's fine, isn't it? I can keep an eye on him."
Fenrir glanced between them, clearly torn. His eyes lingered on Velren for a mont longer before he exhaled heavily.
"Alright," he relented, though his voice held a warning edge.
"But you do not stray anywhere, and you never wander out of our sight."
"Yes, sir!" Velren grinned, barely containing his excitent.
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