There was a silence. Then, from within me, ARIS spoke again—calm, cold, and just a little too quiet.
My fingertips still throbbed, heat pulsing just beneath the skin. Something shifted under the surface—a sensation I couldn’t place. I twitched my hand, and without thinking, flames licked up from my claws. Small, but real. Alive.
Sam gasped. “Leo…”
I flexed, startled, and the fire vanished. Snuffed out like it had never existed.
My breath caught. “Okay. That was… new.”
“You did that?” Cal leaned closer. “Like, on purpose?”
“Sort of.” I stared at my hand, then flexed again. Instinctively, the fire sparked back to life, dancing low and controlled. “It doesn’t feel like a command. It just reacts. Like a reflex.”
"That's crazy, bro." Kit smirked. “Match fingers.”
“No kidding,” I muttered, then shut the flames off with another twitch. “I picked it from the evolution menu. Under combat types.”
“You accessed that?” Sam asked, incredulous. “Without a chamber?”
“I did.” I looked up at them. “It wasn’t a glitch either. ARIS walked me through it. There were categories. Tabs. Kindle Claws was under combat evolutions, so I chose it.”
Nova frowned faintly. “That shouldn’t even be possible.”
“I know.” I shook my head. “But I saw it. Elemental, physical, nanite-based, miscellaneous—it was all there. Not everything was unlocked, but… enough.”
Kit narrowed his eyes. “And it just let you do that? No warning, no lockout?”
“Nope. Just heat, pain, and now… this.”
I turned toward the stacked firewood and crouched beside it. My claws lit with a quiet snap, and I pressed them to the bark. The flames caught instantly.
The fire spread in a gentle whoosh, lighting up the clearing as night closed in around us.
It felt good. Too good.
We gathered near the glow. Shadows danced along the trees, and above us, the stars blinked awake.
“Guess we’ve got more to learn about these systems than they’re telling us,” Kit muttered.
“Yeah,” I said quietly, watching the flames sway. “And I think I’ve only scratched the surface.”
As the fire crackled and spat gentle embers into the air, the warmth it gave off began to wane. The night settled hard and fast, like a weight dropping over the forest. The wind had a bite to it now—sharp, dry, and crawling down the back of my neck.
“Is it just me, or did it suddenly get really cold?” Cal asked, rubbing his arms.
“It’s not just you,” Nova said, pulling her knees to her chest. “Nanites regulate core temperature but not comfort. We’ll freeze if we stay out here all night.”
“We’ll have to cram into the shelter,” Kit muttered, eyeing the low structure. “It’s not exactly roomy.”
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We hesitated. No one said it, but we all saw the same problem—there was barely enough space for three people to lie down inside, let alone five.
The shelter was cramped, but we managed. Barely.
Kit and Cal squeezed against one side, Nova curled up in the far corner, and Sam… Sam ended up beside me.
Her wing brushed against my back as she laid down. “Sorry,” she whispered. “Didn’t mean to—there’s just not much room.”
“It’s fine,” I said quickly.
But it wasn’t. Not really.
Her feathers were soft. Too soft. And her scent—clean and light, like air after rain—wrapped around me like a blanket I couldn’t shake.
I tried not to move. Tried not to notice how her shoulder leaned into mine, or how her breathing synced with the slow, steady rhythm of my chest.
But something stirred.
A quiet instinct—sharp, wild, impossible to pin down. It crawled just under the surface, not quite thought, not quite feeling. Just… impulse.
Before I realized it, I’d turned slightly. Barely enough to notice. Just enough that my nose brushed the edge of her wing.
Don’t do it, I thought.
I did it anyway.
I leaned forward and gave the feathers a single, slow lick.
They tasted dry and soft. Warm. A faint sweetness clung to them—like air warmed by sunlight. Earthy and unfamiliar.
Sam shifted.
I froze.
She didn’t stir. Didn’t wake.
I pulled back instantly, breath catching hard in my throat, heat flooding my face.
What the hell was that?
I sat there, stunned, my heart pounding like I’d just gotten caught doing something illegal.
Why did I do that?
Was that me?
Or was it… something else?
Some weird fox instinct? Some glitch in whatever they'd rewired in my brain?
Because I hadn’t meant to. Not really. It didn’t even feel like a choice.
It felt like blinking. Like breathing. Automatic.
And that made it worse.
Because I couldn’t tell if that moment came from me… or the animal they’d put inside me.
If I could do that without meaning to... what else could I do?
I clenched my hands tighter, shut my eyes, and focused on the sound of breathing all around me.
Eventually, the cold eased just enough, and exhaustion won out over instinct.
Sleep came in fragments. But I held onto myself.
Barely.
I woke to warmth.
Too much of it.
The fire outside had long since died, but inside the cramped shelter, heat clung to us like a second skin. Someone’s leg was pressed against mine. An elbow nudged gently into my ribs. And Sam... Sam was still next to me.
Still wrapped around me, technically.
Her wing was draped over my back, her breath slow and steady near my shoulder. For a moment, I didn’t move. I just listened—to her breathing, to the wind outside, to the quiet sounds of others shifting in their sleep.
Then I remembered what I’d done.
I tensed.
My heart stuttered in my chest.
I licked her feather.
What is wrong with me?
Carefully, I tried to roll away without waking her, but her wing followed, brushing down my side as if she could sense I was moving. I froze.
Too late—her eyes opened.
She blinked slowly, groggily, then gave me a faint smile. “Morning.”
“Hey,” I said, my voice rough. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to—uh—wake you.”
“You didn’t.” Her eyes studied me a second longer than felt comfortable. “You’re tense.”
I laughed. Too fast. “It’s cold.”
She arched an eyebrow, glancing at where her wing touched my side. “Mmhm.”
I didn’t breathe.
For a second, I thought she might say something. That she might know.
But instead, she gently folded her wing back behind her with a soft rustle. “You get used to them,” she said. “The feathers. I kept bumping into stuff the first few nights.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, not trusting myself to say anything else.
She turned away, sitting up and stretching her arms toward the low ceiling. “We should probably check the fire pit. Maybe find more wood before it gets colder again.”
“Right.”
The others were still stirring, slow and groggy. I stayed quiet, brushing off my sleeves, pretending like nothing had happened. Like I wasn’t losing control of something I hadn’t even realized was there.
Sam didn’t press it.
But her eyes lingered on me a little longer than usual.
“Anyway,” I said, standing up and brushing dirt from my hands, “this shelter’s way too cramped. We should expand it today.”
I started looking for loose branches to cut and tie together.
“Tell me about it,” Sam said. “Is it just me, or would this be so much better higher up? Like, in the trees or something?”
I shrugged. “Honestly, I think it’s fine... it’s just too easy to spot. We should cover it in dirt or something. Camouflage it better—make it harder for predators to find.”
Cal and Kit were up by then, stretching and yawning.
“I think it should be closer to the river,” Cal offered. “That way we’ve got easier access to water.”
Nova sat up slowly and rubbed her eyes. “I agree with Cal,” she said, voice low. “I’m beginning to dry out. I need to be closer to moisture.”
So we packed up the shelter and moved it closer to the riverbank.
Sam insisted we add a second level—a lookout, she called it.
“Higher up just feels… safer, you know?” she insisted.
Cal got way too excited about the rope ladder, and Kit ended up reinforcing the corners so it wouldn’t collapse on us during the night.
That evening, even with the extra space and second level, the shelter felt… wrong.
Too exposed. Too shallow. The air pressed in with the kind of cold that didn’t just bite—it crawled. Every creak of the frame set my teeth on edge. The others seemed fine, laughing quietly as they got settled. But for me, something in the back of my mind wouldn’t let go.
It’s not safe here.
My hands twitched.
I glanced toward the far corner of the shelter. The floor there was just dirt—untouched. Untamed.
Without a word, I shifted over and dropped to my knees.
And I started to dig.
Instinct took over.
My fingers moved on their own, sifting through damp soil, pulling away roots, carving through the earth. The scent of moss and clay filled my nose. My body knew what it was doing even if my mind didn’t. It wasn’t digging—it was shaping.
Compact.
Tight.
Safe.
A den.
My claws helped. Small bursts of heat flickered at the tips when I hit tougher patches, softening the ground. I barely noticed. My breathing had slowed. My ears twitched at every distant sound. I was somewhere else—half-present, half-animal.
Above me, the shelter creaked as someone shifted. A muffled laugh. The others were settling in. But I kept working, silently pushing forward into the dark, deeper than I meant to go.
It felt right.
A tunnel, angled just enough to keep out wind. A chamber at the end. Curved. Warm. The walls packed tight around me, just wide enough for one.
I curled into the space for a moment, my heart pounding softly in the stillness.
This was mine.
And as I settled in, wrapping my tail close against my chest, for the first time since the procedure—
—I felt safe.