The cub didn’t run.

  It lingered just beneath the arbor — half-shadowed, half-lit by the gentle shimmer of mana-lamps strung through the overhead vines. Its feathers were matted and uneven, a little too scruffy to be called cute, with a slight tilt to its head that made it look permanently suspicious. Kalen didn’t recognize the species. A duck variant, maybe, but wilder — like something that hadn’t been bred for companionship or trained for utility. Just a creature trying to survive.

  Milo chirped from his perch on Kalen’s shoulder, his tail twitching in curious circles. He wasn’t alarmed — more intrigued. That was a good sign. The little monkey cocked his head, eyes bright, his grip tightening slightly on Kalen’s cloak as he leaned forward for a better look.

  Kalen lowered himself slowly, careful not to move too close. He settled cross-legged on the mossy flagstones, letting Milo hop down beside him. The monkey hesitated only a moment before dropping to the ground, landing with a soft thump. His eyes never left the cub.

  For a long moment, neither human nor monkey moved. The air between them felt stretched, taut as a bowstring. The cub’s pure sky-blue eyes tracked every slight movement, its small chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths.

  Kalen waited, letting the silence settle like a blanket — not heavy, but warm. Soft night breezes stirred the leaves. Somewhere deep in the sanctuary, a wind chime made of hollowed bone and crystal clinked in rhythm with the mana flow.

  Slowly, carefully, Kalen reached into his satchel and pulled out a wrapped piece of dried fruit. He broke it in half and placed one chunk on the ground beside him. The other he handed to Milo, who took it without hesitation and began nibbling noisily.

  The cub didn’t move.

  But it watched the fruit.

  And Milo.

  And him.

  “That’s fine,” Kalen said quietly. “You don’t have to come closer.”

  The cub’s feathers twitched. Its head tilted just slightly, the dull light catching on the ragged edges of its down.

  Milo finished his piece, then glanced up at Kalen, his eyes wide and questioning. The little monkey looked between Kalen and the cub, then chattered softly — a series of quick, encouraging chirps. He took a slow step forward, his furred hand outstretched.

  The duck cub froze, its small, webbed feet digging into the mossy ground. Its eyes never left Milo’s outstretched hand.

  Milo paused, chittered again, then gently pushed the remaining piece of dried fruit closer with one small, furred finger. He backed away a step, tilting his head as if to say, “It’s alright.”

  The cub’s eyes darted between the fruit and Milo’s retreating form. It didn’t move closer, but the slight shiver in its feathers eased, its posture relaxing ever so slightly.

  Kalen felt a small surge of warmth in his chest, a quiet, hopeful pressure that felt strangely like pride.

  “Take your time,” he whispered. “No rush.”

  The cub’s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, then flicked back to the fruit. It didn’t move, but its gaze was no longer sharp with fear.

  Just uncertain.

  Just… curious.

  Kalen leaned back on one hand, letting the cool, moss-covered stones press against his palm. The night air felt heavier, like the sanctuary itself was listening. Milo sat beside him, his small head tilted in curiosity, while the duck cub remained at the edge of the lamplight, feathers still ruffled but no longer trembling.

  Kalen took a slow breath, letting the moment settle. The soft glow of the mana-lamps flickered in the wind, casting dancing shadows against the vine-covered stone. The scene felt ancient, like something pulled from a forgotten legend.

  “There’s a story,” Kalen began softly, his voice carrying just enough to reach the wary cub. “About a titan. Not just strong — kind. Wise. A giant who bore the weight of the sky itself.”

  Milo paused mid-chew, his tiny hands still clutched around the last bit of dried fruit.

  “His name was Atlas,” Kalen continued, his voice steady but quiet. “He wasn’t born a god. Just a being with immense strength and a deep sense of duty. But he was also a warrior, one of the strongest of his kind.”

  The duck cub’s pure sky-blue eyes tracked his every movement, and Kalen felt the weight of that gaze, sharp and unblinking.

  “Atlas was the son of Iapetus, a Titan known for his stern nature and strict adherence to tradition. Iapetus taught his sons that duty to family was the highest virtue, that strength must always serve to protect those who cannot protect themselves. Atlas took this lesson to heart.”

  Kalen’s fingers brushed the cool stone beneath him, his mind drifting back to the old myths of his past life. They felt different now — not just stories, but echoes of something deeper.

  “But Atlas’s uncle, Kronos, was a different kind of ruler. He was the King of the Titans, a being of immense power and ambition, but also of fear. He ruled with an iron fist, controlling the heavens and the earth, and devouring his own children to prevent them from rising against him. He believed in dominance, not protection. Power, not compassion.”

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  Milo crept a little closer, his dark eyes wide and unblinking. The duck cub took a hesitant step forward, its small webbed feet pressing into the soft moss.

  “When the gods rose up against Kronos, led by Zeus, they weren’t just fighting for power. They were fighting for freedom — for a world where they didn’t have to live in fear of their father’s wrath. For a chance to build something better.”

  Kalen’s voice grew softer, more solemn. “Atlas understood this. He had no great love for Kronos, but he had his own family to protect — his brothers, his children, his people. And when the call to war came, he chose to stand with his kin. To defend the old ways, not because he agreed with them, but because his family’s survival depended on it.”

  The wind whispered through the vines, rustling the leaves like a thousand whispered secrets.

  “Atlas fought with all his strength, his muscles straining against the tide of war. He clashed with gods, brought mountains down with his fists, and shattered the earth beneath his feet. He stood at the front lines, unyielding, a towering figure of strength and defiance.”

  Kalen’s fingers tightened against the stone. “But in the end, it wasn’t enough. The Titans fell. Kronos was cast into the depths of Tartarus, and the others were scattered — broken, shattered, or bound for eternity.”

  He paused, letting the words hang in the air.

  “But Atlas… Atlas was different. His punishment wasn’t just to lose his freedom. It was to carry the heavens themselves on his shoulders — to hold up the sky so that the world below could thrive.”

  Milo leaned in, his small, furred hand resting on Kalen’s knee, eyes wide and unblinking.

  “Alone, he stood. Day after day. Year after year. His back bent beneath the weight of a burden no one else could bear. But he never faltered. Never broke.”

  The duck cub edged a little closer, its feathers trembling slightly, but its eyes never leaving Kalen’s face.

  “Strength,” Kalen murmured, his voice a little rough around the edges now, “isn’t just about how much you can carry. It’s about choosing to carry it. To stand when others fall. To guide even when you have no path of your own.”

  For a moment, the only sound was the soft rustle of leaves and the distant chime of the wind-catcher. The night felt deeper, the shadows heavier, as if the very air around them had leaned in to listen.

  Milo shifted closer, his small fingers tightening around the fabric of Kalen’s cloak.

  Kalen took a slow breath, his chest tightening with a mix of pride and something deeper, something he couldn’t quite name.

  “Atlas never gave in. Even when the weight of the world threatened to crush him, even when his strength was tested beyond its limits, he chose to stand. To endure. To guide.”

  The duck cub took another step forward, its small, webbed feet sinking into the soft moss. Its feathers smoothed slightly, its small chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths.

  “And that,” Kalen whispered, his eyes drifting to the softly glowing glyphs overhead, “is why he became a legend. Not because of his strength, but because of his choice. His choice to stand, to carry, to endure.”

  Milo’s grip tightened, and Kalen felt a warmth spread through his chest, a deep, resonant hum that felt like the first stirrings of something new.

  The duck cub edged closer still, its eyes no longer sharp with fear, but something softer. Something closer to understanding.

  And for a moment, in the quiet of the sanctuary, Kalen felt the weight of the sky on his own shoulders.

  Kalen exhaled slowly, letting the silence settle after the last echoes of his story faded into the night. Milo’s small hand remained on his knee, his dark eyes reflecting the faint blue glow of the mana-lamps above. The little monkey’s breath came in slow, even puffs, his entire body leaning into Kalen’s side as if the tale had pulled something deep from his soul.

  And then, as if the world itself was holding its breath, something clicked.

  It wasn’t loud. There was no flash of light or surge of power. Just a gentle, steady warmth that spread from where Milo’s palm touched his leg, threading through his bones and into the marrow of his spirit.

  Kalen felt it — that subtle shift, that deep, unspoken understanding that went beyond words. It felt like an old promise being remembered, a connection woven from whispers and trust.

  Milo’s hand tightened, his small fingers curling into the fabric of Kalen’s cloak. His breath synced with Kalen’s, their chests rising and falling in perfect rhythm.

  And then, slowly, a faint light began to bloom across Milo’s right shoulder blade.

  Kalen blinked, his heart thudding as he recognized the shape.

  An open book, its pages spread wide, with a single etched title glowing faintly across its surface:

  The Next Great Adventure.

  Kalen felt a strange pressure in his chest, like something long-buried had finally risen to the surface. His soul sigil. His mark. It wasn’t just a symbol. It was a promise. A reminder of who he was — and who he might become.

  Milo didn’t flinch as the mark took form, his gaze never wavering from Kalen’s. If anything, the little monkey seemed… proud. Not puffed-up or cocky, but steadied. Like something inside him had clicked into place, his small body straightening, his tiny fingers still wrapped in the fabric of Kalen’s cloak.

  Kalen reached out, his own hand trembling slightly, and gently touched the glowing mark. The light pulsed beneath his fingertips, warm and alive, like the slow, steady beat of a heart.

  “You really bonded with me, huh?” Kalen whispered, his voice rough around the edges.

  Milo let out a low, satisfied hum, pressing closer.

  Movement caught his eye.

  The duck cub had edged closer — not much, but enough to cross that invisible line from watching to joining. Its pure sky-blue eyes weren’t sharp with fear anymore. They were searching.

  It stepped toward the uneaten half of the dried fruit.

  Kalen didn’t move.

  The cub nudged it, picked it up in its beak, and ate it in three messy bites, feathers twitching all the while like it couldn’t decide if this was bravery or betrayal.

  Then it sat.

  Not beside him.

  Not far away either.

  Just within the circle of light.

  Kalen smiled, his heart still thrumming with the quiet, resonant warmth of the newly formed bond. “You’ve got good timing.”

  The cub looked away, its feathers puffing slightly in a show of mock indifference, but it didn’t retreat.

  He considered for a moment, then said, “You need a name.”

  Its head swiveled sharply back toward him.

  “I’m not going to pick something ridiculous,” he added quickly. “I mean… probably not.”

  Milo chittered, his tail flicking in mild amusement.

  Kalen rubbed the back of his neck, his mind racing through half-formed ideas. “You’re scruffy. Stubborn. A little mean-looking, if I’m honest.”

  The duck cub puffed up in clear affront, its chest feathers ruffling.

  “But graceful, when you move,” Kalen added, his eyes softening. “Like a flower growing through a crack in the stone.”

  He paused, the word settling into place as naturally as a leaf drifting to the forest floor.

  “Daisy,” he said. “That’s what I’ll call you. It suits you more than you want it to.”

  The cub didn’t protest.

  Didn’t leave.

  Just blinked — once, slowly — and turned her gaze back toward the fire pit’s embers.

  Kalen let out a long breath and stood. “Alright, you two. Let’s get some sleep.”

  Milo hopped to his shoulder with practiced ease, his small fingers gripping the fabric of Kalen’s cloak as he settled against his neck like a furry scarf. Daisy remained where she was, her sky-blue eyes reflecting the soft, flickering light of the mana-lamps.

  Kalen hesitated, then turned toward the sanctuary’s main building. As he reached the threshold, he paused — and glanced back.

  Daisy was still watching.

  Still waiting.

  Still there.