When I woke, golden afternoon light streamed through cracks in the shutters. A new set of clothes awaited me on a three-legged stool: a forest-green tunic with silver embroidery at the collar, and sturdy leather breeches. They were slightly worn but better than my usual fare. Uncle Flo must have gone to the market while I slept. There was also a washcloth and a bucket of cold water. I used it despite the chill.

  I checked myself in the mirror, a rare opportunity as we didn’t have one at the cottage, at least not such a large one. A scrawny young wolf with fur the color of autumn leaves faced me in the reflection. My eyes remained that unsettling cobalt pale blue, too human for a beast, too wild for a man. Crescent marks still lingered around them. On the back of my head, my fur had grown unruly, forming a thick mane that cascaded to my shoulders like a nobleman’s cloak. Several patches were clumped and matted with dried mud from the journey, too deeply tangled to tackle with just the water I had.

  Toned adolescent muscles rippled beneath my coat when I flexed them, particularly visible where my fur had receded to a thin velvet fuzz from constant friction with clothing or other parts of my body, such as the inside of my forearms going all the way up to my armpits and down to my inner thighs via my stomach. All now colored amber. Not entirely clean, but completely refreshed, I got dressed and went downstairs.

  “Ah, the young master rises at last!” the innkeeper boomed, his ruddy face splitting into a grin beneath his salt-and-pepper mustache. “Your father instructed me to feed you properly when you woke. Got a filling boar stew simmering since dawn, freshly baked barley bread with a nice crust, and a wedge of that tangy goat cheese from the highlands. Take a seat by the hearth, lad.”

  Just hearing all that made me drool. My stomach twisted painfully with hunger, and a rush of eager anticipation almost made me dizzy. Since I reincarnated into this body, I stopped saying I would ‘wolf down’ my food. The idiom felt too on-the-nose, since it became literal. With that said, I still devoured everything in front of me like a starving animal, tearing into the bread with my sharp canines and licking the rich stew from the bowl until it was clean. I promptly requested another helping. As I wiped gravy from my muzzle with the back of my paw, a troubling thought surfaced.

  “Wait,” I asked, ears perking forward, “what day is it?”

  “Ah, you’ve figured it out then.” The innkeeper chuckled, wiping his hands on his apron. “You’ve been dead to the world for two whole days, son. Never seen a creature sleep so deeply and still breathe.”

  “Did you watch me sleeping?” I asked, cocking my head to the side.

  “Don’t be weird, it’s a figure of speech!” The innkeeper waved his hand, features flickering between a half-smile and half-worry.

  “I am just messing with you. Still, that is crazy. I guess I was more tired than I realized.” I said as I stood up from behind the table. “Anyway, thanks for the meal. By the way, do you know when my parent is coming back?” I kept my tone casual, but I was genuinely curious where Uncle Flo had gone.

  “He said he will be coming back later in the evening. Had some business to take care of with the lord,” the innkeeper replied matter-of-factly. “You folks did catch that large group of bandits after all, must be something related to that.”

  “I guess I’ll take a stroll around town. Anything worth visiting?”

  “Hmmm, our settlement is only a small border town. It’s barely large enough not to be considered a village,” the innkeeper mused. “Commerce is limited to a small market. Most residents are farmers who tend the fields or soldiers stationed at border outposts. There is a new Temple for the Goddess of Balance, the most beautiful building in town. Though I don’t know if beastkin would be much interested in that sort of thing.”

  “A temple, huh? No, this could be interesting, actually. I’ll go check it out, thanks!” I announced, stepping out from the Inn, already sure where my next destination was. It was hard to miss, really. I could already see a white tower peeking in the distance from behind all the other buildings. After ten minutes of walking at a leisurely pace, I stood in front of it.

  It was a pristine building made of white, marble-like stone. The polished surface gleamed almost painfully bright in the sun, a sharp contrast to the lumber-and-brick buildings around it. A four-story minaret rose beside a large azure dome that shimmered like a sky fragment. Six massive columns, each carved with spirals and each thicker than the oldest oaks in the Sleeping Valley. Gold decorations covered the archways, scattering sunlight like stars across the temple steps. It was as if a local architect had dreamed of the Hagia Sophia and Parthenon, merging their essences into something familiar, yet utterly foreign to my Earth-born memories.

  As I slipped through a small side door set within the massive ceremonial gates, I entered a hall that took my breath away. The walls were a tapestry of tiny mosaic tiles in blues, golds, and silvers, arranged in patterns that seemed to pulse with life. They began as chaotic swirls near the entrance, gradually transforming into ordered geometric shapes. Then the pattern repeated itself. It gave me the impression this was meant to represent the ongoing struggle to balance order and chaos.

  A few steps to the side, I noticed an offering shrine, at least that’s what I thought it was. Coins, jars, flowers, and gemstones were scattered across its surface. My hand on its own drew into a pouch on the belt with my share of loot from the bandit cave: two dozen silver coins. This is absolutely the prettiest building I’ve seen since reincarnating here. I don’t even care if they do charity or not. I just want to leave a coin so it might help build more such majestic landmarks, inspiring visiting architects and artists alike.

  Suddenly, a shrill voice rang out across the temple’s hushed atmosphere. “Put that back, this isn’t for you!” I froze mid-motion, silver coin pinched between my furry fingers, hovering above the shrine’s polished surface. My ears flattened instinctively against my skull as I pivoted toward the voice, tail stiffening behind me.

  “Huh? Put what back?”

  "That coin," she hissed, her pale eyes narrowing under her cowl. "These are offerings for the Temple. You can’t just take them, you savage." The woman’s spotless white ceremonial robe flowed to the floor. Blue embroidery lined the edges and matched her light blue cowl. A silver medallion with balanced scales hung from her neck, shining coldly in the filtered light. She had to be a priestess, and she clearly misunderstood what was happening. Savage, huh? The word hung between us like poison. I could taste her contempt, and it was revolting. I guess every world has 'those' types.

  "I was going to donate this coin," I said, my words bristling with a mix of indignation and hurt. "But I don’t think I will if people like you represent what this Temple is all about." I tried to keep my tone steady, but my voice trembled slightly, betraying my embarrassment and confusion as I glared at the priestess, battling the urge to simply walk away.

  “Likely story, she said, “Put it back or I will call guards!”

  “Go right ahead. From what I understand, they owe my family and me a favor.”

  A resonant voice cut through the tension. “Novice Agneta, that will be enough,” an elderly man said, gliding through a side door. He moved fluidly despite his advanced years. His robe, similar to the woman’s but more intricately embroidered, hung from bony shoulders. The deep midnight blue cowl framed a face wrinkled with a thousand fine lines, like an ancient map. His gnarled fingers made a gentle shooing motion at the novice. Priestess’s face crumpled into a childish pout as she retreated. Her footsteps echoed sharply against the stone.

  Once we were alone, he turned to me with a slight bow. “I must apologize for this unpleasantness,” he intoned solemnly. “I am well aware that you arrived with Master Florent and together performed a great service by apprehending a group of bandits. Those poor misguided souls require salvation, and the fact that you risked your very lives to bring them to justice rather than slaughter them outright is an act that honors our Goddess’s teachings."

  I rolled the coin between my fingers. “I wasn’t looking for gratitude when I helped my uncle catch those bandits, and I’m not looking for it now with this donation. I’d still like to give it, just as long as it doesn’t go to Novice Agneta or fund her prejudice,” I said, voice expressionless.

  “That will be as you say,” he made a small nod, then gestured to a polished bench. As we sat, his joints creaked almost as loudly as the ancient wood beneath us. “The Goddess of Balance teaches us that all things seek equilibrium,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “Many like Novice Agneta fail to grasp this wisdom. They see the beastkin settling in the neighboring Valley as a disturbance rather than restoration.”

  His weathered fingers glided over the scale emblem on his medallion. “The Ashen War claimed so many lives. The beastkin newcomers, though few, help return what was lost. They bring balance, not disrupt it. The elder priests understand this truth. The younger generation…” He shook his head slowly. “They see things differently.”

  I studied the old priest’s face. “So this is a case of left hand not knowing what the right is doing? Or an outright schism?” I asked, voice quieter.

  “What a curious expression! I am going to remember this one.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, though his fingers worried at the hem of his sleeve. “I must say, you speak with unusual clarity for one so young. Use proper theological terms, too. Judging from what I see, you are about five, maybe six years old? Did you already finish your rite of passage?” he asked, a hint of awe in his tone.

  I flicked my tail. “I’m almost five, but I completed my coming-of-age trial just days ago, actually. That’s when I ran into those bandits with my uncle. You’re well informed about beastkin customs and current events. Is that part of your priestly duties or just a sign of a curious mind?” I asked, eyes narrowed with playful suspicion.

  “A bit of both,” the head priest admitted. “I only graduated from Morne Academy’s theology course, but I tried to attend as many free lectures as I could on other subjects. I’ve found we cannot deal with spiritual matters effectively without also understanding the material world.”

  We talked for a while. The conversation was engaging and pleasant, but I felt unsettled. If this Temple’s next generation of clergy are human supremacists, it might be a tough place to thrive for someone like me. I thanked the head priest for our talk, accepted his apologies again with a courtesy bow, and left the Temple for home, pausing at the market to get some fruit.

  I was about to head back to the Inn, juice from a crimson apple already running down my chin, when three men stepped out from between the market stalls and blocked my way. Their hands were calloused and dirt-stained, and their clothes were patched but sturdy. They had an unmistakable look of field workers. They didn’t look too old, maybe in their early twenties. The tallest had a jagged scar on his left cheek that twitched as he glared at me, while the stocky one next to him kept cracking his knuckles with deliberate slowness.

  “Hey, you, brat,” the tall one called, his voice carrying the rough edge of someone used to shouting across plowed fields. “I’ve heard you've been stealing from a temple.”

  My stomach clenched. Novice Agneta must be spreading rumors faster than wildfire. What a pain. I shifted my weight onto the balls of my feet, feeling the rough cobblestones digging under my paw pads. Slowly, I raised my hands with my palms open. A natural, non-threatening gesture, but my arms are already up and halfway in a position to protect my head or punch someone if I have to.

  “Look,” I said, keeping my voice composed despite the hammering in my chest, “I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but go ask the head priest himself. Nothing was stolen. In fact, I donated a little to the temple.”

  His face twisted with anger. "Are you an idiot? You expect us to believe that?" he said, trying to grab me by my new shirt. I wasn’t about to let that happen. As he tried, I put my hand on his chest and jabbed two fingers into the spot between his solar plexus and Adam's apple. His eyes bulged. It doesn’t hurt much, but it causes an extremely unpleasant, vomit-inducing feeling.

  He stumbled backward, hand flying to his neck. “Please,” I said, keeping my voice subdued and even while my heart beat rapidly against my ribs. “Someone’s given you bad information.”

  The second man stepped forward. "Shut up, you dog. A priestess herself told us you were stealing." His fist shot toward my face. I saw it coming, and my body reacted on instinct. I lunged forward and extended my fist, elbow up, meeting and deflecting his straight punch before it could build momentum. At the same time, I drove my other fist down between his legs. He let out a strangled wheeze and doubled over.

  Next, I quickly stepped to the side, almost jumping, but only just enough to create the distance I needed for an effective strike. I side-kicked the man on my left in the knee as hard as I could. There was a sickening pop. Both of my attackers were stunned and in pain, which kept the third one from reaching me right away, as he had to circle around his friends. I took the chance to dart in the opposite direction.

  My paw pads gripped the street as I ran, wind rushing through my fur. The apple’s sweetness still lingered on my tongue. My instructor always said that if he ever met Usain Bolt, he’d give him a black belt on the spot. If you can outrun anyone, you’re the best at self-defense. This wasn’t a movie, and I was still too small to fight properly. Two of them couldn’t keep up, and that gave me the edge I needed.

  A few minutes later, I finally noticed a guard standing at the crossroad. With any luck, he will escort me safely back to the Inn.

  “Hey guard, I need your help…”

  I was interrupted by a dull thud. Before I even knew what had happened, I was lying on the ground, my vision blurring. The voice of a soldier who had struck me sounded like it came from a great distance away.

  “Got you, brat, now to jail with you, sneaky thief.”

  The absurdity of this statement was the last thing I remembered before I lost consciousness.