6 - Preparing

The sky was still pink when Athena blinked awake. Pale ribbons of color bled through the leaves above, painting the undergrowth in soft, ethereal hues, and dew clung to everything like the forest had cried tiny happy tears in the night. The air was crisp and cool, carrying the scent of damp earth, green leaves, and a faint, sweet floral odor she had come to associate with the morning in the valley. Her hut, nestled in its woven walls of stick and moss, felt smaller than usual this morning. Not damaged, not worse, just… smaller. Like something inside her had grown during the night, gotten too big to feel confined by the familiar space.

She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes, letting her gaze drift over the details of her little home. The mud walls, patched and angled, stood firm, a testament to her efforts against the storm. The grass roof, though imperfect, had kept the rain out. The moss bed was soft and cool beneath her hands. This place had served its purpose. It had kept her safe. It had taught her how to build, how to endure, how to make a space her own. But the feeling of being contained, of this small circle of dirt and sticks being her entire world, felt… constricting.

“Plan,” she murmured aloud, letting the sound roll around in her mouth like a berry seed. A word with shape. Direction. Something new. She didn't just need to react to the world; she needed to engage with it, to move through it with purpose.

Her gaze drifted toward the stream, where morning mist curled like white snakes dancing over the surface. She could hear its gentle murmur, the constant flow of water over stone, a sound that was both calming and insistent, always moving, always going somewhere. A pair of long-legged birds with brush-feathered tails stood in the shallows, heads tucked backward under their wings, still slumbering. As she watched, one cracked open a glowing eye, a vibrant, almost electric blue, and stared directly at her, a silent, unblinking gaze that seemed to pierce the morning mist.

While her mind wandered remembering the thoughts that had lulled her to sleep, a sense of anticipation filled her, a feeling she couldn’t name.

Journey.

“Journey?” She whispered, the feeling of the word adding to her excitement. It came unbidden, just like “gift” and “Home” had before. But it felt right. A word with weight. Something about going, about seeking. Not fleeing, not wandering aimlessly, but seeking something specific, even if she didn’t yet know what that was.

Athena sprang to her feet, half stumbling from her sleep. Her bed a tangle of moss and vines, her body still adjusting to the sudden transition from rest to motion. Her shelter, once her whole world, the tangible manifestation of her desperate need for safety, now looked different. It looked like a starting point. Like a well-loved drawing ready to be tucked into a satchel. Her heart buzzed. She had a direction now. Even if that direction was simply "away from here, towards somewhere new."

She tapped her lips with a finger, her mind already working, processing the idea of a journey. What did one need for a journey? She thought of her attempts at gathering food, of finding water, of building shelter. Those were fundamental needs, always present. But for moving, for traveling…

“I need… things.” The concept solidified. Things that were portable. Things that would help her survive while moving.

She glanced around her small clearing. First: food. Her pouch, stitched from wide leaves and grass thread, still held a few berries from the day before, dull and squishy from being packed together overnight. She grimaced, touching them through the leaf material. Not good for sharing. Not good for her, either, not for very long. She needed fresh food. Food that would last.

She remembered the red berries in the thicket towards the stream, the bushes with small fruits that hummed gently if she pressed them to her ear. She’d noticed that yesterday while gathering for the wolf’s collar, fascinated by the subtle vibration, thinking it was just her hand, just her own energy. But no, she was sure of it now. She’d picked one, held it close, and it had whispered like wind through a flute, a faint, high-pitched sound barely audible unless she listened intently. That tree felt special. Its berries felt… alive in a different way than the others.

She decided to seek out those bushes. Not just for food, but for those particular berries. She picked more now, carefully this time, only the ripest ones that shimmered faintly like they remembered stars. Some glowed a little blue, some a little red, and some flickered between both like they hadn’t decided. She placed them into her pouch with care, separating them slightly from the regular berries. These weren’t for immediate sustenance, not like the squishy ones, and certainly not for gifts anymore. They were for strength. Whatever a journey needed, she figured strength was part of it, and these berries felt like concentrated strength.

Her stomach grumbled, a low, insistent sound. Not polite, certainly, but honest. A direct communication from her body about its needs.

"I'll pick a few more."

Satisfied and with a nearly full pouch of berries for her journey, Athena made her way back to the stream, pausing at a bend where the water slowed into a small pool. She sat by the water, watching little flat bugs skate across the surface in zigzag dances. They left trails that glowed gold, but only for a heartbeat, like tiny trails of light from a falling star. The world was full of these small, ephemeral wonders, things that caught the light and her attention for a moment before fading away. She cupped water in her hands and drank. Cold. Clear. Alive. It tasted of stone and cool earth, a constant, reliable source of life.

She paused to see her reflection. Her eyes, wide and dark, blinked back at her from the surface of the water. Hair like shadows framed her face, still streaked from the mud she'd used to become tree-colored yesterday, an act of adaptation she no longer needed. She licked a finger and tried to wipe some of the lingering mud away from her cheek, only managing to smear it more.

She laughed. A strange sound. Bright and short and round. Like the berries. Like the morning light on the water. She liked it. It felt light, carefree, a stark contrast to the tight, panicked gasps that had filled her lungs in the forest, a sound that belonged to her.

After rinsing herself properly, kneeling by the water’s edge, scrubbing arms and legs until she glistened and the mud became stories written in rivulets across the stones, she felt a renewed sense of clarity. Clean. Fresh. Ready.

She wandered back toward her hut, picking up small things she thought she might need for a journey. A stick, curved and strong, not sharpened like the one she carried for defense, but a sturdy walking stick, something to help with balance on uneven ground. A smooth stone that always felt warm, tucked into her pouch because its subtle heat was a comforting mystery. Her old pouch of regular berries, even if they were mushy now. Maybe something out there would eat them if she didn’t, nothing in this forest seemed to go to waste.

She paused by her “bed”, the moss-lined center of her hut, and stared at it. It was soft, comfortable, shaped to her body from nights of rest. Not because she needed it for food or shelter or safety, but because leaving it behind felt strange. The idea of “goodbye” started to bloom in her mind. Not sad, not happy. Just… weight. A recognition of the end of one phase, the beginning of another. Another new word whispered, soft and resonant, tying this feeling of ending and continuation together: memory. Her time here, her experiences, her little hut, they would become memory.

She crouched and gently patted the moss. “Thank you,” she said, unsure if it was to the moss, the hut, or the place itself, the valley that had taken her in and taught her how to be. All of it, maybe.

Outside again, the forest looked different. Not because it had changed, but because she had. The trees no longer towered in warning. Now they stood like curious giants waiting to see what she’d do next. Their leaves sparkled faintly, just a shimmer when the wind moved through them, like hundreds of tiny eyes blinking their approval.

She twirled once, then stretched her arms wide, embracing the open space, the morning air. The warmth inside her chest returned, humming gently like the glowing berries she carried. Just there. Present. Comforting. A center point, a source of strength and knowing.

Journey. Excited. Adventure.

The words came from her skill, blooming from her core without asking permission. A simple instruction, combining purpose and timing. Her eyes snapped to the sky. The pink was fading, replaced with yellow-white. The sun was climbing. That meant time was doing something, moving forward, and maybe she should too. A journey, an adventure, wasn’t a thing that happened while sleeping. It was a thing for the day.

Athena tapped her forehead. “A list,” she said. Another new word, emerging fully formed, tied to the concept of organization, of planning, of setting out steps.

Food. Water. Stick. Chalk. Quartz, Pouch. Cloak.

Unlike the wolf or the squirrel, without their fur, like her simple cloak she was uncovered, explosed. Perhaps clothes were simply another form of decoration, of identity, something she had felt the need to have in order to survive, yet perhaps they could be more.

Her fingers brushed against her neck, remember the collar she had made the day before, the first “gift.” She imagined the wolf returning to its den and finding it. Did it understand? Did it like the colors? Did the glowing berries sparkle in the den’s dark like tiny stars for the pups?

She grinned. That thought made her feel very full. Not in the belly way. In the soul way.

She needed a bed for her journey. Her grass and moss bed was soft, but it was tied to the hut, tied to the earth. She needed something portable, something she could carry, something that would provide a layer of comfort and separation from the cold, hard ground, wherever she stopped. She looked at the piles of soft grass and broad leaves she used as bedding, her mind picturing them woven together, shaped into something flat and transportable.

She spent the rest of the morning gathering materials for her mat. Not the stiff branches of her shelter, but the long, flexible grasses, the broad, supple leaves she had used for her cloak. She found thinner vines, perfect for binding. Sitting by the stream, she began to weave, her fingers moving with practiced skill, layering leaves, twisting grasses, binding them together with vine cord. The rhythmic motion was calming, a focus that allowed her mind to wander and solidify her plans.

As she worked, she continued to refine her mental list of needs. Food, water, tools for gathering more. Shelter for the night, something she could carry, the mat. Defense? Her sharpened stick was crude, but it was something. Knowledge? The wanting to understand, to learn, that felt like the most important tool she had

The sun began to dip lower, casting long shadows across the valley, painting the leaves in warm amber and gold. She wove the final length of vine, securing the edges of the mat. It was a rough rectangle, uneven, but thick and soft, a portable piece of comfort.

She held it up, a tangible result of her day's work. Satisfaction, deep and quiet, spread through her. It wasn’t a shelter, not like her hut, but it was something. Something she had made for the journey.

But the day was ending, and her preparations felt incomplete. She still needed more food, more water, a better way to carry them. More tools, perhaps.

“I'll finish tomorrow,” she said aloud, a promise to herself. Today had been for planning, for starting. Tomorrow would be for completing, for going.

She rolled the mat, tying it with a length of vine, and carried it back towards her hut. She ate the last of her remaining soft berries and shoots, conserving the few glowing berries for the journey itself.

As darkness settled, painting the valley in hues of deep blue and purple, she unrolled her new mat on the soft earth inside. She lay down on it, feeling the cool, smooth surface of the leaves beneath her, the gentle give of the woven grass. It was different from the moss bed, firmer, less yielding, but it felt like it belonged to her in a different way. It was a mat for movement, for exploration.

She pulled her leaf cloak over her, inadequate for true warmth, but a familiar comfort. The pouch of supplies rested beside her, a silent promise of the journey to come.

She closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of the night. The whisper of wind, the distant hoot of an owl, the gentle murmur of the stream.

Night fell.

Inside, she curled on her new mat, the vine-wrapped food bundle beside her, her stick tucked under her arm. The glowing berries gave off just enough light to outline her fingers when she held them up.

“I’m ready,” she whispered to no one. Almost.

And the forest, if it heard, didn’t argue.

She closed her eyes, but her thoughts didn’t rest. They flitted around like firebirds, lighting up all the places she might go. Downstream. The other side of the stream. Maybe over that hill she hadn’t dared climb before. What if there were more wolves? What if there were things that glowed even brighter than the berries? What if the Tower, the tall broken place, held answers to the words whispered in her dream, Core, Kinship, Beast?

She smiled into her mat and whispered, “Tomorrow.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

And the forest, if it heard, didn’t argue.

Eventually, even dreams faded away.

Darkness.

At first, it was only that, empty, endless, pressing against her like the hush of the forest at night. No wind, no warmth, no weight. Only herself.

Athena opened her eyes, but there was nothing to see. No stars above, no ground below. Just blackness, stretching in all directions. She moved, tried to move, but her body wasn’t there, or if it was, she couldn’t feel it. The nothingness was absolute.

A shudder ran through her mind. A new kind of unease, something deeper than simple fear. Where was she? She had just been in her hut, had just curled up with her bundle of food and her soft moss pillow. But now, there was only this.

A memory stirred.

This was familiar. Not in a comforting way, but in a way that sent a slow, creeping chill through her thoughts. She knew this void. It was where she had first been. Before the hut, before the forest, before anything, just a floating, scattered awareness, drifting in black nothing.

No. No, she didn’t want to be back here.

A spark flared.

Color. Motion.

Like an unseen dam breaking, light erupted around her, flooding the void with a cascade of dazzling images.

The first time she saw fire, flickering in the night, casting dancing shadows on her shelter walls. The three-tailed fox, still and glowing with an unnatural light, a silent testament to the boundary between life and something else. The feeling of wind rushing over her as she ran, laughing, through the trees, free and undirected. The wolf’s golden eyes locked onto hers, a gaze that promised both danger and a strange, unsettling recognition. The scraped hand, the stinging pain, the shock of blood against her skin. The sight of the wolf, massive and powerful, standing near the delicate, unsteady forms of the pups.

Her own voice, soft, young, a new vibration in her chest, echoing back at her in the quiet forest.

"Morning."

"Me."

"Offering."

"Gift."

The world spun in brilliant, blinding splashes of color, memory upon memory cascading before her like a stream breaking through a dam. The sight was overwhelming, but at first, it was beautiful. It was her world, woven from sensation and discovery.

Then she tried to move, and couldn’t.

She wasn’t there. Not really. No hands to reach, no feet to walk, no voice to speak. The memories danced and played, vivid and real, but she was only a watcher, detached, observing her own experiences from a distance.

A strange pressure began building in her chest.

She wanted to touch them, to hold onto the moments before they slipped away. To step back into the feeling of the sun on her skin, the taste of berries, the relief of water. But they moved without her. She had no control over the images, over the flow of her own past. She could only see, only remember.

Panic crept in.

No, no, no, she had to do something. This felt too much like the void, like being powerless again, a floating awareness with no ability to act. She tried to turn, to push, to call out, but nothing changed. The swirling lights, the flashes of past days, continued without pause, without her intervention.

Let me go, she thought. Let me wake up. Let me be.

And then, in the center of the storm of memories, she saw it.

A single, pulsing point of light.

Unlike the other images, it didn’t flicker or fade. It burned steady, radiating warmth, color, feeling. It was the warm pressure she had felt when her skill unlocked, when she understood the wolf's behavior near its den , when she tasted the first shoot. The swirling storm around her seemed to bleed from this one source, like a sun spilling out its light in all directions. It called to her, not with words, but with something deeper, something fundamental that resonated with the core of her being.

Athena reached for it. Not with a hand, for she had none, but with her awareness, a focusing of her entire being on that single point of light, that center of warmth and knowing.

The moment her awareness brushed against the glowing core, the world exploded.

Threads of radiant color shot outward from the core, weaving through the images around her. Every memory, every word she had learned, every feeling she had ever held was now laced with these shimmering lines, connecting back to the core she had touched. The warmth spread through her, not gentle, but powerful, overwhelming, yet not painful. It was pure energy, raw and potent, flooding her being, binding her experiences into a unified whole.

She felt everything again, all at once, a symphony of sensation and memory.

The cold splash of stream water on her skin. The sharp taste of berries on her tongue. The roughness of bark under her fingertips. The sting of the thorn. The heat of the ember. The soft weight of the grass bed. The crisp air on the cliff edge. The solid feel of her mud-and-branch walls. The weight of the wolf’s gaze, heavy and knowing, watching her at the edge of the clearing.

But then, the warmth intensified.

A pressure formed, deep in her chest, hot and twisting, but not with pain. It was a pressure that clarified, that brought things into focus, like tightening a loose thread until the pattern became clear.

The scene of the wolf’s den appeared before her, sharper, more vibrant than the other memories. The small, glowing forms of the pups. The wolf standing at the edge of the hollow, its golden eyes fixed on her. The moment she had placed the woven collar at the den entrance, the feeling of vulnerability mixed with determination, of fear layered with something akin to affection, the act of offering, of giving a gift to creatures she did not understand but felt a strange connection to.

The image of the wolf, its gaze locked in her direction, its piercing golden eyes staring into her, into her form, her soul, her core. Subtly, slowly, as if silently acknowledging something Athena had only just discovered, it lowered its head. Just once, a subtle nod of approval, of acceptance.

The golden lines surged, snapping together like woven thread, binding the memory into something new, something fundamental. The warmth peaked, the pressure tightened, and in that moment, the complex tangle of feelings and experiences resolved into a single, clear understanding.

A voice, both booming and whisper-soft, spoke into her mind, the words not just heard, but known, resonating deep within her core.

"Skill - Beast Kinship - Unlocked."

The light surged again. A rush of words poured through her, fast and wild, too many to hold at once, concepts layered upon concepts, meanings unfolding like blossoms in spring. Her mind clung to one, the source of the light, the source of the skill, the source of herself.

"Core."

The glowing ball of light, it was hers.

Her core.

The realization struck deep, sinking into the very fabric of her being. This was more than a memory. More than a thought. Something cradled deep within her, wrapped around her soul like a protective shell. It was something woven into her now, something real, a center point from which her awareness and her abilities sprang.

The warmth dulled, fading into a soft hum. The lights around her dimmed. The swirling colors slowed. The last images of her small hut, her gathered supplies, her resting form, herself curled in sleep on the moss bed, flickered once, twice,

And then the dream faded entirely.

Athena drifted into deep, soundless rest, the echo of words and feelings settling within her, rearranging her understanding of herself and the world around her.

"Core."

"Beasts."

"Kinship."

"Journey."

"Adventure."

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Athena stirred, stretching as her mind lingered in the quiet space between sleep and waking.

The dream had been... strange. Bright. Loud. Powerful. Her thoughts felt full, as though they had been stretched and reshaped while she slept. Core... kinship... beasts... The words circled in her mind, not fully understood but impossible to ignore. A new sensation, too, the feeling of that central point of light, the core, deep within her chest, a quiet hum of potential she hadn't felt before. It was subtle, but undeniable.

As she blinked up at the roof of her hut, a different thought pushed to the front of her mind.

The place.

The strange place with the large stones. The Tall Broken Place.

The memory was old, one of her first, but it had never left her. Enormous slabs of stone, standing silent and strong, unlike anything else she had seen in the forest. She remembered the terror of the falling stone, the high-pitched whine, the heavy thud. And the glimpse of the golden eyes watching from the brush nearby. Fear had gripped her then. A wild, terrible kind of fear, because she had not understood what had happened, and in that moment, she had been certain something wrong had occurred. But along with the fear had come something else. Excitement. The rush of seeing something she did not know. The thrill of realizing there was more, always more, beyond what she had seen and touched before. It was the first spark of her journey, her first encounter with the unknown in this world.

She sat up slowly, holding onto the thought.

Her journey had to start somewhere. It needed a beginning. A purpose beyond mere survival.

Why not there?

A small shiver ran through her. Not fear. Not quite. The memory of the Tower was big, important, yes, but also tied to that primal terror. The thought of returning made her stomach twist in a way she didn’t have words for, a complex knot of apprehension and intense curiosity.

But the twisting feeling didn’t tell her to stop. It told her to go. To understand. To face the thing that had terrified her and make it known.

She smiled.

"Adventure."

The word felt right in her mouth, a label for this new phase of her existence. Not just living, but seeking. Exploring. Learning with intent.

An adventure needed a beginning. A destination. The Tower felt like that beginning, that destination.

She turned, taking in her little hut. It was so familiar now, so much a part of her that it felt strange to think of leaving it behind. She reached out, running her fingers over the smoothed bark of the entrance, pressing against the firm shape of the walls she had built. It had kept her safe through the storms and watchful eyes. It had been hers. Her first Home.

But adventure called.

Still, she couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. It felt… wrong, somehow, to simply walk away from the places that had sheltered and taught her, from the creatures that had shared this valley with her.

She stood, the early light warming her skin, chasing away the last of the night's chill. The stream gurgled beside her, clear and bright, as it always had. She padded barefoot across the soft earth to its edge, crouching beside it, dipping her fingers in the cool water, letting it run over her skin. It felt cleansing, a ritual of transition.

"Goodbye," she murmured.

She wasn’t sure if the stream heard her, if a body of water could hold memory or respond to farewells, but she liked saying it anyway. It felt like an acknowledgment, a mark of respect for the source of water that had sustained her.

She turned next, facing the distant trees where she knew the wolf den lay, nestled between ancient roots and damp earth. She couldn't see it from here, but she pictured it in her mind, the small pups, their soft glowing fur, the wolf's golden eyes watching over them, protecting them. She remembered the tension, the fear, the unexpected stillness, the strange warmth she felt for the pups, the deliberate act of leaving her gift.

A small wave.

Not too much. Just a flick of her fingers, a quiet, unseen gesture toward the den. A silent acknowledgment of the kinship the dream had spoken of, a connection forged in shared space and unspoken understanding. She hoped the wolf would accept her gift. She hoped it understood her intention.

Finally, she made her way to the place where she had buried the three-tailed fox. The earth had settled, the shape of the small grave blending with the land, but she still knew exactly where it was. The flowers she had placed before had wilted, their petals curling inward, returning to the earth from which they came.

That wouldn’t do. Not for a goodbye.

She knelt, gathering fresh ones, soft yellow and pale orange, their edges curling like tiny flames. She placed them carefully, then pulled a twist of grass from her pouch, shaping it with her fingers until it curled just right, like a tiny version of the fox’s three tails. It was another small, deliberate act, a way to honor the strange, glowing creature that had taught her about death and decay and the unsettling beauty of the natural world.

"Goodbye," she said again, softer this time, whispering it to the quiet earth.

She spent the next few hours preparing, her actions deliberate and focused. She needed to be ready for a journey. Ready for the unknown. Ready for adventure.

First, gathering things. She sought out the sweet shoots she had first eaten, gathering a bundle of their tender stalks, wrapping them in a broad leaf. They weren't as satisfying as berries, but they were easy to carry and provided quick energy. She made sure to collect a few more of the glowing berries, the special ones that pulsed with light, wrapping them in a separate leaf, not for eating, but because they felt important, imbued with a strange, humming energy she didn't yet understand.

Next, tools. Her sharpened stick, honed against stone, was secured. She gathered more pieces of the pale, chalky stone she had used to mark the ground, wrapping them carefully. These, too, went into her pouch. And the quartz stone, the one she had used to start fire, was tucked carefully into a fold of her leaf pouch, a vital tool for creating warmth and light.

She adjusted the pouch, securing it at her waist with a length of woven vine cord. It felt heavier now, full of her collected resources, a comforting weight that spoke of readiness.

She spent the rest of the morning simply walking around the valley, observing it one last time. She walked along the stream, listening to its endless flow, watching the fish dart beneath the surface. She walked past the glowing moss and the three-tailed fox's grave, past the berry bushes and the tall, whispering trees. She saw the birds flitting through the branches, heard the buzzing of insects, watched the squirrels chase each other up the bark. It was a world she had come to know, a world that had taught her how to be.

She observed the different types of trees, their bark textures, their leaf shapes. She looked at the various plants, noting their colors, their forms, their scents. She saw the small creatures moving through the undergrowth, each with its own way of existing, its own place in the world. She felt the ground beneath her feet, the variations in texture, the way it held moisture or drained quickly.

It was a quiet, personal farewell, a way to imprint the valley onto her memory, to carry a piece of it with her. She paused at the edge of the clearing where her hut stood, looking back at the small, mud-and-branch structure. It was lumpy, imperfect, but it was hers. Her first attempt at shaping the world to her needs.

"Goodbye," she whispered, raising a hand in a final wave.

Then, without looking back again, she turned and walked to the stream's edge. The water flowed steadily downstream, a silver path leading away from the familiar, towards the unknown.

She paused for a moment, orienting herself. The Tower. The Tall Broken Place. That was her destination. It lay somewhere downstream, where she had fallen and experienced that strange mixture of terror and fascination. Following the stream felt like a logical route, a guide through the forest. The water always flowed downwards, towards the valley floor, and perhaps, towards the place where the land held those strange, ancient stones.

Taking a deep breath, filling her lungs with the scent of damp earth and green things, Athena stepped onto the path beside the stream, turning her back on the valley that had become her home. The weight of her pouch, the feel of the stick in her hand, the rustle of the mat she now carried rolled and tied to her back – they were tangible reminders of her preparedness, of her journey.

As the sun was climbing higher into the sky, painting the leaves in shifting patterns of gold and green, Athena began walking, her steps steady, her gaze fixed on the path ahead. The forest stretched out before her, a vast and complex world waiting to be explored.