Winter in the Forest (1)
The forest's time flows a little slower than the city's. But the changes are steady. Before I knew it, I'd grown tall enough to reach the plates on the shelf, and Evel—who always came home with dirt-caked hands—now knew how to brush the dust from her collar and carry herself with a proper young lady's grace. …Of course, the usual gacha pulls were still a thing.
"Look at this! Voxy caught it!"
Evel burst through the cabin door, shouting with a grin. For reference, Voxy was that fox she'd picked out from the vegetable patch way back when. Wild foxes average about five years, right? So at this point, it was basically a grandparent in fox years. Lately, it hadn't had much energy and could barely hunt, so it must've scavenged some half-dead mouse or something again.
"…So, what is it this time."
I asked flatly, and Evel proudly held out her prize.
"Ta-da! A plump rabbit!"
In her hands dangled a rabbit carcass, neck neatly bitten through. Oh. Jackpot today.
"The fox did good. Hand it over."
"It's not 'fox,' it's Voxy! Vox-y! Memorize it already!"
"Whatever."
I reached out, and she passed me the rabbit. Nice and heavy—well-fattened. Sure, rabbit meat has a rep for being tough and gamey, but that's only if you don't bleed it right. Done properly, it's top-tier stuff. Especially high-protein and perfect for someone who's low on energy.
Wrrrr—
Before the thought even finished, a familiar vibration hummed through my left arm. Dusty.
I nodded and extended my hand toward the rabbit. Eye contact while butchering isn't exactly fun for me either.
"Eat."
Shooo—
At my permission, a black shadow slithered out from the bandage seams. It blanketed the rabbit's vacant eyes.
Pop, slurp.
The shadow, mission accomplished and sated, wobbled contentedly before slipping back inside. I picked up the now-eyeless rabbit and headed inward. Snatched a kitchen knife with practiced ease. Hung it upside down to drain the last blood, skinned it briskly, separated bone from meat, chopped into hearty portions, and dumped it all into the big pot already simmering on the fire.
Taming that wild gamey smell is key. I shook in bay leaves dried from the forest and spices like rosemary, no holding back. Chunked potatoes and carrots in too, cranked the flame, and soon the pot bubbled with rich, nutty stew aromas.
In my past life, I couldn't even nail instant ramen water ratios. Humans really are masters of adaptation. Five years in this forest had turned me into a damn fine cook.
"It's ready. Evel, set the table?"
"Okay."
Evel clattered wooden bowls and spoons from the cupboard. Normally we'd lay it out on the central table, but today our steps led elsewhere. I carried the steaming tray and opened the door at the back of the cabin.
Creeeak—
"Mealtime."
"Heh heh. The smell was wafting in from outside—truly mouthwatering."
Zepeto, propped up in bed under thick blankets, slowly turned his head. The forest's time, which had raised us so well, had weighed just as heavily on the wizard well past seventy.
Children grow and learn about the world. As their minds sharpen and bodies stretch, they gauge the scale of their footing and their horizons naturally expand. I was no different. A father's back that loomed like a mountain in childhood looks small once you're grown.
I realized Zepeto wasn't the grand wizard I'd imagined. Or more precisely, he was a fine one—just not in rank. He handled a vast array of magic schools beyond life magic and geometry. A path starkly unlike wizards who drill one school their whole lives.
His heart image in words? Embrace. And refinement.
Now I understood why the White Tower entrusted me to him. No world-shaking destruction or miracle-working power, but he knew how to softly envelop jagged edges. The elders hadn't pawned me off lightly—they'd pondered deeply. And they were right. In the end, I shed Dusty from my left arm and saved my devouring heart image.
Just one tiny flaw… the contaminated half remained. Still prickly. Still detached. Still.
After the meal, as always.
"Well, child. Remembered your name yet?"
He asked it like a ritual greeting. And I, as always, paused before answering.
"……No."
Five years ago or now. Nothing had changed.
Yes, but time flows equally for all. Five years shot me and Evel upward, deepened Zepeto's wrinkles. But that fairness hits hardest on beasts with far shorter spans.
Wild red foxes max out at five years or so. From when Evel tamed that garden kit at ten—it was always a countdown to goodbye.
"Voxy's acting weird… hasn't eaten since earlier, just panting…"
Evel's voice dripped with tears. Just weeks ago, it'd brought a rabbit; now its coat was dull, breaths shallow rasps.
Zepeto emerged at the commotion, hobbling on his cane. I hurried to his side, steadying him. He could barely walk alone these days.
He stroked the fox cradled in Evel's arms.
"Its time has come, Evel. Steel your heart."
"No way…"
Tears welled in her eyes. I watched silently. Sad? Eh. Detached. Still.
I eyed Zepeto gazing down at the fox. His eyes, deep and still—pity for it, or projecting his own nearing end?
"Voxy…"
The fox summoned its last strength, nuzzling her palm faintly. Like a final thank-you. Then its ragged breaths cut off.
"Voxy… waaah!"
Evel broke at last. Fifteen now, budding into a young lady after five years—but once the sobs started, it was like our first days here.
Wrrrr—
Through grief and mourning, Dusty buzzed obliviously. Asking if it could have the corpse's eyes.
Suddenly, an old tale surfaced. Destiny is a blessing—and a curse. Innate talent on a predestined canvas, a guaranteed path. But trapped forever in that frame.
I'd rejected it before. Destiny was pure boon. Even if it eroded the self. Even if it tainted half my heart image, leaving me numb to all. Worth it to survive this brutal fantasy world.
"Sob, hic…"
"Don't grieve so. We'll bury it in the sunny spot behind the cabin."
Evel nodded through tear-streaked face at Zepeto's comfort.
"I'll grab a shovel from the shed."
I turned toward the storage. Cool, dead air brushed my cheek.
Back with the shovel, they waited under the great oak out back—Voxy's favorite sunning nap spot. We dug, laid it to rest, mounded a small grave.
"Cough, cough."
Zepeto hacked dryly beside me. I watched him clutch his collar. Then imagined it: that small, hunched back finally touching earth, never rising.
Not yet. But soon.
Would I cry then? Or stay detached like with the fox?
I closed my eyes. In the vision, my face was parched. Still.
"………."
Looking up, the sky grayed over. Winter approached. The lonely season blanketing all in white.
Shadows stretched. We stood side by side, but mine alone dragged longest. Following its end, far off—dark silhouettes stared back.
For the first time, Destiny felt like a curse to me.