Chương 17: In Which James Blesses the Wrong Twin (Apparently)

James stood barefoot in the grass at dawn, looking down at himself. The first thing that struck him was how easily he fit in now. There was no jarring contrast anymore, no sense of being dropped into the wrong place. He looked like one of them. Like he belonged. Marla had seen to that. He grimaced faintly at the memory. His hair had grown out just enough to start bothering him, and she had decided to fix it. With a stone knife... A blunt one!

He had protested loudly enough that the squirrels bolted up the trees and the twins huffed in indignation at their lost catch. That had earned him a lecture that would have suited a five-year-old better than a grown man. Marla hadn't cared. She'd cut it anyway, muttering the whole time about "proper appearance" and "a chieftain not looking like a moss-wolf." When it came to shaving, though, he had drawn the line. So the beard stayed.

He had worked it himself, fingers clumsy at first, then steadier, braiding it the way he'd seen the others do. It wasn't long enough yet, not really, but it changed something. Gave his face weight. A harder edge. He looked… respectable. Maybe even a little dangerous. The clothes made the biggest difference. What he'd arrived with had finally given out somewhere along the way. The fabric had thinned, torn, worn down until it barely held together.

Mira and Harlon had taken one look at them and practically pushed him aside so they could "fix the problem." Which, apparently, meant leather. He shifted slightly, feeling the stiffness of the trousers. They still held that faint, lingering smell that hadn't quite faded yet. The tunic sat rough against his skin, but it held, and it fit well enough. The boots sat a few steps away. He glanced at them, then looked back down at the grass. There was no left or right, just two boots that hated him equally.

The leather didn't bend, and it definitely didn't forgive, and by the time he'd made it ten steps his toes had filed a formal complaint in blood. So, for now they could wait. The cold dew pressed into his skin, soaking his feet, sharp enough to keep him grounded. He let it sit there a moment, breathing in the morning air, letting himself settle into it. Then his gaze lifted. The blueprint shimmered ahead of him.

The storage shed blueprint hovered in front of him in full scale, half-transparent, a ghost of a building waiting to be made real. Simple. Compact. Raised floor. Vent gaps. Shelves that existed only as blue lines. If you squinted, you could almost pretend it was already there, an actual place to stack sacks of grain and salted meat and dried herbs like this was a normal village and not a camp of thirty exhausted people one bad hunt away from starvation. At least, it would serve…

if they actually had anything to store. Right now, the shelves would hold exactly three things: One half-eaten squirrel bone, a handful of badly carved wooden spoons and Varn's shirt, because he lost it somewhere yesterday James sighed. We're living on a wish and a prayer. He rotated the model with a thought. The shed obediently turned, its mana threads shifting like fireflies caught in a net. He enlarged one corner, then shrank it back, checking the supports.

He'd learned to trust the blueprint's "feel" the way he trusted the little unconscious tutorial he got when he stepped inside a model, but he still liked to look. Old habits. Earth habits. Trell and Alder stood close, one on each side, as if this was a sacred ritual rather than three men staring at an invisible building outline in the morning mist. Trell was still wearing the sling like Irla had ordered, even though the arm under it was perfectly whole. His hair was sticking up in drunken tufts.

His eyes were bright with the same hunger for doing that had nearly gotten him killed. Alder, meanwhile, looked like he'd slept in excitement. His cheeks were smudged with soot. His hands had fresh splinters. He had a little smile tucked in his beard that made him look like a little kid.

"Small," Alder said reverently, watching the shed's outline.

"But good small."

"Exactly," James murmured. The model rotated again, stopping on the door.

"We don't need a palace. We need a place for food before it rots." He paused, then added, mostly to himself, "Not that we have food to rot yet." That truth sat heavy in his chest. They were still living day by day. Everyone was. He could feel it, even when they tried to be cheerful. The way Marla was already counting bundles of herbs in her head. The way Bren and Rogan went hunting with the tight focus of men who knew a missed throw meant hungry kids.

The way even the twins, creepy little woodland gremlins that they were, spent half their time trying to corral squirrels like it was a job and not a fever dream. Until Elira's garden started yielding real greens, until they found something like grain, until the tribe had a stable food source, they were balancing on a knife-edge. Thankfully the population was small enough that it was still manageable, and the bear had been a blessing in disguise, giving them enough meat for a couple of days. The problem was…

it had already gone bad. He berated himself for not thinking to smoke the meat so they could preserve it. At least he had learned his lesson now. Thirty mouths wasn't easy, but it wasn't a city either. A deer fed them for a day. The glade plants they'd transplanted would help. If the hunting kept steady and the forest didn't decide to throw another bear at their faces, they could keep their heads above water. But every day was a coin flip.

James sighed, letting the blueprint hang in the air while he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"We need animals." Trell blinked.

"Animals? Like… furry ones?"

"Yes, Trell," James said dryly.

"Furry ones. Goats. Sheep. Chickens. Farm animals. Something that makes food without us having to chase it through a magical death-forest." Trell made an "oh" face and slowly turned to Alder. Alder stared back. The two exchanged the kind of look only men who had grown up eating nothing but roots and questionable mushrooms could share. James noticed immediately.

"…What?" he asked. Alder hesitated.

"Well… Chieftain… there aren't any goats here." James slowly closed his eyes.

"Of course there aren't."

"In the mountains where we lived before," Trell added, "there were many. Whole herds." Alder nodded.

"Lots of goats. Big ones. Loud ones. Good milk."

"We could go get some," Trell suggested, brightening.

"It's only…" He paused, thinking.

"Two? Three? Four weeks' walk."

"Each way," Alder added. James stared at them.

"No. None of you are going on a two-month goat pilgrimage." Trell deflated. Alder looked genuinely disappointed, as if James had denied him the right to retrieve his long-lost favorite toy. James let himself breathe out slowly.

"Okay. So… no goats. Great." He tilted his head toward the little glowing wisp hovering above him.

"Lumen." James stared at him.

"Do they have farm animals here?" Lumen brightened as if he'd been waiting to be asked.

"Indeed," the voice chimed in James's head.

"Vaelrin holds many of the beasts of your world. Cattle. Goats. Fowl. Even swine, though those can be dangerous." The light drifted in a circle above the shed model.

"But in these forests, such creatures are rare. Mountain goats are the only livestock in abundance nearby, and even those seldom stray from stone and high ground." James shut his eyes.

"Fantastic. So the one animal we can't easily keep." Trell looked at him, puzzled.

"Chieftain?" James opened his eyes again.

"Nothing, Trell. Talking to Lumen." Trell accepted that the way you accept thunderstorms: with resignation and a vague sense that this is just what leaders do. James looked back at the shed blueprint.

"We need a solution, Lumen. Like… a real one." Lumen drifted closer, its glow sharpening. James could almost feel it gathering excitement.

"There is a solution, James Wright." James's eyebrows lifted.

"Yeah?" The light swelled brighter, so bright James blinked. It was ridiculous. It was literally a lightbulb moment. If this were a cartoon, there'd be a little ding sound. James stared at it incredulously. Lumen spun once, flaring with triumph.

"You could tame forest beasts." James exhaled through his nose. Slowly.

"Of course." Alder and Trell waited, eyes on James. Neither of them could hear Lumen, so from their perspective James was pausing to commune with a floating lantern and the secrets of the universe. They didn't look annoyed. If anything, they looked awed. Like this was normal behavior for a savior-chief. James felt the urge to laugh and cry at the same time. He rubbed his jaw.

"Taming beasts…" He glanced toward the forest, thinking of antlers and claws and mana-bright cores.

"Are there animals suitable for domestication?" He hesitated, then spoke more slowly, dredging up memory from documentaries and half-forgotten college trivia.

"If I remember right… animals have to meet certain criteria to be domesticated. Herd animals work best. They need a hierarchy. A leading specimen. If you tame the leader, the rest follow. Also… they can't be too aggressive or too solitary, or they just… break or eat you." Alder's expression went blank with the weight of realizing he was listening to something that might be important history of mankind. Trell looked like a man seeing the moon for the first time.

James knew they didn't understand all of it, not really, but they were storing it anyway. Like seeds. Lumen bobbed approvingly.

"Astute."

"Thanks," James muttered.

"Years of watching National Geographic, I guess." Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

"Several forest species meet those criteria," Lumen said, suddenly more serious.

"Soft-horned deer, certain elk herds, even the greywood boar. Some can be guided into semi-domestication with patience." James's mind raced.

"If we had a herd…" he started, half to himself, half to the wisp.

"Milk. Meat. Breeding stock. Wool or fur. We could stop bleeding time and calories every day just to keep bellies full. We could store food properly. We could prepare for winter." He looked toward Alder and Trell.

"Animals don't just help food. They help labor. Pack animals. If we ever want to haul stone regularly, or move timber in bulk, beasts can do that. If we had enough, we could even use them for defense." He hesitated.

"Or for travel. Cavalry, I guess." The word felt weird in his mouth. Too big for their tiny clearing. But he'd learned not to underestimate how fast systems like this escalated. Alder's eyes were wide, glinting with imagination. Trell actually swayed a little on his feet.

"We could have beasts carry logs?" Alder asked softly.

"Yes."

"And stones?" Trell added.

"Yes."

"And milk?" Alder said, voice going reverent.

"Yep. Milk, eggs, butter, assuming we can figure out butter without accidentally poisoning ourselves." They stared at him like he'd just promised them a new sky. James swallowed, feeling that familiar surge of responsibility again. The tribe didn't need grand speeches. They needed small, practical miracles that stacked. Lumen drifted down until its glow was a warm coin in James's peripheral vision.

"However," he said carefully, "there is another way. Easier, faster." James squinted.

"Magic."

"Magic," Lumen agreed brightly. James deadpanned, "Of course the answer is magic. Magic solves everything."

"Indeed!" Lumen said, missing the sarcasm entirely. James sighed.

"Okay. Hit me." Lumen zipped in a happy loop around their heads, like it couldn't contain itself.

"There are skills that allow people to tame beasts. For communal good or personal bond. Beast-tamers are known in every age that survives." James felt his stomach sink before the punchline even arrived.

"Beastt..." he started.

"Beasttamers."

"Crap," James breathed. Alder tilted his head. Trell asked, "What's wrong, Chieftain?" James looked at them, then looked at the little hovering menace beside his ear. There were many things he was willing to do for this tribe. Blessing the twins and turning them into magical animal-wranglers was… unfortunately on that list. He closed his eyes, already seeing his future flash before him like a hostage apology video.

"I have to bless the twins," he said, voice flat with doom. Alder made a sound halfway between a laugh and a prayer. Trell's face did something complicated, pity, amusement, and the faint dread of a man who'd watched those twins try to negotiate with squirrels.

"It's not that I don't like them," James said, opening his eyes and rubbing at his forehead.

"It's just… they're creepy. And slightly deranged. Like…" He paused, searching for a comparison that would make sense in a world that didn't have Netflix. Back on Earth, though? The analogy was perfect.

"If they were back home," he muttered, "they'd either have their own reality show or a murder documentary." Alder blinked.

"Reality… show?"

"Imagine a gathering where everyone watches the twins do weird stuff and argues about it," James said vaguely.

"For fun." Trell considered that.

"They would win."

"Exactly." James exhaled.

"Or they'd start a forest cult and convince everyone the squirrels were gods." Alder snorted. Trell fought a smile. James looked toward the treeline, where he could already imagine the twins lurking like synchronized gremlins.

"They never break eye contact. They speak in perfect sync. They try to herd things that shouldn't be herdable. They're unsettling in a way that makes me check behind me when I go to sleep." Alder chuckled.

"They are good boys, though."

"Sure," James said.

"Good boys. Very good boys. Who sometimes stare at me like they're deciding if I'm edible." Trell nodded solemnly.

"They did that to me too."

"Great." James let the blueprint drift aside, his shoulders dropping.

"So we bless the twins. They become Beasttamers. We start herding magical deer. We live happily ever after, right?" Lumen sparkled sweetly.

"Yes." James stared at the light.

"…I'm going to regret this."

"Probably." Alder laughed outright now. Trell patted James's shoulder, sympathy written all over his face.

"It will be alright, Chieftain," Trell said.

"If anyone can talk to beasts, it is them." James watched the shed model hang in the air like a promise. Food. Animals. Progress. All of it dangling just out of reach like a carrot on a stick. He rolled his neck, then took a breath that felt like stepping off a cliff.

"Okay," he said.

"Let's go find the twins before they start herding something worse." Alder's grin widened.

"They were herding beetles at dawn." James closed his eyes again.

"Of course they were." Lumen bobbed, thoroughly pleased with himself.

"This will be splendid." James muttered, "If I survive it." They found the twins exactly where James had expected: Kneeling in perfect synchronization in front of a log… … whispering to a single beetle… … that looked like it desperately wanted to escape this conversation. The beetle wasn't just large, it was two palms long, green as moss, with shimmering wings. The kind of insect that would make Earth scientists foam at the mouth and James foam at the mouth in a completely different way.

The twins, Tember and Finni, turned at the exact same time, heads swiveling with simultaneous eerie grace.

"Chieftain."

"We were expecting you." James flinched.

"Please don't say things like that." The beetle used his distraction to flee. The twins watched it go, heads tilting right, then left, like synchronized owls. Tember (probably?) clasped his hands.

"It was a very stubborn beetle." Finni nodded.

"But we will try again later." James swallowed.

"Right. Sure. You do that. Beetle… training." Alder, behind him, was doing a very poor job of not laughing. Trell kept whispering, "Amazing," under his breath like an anthropologist who had discovered a new species. James cleared his throat.

"Okay, listen. I need to talk to both of you." They stepped forward in perfect harmony, stopping the exact same distance from him. Their eyes were wide, unblinking, and somehow, both innocent and deeply unsettling. James took a steadying breath.

"You two," he said carefully, "might be very important for the village's future." Both twins leaned forward at the same angle.

"We know." He froze.

"What?" Tember raised a hand and pointed at his forehead.

"The squirrel king told us." James stared. Finni nodded sagely.

"He whispered it into our dreams. We were chosen." James closed his eyes.

"There is no squirrel king."

"Not yet," both twins whispered. Alder coughed violently, trying not to laugh. Trell made a silent prayer gesture toward the sky. James sighed deeply.

"Okay. Sure. Fine. Whatever. Listen. I'm going to bless one of you today." The twins went still, utterly still, like statues carved from unsettling energy. Slowly, perfectly synchronized, they turned to each other, then back to him.

"Which one of us?" James blinked. He hadn't actually thought that far.

"Uh… Tember," he said, picking at random. Or maybe Finni. Honestly, who knew? One of them beamed. The other beamed. They shared the same face. James immediately began regretting everything.

"Lumen", James whispered urgently, "please tell me this is safe."

"Oh, this will be fascinating," Lumen replied, vibrating with excitement.

"Also potentially catastrophic. But mostly fascinating." Not reassuring. James gestured Tember closer.

"Stand there. Hold still. Try not to prophesy anything." Tember nodded.

"My body is prepared." Finni, off to the side, mirrored him.

"My spirit is prepared." James raised a hand.

"No. Stop. Only one of you." Finni stepped back, folding his hands behind his back like a scolded cult disciple. James focused. He felt the now-familiar pull in the center of his chest, the warm spark of his Chieftain profession awakening and flowing outward. Mana gathered, light, warm, hopeful, rising like a tide from his core. Tember's eyes widened. The blessing left him in a soft pulse, a shimmering arc of faint gold and pale-blue mana that struck the boy in the chest like a silent bell. Tember gasped.

The sound came sharp and real, pulled from him before he could shape it into anything else. His body shivered once, then again, and a glow followed, spreading across him. The glow intensified, brighter than Irla's, brighter even than James's blueprint threads, lightning-white, moon-silver, storm-blue. It coiled around Tember, wrapped him like a cocoon, then exploded outward in a ring of shimmering motes. James staggered back. Alder yelped and jumped behind him. Trell screamed into his hands.

Finni whispered reverently, "He ascends." The light faded… and Tember stood straighter. His hair floated as if a breeze touched only him. His eyes gleamed pale silver. His skin hummed faintly like distant thunder. Tember blinked once, then twice, then froze completely, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. A flush of pale light rippled over his skin. James stepped closer.

"Tember? What... what does it say?" Tember didn't answer. Finni leaned in, eyes huge.

"Brother?" James snapped his fingers in front of the glowing boy.

"Tember! Hey! Read it out loud. Whatever you're seeing, just tell us." Slowly, with the gravity of a prophet unveiling a sacred scripture, Tember raised his hand and pointed at the empty air in front of him… where only he could see the glowing text. In a hushed, trembling voice, he read:"Class… awakened.

'Rider of the Veiled Wyld.' Rare… plus." The clearing went silent. James's brain stopped. Finni gasped like someone had stabbed him with joy. Alder whispered, "Rare… what?" Tember swallowed, glowing faintly all over now, and continued reading:"A myth-touched class… tied to beasts of fate… grows stronger when mounted upon a creature bound by destiny… gains powers related to riding, commanding, and empowering Wyld-beasts." He lowered his hand slowly. Silence. James blinked once. Twice. A third time.

"…excuse me?" he whispered to reality. Lumen made a sound like a squeal transmitted through a wind chime.

"YES! YES! UNBELIEVABLE! EXTRAORDINARY! JAMES WRIGHT, YOU MAGNIFICENT ACCIDENT... THIS IS INCREDIBLE!" James stared at Tember.

"He doesn't even have anything to ride." Tember blinked, glowing faintly, and tilted his head.

"Not yet." Finni's eyes filled with tears of pride.

"My brother will ride the sky."

"THE WHAT?!" James choked. Lumen bobbed upside down, ecstatic.

"This is a mythic class! A true lineage class! A class that shouldn't even EXIST at low levels! James, do you understand? You accidentally created a prodigy!" James rubbed his face with both hands.

"I wanted a guy who could herd deer…"

"He can herd legendary beasts," Lumen supplied cheerfully.

"That's not better!" Alder whispered, "He glows…" Trell whispered, "Is… is he supposed to glow?" Tember smiled faintly, as serene as a monk achieving enlightenment.

"The beast awaits me." James pinched the bridge of his nose again.

"What beast?" Tember's smile widened disturbingly.

"The one that hears my call." Finni nodded.

"I will feed it berries." James wheezed.

"You don't even know what it IS!" Tember pressed a glowing hand to his chest.

"But I can feel it. Far. Waiting. For its rider." Lumen practically danced in the air.

"Oh, this is PERFECT! His class is an echo-class, one tied to fate! His abilities will be ridiculous once he actually has something to ride!" James groaned.

"He doesn't have a mount."

"A minor setback!"

"This is not minor! This is major!"

"It's character growth!" James turned slowly to Alder and Trell. Both were staring at the newly awakened Tember as if witnessing the forest name a chosen one.

"What am I supposed to do with him?" James croaked. Trell whispered, "Train him?" Alder whispered, "Find the… thing he's supposed to ride?" Finni whispered, in perfect emotional support mode, "I will help him groom it." James inhaled through his teeth.

"Lumen. I need advice now." The familiar zipped excitedly.

"Tember is no Beast-Tamer. His class is far, FAR rarer. The Wyld answers him. But the Wyld also tests. His mount must be worthy. You cannot simply pick an animal for him."

"So what do we do?"

"Wait. Watch. And prepare. His first ability will awaken naturally when his destined mount draws near." Tember looked pleased with himself.

"It comes. Slowly. But it comes." James put his hands on his knees, leaning forward like he was about to be sick.

"What have I done." Alder patted him on the back.

"Something great, Chieftain." Trell nodded fervently.

"Truly great." Finni clasped Tember's hands.

"Brother, your destiny is immense." Tember nodded.

"We must find something worthy."

"NO," James said immediately.

"We are NOT going to go poking around the forest trying to find some mythical mount that wants to eat you." Both twins tilted their heads, same angle, same eerie calm.

"But it calls."

"No."

"But it waits."

"No."

"But..."

"Not. Happening." Lumen chimed.

"It will happen eventually."

"Lumen!"

"What? I'm being honest." James groaned. Tember looked serene. Finni looked devoted. Alder looked excited. Trell looked terrified. And James… James looked at the forest and thought: Oh God, I'm going to have to build a stable for a giant magical murder-lizard, aren't I?