The first rays of sunlight filter through the ancient canopy of Shadrazel Forest as I step onto our treehouse terrace. I breathe in the crisp morning air that carries the scent of dewdrops and wild honeysuckle. The forest awakens around me with a symphony of gentle sounds—leaves rustling in the morning breeze, distant bird calls echoing through the mist, the soft creaking of wooden bridges that connect our tree-bound homes.
Twenty-two years old today, though beast-people don't celebrate birthdays the way humans do. For us, every dawn is a celebration, every day a gift from the forest spirits.
I settle onto my favorite bench with my sword across my lap, running the oiled cloth along the blade in smooth, practiced strokes. The steel gleams in the morning light—a weapon I've cared for since Papa first placed it in my hands. I begin the morning anthem softly as I work, my voice barely above a whisper as it joins the quiet forest awakening around me.
"Spirits of root and branch, guardians of the eternal wood, We greet the light with grateful hearts, as our ancestors understood. Grant us strength for the day ahead, wisdom to walk the ancient way, Keep us safe beneath your boughs until we greet another day."
The village is mostly still in the early morning quiet. Only occasional sounds mark others beginning their day—the distant splash of someone drawing water from the river, the soft thud of an axe splitting kindling, a mother's gentle voice calling her children to breakfast.
The terrace door opens behind me with a familiar creak.
"Happy birthday, Leiko," Papa says warmly as he joins me on the terrace. His amber eyes—so like mine—crinkle with affection. His graying auburn hair catches the morning light.
"Thank you, Papa." I turn to embrace him, feeling the solid strength of his arms around me. The familiar scent of wood smoke and forest herbs always clings to his clothes.
Kyo emerges from inside, yawning dramatically but managing a genuine smile despite his obvious reluctance to be awake this early. At eighteen, my younger brother still carries some of the gangly awkwardness of late adolescence, all long limbs and dramatic expressions.
"So what do you want for your birthday gifts?" Kyo asks with a grin, then answers his own question with mock exaggeration. "Let me guess—more books, more of those weird human scripts that nobody else can read."
I laugh and ruffle his already disheveled brown hair. "Maybe some books that aren't quite so weird. Something in our own language for once."
"Where's the challenge in that?" Papa chuckles, settling onto one of the carved wooden benches. "Your mother always said you'd read everything in the known world if you could get your hands on it. Though I still marvel at how easily you took to those human writings—most of our people struggle with their script even when they try to learn it."
The mention of Mama brings a bittersweet ache to my chest. She died when I was fifteen, taken by the wasting sickness that even Elder Maeve's healing magic couldn't cure.
"How did you learn it anyway?" Kyo asks, settling beside Papa. "You never told me the whole story."
Papa's comment stirs a memory—a human merchant caravan that stopped at our village when I was perhaps nine or ten. A boy among them, perhaps my age, who taught me basic letters and simple words over those few precious days. When his caravan departed, he pressed a book into my hands: "Keep practicing. Maybe someday you'll read all the stories in the world."
I never learned his name, but that encounter sparked the hunger for knowledge that burns in me still.
"A traveling merchant taught me," I say simply. "Years ago."
We share breakfast together: forest fruits, nuts from the sacred groves, dried meat taken with proper gratitude to the spirits. Papa tells us about the merchants expected to arrive next week.
The comfortable family routine settles around us as we finish eating. After a while, Papa glances at the position of the sun filtering through the canopy.
"We should head to the training grounds soon," he says, looking at Kyo. "You need more practice with swordsmanship, son. Versatility in combat could save your life someday."
Kyo's jaw sets in stubborn resistance. "I only want to learn spear fighting, Papa. It suits me better, and I'm already getting good at it."
Papa sighs but doesn't argue further. Better to excel with one weapon than to be mediocre with many.
The village training grounds spread between several massive trees like a series of cleared platforms connected by rope bridges and wooden walkways. The morning light filters through the canopy above, creating dancing patterns of gold and green across the training areas.
Other villagers are already gathering for daily practice—warriors of all ages preparing for the training that keeps our people strong. Combat skills aren't just tradition among beast-people; they're survival necessity in a world where physical prowess often determines who lives and who dies.
I watch as Kyo spars with another young beast-man, their movements fluid and competitive. Spears dance in controlled patterns as they test each other's defenses. Kyo is improving rapidly—his natural coordination serves him well with the longer weapon.
But his opponent's foot sweep catches him off-guard. My brother tumbles awkwardly, his own foot twisting as he hits the ground with a sharp cry of pain.
Leira approaches immediately with the practical efficiency of a skilled warrior. Her dark brown hair is bound back in a simple braid, and her alert dark eyes speak of battles fought and hard-won experience.
"Let me see that," she says, examining the injury with quick, sure movements. "Twisted ankle, some swelling. You'll live, but be more careful with your footwork—watch for those sweeps, they're a classic trap."
She binds the injury with clean cloth from her pack. "He telegraphed that move for a full three seconds before he executed it. You need to learn to read your opponent's intentions, not just react to their actions."
Elder Maeve joins us, her silver hair and dignified bearing marking her as one of our village's treasures. At sixty-three, she moves with the careful grace of someone who has learned to work with age rather than against it.
"May I?" she asks, and Kyo nods gratefully.
Maeve places her hands over the bandaged foot. The soft, warm light that flows from her palms makes me hold my breath in wonder, even though I've seen her healing magic countless times. When she removes the cloth, much of the swelling has subsided, and Kyo can flex his foot without wincing.
"Useful skill," Leira observes, "but not something to rely on for every injury. Better to avoid the damage in the first place."
"Agreed," Maeve says, helping Kyo to his feet. "Magic should supplement good sense, not replace it." She glances at me with a knowing smile. "High magic favors minds that can imagine numbers in three directions at once—demons and elves mostly. For us, the forest teaches different gifts."
Kai approaches our small group as Elder Maeve finishes her healing, and I feel my pulse quicken. At twenty-four, he's already established himself as one of our village's most skilled young warriors. His auburn hair catches the filtered sunlight, and his golden eyes are bright with concern as he addresses Kyo first. I notice a few wood shavings clinging to his sleeve—odd for someone usually so meticulous.
"That was a good attempt at recovery," he tells my brother, whose face lights up with pride. "But Leira's right about watching for foot sweeps—they're harder to see coming but easier to counter once you know the signs."
Kai demonstrates the proper defensive stance, showing Kyo how to keep his weight distributed in a way that makes sweeps less effective. Only after encouraging Kyo does his attention turn to me, and there's something in his gaze that goes beyond mere friendliness.
"Ready for our match, Leiko?" he asks, anticipation clear in his voice.
We've been sparring together for months now, ever since I asked him to help me improve my combat skills. What started as simple training has evolved into something more complex, sessions charged with an undercurrent I'm only beginning to understand.
I unbuckle my sword and place it carefully against the base of a nearby tree. "Always ready," I reply, accepting my practice sword from the weapon rack.
The match begins with careful circling, each of us assessing the other's stance and readiness. Kai's spear work is precise and controlled, testing my defenses while trying to establish the distance that favors his longer reach.
But I'm faster than most, and I know how to use that speed effectively. I parry with economical movements, seeking an opening to close the gap where my sword's shorter reach becomes an advantage. Our weapons clash in controlled patterns, the sound of wood against wood creating a rhythm that draws the attention of other warriors.
Kai feints high, drawing my guard up, then strikes low with perfect control. But instead of simply touching the victory point and ending the match, he follows through with a sweep that takes my legs out from under me, sending me to the ground with more force than strictly necessary.
Before I can recover, he's above me, one hand pinning my wrist while his spear point hovers near my throat. I'm acutely aware of every point where our bodies touch—his weight against my torso, his hand warm on my wrist, his face close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes and feel his breath against my cheek as we both breathe hard from the exertion.
For a moment that stretches like honey, neither of us moves. The training ground fades away, and there's only the two of us, caught in this intimate tableau. His eyes search mine, and I see something there that makes my breath catch.
"Victory to Kai," Elder Maeve announces, breaking the spell, and the small crowd that gathered appreciates the display with enthusiastic approval.
I barely hear the words because I'm too focused on the way Kai's eyes lingered on mine as he helps me to my feet. His hand is warm and steady in mine. We don't immediately step apart once I'm standing.
"Well fought, both of you," Leira adds, but there's something knowing in her expression as she watches our interaction.
"You're getting better," Kai tells me, his voice carrying warmth that makes my cheeks flush. "I actually had to work for that win."
"Next time I'll make you work harder," I reply, and the competitive banter feels weighted with undercurrents I'm only beginning to understand.
I retrieve my sword and buckle it back around my waist. As we walk away from the training area together, Kai's presence beside me feels different than it had before—more charged, more significant.
"Are you planning to join the fishing expedition this afternoon?" he asks, and though the question is casual, there's something in his tone that suggests the answer matters to him.
"Of course," I say. "I never miss river day."
"Good." He pauses, then adds, "I was hoping you'd be there."
The simple admission sends warmth spreading through my chest. Whatever is developing between us, it isn't one-sided.
When the time comes, I watch the villagers gather with their fishing spears and woven baskets. The familiar rhythm of community preparation fills me with contentment. Papa and Kyo join the group, along with most of our neighbors. Elder Maeve chooses to remain behind—at her age, the trek to the river and back is more taxing than she prefers. I catch several villagers exchanging meaningful glances when they think I'm not looking, and Kai seems particularly distracted.
As we begin our journey to the Grand River, following the well-worn paths through the forest, Kai falls into step beside me. Together we walk among the trees toward the water, the forest around us humming with its eternal song. Late afternoon light filters through the canopy in dancing patterns.
The conversation flows easily between us—discussions of technique and strategy, observations about the changing seasons, shared laughter over Kyo's dramatic retelling of his training ground mishap. But underneath it all, I'm aware of something new, a current of possibility that makes every casual touch of his hand against mine feel electric.
The boy who taught me to read all those years ago was right about one thing—there were countless stories in the world. But right now, surrounded by the people I love in the place I call home, I couldn't imagine wanting to be anywhere else.
The sound of rushing water grows louder as we approach the Grand River, and I feel a familiar thrill of anticipation. Whatever happens on this fishing expedition, whatever develops between Kai and me, whatever changes the future might bring, this moment feels perfect in its simplicity.
For now, there's only the forest path, the sound of flowing water ahead, and the warmth of Kai's presence beside me as we walk toward the future, unaware of what it holds.