Chapter Text
Mike noticed how the forest they were currently in did not feel like a place people simply wandered into. The light dimmed almost immediately, shadows swallowing the path behind them until the world they came from felt farther away than it should have. The air smelled of wet bark, moss, and old earth left untouched for too long. Somewhere above them, branches groaned softly against one another, and then even that sound faded.
That had been hours ago. At some point, the trail had stopped looking like a trail at all. It disappeared somewhere after the second hill and the clearing where Dustin had confidently claimed he recognized a fallen log from before despite the fact every tree in this forest looked exactly the same.
Ancient trunks crowded around them on all sides, thick with moss and twisting roots that pushed through the soil like sleeping serpents. Vines hung low between branches, brushing against their shoulders whenever the wind moved them. The canopy overhead was so dense that sunlight only slipped through in thin streaks before vanishing back into shadow.
The deeper they went, the quieter it became. No birdsong, no insects, just the damp sound of boots sinking into soft earth until Dustin was the first to finally break the silence. “I believe,” he announced, “that we may be lost.” He tried to sound dignified about it but it fell apart when his boot caught a root and he stumbled forward, arms flailing briefly before he caught himself on a nearby trunk.
Lucas pushed aside a branch with one gloved hand without even looking back. “You believe?” he repeated dryly. “We have passed that same tree at least seven times.”
Dustin pulled himself upright, brushing leaves off his sleeve like the accusation itself was offensive. “That is impossible. Trees do not repeat themselves.”
Ahead of them, Max snorted under her breath. She ducked beneath another branch with easy grace, her fox tail flicking once behind her. Even in rough terrain, she moved swiftly as if the forest had less hold on her than it did on everyone else. “And yet here we are,” she said, gesturing vaguely around at the endless wall of identical trees surrounding them.
Dustin straightened slightly, clearly making an effort to sound optimistic despite the situation. “Hey, if things get truly desperate, we still have you with us.” He pointed toward Max’s fox ears with confidence that a solution he believed was undeniably correct. “I mean—foxes are creatures of the forest, right? Surely there is some instinct in you that might get us out of this place."
Max finally looked over her shoulder, slowly turning just enough to fix Dustin with a flat, unamused stare. “That may be the most foolish thing you have ever said to me,” she said, each word measured and calm.
Dustin lifted a hand defensively, already leaning back a little. “It was a reasonable suggestion.”
Max's fox tail gave a single sharp flick that betrayed how little patience she had left. “It absolutely was not.”
Mike stopped paying attention to them after that. The arguing had become familiar over the months they’d traveled together. Dustin complained, Lucas insulted him for it, Max threatened both of them, and somehow the world kept moving. Strange as it was, the noise comforted him. As long as they were still bickering, things were probably fine.
Still, something about the forest kept his hand resting near the hilt of his sword. The trees seemed closer together now or maybe the shadows between them had deepened. Mike could not fully explain the feeling pressing at the back of his neck. It wasn’t dangerous exactly, just a small hunch that something is wrong when you notice that something expected is missing. There should have been birds, wind, or just something in general that you may found in any woods. Instead, this forest surrounded them in complete silence.
A few steps behind the others, Jane had gradually slipped out of their immediate rhythm, her pace slightly slower without drawing attention to it. Her deer ears twitched atop her dark hair, tilting now and then as they caught sounds the rest of them missed. While the others focused on the path ahead, she kept glancing between the trees, toward the deeper parts of the woods where the shadows thickened.
After a while, she spoke quietly. "Did any of you feel strange when we first entered here?”
Mike glanced back over his shoulder while still walking. “You are imagining things.”
Jane shook her head slowly. The grip on her staff tightened slightly, fingers adjusting along the worn wood. “No. It feels like we are being watched.”
That was enough to pull the group into silence. Even Dustin, who usually filled quiet moments without effort, hesitated. His usual energy faltered for a second before he forced out a small, uncertain laugh. "Next you will tell us that the trees are also listening,” he said, trying to make it sound like a joke.
No one responded. The absence of an answer settled in quickly, heavier than the words themselves. Mike’s gaze moved across the forest again, slower this time. Between the trunks, there was nothing that moved, nothing that gave itself away until a faint chime, soft and distant, echoed somewhere deeper in the forest and Mike turned sharply toward it and froze in his tracks.
The forest ended so suddenly. One moment there were tangled roots and dense shadow pressing in from every side. Next, the trees parted without warning, and light spilled in all at once, sharp and complete, with no gentle transition to ease into it. Beyond the treeline lay an open clearing, washed in the warm morning sun. After hours beneath the dark canopy, the brightness almost hurt to look at.
Wildflowers scattered across the meadow in loose patches of blue and gold, breaking up the green with quiet bursts of color. A gentle breeze moved through the grass, carrying the scent of clover. The air felt startlingly light after the suffocating weight of the forest.
But something about the clearing felt wrong. It seemed too untouched. The grass bent evenly in the wind without a single broken patch beneath it. There were no footprints, no trails, and no signs of animals crossing through. It looked less like a real meadow and more like the memory of one.
And at the center of it—
Mike blinked.
Someone is there.
A boy lay sleeping where the sunlight fell brightest, spilling directly across him as though the clearing itself had shaped around that single spot. He rested curled among the flowers, knees tucked loosely beneath him, one hand lying open in the grass beside him. Soft brown hair, uneven from sleep, stirred gently across his forehead whenever the breeze passed through.
And most striking of all—long, brown, bunny ears rested against his hair, relaxed and still in the morning light. Mike’s gaze moved over him carefully, searching for something that explained any of this. Dirt. Blood. A discarded weapon nearby. Any sign that would make the scene feel real instead of strange.
But there was nothing.
No scratches on his skin, no mud on his clothes, not even crushed flowers around where he rested—as if the meadow itself had been created to be careful with him. The bunny hybrid only slept there peacefully beneath the sun, breathing slow and even, completely unaware of the five strangers staring at him from the edge of the clearing.
No one stepped closer since it did not feel like they had stumbled across someone sleeping in a meadow. It felt as if the boy had always been there, waiting patiently at the center of the clearing long before any of them arrived.
Lucas spoke first. Even his voice dropped lower than usual. “This is…” He frowned slightly, searching for a better word before giving up on it. “…unsettling.”
“A bunny hybrid,” Jane said softly, her deer ears tilted forward with careful attention. “Out here all alone.”
Dustin gestured vaguely around the clearing. “There are no tracks, no camp—nothing!” His brows pulled together. “Not even the flowers around him are disturbed.”
Then Max suddenly stiffened. It started small and easy to miss. One of her fox ears flicked back sharply, then held there, tense. “…Something is wrong.”
Lucas reacted immediately, turning fully toward her. “What?”
Max didn’t answer straight away. Her fox tail gave a short, uneasy flick behind her before she forced it still. “I cannot feel any mana from him,” she said at last.
Dustin leaned forward, eyes narrowing slightly as if he could see the answer by getting closer towards the bunny hybrid. “Not even a little?”
Max gave a short, firm shake of her head. Her gaze stayed there for a second longer than necessary. “None at all.”
Mike’s brow pulled together at once. “Is that unusual for hybrids?”
Jane answered before anyone else could. “Yes," her hand tightened slightly around her staff. "We are still half human, there should always be something present. It is simply...” She paused, as she tried to find the right way to explain it. “A current beneath a person. You may not always notice it immediately, but it is there.”
Dustin swallowed, the motion visible in his throat as his earlier energy slipped away. “And if there is none?”
No one answered right away. A light breeze moved through the clearing, brushing through the grass in slow waves. Flowers bent gently around the boy, shifting with the wind but never touching him harshly. He lay there undisturbed, face calm, breathing steady.
Peaceful.
Almost too peaceful.
Max folded her arms tightly across her chest. “It would mean that…” She said carefully, “he has only just been born.”
Silence followed Max’s words, settling over the group in a way that felt different from their usual pauses. Mike’s gaze lingered on the bunny hybrid a little longer than it should have. Something in his chest tightened—not alarm, not suspicion, but something closer to instinct. Seeing someone alone and powerless then deciding, without permission, that they shouldn’t be.
“Should we not help him?”
Dustin snapped around so fast his lute bumped hard against his back. “What?”
Lucas let out a slow breath through his nose, rubbing a hand across his face. “Of course you would say that.”
Mike’s brows pulled together immediately. He shifted his stance, shoulders tensing. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Max looked at him, unimpressed, like she couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or concerned, “we have spent the last several minutes discussing how deeply unnatural this entire situation is, and somehow your first instinct is still to walk directly toward it.”
Mike’s jaw tightened as he looked past them, eyes still fixed on the sleeping boy. “He is alone.”
“Yes,” Lucas said sharply. “That is exactly the problem.” He stepped forward slightly, eyes never leaving the bunny hybrid. “The disappearing trail, the silence. A meadow untouched by any living being and now, a boy lying in the center of it like someone placed him there intentionally. You see someone helpless, I see bait.”
Dustin pointed toward the forest immediately. “Exactly! A trap. You help him and suddenly a swarm of Demogorgons come pouring out of the trees because you decided to act the hero.”
Mike turned on him immediately, frustration flashing across his face. “I just want to make sure he is alright!”
Lucas crossed his arms, the impatience in his voice sharper now. “We can already see from here that he is breathing. And to me? He seems completely alright. Totally unharmed.”
Max’s fox tail flicked once behind her, narrowing her eyes at Mike. “What exactly do you even expect to happen if we wake him? We do not know who he is. We do not know how he got here. And, most importantly, we do not even know what he is.”
Mike opened his mouth, then stopped. Because the truth was, he did not know either.
A few steps away, Jane remained quiet. Her attention had never left the sleeping boy. Her deer ears twitched softly now and then, assessing the situation. “Well... he does not feel dangerous.”
Max answered immediately. “That is not enough.”
“I know," Jane glanced down briefly. “I am only saying what I feel.”
The discussion began getting more tense after that, voices overlapping softly in the middle of the impossibly calm clearing. Then, the flowers moved. It was not by the wind this time but by a small shift in the grass followed by a slow inhale.
The boy stirred, his bunny ears moving first. They twitched faintly against his hair with the slow, instinctive reaction of something waking before the rest of the body had caught up. One ear folded halfway, then lifted again uncertainly. His fingers curled weakly into the grass as if searching for something familiar to hold onto.
And finally, his eyes opened.
The afternoon sunlight caught them immediately. Their color shifted strangely in the light, somewhere between brown and green, soft and warm like leaves at the start of autumn. He blinked slowly. There was no panic and sudden movements—just quiet awareness settling into place. His gaze drifted upward first, unfocused from sleep then gradually toward the sound of shifting grass beneath the group's boots.
His bunny ears turned carefully with each noise, following it before his eyes did. And finally, the bunny hybrid looked at them one by one and took his time with each face. What struck Mike the most was the complete absence of fear. The boy did not reach for a weapon and he did not scramble backward and did not tense like a prey surrounded by predators. He only looked at them with soft confusion, ears twitching faintly whenever someone shifted even the slightest bit. He didn't feel like someone putting up a brave front but someone who genuinely did not yet know there was anything in the world to fear.
Jane moved before anyone else could decide what to do. “Jane, wait—” Max reached toward her instinctively, fox ears flattening for a second.
But Jane was already moving. She stepped carefully through the flowers and lowered herself into a crouch a few paces from her fellow hybrid. Her staff was set gently in the grass beside her, deliberate and unthreatening, as though she did not want the sight of a weapon to be the first thing he saw upon waking.
“Hey there. Are you hurt?”
The boy looked at her immediately. His head tilted just slightly to one side. One long bunny ear lifted slightly higher than the other. He looked at her like he was trying to figure out what the sound itself meant, listening closely even if the words didn’t quite make sense to him yet.
Jane waited a moment before trying again. “Can you understand me?”
He kept staring at her face with complete focus. There was nothing empty about his expression. Something behind his eyes was trying very hard to follow along, searching for understanding.
Jane tilted her head slightly. “What is your name?”
The question faded into the clearing unanswered. The bunny hybrid glanced down briefly before his attention drifted back to Jane again. There was something strangely apologetic in the look he gave her, as though he understood she wanted an answer and regretted that he could not provide one.
Mike noticed then that the boy was not watching Jane’s eyes when she spoke. He was watching her mouth, as if he thought understanding might come if he paid close enough attention.
Behind them, Max crossed her arms. “Does he not know how to speak? Or is he choosing not to?”
The mood in the clearing shifted the moment Lucas spoke, tightening around the group almost immediately.
“What if he is a Mind Flayer?”
Mike frowned immediately, the thought hitting him faster than he could stop it. “That does not make any sense.”
“It does! A demon wearing the face of a hybrid,” Lucas continued. His hand rested near the crossbow at his back now, not drawing it, but close enough. “Something soft and harmless that would lower people’s guard down.”
"There is no mana," Mike said, his voice steady. "None. A demon could not suppress it completely. And Mind Flayers—they speak. That is the entire point of them. They are monsters who learned human language to deceive us. They are nothing like this."
Dustin rubbed the back of his neck slowly, clearly uncomfortable with the thought forming in his own head. “Unless…” He hesitated. “He is a Mind Flayer that just came into being, one that has not yet learned how to speak."
“Why," Mike asked, frustration slipping into his voice. "Are you all so determined to make him into something dangerous?”
“And when,” Max replied evenly, “have you ever been this willing to trust something you do not even know?”
The question hit exactly where she intended it to. The silence stretched between them, tight and uncomfortable, and Mike could already feel another argument forming when something small changed in the clearing.
The boy’s bunny ears moved, slowly curling inward against his hair. It was such a tiny movement that nobody else might have noticed it. A quiet reflex. Small and instinctive. But Mike understood it immediately. He did not understand their words. Instead, he understood their tone—voices sharpening, the tension thickening—the feeling of a space turning unsafe.
Jane saw it too. “No, no,” she said at once, her voice softening instantly. She leaned forward carefully, movements slow and gentle. “It is all right. We are not angry at you.”
The boy looked back at her. His bunny ears did not fully lift again, but one shifted slightly toward the sound of her voice. His fingers tightened nervously around the fabric of his sleeves.
Mike let out a slow breath. When he spoke, there was no hesitation in it, no room for debate. “We are taking him with us.”
“What?” Max stared at him, disbelief settling clearly across her face.
Mike did not look away from the bunny hybrid. “To the nearest town, that is all. We ask around, see if anyone knows him. If he has family looking for him—”
“What if this is a mistake?” Lucas stepped forward, eyes narrowing as they moved over Mike, measuring him. His gaze lingered a second too long, like he was weighing whether Mike actually understood what he was saying. “And something happens?”
Mike finally looked up at him, holding his stare without backing down. “Then something happens,” he said, voice steady and absolute. “And I take full responsibility for it.”
The words settled heavily over the clearing. For a moment, no one spoke.
Dustin let out a long breath and rubbed at his forehead with the heel of his hand, like he was already tired of the situation before it had even begun. “All right,” he sighed. “Assuming we agree to this—”
Lucas and Max both turned toward him sharply.
Dustin lifted both hands in quick surrender. “I said assuming. Relax.” He dropped them again and looked back at Mike, expression shifting into something more grounded. “Our supplies are already limited. We are lost. We do not know how far the next town is, or how long we are going to be stuck in this forest.”
He gestured loosely toward the bunny hybrid, then back to Mike. “So practically speaking… what exactly is your plan here?”
“I share my rations with him,” Mike answered immediately. “And we will find a way out. I will make sure of it.”
Lucas scoffed under his breath and looked away toward the trees. Meanwhile, the boy simply sat there among the flowers, watching all of them with wide, uncertain eyes. His bunny ears twitched whenever voices rose too suddenly. He looked like someone sitting in the middle of a conversation happening in another language, aware only that something important was happening without him understanding it.
Max let out a slow breath through her nose, shoulders easing just slightly as if she had made up her mind at that moment.
“…Fine.”
Mike opened his mouth to respond.
“But he decides,” Max cut in immediately. Her eyes drifted back to the bunny hybrid, and for a second the edge in her voice softened into something more thoughtful. “We do not make that choice for him.”
“He cannot even understand us,” Lucas said, frustration edging into his voice even as he kept it controlled. “How is he supposed to decide anything?”
“That is exactly my point.” Max looked from Lucas to Mike, then finally to the boy again. “We cannot drag him along simply because we think it is best for him. We do not even know if he wants to leave. What if this is his home?”
Mike went quiet. His eyes stayed on the boy a moment longer than before—on the way the bunny ears rested slightly folded against his hair, on the way his hands stayed close to himself, uncertain where they were meant to be. Something in Max’s words landed, lingering in the back of his thoughts, but it didn’t settle into agreement.
Because the idea of leaving the bunny hybrid here, like this, alone in a place that didn’t seem to belong to anything living for long sat wrong with Mike. Like something in Mike refused to accept that this was all there was meant to be for him. That this quiet clearing—this forgotten stretch of forest—was the only life he was allowed to have when there was a whole world beyond it waiting to be seen, understood, and experience. So without thinking it through, his body moved first.
Mike stepped forward. The grass shifted under his boots, soft and quiet, but he barely registered it. His focus narrowed down until it was just the boy in front of him and the distance between them. Then that distance disappeared as Mike lowered himself into the grass, one knee pressing down into the earth.
The movement felt strangely certain, like his body had already made the decision before his thoughts could catch up to it. His gaze remained on him, level and unwavering—deep brown meeting soft brown threaded with light green and bright gold.
“Hi,” Mike said softly.
The boy’s eyes lifted at once—not because he understood the word, Mike realized, but because he recognized he was being spoken to. His long bunny ears twitched faintly toward the sound before settling again.
“I am Mike.” Mike kept his voice calm and low. “I want to help you. If you would like that.”
The bunny hybrid stared at him quietly. His gaze moved slowly across Mike’s face with careful attention, studying him piece by piece, trying to understand a person through expression alone.
“Do you want to come with us?” Mike asked. It came out simpler than he intended. For a moment, he didn’t move after saying it—like the words had been set down between them and he wasn’t sure what to do with them next.
The boy said nothing as he only kept looking at Mike with those wide, uncertain eyes, his bunny ears shifting faintly.
Behind them, Jane spoke gently, her voice careful not to break the moment between Mike and the boy. “Mike… he does not understand us.”
Dustin let out a long sigh, shoulders sagging slightly as the moment slipped out of reach. “Well, that settles it.”
Lucas had already started turning back toward the treeline. “We should leave before sunset.”
Max followed after him, her fox tail flicked once in amusement. “You only say that because last time we stayed in the woods too long, you nearly cried.”
Lucas stopped mid-step and looked back at her, brows pulling together immediately. “I nearly died. Not cried.”
Max’s mouth twitched, almost a smile, as she kept walking. “Because you tried to fight a Demogorgon with Dustin’s lute.”
“It was dark!” Lucas said at once, turning fully now as he followed her again. His voice rose slightly in defence. “And I panicked. So I grabbed the nearest thing I could—”
“You nearly broke it in half my friend,” Dustin said mournfully, clutching the strap across his chest like he had been personally wounded by the memory. “I still think about it sometimes.”
Their arguing faded gradually as they walked toward the trees, voices softening beneath the forest canopy until they became familiar background noise.
Jane lingered behind. She looked at the boy one last time where he sat among the flowers. His bunny ears twitched faintly with each passing breeze, soft and absent-minded. Something in her expression carried the quiet guilt of leaving behind someone who did not yet understand what it meant to be left behind.
“Mike,” she said eventually. “We should go.”
Mike did not answer as he remained kneeling among the wildflowers while the others were already dissolving into the treeline, their figures becoming silhouettes and the clearing was settling back into its particular hush, as though already preparing to forget them.
He had tried. Unfortunately, the bunny hybrid had not answered. Maybe he could not, maybe he had not understood any of it at all, and there was nothing left to do except accept that and stand and follow the others into the forest. That was the sensible thing—the rational thing.
So, Mike exhaled slowly and pushed himself to his feet. “Yeah,” he murmured, turned, and took a step toward the forest. But stopped. Something tugged lightly at the edge of his cloak, with barely enough force to feel.
Mike looked down to the bunny hybrid who was still sitting in the flowers exactly where he had been before. He had not moved closer, had not stood up, had not spoken—only one hand had reached out, his fingers were curled loosely around the edge of Mike’s cloak. Just holding onto a small fold of fabric with hesitant care like he was not entirely sure he was allowed to.
Something in Mike’s chest loosened all at once and he dropped back onto one knee so quickly the boy startled, his bunny ears shot upright in alarm before wobbling uncertainly and slowly lowering again. One swiveled toward Mike cautiously while the other stayed half-raised, undecided.
But his fingers never let go of the cloak.
Mike let out a small breath of laughter before he could stop himself. “That is a yes, right?”
The bunny hybrid only blinked at him. Still silent, and still holding onto the cloak like it had become something very important that he must keep close.
Mike shook his head softly, warmth creeping into his expression in spite of himself. Then, he slowly turned one hand palm-up between them, open and waiting. “Come,” he said gently. “And I will help you find your place beyond here.”
The bunny hybrid's gaze dropped to Mike’s outstretched hand, then lifted to his face, then down again as if each glance was part of a careful process he was trying to complete. A small crease formed between his brows. Not fear, not suspicion—more like quiet effort, like he was trying to understand why this moment mattered, and what it was asking of him.
Slowly, and cautiously, he lifted his hand. Mike stayed perfectly still. Even his breathing felt too loud suddenly, too capable of breaking whatever fragile moment was forming between them.
The boy’s hand hovered uncertainly between them. His fingers trembled faintly at the edges, bunny ears twitching. Then, his hand settled into Mike’s. Warm, small, and hesitant. Mike’s fingers closed around it at once—not tightly, just enough to say: I got you.
He stood, drawing the bunny hybrid gently to his feet with him. The boy wobbled almost immediately. His balance shifted awkwardly beneath him like he wasn’t used to standing so quickly, and his bunny ears shot upright in startled surprise before slowly drooping back down again. One foot slipped against the grass. Mike steadied him without thinking, loosening his grip just enough to let him find his footing on his own.
He blinked up at him once, fringe falling over his eyes. Then, after a small pause, his fingers curled more securely around Mike’s hand.
Something in Mike’s chest softened. He turned toward the treeline and started walking. The boy followed close beside him. His bunny ears turned constantly toward every new sound around them: the rustle of leaves overhead, the snap of a twig somewhere deeper in the woods, the distant murmur of voices ahead. Every few steps he glanced down at the uneven ground as though still learning how roots and stones worked beneath his feet.
The forest itself had not changed. The same towering trees crowded close together. The same vines hung low between branches. The same strange hush swallowed their footsteps almost as soon as they were made. And yet the walk felt different now. The party had entered the forest as five.
Now, there were six.
Ahead, sunlight spilled through a break in the canopy in pale streaks. Mike stepped over a fallen branch and pushed aside a curtain of leaves. Behind him, the boy copied the motion a second later, slightly clumsier, watching Mike first before attempting it himself.
Lucas noticed them first. He glanced over his shoulder casually, expecting the usual distance between them, and stopped dead in his tracks. The others walked two more steps before realizing he had stopped. For a moment, Lucas only stared.
The boy had drifted half behind Mike without seeming to realize it, one hand still holding onto his glove. His bunny ears turned slowly toward the sudden silence, then toward the group, cautious but curious.
Jane’s expression softened the moment she saw the boy. “Oh,” she breathed, the sound escaped her before she could stop it. Her deer ears lifted high with surprise, twitching faintly forward as she took a careful step closer.
“Wait. Wait, why is he here?” Dustin leaned forward slightly, voice rising with disbelief. “Can he speak now? Did he actually answer you?”
Mike shifted without thinking, stepping just a little closer to the bunny hybrid so he was slightly in front of him—subtle, but enough to place himself between him and the weight of everyone’s attention. “No,” he answered.
Dustin blinked, then froze, his head tilting as his expression tightened into frustrated confusion. “No what? No, he cannot speak, or no, he did not answer?”
“Both.”
“Mike,” Lucas said, low and strained, already sounding like he expected this to go badly.
Mike didn’t move away. He stayed where he was, blocking just enough of the group’s line of sight from the boy behind him. “He wanted to come.” Mike added, with certainty.
“How would you know?” Max asked, voice sharp with disbelief. “Did he say so?”
Mike glanced back behind him. The bunny hybrid had gone still at the overlap of voices. His shoulders drew inward slightly beneath the clothes hanging from his frame but his grip tightened faintly around Mike’s hand. Small enough that most people would not have noticed. But Mike did.
“He did not have to,” he said simply.
Max opened her mouth, then closed it again with a frustrated exhale through her nose.
Jane, meanwhile, had slowly been inching closer in the careful way someone approaches a nervous animal. She smiled warmly at the boy who looked back at her immediately, one of his bunny ears lifted a little. Jane brightened at once, at being recognized by him.
“Well,” she said softly, “if he is traveling with us, and if he does not know his name yet, perhaps we should give him one.”
Max reacted at once, shoulders dropping in a tired exhale. “No.”
Jane blinked, clearly confused by the reaction, her deer ears tilting slightly outward before settling again. “Why not?”
“Because this,” Max said, gesturing between Jane and the boy, “is how you get attached.”
Jane paused, genuinely considering the warning for a moment. “I will not get attached,” she replied, calm and completely sincere.
Max stared at her flatly, arms crossing tighter over her chest as her fox tail gave a slow, unimpressed flick behind her.
Jane managed to hold the expression for about two seconds before her deer ears betrayed her entirely by twitching slightly toward the bunny hybrid behind Mike.
“You already are,” Max said, watching her deer ears move faintly more than Jane’s face now.
Dustin raised a hand immediately. “I vote yes to naming him. Since he is already here, we cannot keep calling him he or him. That sounds impersonal and frankly unkind,” He straightened his posture with exaggerated formality, one hand pressing to his chest. “I already have several excellent suggestions prepared.”
“No,” Max and Lucas said at the same time.
“You have not even heard them,” Dustin said, voice dropping into betrayal as he let his shoulders sag.
The boy’s gaze moved carefully from person to person, following the conversation through their expression and tone alone. His bunny ears kept turning toward whoever spoke next, twitching faintly each time the voices shifted. Curious and attentive. A little overwhelmed, maybe, but no longer frightened in the way he had been before.
At one point Dustin threw both hands dramatically into the air while defending one of his rejected suggestions for names for him, and the boy startled hard enough for both bunny ears to spring upright. He froze for a second after doing it, as if surprised by his own reaction, before the bunny ears slowly lowered again.
Mike had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling. Unfortunately, Lucas noticed immediately. He glanced sideways at Mike, eyes narrowing with quiet suspicion the moment he caught the expression. Mike wiped it off his face at once and looked ahead like nothing had happened. Lucas stared at him for another second anyway, then took a step forward—
A sudden gust moved through the trees, brushing through the branches and bending the grass near their feet. Something small in the distance rang softly with the wind, like a chime carried through the air for only a moment before fading again.
“...Wait.”
Something in his voice changed the mood instantly. The easy rhythm of conversation dropped away at once, replaced by alert silence. Mike looked up sharply, following Lucas’s line of sight.
Ahead of them, the forest had begun to thin gradually. The trees no longer crowded together and sunlight spilled more freely through the branches now, falling across the ground in bands of warm gold. The air itself felt different somehow—lighter, easier to breathe. Somewhere ahead, beyond the thinning woods, the open sky waited. And cutting through the undergrowth was a path—a real one. The same road they had stepped off earlier before entering the woods.
Packed earth. Flattened grass. Clear signs of passage worn deep into the ground by countless footsteps over countless years—trails shaped slowly by travel, not nature. And beneath it all, the uneven press of wagon wheels cutting through the soil at intervals, old grooves softened by time but never fully erased.
For a few seconds, nobody spoke. Then Lucas let out a breath so full of relief, eyes closing briefly as the tension finally loosened from his shoulders. “Thank the Almighty… we are finally free!”
Just right behind him, Dustin placed both hands on his hips with sudden confidence, lifting his chin. “As expected,” he declared proudly. “I never once doubted my navigational abilities.”
Jane laughed softly under her breath, and behind Mike, the boy tilted his head at the sound, bunny ears lifting curiously toward her laughter as sunlight spilled across the path ahead.
Max narrowed her eyes before anyone else had fully processed what they were looking at. Her fox ears twitched once as she studied the road ahead. Suspicion settled across her face. “Do any of you not find this strange? After hours of wandering in circles,” she said slowly, “we suddenly found the way out? Just like that?”
Jane’s attention drifted toward the bunny hybrid. He was staring openly at the trail ahead, the sunlight filtering through the trees and catching softly in his brown hair. Wonder lingered openly in his eyes as he took in everything around him.
“Perhaps it is because of him,” Her deer ears lifted slightly as she smiled. “He is our lucky charm.”
Dustin’s whole face lit up with sudden, reckless enthusiasm. He snapped his fingers, already convinced of himself. “That settles it,” he declared. “We name him Lucky.”
Mike reacted instantly, turning toward him with a look of genuine disbelief, brows pulling together. “That is a name you give a pet.”
Dustin pointed at him without hesitation, unbothered. “Then you come up with something better.”
Mike’s gaze drifted back to the bunny hybrid who stood at the edge of the forest, half in the shadow and half in the light, like he hadn’t decided yet which side of the world he belonged to. The trees loomed behind him, but ahead was the clearing—open, bright, unfamiliar.
Mike didn’t really think in words at first, more like a feeling settling into place as he looked at him. This wasn’t someone who should stay frozen in one place forever, or meant to be left where he was found—in a place that felt like it kept things in, like it didn’t easily let go of what ended up inside it.
But someone who should keep moving, someone who should have a choice—a path toward the world, and beyond the trees that seemed to close in around him like a cage.
Someone who was meant to go on.
“Will.”
Mike said it softly, almost without thinking. Like the word had already been sitting there and just finally slipped out.
The moment it landed, the bunny hybrid—Will—reacted. His bunny ears snapped toward Mike instantly, no hesitation in it at all. Not the usual drifting curiosity, not the small, uncertain flicks they had been making all afternoon. This was sharp and focused, like he had heard something meant for him specifically, even if he didn’t understand it yet.
Then Lucas made a choking sound beside them. It lasted about half a second before it turned into actual laughter. “Brilliant,” he managed, covering his mouth with one hand. “Truly inspiring.”
Mike frowned immediately. “What?”
Lucas gestured broadly toward the surrounding woods. “Will,” he repeated. “Because we found him here. In the Wilheim Region.”
A beat passed until Mike’s face turned red almost instantly. “That is not—” he started, then cut himself off with a scowl, shoulders tightening. “And even if it was, it is still better than Lucky!”
“Hey!” Dustin protested at once, offended.
Jane let out a soft laugh before she could stop herself, the sound slipping out light and warm despite her attempt to stay composed. She quickly covered her mouth, but her deer ears betrayed her anyway, twitching upward in quiet delight.
“You are all impossible,” Max muttered, though the edge in her voice had dulled, her arms loosening slightly as she said it.
Dustin folded his arms with an air of satisfaction, rocking back on his heels. “It becomes easier once you stop fighting the inevitable. You know how Mike is. Once he decides something—”
“I know,” Max cut in, her fox tail flicking once behind her in reluctant agreement. “Unfortunately.”
Jane’s smile softened as she looked between them, hands lowering from her mouth. She hesitated a moment before speaking, voice gentler now. “Are you not glad to have another hybrid with us?”
“...Of course I am,” Max admitted at last, quieter than before. “I am only being careful.”
“It is fine,” Lucas said, his tone easing as he glanced at her. “It is only until the next town anyway. We will sort things out from there. And if something happens,” he added lightly with a smirk, “you can just blame Mike for all of it, remember?”
Max let out a snort, tension slipping from her face as she glanced toward Mike with a hint of amusement. “You are right, I will.”
Mike groaned immediately, dropping his head slightly. “Of course you will.”
At the sound of “Will,” the bunny hybrid’s ears flicked up sharply, turning toward them as if he had been called. His attention snapped over, confused but alert.
Jane noticed it right away. A small, warm smile tugged at her lips. “Oh,” she said gently, glancing at him. “They were not calling you.”
Dustin waved a hand between Max and Mike, already grinning. “Hey, hey—no fighting in front of the baby,” he said, gesturing casually toward Will.
Mike barely reacted outwardly, but something in him shifted at Lucas’s earlier words.
Only until the next town.
Mike had even said it himself. Simple. Practical. Just until somewhere safer, somewhere they could figure things out for Will.
But now, it didn’t feel as simple as it had sounded. They settled strangely in his chest, like they were trying to make something temporary out of something that already felt like it had weight for him.
He let the others move a few steps ahead before he slowed and glanced back beside him. Will had stopped. He stood just off the path, facing the forest behind them, one hand hung loosely at his side, fingers curling faintly, then loosening again—like he had almost reached back for something and stopped himself before he could commit to it.
Mike watched him quietly. He didn’t know what the place had been to Will. Shelter? Prison? Or maybe something in between. He didn’t know how long the forest had held him, or whether it had ever really let him go.
Mike shook his head once, small and almost unconscious, like he was trying to clear it from his mind. Not now. Not here. Whatever came after could wait. What mattered right now was what was in front of him—or rather, who.
“Come on, Will.”
The name came easily now. Natural. Familiar. Like it had always belonged to him. Will’s bunny ears turned toward him immediately. He looked at Mike. Then back at the forest one last time—longer than a glance, shorter than a goodbye.
Something unreadable passed over his face. Then, Will turned away from the trees and followed Mike toward the light, his steps slow at first before finding Mike’s pace.
With each step, the woods felt further away—not just in distance, but in something heavier, like a place finally loosening its hold and letting go of what it had kept for too long.
A wind passed through the forest behind them, and the branches stirred gently—like something old and watchful, quietly waving them goodbye as the Party left it behind.