The morning after the dire-wolf incident dawned unnaturally still.
No birdsong pierced the mist that clung low over Willowbrook. The chickens stayed quiet in their coop. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Aiden woke early—before first light—and found his parents already at the kitchen table.
Elara had the kettle on. Garrick sat with the axe across his knees, running a whetstone along the edge in slow, meditative strokes. Neither spoke when Aiden came down the ladder.
They simply made space for him at the table.
A mug of chamomile tea waited—strong, honey-sweet.
Aiden sat.
Drank.
After a long minute, Garrick set the whetstone aside.
"Word's spreading," he said quietly. "Marta came by at dawn. Said Joren found prints the size of dinner plates along the north fence line. Not wolf tracks exactly—bigger. Deeper."
Elara's fingers tightened around her own mug.
"No one's panicking. Yet. But they're asking questions. About the garden. About the weasels. About… you."
Aiden met their eyes.
"I'll help today. The communal planting day. Everyone's gathering at the big field. I can show them the bean rows are safe. Make the soil better. Keep things calm."
Garrick studied him for a long moment.
Then nodded.
"After breakfast, we're going to the chopping block first. You're learning to swing that axe properly. Not just stand there looking small and brave."
Aiden smiled—small, grateful.
"Deal."
Breakfast was quiet: oat porridge with dried apple slices, fresh bread from yesterday, a smear of Tomas's spiced butter.
When the bowls were cleared, Garrick stood.
"Bring the axe, sprout."
They walked out back together.
The chopping block sat in its usual place—old oak stump, scarred from years of use. A pile of unsplit rounds waited beside it.
Garrick set the axe head-down in the dirt.
"First lesson isn't swinging. It's stance. Feet shoulder-width. Knees soft. Weight forward. You're not chopping wood—you're guiding the blade where it already wants to go."
Aiden mirrored him.
Garrick adjusted his grip—slight correction on the left hand lower, right higher for control.
"Feel the balance. It's alive in your hands. Let it tell you."
Aiden closed his eyes for a second.
Felt the haft warm under his palms.
Omni-Tool passive hummed. Tool of Justice (now active from Village Guardian) pulsed in quiet agreement.
Garrick stepped back.
"Pick a round. Split it."
Aiden chose the smallest—still thick as his thigh.
He set it upright.
Took stance.
Breathed.
Swung.
The axe bit clean—perfect vertical line, wood parting with a sharp crack like breaking ice. Two halves fell away, smooth-faced, no jagged tear.
Garrick's eyebrows rose.
"…Again."
Aiden split three more in quick succession.
Each one cleaner. Each one easier.
On the fourth, the system chimed—soft but clear.
[Skill Acquired: Basic Axe Proficiency (Lv.1)]
[Passive Synergy: Tool of Justice + Apprentice Carpenter + Village Guardian = Apprentice Warrior (Common) Unlocked]
[Apprentice Warrior Lv.1]
[Perks:
- Stance of the Hearth: +20% to melee accuracy & power when defending home or kin
- Edge of Resolve: Edged tools/weapons gain +15% cutting force during protective actions
- Passive: Vigilant Guard – Minor increase to perception when threats are near homestead]
Aiden lowered the axe.
Felt the new class settle—lighter than expected. Not aggressive. Protective. Like the axe itself had decided it preferred guarding the woodpile to felling strangers.
Garrick clapped him on the shoulder.
"That's enough for today. Don't want you splitting the entire forest before lunch."
They walked to the big communal field together—axe over Garrick's shoulder, Aiden carrying a basket of moon-touched bean seeds and valerian poultices "just in case."
The field lay at the northern edge of the village: twenty acres of dark, fertile soil, half already turned, the other half waiting for spring planting.
Villagers were already there—men with plows and spades, women with seed bags, children running between rows scattering crows.
Marta waved them over.
Old Joren leaned on his walking stick, squinting toward the alder copse.
Tomas had set up a long table with bread and weak ale for the workers.
When Aiden appeared, conversation dipped.
Not hostile. Just… attentive.
He walked straight to the center row—where the soil looked poorest, thin and clay-heavy from last year's poor drainage.
Dropped to his knees.
Began planting bean seeds one by one.
Fingertips pressed each seed into earth.
Verdant Touch flared.
Green Thumb evolved further under pressure.
The soil responded—almost eagerly.
Particles shifted. Moisture rose from deeper layers. Tiny root hairs sprouted before the seed even finished settling.
Within minutes a ten-foot stretch of row looked different—darker, richer, alive.
Villagers slowed. Watched.
Widow Marla knelt beside him with her own seeds.
"Show me again, child."
Aiden guided her hand—gentle, patient.
The system shared a tiny fraction of the passive: not the full multiplier, but enough for her row to green noticeably faster than normal.
She gasped.
Laughed—bright, startled.
Others joined.
By noon the field was half-planted and buzzing.
Children ran up asking to "help Aiden plant."
Adults worked beside him in quiet awe.
No one asked about the wolf prints.
No one needed to.
The earth itself was answering questions.
During the midday break, Aiden slipped away to the field edge.
He crouched near the fence where the wolf had stood.
Scattered a few valerian sprigs and left another bowl of eggs—smaller offering, reminder rather than bribe.
When he returned, Garrick was waiting.
"Fence is stronger today," Garrick said quietly. "Boards don't creak. Posts feel rooted deeper."
Aiden nodded.
"Village Guardian. It's… spreading a little."
Garrick looked toward the copse.
"Good. Because something's watching."
Aiden followed his gaze.
Three shadows flickered at the tree-line—too far to be sure, but the posture was familiar.
The healed weasel.
Its siblings.
And behind them—taller, gray-furred, yellow eyes catching sun—a larger shape that might have been last night's wolf.
Watching.
Not approaching.
Just… present.
Aiden raised one hand in slow greeting.
The shadows dipped heads—almost in unison—then vanished.
Garrick exhaled.
"They're not leaving."
"No," Aiden said. "They're guarding."
The planting finished by dusk.
The field looked impossibly green—rows straight, soil dark and crumbly, bean sprouts already pushing through in places they had no right to.
Villagers gathered around the table for bread and ale.
Tomas raised a mug.
"To the boy who makes dirt remember how to grow."
Quiet laughter.
Mugs clinked.
No one cheered.
They just drank.
And watched Aiden with eyes full of something deeper than gratitude.
Trust.
When the family walked home under rising moons, Elara slipped her hand into Aiden's.
Garrick walked on his other side, axe casual over shoulder.
"You did good today," Garrick said.
Aiden squeezed his mother's hand.
"We all did."
At the cottage door, Elara paused.
Opened the notebook one last time for the day.
Added three lines:
• Turned half a field into summer in a single morning
• Taught grown adults how to make things grow faster (and they listened)
• Has wolves watching the borders like dogs at the gate
She closed it.
Looked at her son.
"Tomorrow we reinforce the fences. Together."
Aiden nodded.
"Together."
Inside, the lamp burned low.
Outside, the field breathed green under moonlight.
And at the alder copse edge, four shadows settled—watchful, quiet, bound by eggs and kindness and something older than either.
The system pulsed once—soft, satisfied.
[Verdant Warden (Advanced) Progress: 71% → 89%]
[Next Overflow: One more communal act of growth & protection]
Tomorrow would bring more seeds.
More hands.
More quiet miracles.
And the garden—now the village—would keep growing.