Foxkin of the Night Sky

…There’s a bird chirping outside my window.

I blink, eyes still bleary from the sleep I was very much enjoying until what is quite possibly the loudest bird in the universe decided that a window—specifically my window—was the optimal location for its morning routine of being a menace.

Some might say I am being overdramatic.

I reject that interpretation on principle.

Briefly, I consider using a vine to turn the bird into a suspiciously feathery red mist.

I do not.

I am, after all, the most magnanimous beauty on Asteria. Eviscerating a random bird—no matter how reasonable the provocation—is beneath me.

…Probably.

The decision remains under active review.

I pull the blanket over my head to muffle the sound.

Now that I’m actually aware of my surroundings, I realize that at some point between falling asleep and waking up, I have successfully rolled myself into a perfectly contained fox-shaped burrito.

Also, Mr. Prickles 2.0 has somehow escaped my spatial storage and is now nestled in my arms, entirely uninvited.

…Acceptable.

I settle back into my blanket, the warm weight of my tail curling comfortably around me.

This is, objectively, the correct choice.

A few more minutes pass in blissful, uninterrupted comfort before I reluctantly accept that society continues to exist, and I am expected to rejoin it.

Tragic.

I emerge from my kaleidoscopic cocoon.

Within minutes, I am dressed and fully cleansed via a quick full-body starfire pulse. I take a bit longer with my hair, brushing it out and weaving the starlight threads back in so I can move at a reasonable speed without looking like I just lost a prolonged and deeply personal argument with a tornado.

The bird remains.

Persistent. Committed.

A true professional.

…

My tail flicks in annoyance, bulldozing through the blanket behind me.

Right.

Time to test something I haven’t had the opportunity to try yet.

I focus on it through my gravity sense.

Then, with a single thought—

I apply Predator’s Claim.

So it works anywhere within the range of Cosmic Perception.

Balanced.

Given my entirely reasonable Perception investment, that places the marking range at roughly two hundred and fifty meters.

Which is, admittedly, not all that much—

—in part due to my even more reasonable Dexterity investment.

The bird, having clearly sensed its imminent and entirely justified demise, immediately takes off in a flurry of frantic wingbeats.

So things can tell when they are marked.

Noted.

My ears lock onto it instantly.

I focus for a moment, letting my senses settle—

Then nod sagely.

I can track it nearly perfectly.

Every wingbeat. Every shift in air. Even its heartbeat, rapid and increasingly concerned, echoes cleanly in my ears despite the distance it’s already putting between us.

Weirdly, I can smell it too.

…Through a wall.

My other senses remain unchanged.

Which is good.

While being able to see through solid objects would be objectively incredible, I would strongly prefer not to develop the ability to taste or physically experience anything I mark for violent purposes.

There are limits. Even for me.

The bird continues fleeing.

Fast.

Very fast.

Clearly a Dexterity build.

It exits the range of my gravity sense. Or at least, it should have. Despite leaving my normal awareness, I can still feel the faint shift in density as it moves.

…I can still hear it.

Still smell it.

Three hundred meters.

Four.

The tracking remains clean.

It’s only around five hundred meters that the precision drops off, the bird slipping from perfect clarity into something slightly less exact. Still more than enough.

I continue weaving starlight threads into my hair as I monitor its progress.

Two kilometers. The scent begins to fade.

Four. The sound finally disappears.

Even then, something remains. A faint directional pull, like a lingering echo of its existence.

Ten kilometers.

Gone.

The mark dissolves completely.

I pause, considering the results.

Conclusion: unless something is faster than me and has the endurance to maintain that speed for an extended period, escape is not a viable option.

A healthy amount of ultra-violent wildlife management is, therefore, always within reach.

I approve.

With the experiment complete, I stretch lightly and hop to my feet.

Then, channeling the full might of a speedrunner, I slip out of my room and through the inn, my footsteps perfectly silent as I bypass every potential social interaction.

No interruptions. No dialogue.

A clean exit.

Efficient.

Utilizing a healthy amount of parkour, I make my way toward the front gate, stopping only when something particularly edible assaults my senses.

By the time I arrive, I am two large copper lighter and in possession of a respectable collection of snacks.

Mostly berries.

…And, for reasons that are both unclear and deeply concerning, several loose screws, three pieces of copper, and a fork.

I pause. Consider. Then glance at my hands.

“…I did not purchase these.”

There are only two possible explanations.

One: my vines have developed independent thought and are now engaging in light, unsupervised scavenging.

Two: I possess some deeply buried, chaotic Foxkin instinct that compels me to quietly liberate small, unrelated objects from my surroundings.

…

I will be choosing option one.

The alternative is a direct attack on my dignity.

I flick my hair haughtily.

New headcanon established.

Questionable internal justifications aside, I reach the wall quickly and use vine transportation to vault cleanly over it.

I land silently on the other side, casually nibbling on a strawberry—

—directly next to Sera.

She does not react. Which is impressive.

Her tail, however, betrays her completely as it poofs out, and her hand shifts toward her spear before she recognizes me.

She lowers it, then glares.

Ah. Right.

Cats.

I retrieve another strawberry and offer it to her.

“Would you like one?”

She takes it.

Victory is mine.

I give her a moment to enjoy it before continuing.

“Might I ask where Arlo is? I would like to complete my remaining quests.”

“This time of day? Probably his office,” she replies. “Center of the village. Can’t miss it.”

I thank her and head off, quickly locating the building in question.

Or at least, what I assume is the correct building. It is the only structure in the village boasting a truly impressive window-to-wall ratio.

Nearly forty percent.

Bold.

Given the general fantasy aesthetic, one might expect the chief’s office to be large. Imposing. Possibly unnecessarily dramatic. Instead, it is two stories tall and smaller than the clothing store down the street.

Practical.

My tail flicks in approval.

Then I step inside.

A receptionist greets me and immediately gestures toward the stairs, informing me that Arlo is already waiting.

Convenient.

I ascend the stairs and locate the door the receptionist described.

Not that I particularly needed directions. My gravity sense is currently informing me that there is exactly one person on this entire floor, despite the presence of four separate offices.

Suspicious.

I approach and knock.

“C’mon in. Door’s unlocked.”

I enter.

Arlo sits behind his desk, head down, scribbling away at a stack of paperwork with intense focus.

He looks up, smiling.

“Ah, it was ya. Ready for yer next quest?”

I open my mouth to respond—

—and pause.

That paperwork…

It’s fake.

I tilt my head.

The numbers are completely off. Random, functionally useless equations are scattered across the page like a particularly inspired homage to entropy. Lines intersect where they shouldn’t, symbols appear without context, and approximately none of it forms anything even resembling meaning.

…

My ears flatten slightly as I slowly redirect my gaze toward Arlo.

…Did he create these papers purely so he could look busy while doing absolutely nothing?

He visibly wilts under the weight of my suspicion, glancing away with all the subtlety of someone who has just been caught committing a minor, but deeply embarrassing crime.

Honestly? I can’t even be mad.

That is objectively funny.

Still, I maintain the look for a few more seconds.

Just in case.

“I am,” I reply at last. “Would you mind giving me the quest at this time?”

He takes a moment to recover, clears his throat, and straightens slightly.

“Gotcha. What I need from ya now is to just clear out some monsters.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Quest Received.

Objective: Kill Monsters.

The chief has requested a culling of local monsters.

Kill them.

Rewards:

+1 Silver Coin

+10% of a level.

+10 Velkhar Reputation

Progress:

1 / 10

Rewards are distributed immediately on completion.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A simple task. And I already have one completed.

Retroactive progression.

Extremely convenient.

Good system design.

“Understood. I will set out immediately.”

I turn—

“Wait up.”

I pause and glance back.

Arlo reaches to the side of his desk, picks up a small spherical crystal, and holds it out to me.

“Ya forgot this. From the boar yesterday.”

…?

I take it and inspect it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[Tier 2 Mana Core (Uncommon)]

A condensed core of mana formed within a Tier 2 monster. Stabilized through natural accumulation, it retains a steady internal energy structure.

Commonly used as a material in crafting.

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…So monsters do drop crafting materials.

Noted.

I hand it back.

“I sold you the boar. This is yours, not mine.”

He tilts his head.

“Ya sure? That could sell for another silver.”

I nod.

I sold the boar without knowing about mana cores. As if I would accept charity because of my own ignorance.

He shrugs and takes it back without further comment.

Acceptable.

I excuse myself and leave, setting a direct course for the forest, which is the most likely location for things that need to be dramatically stabbed to death.

As I move, bouncing across rooftops and cutting through open air like a fox-themed fighter jet, I am once again reminded just how different life becomes under the System.

There are dozens of Beastkin traveling the same way.

Slower, admittedly. But still.

People leap between rooftops, pause mid-route to chat on ledges, and continue on without a second thought. A small child clears a three-foot fence like it isn’t even there. An older woman waters her flowers with magic, entirely unconcerned with the laws of physics.

Halfway across the village, the Wingkin bandit from yesterday soars through the sky, hauling a basket of produce that likely outweighs him.

Despite the distance, I can see every detail.

The stitching on his clothes. The strain in his wings. The exact shape of the basket.

He, notably, cannot see me.

Few can.

The perks of having enough Dexterity to make “Foxkin vs aircraft” a valid comparison. To most, I am likely nothing more than a pale blur.

Occasionally, another rooftop traveler manages to track me for a fraction of a second, just long enough to send a vaguely reverent glance before I disappear again.

My tail swishes with entirely inappropriate enthusiasm.

I cannot wait to see an actual town.

Higher levels. More movement.

Dozens—perhaps hundreds—of people moving like this, at speed.

Possibly even keeping up with me.

…

Unlikely.

Still, the thought is appealing.

Conclusion: I should complete these beginner quests as quickly as possible, then employ the ancient and highly refined gremlin technique of doing absolutely nothing while waiting for time to pass.

I nod sagely.

A flawless plan.

Ten minutes of uninterrupted movement—and an entirely reasonable amount of aggressive gravitational manipulation—later, I reach the forest.

I do not slow down.

My battle dress settles smoothly onto my form as I move. Then I dive straight in.

The hunt begins.

Arlo did not specify a level range. Which implies that everything counts.

Convenient.

It does not take long to find my first victim. A green forest slime, level sixteen.

A vine punches through it instantly, extracting its core in one smooth motion. The body collapses into a faintly floral-smelling puddle.

I check the quest. Progress increases.

Confirmed.

I inspect the core.

Tier one, common. I drop it into my storage without a thought.

Next.

Another green slime. Then another.

After that, the world decides to escalate slightly.

A brown earth slime. Level twenty-six.

Truly terrifying.

It lasts approximately the same amount of time.

Fifteen minutes later, the quest is complete.

Kill tally: the boar from yesterday, six green slimes, two brown slimes, and one particularly unfortunate Direfang Hound that looked like it had lost an argument against starvation.

Nothing survived first contact with a vine.

I collect eight tier one mana cores in total, electing to ignore the Direfang’s on the grounds that extracting it would require effort.

Unacceptable.

The system notification arrives shortly after, followed by a silver coin that I immediately stash away.

Efficient.

Two quests complete. One remaining.

I turn back toward the village.

I have a distinct feeling the last one will be just as difficult.

✦⋆✦⋆✦

My tail swishes in smug satisfaction.

The expression on Arlo’s face earns a solid seven out of ten.

A pleasing blend of faint bewilderment and reluctant awe.

“Gods, ya are fast. Ready for the final quest then?”

I nod.

“Gotcha. In that case, can you go out and help with the harvesting of one of the blueberry fields?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Quest Received.

Objective: Harvest Blueberries.

The chief has requested help harvesting a field of blueberries.

Harvest the berries and deliver them to the village chief.

Rewards:

+1 Silver Coin

+10% of a level.

+10 Velkhar Reputation

Progress:

0 / 1000

Rewards are distributed immediately on completion.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A harvesting quest.

Charming.

I tilt my head slightly.

“I don’t quite understand why you would like me to harvest crops. Would you mind explaining? I don’t exactly have the farming bonuses a farmer class would have. Also… delivering them directly to you?”

He nods.

“True, havin’ ya harvestin’ them is a loss of efficiency. The reason is the system bonus. Best one I’ve got right now. I ain’t handin’ out a silver coin per quest outta the kindness of my heart. Every quest ya complete gives me somethin’ too. The first got more people helpin’ around the village. The second gave everyone a twenty percent boost to monster damage for a month. This one’ll increase crop yields by twenty percent. As for bringin’ ‘em back to me… no idea why the system wants that.”

Ah.

That is both incredibly interesting and objectively very cool.

While I am over here playing an RPG, Arlo is apparently playing a civilization simulator.

Ten out of ten.

I am a strong advocate for when games include multiple completely different ways to play.

…Even if this is reality, not a game.

Also, the fact that even Arlo is confused by the system—despite having lived with it his entire life—is mildly concerning.

Curiosity satisfied, I excuse myself and set off to speedrun yet another quest.

Ten minutes later, I stand in a blueberry field, basket in hand.

At least three curious Dogkin farmers are watching me with open interest.

I position the basket carefully.

I inhale.

Then exhale and begin.

I spot a ripe berry. My fingers move. Pinch. Acquire. Deposit.

Then another. Then another.

The rhythm builds instantly, accelerating past anything that could reasonably be described as “harvesting.” My hands blur, movement collapsing into a continuous stream of motion that feels less like agriculture and more like I am actively stealing berries from the concept of time itself.

At peak efficiency, I reach approximately thirty-two berries per second.

Respectable.

Within thirty seconds, the basket is full, and the quest completes.

I brush a bit of imaginary dust off my sleeve.

My tail swishes haughtily.

Then I set off toward the village, basket in hand, enthusiastic applause at my back.

I do have to slow slightly to avoid turning the blueberries into high-velocity fruit-based weaponry, but even at a heavily restrained pace, I manage to hand the basket to Arlo well before thirty minutes have passed, finishing my beginner quests.

And with that—

I truly have nothing left to do.

Now completely unburdened by the expectations of employment, I take the time to enjoy myself properly.

I do some more shopping—primarily for snacks—wander the village without any particular goal, and generally relax.

As much as I’ve enjoyed the constant motion of the past month since integration, it’s… nice.

Slower.

Quieter.

I stop by the bathhouse at some point as well, and spend an entirely reasonable hour soaking in warm water, with no Sera-shaped interruptions this time.

A flawless experience.

Later, as I wander the streets post-bath, idly munching on berries, inspiration strikes.

This is a brilliant idea.

Four vines manifest from my thighs and press against the ground, lifting me cleanly into the air.

Then they extend.

And extend further.

And then, purely for academic rigor—

A bit more.

Eventually, I reach one hundred meters.

I could likely go higher, but the vines weaken with distance from the source, and while a hundred-meter fall is probably survivable thanks to my gravity manipulation, it still feels like something that would be deeply inconvenient.

Below, my actions have attracted a number of confused stares and pointing fingers.

I ignore them.

Instead, I look outward.

My breath catches.

It’s… incredible.

The horizon doesn’t just stretch.

It refuses to end.

Even at this height, the curvature of Asteria is so subtle it may as well not exist, and my enhanced perception cuts cleanly through the atmosphere. The usual haze that should obscure distance is reduced to a faint softening of color, not a barrier.

I can see everything.

The fields spread outward in vast, geometric patterns, their edges crisp and impossibly distant. Beyond them, the forest expands into an endless ocean of green, the canopy shifting in subtle variations that only my perception can resolve.

Farther still, hills rise and fall, their outlines softened only slightly by the sheer scale involved, less “hidden by haze” and more “gently acknowledged by physics.”

Then rivers.

Lakes.

Details that should have vanished hundreds of kilometers ago remain stubbornly visible.

One silver ribbon cuts across the landscape. At first I mistake it for a coastline. It takes several seconds to realize that it's a gargantuan river.

And beyond that—

A city.

Massive. Walled. Distant enough that, under normal circumstances, it should be invisible.

Instead, I can see it clearly, its silhouette sharp against the land, its structure sprawling far beyond anything the village could hope to become.

A few thousand kilometers away, at minimum.

Farther beyond the city, a series of stone arches rise above the forests.

Calling them arches feels dishonest.

They are mountain ranges that briefly decided not to touch the ground.

Dozens of floating islands drift lazily through the sky, some barely large enough to fit a Wal-Mart—or a deeply overconfident fast-food franchise—and others so massive that even the distant city looks miniature by comparison.

One particularly ambitious floating island trails a waterfall behind it like a veil.

The stream never reaches the ground. It simply fades into mist somewhere far below.

…

Then something else catches my eye.

Hard for it not to.

To the east, the horizon itself seems to have grown teeth. A jagged, serrated line where the world rises violently to meet the sky.

That entire direction is dominated by it.

A mountain range.

Not merely tall. Absurdly tall.

The base is completely hidden beneath the gentle curve of the planet, swallowed by distance.

And yet the peaks—

The peaks pierce the sky so completely that distance becomes irrelevant.

I can’t help the small laugh that escapes me.

“That's unfair. So, so unfair. How could I see that and go back to waiting around doing nothing?!”

I stretch out my hand, as if I could grasp those distant peaks in my palm.

I smile. Wide. Expectant.

This was the inevitable conclusion anyway.

I take a few more moments to enjoy the view before lowering myself gently back to the street below.

A number of my spectators immediately begin moving in my direction, expressions bright with curiosity and what I can only assume is the desire to ask questions.

I am already gone.

A brief burst of speed carries me across the village, rooftops and streets blending together as I make my way back to Arlo’s office.

After arriving—and offering a polite nod to the increasingly bored receptionist—I ascend the stairs, knock once, and enter.

“Lyn? Is there something the matter?”

I do not waste time.

“I have decided to leave. I thought it best to inform you before doing so.”

He blinks.

“Ya aren’t gonna wait for the caravan tomorrow? Do ya even know the way?”

I nod.

“Rest assured. I elevated my vantage point sufficiently to locate my destination. I will not get lost, and I have more than enough supplies.”

“I see…” He scratches the back of his head. “Not the type to sit around and do nothin’, huh? Well, can’t say I’m surprised.”

He stands, then bends slightly to meet me at eye level.

…

I feel as though my height is being commented on.

This is unacceptable.

“I wish ya luck then, Lyn,” he continues. “An’ hey, maybe come back an’ visit one day, yeah?”

Unlikely. There isn’t much reason to.

However, saying that aloud feels unnecessarily hostile.

Instead, I nod.

“Perhaps at a later date.”

He smiles and reaches out, clearly intending to pat my head.

I step smoothly out of range before my dignity can be permanently compromised.

He chuckles, muttering something about Foxkin under his breath as he straightens.

“Sera should still be at the gate.”

I tilt my head slightly.

Ah. Right.

I did, in fact, present myself as friendly. This has had consequences.

The village chief now believes I would want to say goodbye.

…

Inconvenient.

My original plan involved informing him of my departure and then disappearing with maximum efficiency.

Instead, I am now required to maintain social expectations rather than metaphorically setting the bridge on fire behind me and leaving without a trace.

Tragic.

I offer a light curtsy and excuse myself.

Then I make my way to the gate.

Unsurprisingly, Sera is there.

Thane is as well, currently locked in a highly competitive wrestling match with another Dogkin. He is, therefore, ignored.

I approach.

Sera glances at me once.

At my ears. My tail.

“So, you are leaving then?”

I blink.

One ear flicks to the side.

…?

How did she—

“Your tail gave you away. Too excited.”

…???

How.

I genuinely do not understand.

She smiles. Soft. Almost fond.

“Thanks again. For the skewer. I’ll put the stats to good use. Good luck on your journey.”

She lifts a hand and waves.

…

I wave back.

Then turn, and begin walking toward the distant city.

…

I feel… complicated.

On one hand, that was far cleaner than expected.

No drawn-out conversation. No awkward pauses. No exchange of meaningless reassurances about future meetings that will, statistically, never occur.

Just—

Done.

Efficient.

On the other hand…

For the first time in a very long time, I had no control over the flow of the conversation.

Sera read me. Completely.

She acted on it.

Concluded it. And I simply… followed.

…

My hands are cold.

I flex my fingers.

Warmth returns, slowly.

I inhale.

Exhale.

Then continue forward.

It doesn’t matter that it didn’t go as expected.

There are things to do. Beautiful places to explore. Monsters to efficiently and violently dismantle before being repurposed into stat-boosting meals.

…

Although—

I pause for half a step before continuing.

Unlikely, but not impossible.

There is little reason to return.

…

Still.

After entering the forest a few minutes later, I hide a teleportation talisman in a bush.

...Just in case.

✦⋆✦⋆✦

Sera watched the direction Lyn had disappeared in until the road was empty.

Part of her wanted to follow. To grab her spear and run after the white-haired Foxkin before she vanished into the wilderness entirely.

But wanting something and being capable of it were two very different things.

She would only slow Lyn down.

Even with the bonus stats from the dragon meat, she was still too weak to be anything but dead weight, and she knew it.

A familiar set of footsteps approached from behind.

Thane.

Having apparently finished his wrestling match.

Mercifully, he didn't immediately start talking. Dogkin tended to be perceptive like that.

A second set of footsteps caught her attention moments later.

The chief.

Sera heard him several seconds before he arrived.

She blinked.

Right.

The dragon meat. Her Perception had increased enough that she was noticing things she never would have before.

Thinking about it, she was probably faster than Arlo now as well.

The thought felt strange.

Arlo stopped beside her and followed her gaze down the road.

"To be honest, I expected ya to follow her."

Sera shrugged.

"Could I keep up with her?"

He considered it.

"...Probably not."

"Exactly."

Unfortunately, Thane chose that moment to recover his ability to speak.

"Wait. Wait wait wait. Who would Sera have followed? Don't tell me it was that pretty Foxkin. Aw, that's a real shame. She seemed interestin'. I'd have loved ta talk to her more. Do ya think she'll be back? I hope so. Why didn't she—"

Sera hit him.

Not particularly hard.

At least, that had been the intention.

Thane immediately impacted the ground.

Sera stared at her hand.

Right. The dragon meat.

She looked down.

Thane was rolling around clutching the back of his head and making deeply offended noises. After a brief evaluation, she concluded he was still alive.

Probably.

Arlo looked between the two of them with visible confusion.

Sera decided to move on.

"Matthew wanted to become a guard, right?"

Arlo nodded.

Sera nodded back.

"I quit."

The chief blinked.

"...I see. What are yer plans then?"

"Uncharted dungeon."

His expression immediately soured.

"Ya mean the one that appeared around the same time Lyn did? System says it's level zero ta fifty. If ya aren't careful, ya could run into somethin' eighteen levels above ya."

Sera adjusted her grip on her spear.

"A perfect place to level."

Arlo stared at her for a moment before realization dawned.

"...Ya want ta go with her."

Sera nodded.

The chief's tail lashed sharply.

"Why? Why would ya risk yer life for her? It was obvious she didn't care about any of us. Yer included in that. She wasn't even gonna say goodbye until I reminded her ya existed."

He shook his head.

"She won't be back, Sera. I don't know what she did ta make ya think otherwise, but it's pointless."

Sera studied him quietly.

Then she shook her head.

"No."

Arlo frowned.

"No?"

"No." Her gaze drifted back toward the road. "She'll come back. Probably sooner than you think."

The certainty in her own voice surprised her slightly.

Arlo looked taken aback.

Sera continued before he could argue.

"You didn't watch her closely enough."

"What does that mean?"

Sera thought about it for a moment.

How did she explain someone like Lyn?

"She's weird," Sera said finally. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Strange. Awkward. Bad with people. Probably doesn't understand half the things she makes obvious."

Then she adjusted her spear.

"But she's not terrible."

Arlo didn't look convinced.

Sera didn't particularly care. She unstrapped her spear and began walking toward the newly spawned dungeon.

Combat classes leveled quickly if you fought the right enemies. And for the first time in her life, Sera felt like she might actually be capable of fighting those enemies.

The dragon meat had seen to that.

She patted the waterskin at her hip.

Still close to full. Enough for a few days at least.

By the time Lyn returned—and Sera was certain she would return—she intended to be someone useful.

And if that meant throwing herself into a dungeon full of monsters far above her level...

Then she'd better get started.