Blake POV
I needed to see him.
The only human on Menagerie was alone, confused, and treated like an enemy when he arrived. I want to apologize. I want him to feel like he's not living in a prison cell disguised as a work shed. More than that… I want to make sure he doesn't fear us.
That look in his eyes yesterday—raw terror—still twists in my chest. He came here not with hatred, not with prejudice, but as a victim. And we rewarded that with chains and threats.
Is this really the direction the White Fang has taken?
Is this really what we've become?
I tighten my grip on the small pouch of Water Dust crystals in my hand. They could help him grow his plants faster—maybe it's the closest thing to an apology I can offer right now.
I asked Eve if she wanted to come. She wouldn't. "I don't want to get involved," she told me, arms crossed, tail snapping in frustration. I understand. Her scars—both the ones you can see and those under them—run deep. Humans have never shown her mercy.
Sometimes, I wish she could see herself the way I do. Even when that mask comes off and the world feels small and private… she is still beautiful and strong.
A jolt of heat rushes up my tail at the memory—ears flattening, I force myself to breathe. This is not the time to get flustered. Not when a man's life might hinge on how this conversation goes.
I pause just outside the perimeter of his current accommodations. Could you call the place that?
I steel myself, smoothing my hair, tail flicking nervously before I still it with a firm flick of will.
Okay, Blake. You can do this.
I raise my hand to knock, heart pounding faster than I'd like to admit.
This time… I have to get it right.
The moment I step onto his property, I freeze.
Standing proudly in the middle of the yard is a tree stump with a face whose entire center is on fire. A long metal contraption hangs overhead, a bucket suspended above the flames, dripping water into another bucket through a twisting series of tubes.
"What in the…?" I whisper, tail curling upward in surprise. So that's how he's making water.
Why didn't he ask? We have a well for a reason.
I lift my hand again —
And the door jerks open from the inside.
Elias stands there, wild-haired, eyes tired but alert — and the shock on his face when he sees me might be the most human expression I've seen here yet.
"Oh! Uh—Blake!" he blurts, stumbling back, clearly not expecting a visitor.
His overalls are crooked, his shirt half-tucked, his boots mismatched. He looks like he just sprinted out of a nightmare and straight into waking reality.
I try to smile — gentle, not threatening.
"It's alright," I say, unable to stop a tiny laugh.
The tension in his shoulders eases just a fraction.
He huffs a breath that might almost be a laugh.
The moment hangs awkwardly between us…
but in a strangely comforting way.
After everything — the fear, the shouting, the execution order —
This tiny, clumsy greeting feels like the first piece of normal we have seen.
And maybe…
Maybe it's a start.
I gesture toward the flaming stump, whose flames dance lazily beneath the suspended bucket. "I didn't know you had access to Fire Dust. Or that you'd use it to… ignite a living bonfire."
Elias stares at me like I've spoken in ancient Valean.
"Fire… Dust? You mean… gunpowder?"
Gunpowder? Really?
"I mean, yes, Dust can be used with ammunition—but I was referring to the giant flaming tree stump."
I point again—the flaming stump crackles proudly, as if basking in the attention.
Elias follows my finger, squints, and then looks back at me, just as confused. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
"Okay… Dust. Crystals. From the ground. Colored by elemental affinity. Fire Dust makes fire, Ice Dust makes ice—basic knowledge."
I gesture emphatically, tail flicking.
"It's how we fight, build, power everything."
He stares. A beat passes.
"How… have you never heard of Dust before? First, you act like you've never seen a Faunus, but now you don't know Dust. Where on Remnant are you from?"
He tilts his head. "Remnant?"
Like he's tasting the word for the first time.
A chill runs down my spine.
He fell from the sky.
He has powers unrelated to semblances.
He doesn't know Faunus.
Doesn't know Dust.
Doesn't know Remnant.
My eyes go wide as the truth slams home.
"Holy shit… you're an alien."
He blinks once. Twice. Then—
"…Okay, yeah, that actually makes a lot of sense."
He says it like he's accepting a weather report.
"You… didn't know?" I ask, baffled by how calm he is.
"Blake, I've been dealing with a lot of shit lately. It was either another planet or another universe. Alien sounds easier to explain."
He gestures vaguely to everything.
"And until yesterday, I didn't even know I had powers."
"Well…" I breathe. "You're definitely not from here."
"Yup, I was taken from my house in Nebraska, a state in the USA. Think of it like a huge nation, 300 million strong."
"So, like a kingdom. Here we have four large Kingdoms, Vale, Atlas, Mistral, Vacuo, and our little Isle of Mengerie. Wait, did you say 300 MILLION!"
"Yeah, I figured you guys would have a similar population," Elias says, as if it's no big deal.
"Even if we had an accurate number, that is insane, like that is an entire continent's population! I don't know how much dust would be needed to support that many people."
Elias looks confused at my words.
He sighs. "Alright… so could you explain Dust one more time? Slowly. And the other terms you threw at me when we first met."
I sit on the workbench, tail curling around my feet.
"Dust is our primary energy source. It can be used in weapons, tech, everyday life, and for Huntsmen to fight the Grimm."
"Magic dust. Got it," he nods. "So… what the hell is a Grimm?"
Ah. Right.
The fun part.
"Grimm are beasts of darkness. They take many shapes and only exist to destroy. Humans and Faunus are both their prey. They're drawn to negative emotions."
His eyes widen slowly.
"So you've got monsters roaming around. Everywhere."
"Pretty much," I admit sheepishly.
He throws his hands up.
"If they're drawn to fear, anger—bad vibes—then why the hell did that Sienna bitch try to kill me? Wouldn't she be ringing a giant dinner bell for these things?"
"I…" My voice falters. I can't look at him. "I don't know."
He watches me for a moment. A long, heavy silence.
Then he sighs—a sharp, disappointed sigh that hurts more than being yelled at.
"Fine. I'll shelf that for now. What's a semblance?"
"Semblances are manifestations of one's soul," I explain, grateful for the change in topic. "Unique powers, powered by Aura—our spiritual energy."
He nods like he's taking notes.
"Got it. So… what's yours?"
"Oh." My ears twitch. "It's not that special. It's called Shadow. I can create clones of myself that can redirect my movement. Good for dodging."
He thinks it over, then smiles lightly.
"So you keep moving forward… while still remembering where you came from, huh?"
I freeze.
That is the exact opposite of how it works. Shadow wasn't about progress—it was about escape.
But I force a smile anyway.
"Yeah. Basically."
Elias POV
"So your entire world doesn't have Grimm. Or Dust?" Blake asks, disbelief etched across her face.
"Nope," I reply. "We do have guns, and missiles, and nuclear weapons… but nothing like living nightmares fueled by sadness." I run a hand through my hair. "And yeah — not long ago, the global population passed eight billion."
Her ears shoot straight up. "Eight billion?!"
She looks like she just heard I wrestled gods for breakfast.
"If we had your world's problems," I add with a sigh, "I don't think we would've made it this far."
Blake stares for a long moment before whispering, "Holy shit… imagine how much we could have achieved without Grimm holding us back."
I let out a bitter laugh and look at the ground. "We don't. Not really. Our governments… some of the top people are always power hungry. But for every madman, there's usually enough good people to stand up and stop them." I shrug. "We survive through chaos and stubborn hope."
She nods slowly — maybe relating more than she lets on.
We keep talking — comparing our worlds like confused tourists meeting at a bus stop. Remnant with monsters and magic dust. Earth with technology and wars. Two planets separated by everything except the ability to screw ourselves over spectacularly.
Eventually, Blake checks the time on a small scroll-like device and straightens.
"I should go," she says, sounding almost regretful. "But before I do…"
She reaches into her bag and hands me several pale blue crystals — faintly shimmering.
"Water Dust," she explains. "Just add aura, and it turns into water." She demonstrates by holding one over an empty bucket — a glow, a shimmer — suddenly it's half-full of clean water.
It's… incredible. Magical.
I blink like an idiot.
Wait, I don't have Aura.
"Um, didn't you mention I needed aura to use dust?" I ask sheepishly
"Oh, right, sorry," she says before using her own aura to turn the rest of the crystals into water before my very eyes.
I look at her and smile wryly.
"Thanks," I say sincerely. "This helps more than you know."
"Of course." She smiles — a real one this time.
We step outside together. The late afternoon air is warm and salted by the ocean breeze. The island feels… calmer now, like things might actually work out.
Then we both freeze.
Eve stands off to the side, mask glinting, gaze locked on me like I've committed a war crime. Even with the mask, I can feel the burning "touch-her-again-and-I-skin-you" stare.
I swallow.
Internally: Help.
Blake sighs and rubs her temples. "Don't mind her," she mutters. "She can be… protective."
"Yeah," I mumble. "I gathered."
I grin at my water contraption — my ugly, glorious bucket-and-tube science sculpture. The collection bucket is half-full now. Progress.
Blake watches me testing the water — sees the excitement I can't hide. "You're really trying to help us," she says softly.
"Well…" I set the bucket down, meeting her eyes. "I said I would."
For a second, the world is quiet. Just dripping water, crackling flame, and two people from two different planets trying to understand each other.
"I'll visit again tomorrow," Blake says, warm and hopeful.
She turns, tail swaying gently as she heads down the path. Eve follows her, after giving me one last glare that promises violence.
I swear I didn't mean to fall on your girlfriend's chest. Please don't murder me.
Yeah. Thanks, I'll keep a healthy distance from the Minotaur Bride of Wrath.
When they disappear, I exhale, shoulders loosening.
"Right…" I whisper to myself, turning back toward my plants. "Better get to work. For real this time."
The collection bucket is half-full.
Half-full of actual, fresh water.
Clean. Clear. Salt-free.
I dip a finger in and taste it. Not a trace of brine. I want to cry from sheer relief.
"Science: 1. Despair: 0."
Turning, I check Quetz — who's been busy overnight. Four more miniature suns hover above its petals. Two merge instantly at a touch, forming a glowing seed.
Add the one from last night, and that leaves me three seeds total:
One greenOne yellowOne brownThe green one is the oldest, so it's gonna go first.
I grab a pot, head outside, scoop soil with my trusty trowel, and carefully nestle the seed. Then, with a little ceremony, I pour a measured stream of fresh water over the dirt.
The ground responds instantly.
A foul sulfurous odor bursts outward — like rotten eggs and gas station bathrooms had a love child.
"Welp. That's a smell." I cough, waving away the stench.
The soil bulges outward, splitting open as thick green leaves surge up like time-lapse footage on fast-forward. The leaves coil together, forming a tight, glossy, vibrant, spherical body. Then:
Pop
A curved green appendage sprouts from the top like a handle. Two big, shiny black eyes appear front-and-center. A smaller cabbage is nested on its handle.
The plant blinks.
Then wiggles.
Then looks right at me with the excitement of a puppy awaiting belly rubs.
"Hey there, little guy," I breathe, surprised at how fast my grin spreads across my face despite the glorious sulfur stink lingering in the air.
The plant—round, green, and proudly leafy—wiggles in place like a dog hearing the word "walk," its foliage rustling in a way that reminds me way too much of applause.
"You're like a… cabbage catapult," I muse aloud. "A cabbage-pult."
The plant nods, excited.
"So scientifically… Brassica catapulta. And for your actual name…" I tap my chin dramatically. "How about… Buster?"
The effect is instant.
Buster vibrates in sheer joy—then launches a compact cabbage round straight over my head.
THUNK
It slams into the dirt a few feet from the shack, ripping a small new crater in my yard as thick leaves explode outward like shrapnel. A plume of dust drifts into the air.
I stare.
"…And you're strong too," I mutter, both impressed and slightly terrified for future me.
Buster begins re-arming—stem pulling another leafy projectile into place like he's winding a tiny trebuchet. It takes about thirty seconds, maybe less. Efficient little artillery vegetable.
"This time," I say, voice cautious, "we do things carefully."
I snag the next cannon-cabbage mid-reload (Buster doesn't seem to mind), and set it aside with the giant peas in my growing food pile. Survival rations are slowly turning into a proper stash.
That's when the hairs on my neck rise.
A sudden weight presses down on me—not physical, but watching.
Like someone's eyes resting on the back of my skull.
Predatory. Calculating.
I freeze and scan the tree line.
Nothing.
The shack roof.
Nothing.
Eve's rage-glare from afar?
Nowhere in sight.
Still—something's out there.
Quetz reacts before I can. She leans close and gently wraps a warm green leaf around my arm—like she instinctively knows I'm spooked. The small gesture calms my pulse more than I want to admit.
"…It's fine," I tell myself. "Just nerves. Not everything here wants to murder me."
(Probably).
I shake it off and reach for the yellow seed. I should keep the productivity train rolling. This time, I dig a hole without hesitation and pour a controlled stream of fresh water.
Light bursts upward instantly—bright gold and intense, forcing me to shield my eyes.
A stem erupts, twisting and rising with graceful speed.
Petals unfold in a halo of sunlight hues.
A brown face forms—eyes blinking open, mouth curling into a soft, radiant smile.
Another sunflower, alive and smiling.
"Looks like you've got a sister now, Quetz."
Quetz beams brighter at that—her petals practically vibrating with joy. Twice the minisuns means twice the potential seeds. Twice the hope.
With that excitement fueling me, I move on to the final seed. The Brown one.
I kneel, dig a proper hole this time, pat the soil smooth, and pour fresh water from the can like I know what I'm doing.
At first, nothing—
Then the ground rumbles beneath my feet.
"Oh, that's new—"
I leap backward just as thick roots explode outward, burrowing deep and wide. A hardy sapling breaks the surface, and in seconds—seconds—it surges upward.
A trunk thickens, stretching toward the sky. Branches coil and unfurl, leaves blossoming into a lush green canopy. Bulbous fruit-like spheres swell along the limbs in varying sizes—some no bigger than a plum, others like bowling balls.
"…So I can grow trees now," I whisper, utterly baffled and more than a little terrified.
One particularly giant bulb loosens.
It falls.
It falls fast.
"OH SH—!"
CRASH!
I dive away as a massive brown sphere smashes into the dirt hard enough to shake the shack behind me. When the dust settles…
…a big, sturdy little dude blinks up at me.
Thick shell-plated body.
Two large, calm eyes.
A simple, reassuring smile.
A Wall-Nut.
The kind of thing you put between yourself and literally anything trying to kill you.
I step closer, awe replacing fear. "Hi there, big guy. You're definitely the tank of the group, huh?" I rest a hand on his shell. It's solid — like reinforced oak. "Glad to have you with us."
He gives a slow, confident nod — steady, unshakable.
My little plant squad is turning into a literal Home Defense System.
"Alright, big guy," I say, trying to sound like a professional botanist and not a guy naming cartoonishly powerful sentient plants. I rest a hand on his solid shell and grin.
"For your tree species: Juglans regia.
And for you —" I tap his chest gently, "—Juglans fortitudinem."
A Wall-Nut whose name literally means "strength."
Perfect.
Brutus blinks once, then nods slowly — accepting the title with noble seriousness.
I chuckle — actually feeling proud of what I've grown here. Against all logic, against all reason… things are working.
But then—
That feeling again.
A weight.
A prickle across my skin.
The instinctive alertness of prey.
I straighten, scanning the tree line. The rooftops. Even Brutus turns slightly, his calm expression shifting toward watchfulness.
No movement.
No sound.
Nothing visible.
Maybe it's just paranoia.
Maybe I'm not used to a world where monsters track you by fear.
But… after almost being executed, falling through a vortex, and discovering my tears = plant fertilizer?
Yeah. Paranoia feels like survival instincts right now.
Still… staring won't fix anything.
I clap my hands together and take a steadying breath.
"Alright," I mutter, "creeping dread can wait. We've got work to do."
XXX
I work long into the night.
Then the next night.
Then the one after that.
Pip fires pea after pea for me to harvest. Buster re-arms and launches cabbages as fast as I can collect them. Brutus rolls out regular walnuts, tough and sturdy — actual snacks I can eat without fear of… sapient suffering. Torchwoods flare to life like bonfires, their heat feeding my distiller while Quetz and her sister churn out sun after sun — mini solar miracles I turn to seeds.
I expand.
Pea Shooters: now three.
Cabbage-pults: now two.
Torchwoods: double the firepower.
Progress. Growth. Purpose.
My body doesn't care.
That same pressure never leaves — the sense of eyes drilling into my back. Every time I turn, there's no one there… but the feeling clings like a shadow that's learned to breathe.
I barely sleep. When I do, I jolt awake with the phantom sensation of cold steel against my throat. The memory of Sienna's claws tightens around my windpipe, over and over again. My plants try to comfort me, but even their warmth is slipping away behind the fear.
And still… I keep working.
Because if I stop moving?
The darkness catches up.
Blake visits sometimes, and she asks how I'm doing. Her tail droops lower daily, her amber eyes flicking over my shaking hands and unsteady stance. She brings water, Dust, and reassurances. I can't fully hear anymore.
Everything feels too loud.
Or too quiet.
No in-between.
On the third day, my limbs feel like lead. Every joint screams. My head throbs with each heartbeat like the world is trying to escape through my skull.
I drag myself back to the shoreline — bucket scraping sand — kneel at the surf, staring at my reflection. It doesn't look like me anymore.
Saltwater splashes into the bucket in uneven, sloppy scoops. I grunt, stand, and walk back to my shack…
...and then I see them.
Faunus. All around. Watching.
Not saying a word.
Just staring.
Long ears, sharp eyes, horns, tails — alien silhouettes pressing in, holding their breath. The same people who watched me chained to the floor as Sienna ordered my execution… now staring as if waiting for me to break.
And I do.
My throat closes.
Lungs burn.
Vision narrows to a pinhole.
I can't breathe —
I can't breathe —
I CAN'T—
The bucket slips from my cracking grip.
CLANG—
Water spills across the dirt.
My knees hit the ground.
The world spins, twisting into a dark vortex.
Noise fades into a distant ringing.
Faces blur.
The watching eyes multiply.
I'm suffocating on fear that isn't even mine.
I can't escape.
My body falls forward, useless.
Paralyzed.
A trapped animal again.
My last fleeting awareness is the sound of heavy footsteps rushing toward me — faster than any human could move.
Then—
Nothing.
XXX
Pain.
It greets me like an old friend—except this time, it isn't sharp or stabbing. It's everywhere. A deep, heavy ache in my bones, like I've aged fifty years overnight. My joints crack when I try to move, and a groan crawls up my throat before I can stop it.
"Momma! Mr. Gardener is awake!"
The tiny voice hits a bell in my memory.
Cream. The little girl who asked why I didn't have ears.
I force my eyes open. Soft, warm light filters through a woven-curtain window. The walls are sturdy wood—no tarps, rope patches, or crumbling corners. A stark upgrade from my dusty shack.
"Oh—Elias, good. You're awake."
The voice is smooth, reassuring… and close.
A tall rabbit woman with tufts of fur on her cheeks. Long rabbit ears cascade down like hair, down to her hips. At my height, I only reached her chest, and boy, what a chest that was. Her entire frame was plush and voluptuous in all the right places. Her breasts were twice the size of my head, with wide hips and a plump behind.
Unconsciously, I find myself staring, though whether she notices or not is left unsaid.
Compared to most faunus I've seen here, she looks healthy—though worry and other lines are in her expression when her eyes meet mine.
I realize I'm staring too long, dazed, too… awkward.
"Uh—hi," I croak, voice rough like gravel. "We… met before. I think."
Her sternness melts into a relieved smile.
"Yes. I'm Vanilla Cannelle. And you gave my daughter food when you barely had any yourself."
Cream peeks from behind her mother's leg, waving at me with shy enthusiasm.
Warmth flickers in my chest… then curdles.
Because of the memory of that kindness?
That almost got me killed.
My throat tightens. "How… did I get here?"
Vanilla's touch is gentle — grounding — a hand on my shoulder, reminding me I'm here, not back in that hall with spears aimed at my spine.
"You collapsed in town," she explains softly.
"You've been unconscious for a day. Ghira told us what you're doing — helping us after seeing how we struggle. Truly… thank you. Several of us carried you here to rest. Take your time to recover."
Her voice softens further.
"You are safe here."
Safe.
It's ridiculous how much that word hurts.
I don't believe in "safe" since the vortex swallowed me whole.
My breath catches, not from physical pain — from the sheer weight crushing my chest.
Cream steps closer, carrying the unnamed second sunflower like a precious stuffed toy.
"Miss Lovely kept me company while you slept!" she chirps proudly.
Miss Lovely perks up and waves a single leaf.
I can't help the weak laugh that escapes me.
"I'm sorry for—"
"Nope," Vanilla cuts me off instantly, voice shifting into that universal Mom Tone. "Don't you dare apologize for working yourself half to death to feed us. You rest now, mister."
"But I really need to get—"
Her ears snap upright.
"What did I just say?"
I flinch. She continues, firm but kind:
"You're not alone in this anymore. Von and Pulchra have been fixing your little water contraption. Legoshi and his sweetheart have been helping harvest your plants. Others are keeping watch so nothing disturbs you."
Others.
Keeping watch.
The pressure in my chest loosens just a hair.
People… helping.
Not staring.
Not judging.
Helping.
My voice is a cracked whisper.
"Why would you… Do all that?"
Cream answers before her mother can.
"Because you helped us first."
Simple. Honest. True.
My vision blurs — and for once, it isn't terror.
"It's alright, dearie," Vanilla says in a comforting tone.
XXX
Those next few days blur together in a haze of bedrest, home-cooked broth, and Vanilla shooing me back under blankets whenever I tried to stand. But… in that time, I actually met people — good people.
Von and Pulchra Elfenbein are the first to visit — an Arctic wolf and Sand cat faunus couple who emigrated from Atlas. They've been married four years and finish each other's sentences with an ease I'd kill for. Von's the quiet tinkerer type, good with metal and gears, while Pulchra is the one who does the fast talking and faster fixing.
Legoshi Greyart and Haru Flore arrive not long after — a Grey wolf and rabbit pair who met in Vale. They're young, nervous, and cling to each other's hands like breaking apart would shatter the whole world. Legoshi even mentioned his grandfather was a lizard faunus.
Then there's Merah Ddraig, a Komodo dragon faunus butcher whose claws are terrifying — but she keeps sneaking Cream extra meat, so I can't be scared of her.
Dahlia Tentilhão, the canary faunus girl, brings me feathers she sheds because "maybe you can use them for planting!"
And Pico Klincovník, a beetle faunus blacksmith, looks like he's been through ten wars, but grumbled a quiet "thanks for feeding the kids" before stomping out.
It's strange.
The split here is so clear you could cut it with one of their oversized swords.
The White Fang looks at me like I'm a disease.
The townsfolk look at me like I'm hope.
That contrast… It's jarring.
Eventually, my strength returns. My heartbeat stops trembling. My hands stop shaking. Vanilla insists on walking me back to my shack — not because I need the help anymore, but because she wants to.
And when we turn the corner…
My breath catches.
Food.
So much food.
Buckets of peas and cabbage.
Neat rows of walnuts and fresh sprouts.
A literal mountain of produce, I definitely did not leave behind.
I even spotted more plants than when I was knocked out.
Von jogs over with a broad, fangy grin.
"Hey! Look who's back on his feet."
I stare at the bounty, then at him, jaw hanging.
"You guys… You did all this while I was out?"
Von shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck.
"You built the miracle-garden," he says. "We just helped it along."
Pulchra appears beside him, flicking her tail. "Also, we added some supports to your water contraption. It won't fall apart if you sneeze near it now."
Legoshi raises a cautious hand, Haru waving hers enthusiastically beside him. Even Pico gives a grunt of approval from the forge tent.
The lump in my throat forms before I can stop it.
Vanilla steps forward, smiling down at me.
"You see? You're part of this now, Elias."
Finally, Ghira arrives, looking worse than when I left the palace. Shoulders heavy. Eyes dim.
"Elias," he breathes, "I'm glad to see you back on your feet. And… I am deeply sorry for pushing you to such a state of exhaustion."
I shrug weakly. "It's… not all on you. Honestly, I wasn't just exhausted. I was terrified."
Ghira's brows knit together. "Terrified? Why?"
I glance around, suddenly aware of all the eyes… and force myself to speak.
"After Blake left each day, it felt like something was watching me. Not someone — something. My heart would start racing, and I'd look over my shoulder every few seconds. I couldn't sleep. I thought if I stopped working…"
I swallow.
"…they'd come back and finish the job."
The air goes still.
Vanilla's hand covers her mouth.
Pulchra's tail droops.
Von frowns, and Ghira steps forward
"Elias… that's not a monster."
He steps closer, searching my face for the truth.
"I think I know who may have been terrorizing you, and I will talk with her later."
Ghira nods slowly, understanding that it is dawning too late.
"You were nearly executed the moment you arrived," he says. "Then forced to prove your worth alone, surrounded by strangers who never earned your trust." His voice lowers, guilt bleeding through. "You worked yourself to collapse because fear convinced you you couldn't stop."
He places a large hand against his chest — ears folding down.
"My boy… this burden is mine to bear. I sent you here with no support, believing goodwill was enough. I left you alone with the weight of a whole island's survival."
His voice cracks.
"They stole your safety, your first day here. I should have fought harder to give it back."
I look away — because if I don't, I'll fall apart again.
Vanilla steps forward, voice warm but firm:
"There is no shame in breaking when you were never allowed to rest. Don't apologize for surviving."
The kindness hits harder than any execution order ever could.
I drag in a shaky breath. My chest aches — not from fear this time, but release.
"…Thank you," is all I manage.
The sound hits before the person does.
STOMP.
STOMP.
STOMP.
The others notice first — their postures stiffen, expressing unease even before I recognize the familiar heavy rhythm.
Eve appears in the doorway — mask in place, shoulders squared, tail flicking with restrained anger. She stands like a wall, arms crossed, every inch a guard ready to draw blood.
Her voice is low, biting:
"So. The human lives."
I freeze — muscles locking tight.
Von takes a protective half-step forward, Pulchra's ears flatten, Vanilla moves subtly to stand beside me… but Eve isn't looking at them.
Her eyes — hidden behind that mask — are locked on me.
I straighten instinctively, but my voice betrays my nerves:
"…Hey."
She tilts her head, jaw clenching.
"You collapsed in the street."
It's not a question.
Not concerned.
Just a fact, tossed like judgment.
I meet her stare. "Yeah. That's what happens when you almost die twice in three days."
Something flickers in her stance.
A crack.
Vanilla opens her mouth to say something, but Eve cuts her off sharply:
"I wasn't asking you."
The air tightens.
I step forward anyway — my voice steadier than I feel.
"What do you want, Eve?"
She doesn't answer at first. Her fists are trembling at her sides — not with aggression…
…but with fear.
Finally, she speaks — quieter than I've ever heard:
"Blake—"
Her voice catches, and she tries again.
"Blake blamed herself. She thought you died because she didn't check on you sooner."
Pulchra gasps softly. Von lowers his head.
I blink — stunned.
Eve presses on, anger rising again to coat the vulnerability:
"And I blamed you. Because caring about a human is dangerous. Because every time we trust one, we bleed for it."
Her breath shudders.
"I thought you'd betray her. Betray us. That hurting you first was safer."
My heartbeat feels like it's echoing in my skull.
She steps closer — not hostile this time.
"But you… You didn't run. You didn't lash out. You worked. And you broke yourself trying to help the very people who threatened your life."
She stops an arm's length away — close enough that I see her tail stop whipping, settling in uncertainty.
"I don't know what to do with that."
Silence stretches — heavy and uncomfortable.
So I answer with the only truth I have left:
"I'm scared of you."
Eve freezes.
Not a twitch. Not a breath. Just still.
"But fear isn't hate," I continue, voice surprisingly steady.
"And I'm tired of being afraid."
Her fists slowly loosen.
Leather gloves creak as tension bleeds from her knuckles.
The slightest tremor runs through her fingers — the first sign she's not made of steel.
Then it happens.
Eve steps back.
Not in disgust.
Not in dominance.
In… uncertainty.
As if she finally realizes I'm not her enemy — I'm just a human who almost died here. Twice.
For the first time since she pointed a blade at my throat, the cow-faunus who saw me as a threat… looks vulnerable.
And somehow?
That's enough.
Not forgiveness.
Not trust.
Just… enough.
An unspoken, fragile, real truce hangs between us like a seed waiting to sprout.
XXX
The next day, the entire village gathers — not out of fear or suspicion this time, but something I haven't seen since arriving:
Joy.
Music echoes through the settlement — lively drums and stringed instruments, laughter spilling between the beat. Children run through the sand, adults dance with mugs raised high, and for the first time since I fell from the sky, the air feels light instead of crushing.
I even bring a few of my plants out — Pip playfully firing harmless peas into waiting hands as part of a game, Buster rolling cabbages like bowling balls while kids shriek with delight. Quetz and Miss Lovely sway in rhythm with the music, their petals fluttering like bright flags.
Merah practically forces a plate of fresh sashimi into my hands — and despite never being a seafood guy, it's delicious. Vanilla drags me into a dance, her smile warm enough to outshine a small sun. I trip over my feet more than I'd like to admit, and… yeah, there were some accidental chest collisions. Still, the rosy tint to Vanilla's cheeks suggests I wasn't the only flustered one.
My gaze catches Blake and Eve on the dancefloor — spinning, swinging, wholly absorbed in one another's presence. Eve… actually smiles. A small one, quick as a shooting star — but honest.
I never expected to see that.
Then Ghira steps onto the wooden platform near the town center, raising his voice above the music.
"Everyone!"
The crowd quiets, all attention turning to him.
"We gather under our beautiful moon tonight to celebrate a new beginning. Akua Holoholona has given us life, and hope — thanks to our newest member, that hope has grown brighter."
He turns and gestures toward me.
"Please welcome Elias Fernwell, the newest member of Kuo Kuana!"
Dozens of eyes swing my way.
Cheers erupt.
Hands wave.
Even kids shout my name — or something vaguely close to it.
I manage a tiny, awkward wave. "Uh… hi."
Ghira's voice grows stronger, pride threading each word:
"Yes — he is human. But that matters little, for he lives, helps, and cares. Elias has shared his skills with us, given us the means to grow and survive. And we will meet that kindness with our own."
His eyes scan the crowd — and soften.
"He may be the first step toward a future of coexistence — a light against the tides of darkness."
The applause becomes thunderous.
My throat tightens.
My eyes sting.
Not from spores this time.
For the first moment since I arrived…
I feel like I exist here.
Like, I'm not just a prisoner.
Not a weapon.
Not a burden.
A person.
A hand touches my arm — Vanilla.
Blake smiles from across the crowd.
Eve looks away quickly when our eyes meet — but she doesn't scowl.
For a brief, shining moment…
I belong.
Sienna Khan POV
Outside my window, the raucous celebration bleeds into the night — laughter, music, unity. All of it was built around him.
The human.
And where am I?
Locked in council with vipers.
Corsac stands rigid, hands folded behind his back — posture respectful, tone venomous.
"This is madness, Lady Khan. Allowing a human to reside here — among us — is a risk we cannot afford."
Fennec slams his fist against the table. "How could it have come to this? The people cheer for him like some kind of savior."
His words drip with disgust.
I close my eyes briefly and exhale.
"Elias Fernwell has given us food when we were starving," I say, each syllable measured. "The festival outside exists because of his efforts. The people finally have hope."
Fennec bares his teeth.
"Hope built on a human is a foundation destined to collapse."
Corsac nods, eyes narrow and calculating.
"He is unpredictable. Unvetted. Dangerous."
Dangerous.
Yes. I remember his defiance in the throne room — the fire in his eyes when he screamed for his right to live.
An auraless man with no weapon… yet he rattled me.
I force the memory down.
"If hope dies," I respond, voice low, "we die with it. Grimm numbers grow daily in the outlands. We cannot afford unrest — not now."
Corsac circles, predatory in calm.
"And if he betrays us?"
"Then we will deal with him."
My voice is iron.
"But not before."
Fennec scoffs. "You tread dangerously close to appeasement, my Lady."
I turn sharply, letting my aura leak just enough to silence the room.
"My duty is to all faunuskind. Not just your paranoia."
A tense beat.
The brothers glare — but they yield.
"For now…" Corsac murmurs, "We watch."
Fennec gives a shallow bow.
"We will act when he shows his true colors."
They leave — masks of loyalty hiding the knives they intend to plant in backs.
XXX
And suddenly, the room is too quiet.
I allow myself one moment — just one — to lean against the table and let the façade drop.
I've had my spy, Illia, watching him work tirelessly, and his confrontation with Eve.
His voice echoes unbidden:
"Fear isn't hate… and I'm tired of being afraid."
A human — staring into my eyes without yielding — accusing me of cowardice.
It shouldn't have shaken me.
But it did.
I look out the window.
Elias is out there — laughing with my people — bridging chasms I have spent years turning into war trenches.
Maybe he is more dangerous than they think…
…because part of me wants to believe him.