Millbrook village smelled like pig shit and desperation.
I'd been to the village exactly twice since inheriting the estate—once for the harvest blessing, once to adjudicate a property dispute. Both times, I'd stayed long enough to perform my noble duties and left. The original Dietrich had treated his peasants like furniture: useful, beneath notice, and easily replaced.
Riding through the muddy main street now, I saw what that attitude had cost.
Half the cottages needed repairs. The mill wheel was broken, the stream diverted into a temporary sluice that looked one storm away from collapse. Children watched from doorways with the hollow-eyed look of chronic hunger. The village elder—a weathered man named Tomlin—had mentioned during my last visit that the harvest had been "sufficient."
Looking at the place now, I realized "sufficient" meant "we didn't starve. Quite."
These were my people. My responsibility.
And I'd been so focused on my own survival I'd barely noticed they were drowning too.
"My lord?" Hans rode beside me, picking his way around the worst of the mud. "Old Marta's cottage is at the far end of the village, near the forest edge."
"She live alone?"
"As far as anyone knows. The villagers keep their distance."
"Because they think she's a witch?"
"Because the last man who tried to court her woke up covered in spiders." Hans's expression was carefully neutral. "He survived, but the message was clear."
Despite the bleak surroundings, I smiled. "I like her already."
We passed the village square—a generous term for a muddy clearing with a broken fountain. A few peasants stopped to stare. Some bowed. Most just looked wary.
I didn't blame them. In their experience, nobles visiting meant new taxes or conscription notices.
Marta's cottage sat at the edge of the village where the cleared land met the forest. It was small, timber and thatch, but well-maintained. Smoke rose from the chimney. The garden was overgrown but clearly intentional—I recognized wolfsbane, nightshade, and several other plants that were either medicinal or poisonous depending on dosage.
What made me stop, though, were the animals.
A fox lounged on the doorstep. Two ravens perched on the roof. Something that looked like a badger waddled around the side of the cottage. And in the garden, a deer—a deer—was calmly eating vegetables while a large hound watched it without aggression.
Every animal turned to look at us as we approached.
It should have been charming. It wasn't. There was something unnerving about the synchronized attention, the intelligence in those eyes.
"My lord," Hans said quietly, "perhaps I should announce us—"
The cottage door opened.
"I can hear you just fine from here," a woman's voice said. "And I can smell you from twice as far. When's the last time you mucked out your stables, boy?"
I dismounted, handing Copper's reins to Hans. "If you're referring to the horse smell, that's from this morning's ride."
"Wasn't talking about the horse."
The woman who stepped out was not what I expected.
Old Marta wasn't old—or if she was, she wore it well. Maybe fifty, maybe seventy, impossible to tell. She had the kind of face that suggested she'd been handsome once and stopped caring. Iron-grey hair pulled back in a severe bun. Rough clothes, practical boots. Hands that were scarred and stained with what I hoped was plant matter.
Her eyes were the color of winter sky and twice as cold.
She looked me up and down like I was a horse she was considering buying and had already decided against.
"So," she said. "The young lord finally remembers his peasants exist. What do you want?"
Straight to business. I appreciated that.
"I need to learn how to use Tame."
She snorted. "Bit late for that. Should've been practicing since you were sixteen. How old are you now? Twenty-four? Twenty-five?"
"Twenty-five."
"Nine years wasted. Typical noble." She turned to go back inside.
"I can pay," I said quickly.
She stopped. Looked back. "Can you?"
"I—" The lie died in my throat under that stare. "No. Not really. Not much."
"Honest at least." She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Word in the village is you're broke. Buried in debt. About to lose everything your father built."
"Word in the village is accurate."
"Also word is you went into the Thornwood yesterday and tried to Tame a dire wolf pack."
I blinked. "How did you—"
"Because I Saw you, boy. Capital S. You were clumsy as a drunk ox and about as subtle. That alpha should've torn your throat out."
"It chose not to."
"It pitied you. There's a difference." She studied me with those winter eyes. "Why didn't you bring soldiers? Hunters? Why go alone?"
"Because I needed to know if the skill would work."
"And did it?"
I thought about the moment in the forest. The connection, fragile and slipping. The alpha's contempt. My complete failure to do anything useful.
"No," I admitted. "I have no idea what I'm doing."
"First smart thing you've said." She straightened. "And now you come to me. Baron von Klause, slumming with the village witch because you're desperate."
"Yes."
She waited, clearly expecting more.
"I'm desperate," I continued. "I have eleven weeks before the Crown seizes my estate for unpaid taxes. I have a skill I don't know how to use and no time to learn it properly. You're the only person within fifty miles who might be able to teach me. So yes, I'm here because I'm desperate. But I'm also here because you're competent, and competence is what I need."
Marta was quiet for a long moment.
Then she laughed—a sharp, bark-like sound.
"Competence. When's the last time a noble acknowledged a peasant was competent at anything?" She shook her head. "Alright, boy. I'll teach you."
Relief flooded through me. "Thank you—"
"Didn't say I'd do it for free."
The relief evaporated. "I told you, I don't have money—"
"Don't want money. Money's useless if your estate collapses and the next lord is worse than you." She gestured around the village. "The mill's broken. Been broken for two months. Your steward says there's no coin to fix it, so we're grinding grain by hand like it's the dark ages. You fix that, I'll teach you."
I looked at Hans. He nodded slightly—the mill had been on his list of deferred maintenance. Low priority compared to keeping the estate solvent.
"How much would repairs cost?" I asked.
"About forty marks for lumber and a competent millwright," Hans said quietly. "We could defer until after harvest—"
"We'll fix it," I said. "This week if possible."
Marta's eyebrow rose. "You sure? Thought you were broke."
"I am. But if I can't manage to maintain a mill for the people feeding my estate, I don't deserve to keep it." I met her eyes. "You have a deal."
She studied me for another long moment. Then nodded.
"Alright then. Your steward there can arrange the repairs. You—" She pointed at me. "—come inside. We start now."
The inside of Marta's cottage was organized chaos.
Every surface was covered with dried herbs, clay pots, mysterious liquids in bottles, books that looked three centuries old, and more animals. A cat watched me from the rafters. Something furry I couldn't identify slept in a basket by the fire. The ravens from outside had followed us in and perched on a beam, cawing softly to each other.
It smelled like dried sage, wet fur, and something sharp I couldn't identify.
Marta gestured to a rough wooden chair. "Sit."
I sat.
She moved around the cottage, gathering items—a shallow clay bowl, a waterskin, a small knife. The animals watched but didn't interfere. The hound from outside padded in and lay down at her feet.
"First question," she said, not looking at me. "What do you think Tame does?"
"It lets you bond with magical beasts. Control them."
"Wrong." She set the bowl on the table between us, filled it with water from the skin. "That's what nobles think it does, which is why nobles can't use it worth a damn. Try again."
I thought about the moment with the alpha. The connection I'd felt. The sense of touching something vast and alien.
"Communication?" I tried.
"Closer. But still missing it." She sat across from me, the bowl between us. "Tame doesn't let you control beasts. It lets you understand them. And more importantly, it lets them understand you."
"What's the difference?"
"Everything." She pulled out the knife. Before I could react, she pricked her finger and let three drops of blood fall into the water. "Magic is about connection, boy. Real connection, not domination. You can't force a beast to bond with you any more than you can force a person to love you. You can only offer, and hope they accept."
She slid the bowl toward me. "Your turn."
I looked at the knife, the bowl, the blood diffusing through the water like red smoke.
"Is this... safe?"
"You went into the Thornwood alone to face dire wolves, and you're worried about a finger prick?" But her tone was less mocking than before. Almost amused. "It's safe. This is basic sympathy magic. Blood to blood, life to life. It'll help you feel what I'm teaching."
I took the knife, pricked my finger—sharper than I expected, gods damn it—and added my blood to the bowl.
The effect was immediate.
The water seemed to shift, the blood swirling in patterns that looked almost intentional. And I felt—
—warmth curiosity hunger safety pack pack pack—
I jerked back. "What the hell—"
"That's Ash." Marta gestured to the hound at her feet. "You're feeling what she feels. Through me, through the blood, through the connection. That's what Tame does, when you do it right."
The sensations faded but didn't disappear entirely. I could still feel something, like a distant humming just below hearing.
"Every living thing has a presence," Marta continued. "Animals, beasts, even plants to some degree. Most people can't sense it. But those of us with Tame? We're sensitive to it. We can reach out, touch that presence, and if we're lucky—if we're careful—we can make a connection."
"The alpha in the Thornwood," I said slowly. "I felt something. But it slipped away."
"Because you grabbed at it like a child grabbing a fish. You have to be gentle. Patient. You have to show the beast that you see it—not as a tool, not as a weapon, but as a living thing with its own wants and needs." She leaned forward. "That's the first lesson. You want to Tame a beast? First, you have to respect it."
I thought about the contempt in the alpha's eyes. The way it had looked at me like I was beneath notice.
"I failed that test," I said.
"Spectacularly. But—" She held up a finger. "—the fact that you recognize the failure means you might not be hopeless. Which brings us to lesson two."
She stood, moved to a cabinet, and returned with a small wooden cage. Inside was a mouse.
"You're not ready for wolves. You're barely ready for housecats. So we start simple." She set the cage on the table. "This is Pip. He's old, half-blind, and friendly. If you can't bond with him, you've got no business going near anything with teeth."
I looked at the mouse. The mouse looked back, whiskers twitching.
"What do I do?"
"First, you open yourself to the skill. Not pushing outward—opening. Like unclenching a fist you didn't know was closed."
I tried. It felt like trying to relax a muscle I'd been tensing for years.
"Don't force it," Marta said. "Just... breathe. Feel your own presence first. That warm sense of self in your chest. Find that, then we'll work on reaching out."
I closed my eyes. Breathed.
At first, there was nothing. Just the usual anxiety, the constant mental chatter of someone drowning in debt and existential crisis.
Then, slowly, I felt it. A warmth in my chest, like Marta described. Not physical—something else. The sense of me, my consciousness, my presence in the world.
"Good," Marta said quietly. "Now hold that. Don't grasp it, just... acknowledge it. You are here. You are present. You are alive."
The warmth grew stronger.
"Now," she continued, "reach out. Gently. Like extending a hand. Feel for Pip's presence."
I kept my eyes closed and reached—not with my hands, but with that warm sense of self. Extending it outward like a tendril.
For a moment, nothing.
Then—
—hunger tired warm safe tiny safe warm—
My eyes snapped open.
The mouse was staring at me. And I could feel it. Not thoughts exactly, but impressions. Emotions. The simple, uncomplicated existence of a small creature that wanted food and warmth and safety.
"I feel him," I whispered.
"Don't talk. You'll break it." Marta's voice was barely audible. "Just... stay there. Let him feel you too. Show him you're safe."
I tried to project... what? Calm? Safety? I wasn't even sure how.
But something must have worked, because the mouse's presence shifted. Less wary. More curious.
We stayed like that for what felt like hours but was probably less than a minute.
Then my concentration slipped, and the connection vanished.
I slumped back in my chair, suddenly exhausted.
"What... what was that?"
"That," Marta said, "was a proper connection. Fragile, brief, but real. Congratulations, boy. You just took your first actual step toward Taming."
I looked at Pip. The mouse had gone back to being a mouse—cleaning his whiskers, unconcerned with my existential revelation.
"That's it?" I asked. "That's what I'm supposed to do with a dire wolf?"
"Eventually. But first, you practice. Every day. Multiple times a day. You need to build that muscle until you can open yourself and reach out without thinking about it." She picked up the cage. "Come back tomorrow. Same time. We'll work with Pip again until you can hold the connection for a full minute."
"A minute? That's all?"
"Boy, most people can't hold it for five seconds their first year of practice. You held it for maybe twenty. That's not bad for someone who's wasted nine years."
It didn't feel like much.
But it was more than I'd had yesterday.
"What about after Pip?" I asked. "Once I can hold the connection?"
"Then we move to something bigger. A cat, maybe. Or one of the chickens—they're mean, good practice for difficult personalities. After that, if you're still alive and haven't given up, maybe we try a fox."
"How long until I can bond with a wolf?"
Marta gave me a long look. "A proper bond? One that'll hold in a fight, that'll keep a dire wolf from eating you or running off? Most tamers train for five years before attempting something that dangerous."
My stomach sank. "I have eleven weeks."
"Then you better practice a lot." She walked to the door, clearly dismissing me. "And boy? When you come back tomorrow, bring food. Bread, cheese, dried meat—whatever you can spare. The animals need to eat, and if you're going to be here every day, you're going to feed them. Consider it tuition."
I stood. My legs felt shaky. "I thought fixing the mill was tuition."
"That's tuition for the village. This is tuition for the beasts. You want to learn Taming? Start by understanding that everything has a cost. The animals aren't tools. They're partners. And partners need to eat."
She opened the door.
Hans was waiting outside with the horses, looking uncomfortable while the fox investigated his boots.
As I mounted Copper, Marta called out: "One more thing."
I looked back.
"That dire wolf pack you found? The alpha?"
"What about it?"
"It's still watching you. I can feel it, circling your estate, testing boundaries. It's curious about you now. Curious is dangerous."
"Should I be worried?"
She smiled, and it wasn't entirely reassuring. "Should've been worried before you went into its territory acting like a fool. But yes. Wolves are patient hunters. It's learning about you just like you're learning about it."
"Is that good or bad?"
"Depends on what it decides." She patted the hound at her feet. "Ash here was a wild dog once. Came to me half-starved, vicious as they come. I fed her. Showed her I wasn't a threat. Three months later, she decided to stay. That's how it works—they choose you, as much as the other way around."
"So I just... wait for the wolves to choose me?"
"You wait. You practice. You become someone worth choosing." She leaned against the doorframe. "And boy? Work on that mill. The villagers are watching you too. You want beasts to trust you? Start by showing humans you're trustworthy. Same principle."
With that, she went inside and shut the door.
The ride back to the manor was quiet.
Hans didn't ask what had happened. I didn't volunteer. I was too busy thinking about Pip, the connection, the warmth in my chest that I'd never noticed before.
And the wolves, circling in the darkness.
They choose you as much as you choose them.
When we reached the manor, I headed straight for the study. Hans followed, patient as always.
"My lord?"
"The mill," I said. "How quickly can we get it fixed?"
"I can have a millwright here by tomorrow if we pay for priority service. That'll cost more—maybe fifty marks instead of forty."
"Do it."
"My lord, that's nearly ten percent of our liquid assets—"
"I know the math, Hans." I sat at the desk, pulled out the ledger. "But Marta was right. The villagers are watching. If I can't even maintain a mill, why should anyone believe I can manage anything else?"
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "Your father would have let the mill stay broken."
"I know."
"And the previous lord before him."
"I know that too."
Hans set a fresh stack of papers on my desk—more bills, more demands, more evidence of the hole we were in. But his expression was... different. Less resigned. Almost approving.
"I'll send for the millwright first thing in the morning, my lord."
After he left, I sat alone with the numbers.
Six hundred marks in assets.
Four thousand, two hundred in debt.
Minus fifty for the mill: five hundred fifty remaining.
The math still didn't work.
But for the first time since waking up in this world, I'd done something that wasn't about pure survival. I'd made a choice—a small one—that might make someone's life slightly less miserable.
It probably wouldn't save me.
But maybe it was a start.
I opened Dietrich's journal.
Day Three of Project Taming Ruin:
Met Old Marta. She's abrasive, competent, and charges in infrastructure instead of coin. I like her.
First lesson: Tame isn't about control. It's about connection. Understanding. Respect.
Successfully connected with a half-blind mouse for maybe 20 seconds. Felt its presence. This is real. This can work.
Problem: Need 5+ years of training. Have 11 weeks.
Solution: Practice like my life depends on it. Because it does.
The mill will be fixed this week. -50 marks. Worth it?
Ask me in 11 weeks.
I paused, then added:
The alpha is still watching. Marta can sense it. What does it want? What does it see when it looks at me?
Note to self: Bring food for Marta's animals tomorrow. Bread, cheese, dried meat. Check kitchen stores.
Another note: You sat in a cottage with a witch, bled into a bowl of water, and felt the emotions of a mouse. Your Seoul colleagues would think you'd lost your mind.
Maybe you have. But the mouse was real. The connection was real.
That's something.
I closed the journal and went to the window.
The Thornwood was dark against the sunset. And somewhere in those trees, golden eyes watched.
Waiting.
Learning.
I raised my hand to the glass.
I'm learning too, I thought. Let's see who learns faster.
The eyes didn't blink.
Neither did I.