The sky above the oasis shimmered with early morning dew. The air was thick with jasmine and birdsong, and every waterfall sang a different tune. Somewhere between the rustling bamboo and the steaming hot springs, Ash Vale woke up to the sound of a soft, unfamiliar footstep.
Not a paw.
Not a hoof.
Something else.
He sat up in his hammock bed — woven from vines, strong as steel rope, suspended from a curved wooden beam. The lion cub, curled at the foot of the bed, lifted its head and blinked.
Ash held a finger to his lips. "Shh."
The cub yawned. Loudly. Unhelpfully.
He padded barefoot through the house, every floorboard silent by design. Outside, mist hugged the ground like a sleeping blanket, and the fireflies were just returning to their hollow nests under the roof's edges.
The parrot was perched on the windowsill muttering to itself.
"…Didn't order anything. No deliveries. Not wearing pants, not going out."
Ash opened the front door.
And stopped.
There, at the edge of the clearing, half-shrouded in fog and dappled sunlight, stood a creature that looked like it had walked out of a storybook.
Tall, elegant, and silent — a deer-like figure with glimmering white fur, feathered hooves, and long antlers that shimmered like pearl dust. It moved like wind. Its eyes were pale silver, thoughtful, calm, and old.
Ash whispered, "You're not in the textbook."
The creature blinked at him.
Ash stepped forward, barefoot in the morning grass, arms relaxed at his sides. The creature didn't move.
The air between them was still — not tense, not heavy. Just quiet. Understanding.
He stopped a few meters away and slowly lowered himself into a seated position in the grass.
"I'm Ash," he said softly. "You can stay. If you want."
The creature exhaled — not like a deer, not like a horse. Like a river.
Then it stepped forward, lowering its head, and brushed its feathered muzzle against his hair.
The parrot screamed from the doorway.
"IS THAT A FAIRY GOAT?!"
Over the next few hours, the oasis adjusted.
The creature — which Ash quietly named "Lumira," after the way its antlers caught the light — explored the garden paths, sipped from the side springs, and nuzzled curiously at the bamboo chimes.
Ash followed gently, never forcing interaction.
He prepared a mineral-rich herbal water in a stone bowl and placed it near the sunbathing rocks.
Lumira drank without hesitation.
The parrot watched suspiciously from behind a cactus.
"She's elegant," Ash whispered, chopping fruit.
"She's probably illegal."
"You're probably illegal."
"Touché."
That night, Ash added a new room.
It extended from the eastern side of the house, a crescent-moon-shaped space with open arches, layered moss walls, and a bed of warm sand. He lined the walls with low-glow lights and planted glowing vines across the ceiling, giving it the look of a starlit dome.
It was not just a guest room.
It was a message.
"You belong here too."
Lumira entered without hesitation, settled on the sand, and closed her eyes.
Ash sat outside the door, sipping tea.
"She's not lost," he whispered. "She just found the one place no one else thought to look."
The next day, Ash started a journal.
Not a logbook. Not a digital record. A real, ink-and-paper, hardbound leather journal.
He sat under the plum tree near the kitchen garden, legs crossed, lion cub on his lap, and began to write.
THE HOME JOURNAL By Ash Vale (Page 1) This house is alive.
Every room is a memory I haven't made yet.
Every wall listens. Every step teaches.
This is not a fortress. It's not a palace.
It's a heartbeat.
He titled each room:
The Kitchen: "Where warmth begins."
The East Room: "For visitors who look like myths."
The Reading Den: "For when I forget I exist and need to remember I matter."
The Rooftop Garden: "Because plants don't lie."
The Workshop: "Where the world almost meets me — but never quite."
And then, under the last line, he added:
"One day, someone will come here and say, 'This place feels like it was made for me.' And they'll be right. Because I made it for them too."
That evening, Lumira followed Ash into the main hall and nudged his hand with her velvet-soft nose.
He laughed gently and fed her a slice of pear.
"Do you know," he said, brushing her fur, "I don't even miss being around people right now."
Lumira looked at him with those deep, pale eyes. Ancient. Knowing.
Then she licked his face and walked straight into the pantry.
The parrot screamed from the rafters, "SHE'S TAKING THE MANGOES! I KNEW IT!"
In the coming days, more small signs appeared.
Ash's perimeter sensors picked up minor anomalies — flickers of motion just outside range, strange electromagnetic ripples that couldn't be fully explained. Nothing threatening. Just... a ripple in the silence.
Kiwi, his AI, alerted him once.
"Ash," it said. "There's a 0.04% deviation in static patterns on the western bluff. Suggest monitoring."
Ash stared at the feed for a long time.
Then turned it off.
"Let them look," he whispered.
And went back to cooking mushroom stew with curry-soaked sweet potatoes.
That night, the fireflies returned earlier than usual.
They floated through the porch screens, danced above the bubbling hot spring, and clustered near the rooftop garden as Ash sat alone with a book and a steaming bowl of rice.
Lumira lay curled beside the fountain.
The lion cub snoozed upside-down on a cushion.
The parrot was building a nest out of stolen socks.
And Ash?
Ash looked up at the sky and whispered, "Whoever's watching — I hope you're doing okay too."
He didn't know yet...
That someone was watching.
And that they were searching for him.