“But I'm hungry NOW,” Buster projected, somehow managing to make his thoughts sound like a whine. “So hungry I might DIE.”

  Ethan glanced down to see Buster giving him The Look, that soulful, pitiful expression with slightly drooped ears and woeful eyes that had, for years, been his secret weapon for extracting treats.

  “Don't fall for it,” Moose projected. “Buster had breakfast.”

  Ethan caught the amusement riding behind the warning. They’d spent the morning hacking apart a boar with a sharp rock, and Buster had eaten plenty.

  “TWO HOURS ago!” Buster countered, like that made the whole meal ancient history.

  “I’m kinda hungry too,” Pixie admitted through the bond, bouncing slightly in place. “And this place has SO MANY good smells!”

  Ethan sighed, his resolve crumbling as it always did. He'd never been able to resist Buster's emotional manipulation, even back home.

  "Fine," he muttered. "We'll get food first, then come back for the job."

  Buster's tail immediately started wagging at full speed, his dejected expression vanishing instantly. “Best human EVER!”

  “You spoil him,” Moose observed within the bond, sounding more amused than critical.

  They wound through Virestead’s tight streets for a few minutes, following the smell of cooking and watching for something that could solve two problems at once. Food came first because his Pack was going to make sure of that. Supplies came right after, because Ethan needed a way to stop improvising survival with whatever he could pick off the ground.

  The Pack drew attention whether Ethan wanted it or not.

  A pair of kids paused mid-argument to stare. One pointed at Pixie, eyes wide, then got yanked backward by the sleeve. An older woman with a basket took one look at Moose’s size, adjusted her path without breaking stride, and kept her expression deliberately neutral.

  Buster noticed none of it. His world narrowed to scent, and he followed it with devotion.

  “Something’s cooking,” Buster projected, urgent. “Meat. It’s close. That smell is criminal.”

  Pixie’s nose went up too, eyes going bright. “Bread. I smell bread. And something sweet. And something that smells like berries but also like smoke.”

  “Stay close,” Ethan murmured. “We’re not chasing smells, and we’re not sprinting through town.”

  Buster’s reply came with the patient suffering of a dog being asked to endure injustice. “I am being oppressed,” he projected.

  His nose still tried to tug him sideways anyway, and Moose slid in front of him without breaking stride, calmly redirecting him like this was normal.

  Buster insisted through the bond that two hours was an eternity, like Ethan hadn’t fully understood the tragedy the first time.

  “I heard you,” Ethan muttered. “We’re getting food.”

  A little skewer stand sat a few steps from a general store’s door, smoke curling up from a small brazier while a man turned strips of meat with a fork. The smell hit Buster like a hook.

  Buster leaned forward so hard Ethan had to keep him from walking straight into the vendor.

  “How much?” Ethan asked.

  “One copper bit,” the vendor said, holding up a skewer.

  Ethan winced, then dug into his pocket and paid anyway. The vendor handed it over wrapped in a scrap of waxed paper.

  “This is a snack,” Ethan warned, mostly for Buster’s benefit. He broke off small pieces with his fingers and handed them out one by one. Moose got the first bite, Pixie got the second, Buster got the third. Ethan took the last sliver himself, more out of stubbornness than hunger.

  Buster chewed like it was an insultingly small portion and still stared at Ethan like the situation required another skewer.

  “It’ll hold you over,” Ethan said. “Now we do supplies.”

  He turned to the nearby general store and pushed inside.

  The shop interior was crammed with merchandise. Shelves stacked with goods of all kinds, bundles of herbs hanging from the ceiling, barrels of supplies in the corners.

  Up close, “crammed” didn’t feel like a description so much as a design principle. The air was thick with mixed smells: dried herbs, leather, beeswax, old wood, and something sharp and clean that reminded Ethan of pine resin. A glow stone sat in a metal cradle high on a beam, casting steady light without smoke or flicker, and making the whole place feel warmer than it should have.

  Buster took one step forward, then another, tracking a scent line like it was a rope tied to his spine.

  “Do not,” Ethan warned quietly.

  Buster froze, then sat with exaggerated obedience, ears forward like he was trying to prove a point. “Fine,” he projected within the bond. “I’ll be good. I won’t eat the store.”

  Pixie immediately got distracted by anything that caught the light. She drifted toward buckles and metal fittings, little glass vials, and strips of dyed cloth that shimmered under the glow stones, staring like she’d found treasure.

  Moose stayed close to Ethan’s knee, gaze sweeping the shop with slow, methodical intent, mapping the door, the counter, the narrow aisle, and the spots where someone could stand without being seen.

  "Hello, traveler," the shopkeeper said without looking up from the brass thing in his hands, a lantern-shaped cage with a glow stone seated inside, spilling steady light across the counter as he polished it. “Name’s Garrick. What can I help you with?”

  "I need basic supplies," Ethan replied. "A pack, cooking equipment, fire-starting tools. The problem is..." he hesitated, “I don’t have much in bits and pieces.”

  Garrick did look up then, eyes assessing. “I’m not running a charity,” he said, blunt and calm. “Bits and pieces first. Then you walk out with goods.”

  "I have these," Ethan said, placing the five copper bits Rolan had given him on the counter. “But I know it’s not enough. I do have other things to trade.”

  He tugged at his hoodie, then hesitated.

  The black fabric was streaked with dried boar blood along one sleeve and smelled faintly of smoke. He’d spent the morning hacking the thing apart with a sharp rock just to get breakfast on the ground, and there hadn’t been any way to stay clean doing it.

  After a second’s pause, Ethan pinched the little metal pull at his collar and drew it down.

  The zipper made a sharp, rasping sound as it split the hoodie open.

  Garrick’s hands stopped polishing. His head turned toward the noise so fast it was almost rude.

  Ethan slid the hoodie off and set it on the counter.

  Garrick didn’t even glance at the blood. He grabbed the zipper pull, ran it back up, then down again. He did it a third time, slower, watching the teeth mesh and separate like he expected it to fail. It didn’t.

  “Where did you get this fastening?” Garrick asked, still staring at the zipper instead of Ethan.

  “It’s normal where I’m from,” Ethan said carefully.

  Garrick made a quiet sound that said he didn’t believe the word normal meant the same thing in both places. Then he shifted his grip and actually felt the fabric, rubbing it between his fingers.

  His expression changed.

  He murmured a single word under his breath, and for a moment a faint sheen skimmed the cloth and vanished.

  Ethan’s stomach tightened. “What was that?”

  Garrick didn’t bother pretending. “Merchant’s appraisal,” he said. “A skill.”

  He turned the sleeve, fingers slow now, and his gaze sharpened like he’d stopped looking at a hoodie and started looking at a ledger entry. “It tags the cloth as otherworldly,” he continued. “Appraisal also gives me a sense of how much enchantment a material can hold if someone works runes into it.”

  He looked back down at the cloth, frowning. “With normal cloth, the skill shows me a ceiling. With this… it won’t show me a ceiling I recognize.”

  His thumb flicked the zipper again, still clearly stuck on it. “That means an enchanter is going to want the fabric, and everyone else is going to want the fastening.”

  Then he finally looked up at Ethan, expression tight with the kind of surprise a merchant hates.

  “This isn’t a few silver pieces,” Garrick said. “With the right buyer, it could pull gold pieces.”

  Ethan went still.

  Garrick lifted a hand, palm out, like he was stopping an argument before it started. “I’m telling you that because I don’t swindle travelers. I run a small shop. I don’t have gold pieces sitting around, and I don’t have enough silver pieces on hand to pay what appraisal says this could be worth.”

  He set the hoodie down carefully. “If I buy it, I’d have to wait for a caravan, or make a special trip to a bigger city and find someone who understands what they’re looking at. That takes time.”

  Then he nodded toward the shelves behind him, and there was a note of pride in it. “I keep better stock than most small shops because travelers come through here, and my name survives on what I send them back out with. If you want a full setup, I can do it. Pack, bedroll, rope, fire stones, rations, and a decent knife with a proper sheath.”

  He hesitated, then added like he was admitting he’d been saving it for someone who wouldn’t waste it. “I even have a folding tent with a space enchantment. And a few mana crystals. Those are worth real silver pieces on their own.”

  His eyes dropped back to the hoodie. “What I can do is trade you hard in your favor. Gear costs me less than it costs you. I can load you up with what you need and still leave you with bits and pieces for the road.”

  Ethan swallowed. He’d walked in hoping to beg his way into a backpack and a blade. Garrick was talking about gold pieces like it was a real sentence.

  “And this,” Ethan added softly, unhooking his stainless Yeti mug from his belt loop. The side was scuffed and dented from the boar fight, and his name was printed in big block letters across the metal, meaningless here, but instantly familiar to him. A Christmas gift from his sister, Amelia. “It still works. Keeps heat in. Or cold. It’s from… far away.”

  Garrick took it, turned it in his hands. He held it up to the glow stone light. His eyes paused on the bold lettering, then moved on like it might as well have been decorative scratches. “Unusual craftsmanship. Sturdy. Lightweight. No enchantments?”

  “No,” Ethan said. “It’s technology.”

  Garrick nodded, eyes still on the mug. “Collectors in Highmont would pay handsomely for something like this too.”

  Ethan didn’t answer.

  He just stared at the mug for a moment. The familiar curve of the handle. The faint scrape near the base. The dent from the boar fight. His thumb brushed over the big letters of his name without thinking, and the memory of Amelia handing it to him flashed up sharp and bright.

  He reached forward and gently took it back.

  “Not this,” he said. “Sorry. I’ll trade the clothes. But not the mug.”

  Garrick raised an eyebrow. “Sentimental?”

  Ethan clipped it back onto his belt.

  “It’s the last thing I have from home.”

  Garrick nodded slowly, a flicker of understanding passing over his features. “Fair enough.”

  He tapped the counter. “If you’re trading clothes, I need to see what else you’re offering. Appraisal can’t guess at what you’re wearing under that.”

  Ethan glanced at his companions. “Turn around,” he told them through the bond. “This is embarrassing enough without an audience.”

  “Why?” Pixie asked, genuinely confused.

  “Just do it,” Moose instructed, herding her and Buster toward the door and positioning himself so they faced away.

  With a deep breath, Ethan pulled his t-shirt up and over his head.

  He glanced down and froze, staring at his own torso in shock.

  "What the hell?"

  Where his slightly soft, desk-job physique had been just a day ago, defined muscles now rippled across his chest and abdomen. He ran a hand across his stomach in amazement, feeling the ridged contours of abs he'd never had in his life.

  “Mirror Link,” Moose projected, steady and matter-of-fact. “Our strength became yours, remember?”

  Right. Buster's strength and Pixie's agility had physically transformed him. His body had literally reshaped itself to accommodate the enhanced attributes.

  Ethan was so distracted by his unexpected transformation that he kept running his hands over his new muscles, completely forgetting where he was until Garrick cleared his throat loudly.

  "If you're done admiring yourself," the shopkeeper said dryly, "perhaps we could continue?"

  Heat rushed to Ethan's face. "Sorry. I just... recent changes. Surprised me."

  Garrick jerked his chin toward a small folding screen off to the side. “Use that if you’re going further than a shirt. I’m trying to run a shop.”

  “Thank you,” Ethan muttered, and moved behind the screen before tugging his cargo pants down, standing awkwardly in his underwear. "Thank god I slipped on my old hiking boots this morning," he added, mostly to himself. "Those aren't for sale."

  Garrick examined the clothes with genuine interest, feeling the fabric between his fingers. “Never seen weaving this fine,” he admitted.

  Then he went back to the hoodie. He ran the zipper up. He ran it down. He frowned at it like it was a personal challenge.

  “And these fasteners…” he murmured, then moved to the cargo pants.

  He spent the most time there, fingers carefully opening and closing each of the zippered pockets. “Six separate compartments,” he said, almost reverent. “Each with its own closing mechanism. Remarkable.”

  Ethan shifted behind the screen, trying to maintain some dignity while his underwear became the least weird part of the day. "So what can I get for all this?"

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Garrick exhaled slowly, as if he was deciding how much honesty Ethan could handle.

  “For the full bundle,” Garrick said, “I can’t pay what appraisal says it’s worth. Not in silver pieces, and not in gold pieces. But I can make sure you walk out with the kind of setup most people spend weeks saving for.”

  He began gathering items. A sturdy canvas backpack. A small iron cooking pan. A hunting knife with a leather sheath. Two fire stones. A waterskin. Three days of dry rations in waxed paper. A crowbar-like hammer tool. A coil of sturdy rope. A rolled bedroll of wool and canvas. Then clothing: a simple tunic, sturdy linen trousers, and a wool cloak.

  He set all of it on the counter, then paused like he was deciding how much he wanted to trust a stranger.

  Without a word, Garrick went to a low cabinet behind the counter, unlocked it, and pulled out a tightly folded bundle of canvas bound with a leather strap. It looked too small to be a tent. The strap had a stitched rune line running along it, neat and deliberate.

  “This,” Garrick said, “is a folding tent with a space enchantment. In a bigger city, it costs silver pieces on its own.”

  He set it down carefully, then reached into the same cabinet and produced a small padded pouch. When he loosened the tie, Ethan saw a couple of dull, glassy crystals inside.

  “And these are mana crystals,” Garrick added. There was pride in his voice, and caution too. “I don’t keep many.”

  Ethan stared at the pile, then back at Garrick. “You’re including all of that?”

  “I’m counting it against what your clothes are worth,” Garrick said. “And I’m doing it because you need it, and because I can replace stock easier than I can replace silver.”

  He placed a leather pouch beside the stack. “And this as well.”

  Ethan stepped out from behind the screen, taking in the pouch. “Wait,” he said, staring at the money. “You’re giving me bits and pieces too?”

  Garrick nodded, eyes drifting back to the zipper like it was calling to him. “You need something for the road,” he said. “And I’m not sending you out with zero after appraisal told me what you just set on my counter.”

  Ethan opened the pouch carefully and counted: three silver pieces and six copper bits.

  The number made his stomach flip.

  Ethan felt a pang of regret as he looked at his cargo pants with their multiple zippered pockets. He suspected those were the real selling point. All those zippers and compartments would seem like magic to people here. His sister had always teased him mercilessly about his cargo pants obsession. "The more pockets, the better," he'd always insisted, while she rolled her eyes and called them his "dad pants."

  Well, who's laughing now? Those "dad pants" had just bought him an entire survival kit, a tent, and enough money to keep breathing while he figured the rest out.

  "I really liked those clothes," he muttered.

  “And you got FOOD,” Buster projected, locking onto the rations like they were sacred.

  Garrick leaned over the fire stones and tapped one with a knuckle. "Just focus your intent on heat and push a tiny bit of your magic into it," he explained, demonstrating how to hold it. "Common enchantment, but useful. Every adventurer carries one. I gave you a spare. They’re worth having."

  Ethan nodded, though he had no idea if he could actually channel mana. That was a problem for later.

  He changed into his new clothes behind the screen. The tunic was rough against his skin compared to his t-shirt, but it was well-made and sturdy. The linen trousers felt strange after years of denim and synthetic fabrics, but they fit reasonably well. At least he still had his comfortable hiking boots.

  “You look like everyone else now,” Moose observed within the bond. “Safer that way.”

  "One more thing," Garrick said, reaching beneath the counter. He pulled out a leather belt pouch, cinched at the top with a drawstring. "For your bits and pieces. No charge. Consider it good business sense. I’ll make more than I gave you once I move these to the right buyer."

  Ethan secured the pouch to his belt, the weight of the money a small comfort. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "This is more than fair."

  Pixie leapt onto a low bench near a hanging rack of accessories that shimmered in the lamplight. A few strips of enchanted cloth hung from a hook, fluttering gently like they were catching wind that wasn’t there.

  She gasped. “Alpha! Look!”

  Ethan barely turned. “What now?”

  “That!” Pixie said, pointing with her nose. “The sparkly thing. It’s like a sash, but thinner. Not a scarf. Like a fancy tail for your neck. Or your leg. Or maybe your soul.”

  She pawed at one, nose twitching. “It’s pashmina-adjacent. But thin. Elegant. And sparkly. So sparkly.”

  Ethan blinked. “You want that?” he asked.

  “Obviously,” Pixie said.

  Ethan turned back to the counter. “Not today,” he said.

  Pixie leaned forward like she was negotiating. “But you said that like it was almost a yes.”

  “I really didn’t,” Ethan said.

  “It sounded very promise-shaped,” Pixie said, as if that settled the matter.

  “We really can’t afford anything right now,” Ethan told her within the bond.

  Pixie’s disappointment hit like a dramatic sigh with fur attached. “I understand. I will suffer elegantly.”

  "Where will you be staying?" Garrick asked as Ethan gathered his new supplies.

  "Is there an inn that would allow..." Ethan gestured to his companions.

  Garrick shook his head. "Ain't no inn in Virestead that'll let beasts inside, stranger. Most folk camp outside the walls if they've got animals with 'em. There's a clearing just beyond the east wall. Many travelers camp there when passing through. Safer than the open forest, close enough to the guards if trouble comes."

  Ethan nodded. "Thanks for the advice."

  “We’re sleeping outside again?” Pixie projected, horrified.

  “It’s only for tonight,” Moose assured her within the bond. “At least we have a bedroll this time.”

  “And FOOD,” Buster reiterated, clearly focusing on what he considered the priority.

  Ethan shifted the new pack on his shoulders, felt the folded tent’s strap bite against his palm, and forced himself to focus on the practical. He’d traded a chunk of his old life for all of this. It still felt unreal, but the weight was real enough. He guided the Pack back out into the street and aimed them toward the east wall before anyone could talk him into another skewer.

  Ethan didn’t take them straight to the east wall. The smell of cooking kept dragging Buster’s attention sideways, and the pouch at Ethan’s belt felt heavier than it should. He didn’t like walking around with money and no plan, and he liked even less walking around while Buster looked like he was counting the minutes until revolt.

  Buster stared at the nearest brazier stand with focused intent. “We should get more,” he projected. “That was a bite.”

  “It was enough to keep you from trying to eat the store,” Ethan muttered. He still changed direction anyway.

  The vendor recognized him immediately. Ethan bought two skewers this time and broke them up as they walked, handing out pieces one by one so it didn’t turn into a full stop and a feeding frenzy.

  Buster didn’t chew at all. The moment Ethan handed him a piece, it vanished—gulped down so fast Ethan had to wonder if it even touched teeth.

  “Did you even taste that?” Ethan asked.

  “Yes,” Buster projected immediately.

  Ethan looked at him, skeptical.

  Pixie took her piece and immediately started sniffing for the next interesting smell, tail twitching like a compass needle.

  They passed a fruit stand laid out on a cloth with shallow crates and piles of produce that made Ethan’s brain stall. One stack looked like blueberries that had somehow decided to become the size of grapefruits, deep blue with a dusty bloom on the skin. Another pile looked like someone had crossed an apple with a pineapple: round and red-yellow, but with textured skin that promised it would be more work than it looked.

  Pixie popped up on her toes. “Alpha. Giant blueberries.”

  “They’re probably not blueberries,” Ethan said, then realized he didn’t have a better name. He pointed at the other pile. “And those are… apple-pineapple things.”

  The vendor said something Ethan didn’t recognize and held up two fingers, then tapped a little wooden dish beside the crates.

  Ethan counted out a couple copper bits from his belt pouch, took one of the blue fruits and one apple-pineapple thing, and turned them in his hands like he was trying to find the safest first bite. He tucked them into the top of his pack where he could reach them later and kept moving before he accidentally turned the whole evening into market browsing.

  By the time they reached the clearing Garrick had described, the light had started to fade and the air had cooled. The space sat just beyond the eastern wall, close enough that Ethan could see the guard tower if he lifted his head. The rolled canvas tent and its short poles lay beside the pack, bulky in a way that made sense.

  Ethan dropped the pack with a sigh of relief. “Home sweet home.”

  Pixie darted around the clearing, investigating every scent. Moose walked a careful perimeter, his enhanced intelligence evident in how systematically he checked their surroundings. Buster flopped immediately onto his side like he’d been waiting all day for permission.

  “Tired,” Buster projected. “Need rest. And food.”

  “We’ve barely done anything today,” Ethan pointed out. “And you’ve already eaten half the rations.”

  “Growing boys need food,” Buster replied, unashamed.

  Ethan set the pack where he could reach it, then looked at all three of them. “Alright team. New world, new rules. You’ve all got human-level intelligence now, which means you can start pulling your own weight.”

  Pixie paused mid-sprint and swivelled her head. “What does that mean?”

  “It means we divide the camp tasks,” Ethan said. “Moose, keep watch. Pixie, gather some small sticks for kindling. Buster…” He looked at the large dog still sprawled on the ground. “You’re on firewood duty. Big pieces.”

  Buster’s head shot up. “Why ME?”

  “Because you’re the strongest,” Ethan said, “and because you ate most of our food.”

  “But I’m TIRED…”

  “Manipulation worked once today. It’s not working twice.”

  With dramatic reluctance, Buster heaved himself to his feet. “Fine. But I’m going on the record as saying this is unfair treatment.”

  “I’ll help find the BEST sticks!” Pixie volunteered, already darting toward the tree line.

  As his companions set about their tasks, Ethan unrolled the bedroll and set the cooking pan within reach. The tunic itched against his skin, the rough fabric rubbing at his shoulders every time he moved.

  “Dang medieval clothing,” he muttered, scratching his side. “Who decided a potato sack should count as a shirt?”

  Moose, patrolling nearby, snorted within the bond. “At least you have clothes. We’ve been naked this whole time.”

  That startled a laugh out of Ethan. “Fair point.”

  Buster returned first, dragging an entire fallen branch nearly twice his length. He dropped it at the edge of the camp with a dramatic thud.

  “Firewood,” he announced. “I’m done now.”

  Ethan stared at the massive log. “That’s… not exactly what I meant.”

  “You said big pieces,” Buster protested. “This is big.”

  “I meant pieces we could actually use in a fire,” Ethan said.

  Buster heaved a long-suffering sigh. “This world is nothing but work and disappointment.”

  After much cajoling, Buster reluctantly returned to the woods, this time with Pixie’s enthusiastic guidance. They came back with an armload of properly-sized branches, which Ethan arranged in the fire pit.

  Now came the tricky part.

  Ethan pulled out one of the fire stones Garrick had given him. The small red crystal felt warm against his palm even before he tried to activate it.

  “Just focus on heat and push a bit of your magic into it,” he muttered, repeating the shopkeeper’s instructions.

  “Do humans have magic where you come from?” Moose asked within the bond, settling beside him.

  “No. At least, I didn’t.” Ethan turned the stone over. “But nothing about this world makes sense, so… here goes nothing.”

  He focused on the stone, trying to imagine his energy—his mana—flowing into it. He thought of heat, of fire, of warmth.

  Nothing happened.

  “Maybe I don’t have any magic,” he said, frustration edging his voice. “I’m not even from this world.”

  “Try harder,” Pixie suggested, bouncing in place. “Really REALLY try!”

  Ethan gripped the stone tighter and concentrated with all his might. He pushed mentally, straining as though trying to move a physical object.

  The stone suddenly grew scorching hot. Before he could drop it, a column of brilliant blue flame erupted from it—a geyser of magical fire that shot three feet into the air.

  The heat was so intense that the smallest kindling didn’t catch so much as vanish. Thin sticks flashed black and crumbled into ash that lifted on the hot air in a soft, ugly puff. A couple of larger branches held for a heartbeat longer, bark charring and splitting as the flame chewed across them.

  The fire stone cracked with a sharp sound, and the magical flame vanished, leaving Ethan holding two broken halves of the stone.

  He stared into the fire pit.

  His carefully stacked kindling was gone. Not burned down the normal way, not turned into a tidy bed of coals. It looked cremated—powdery ash, brittle charcoal flakes, and only a small scatter of coals left behind. A few of them still glowed white-hot, but there weren’t enough to hold a steady cooking fire.

  “Holy mother shirt balls,” Ethan whispered, staring at the broken stone. “That… wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  “Reminded me of that stone at the Guild,” Moose observed within the bond. “The one that cracked.”

  Buster sniffed the air. “Smells like bacon. But no bacon. Disappointment again,” he projected.

  “DO IT AGAIN!” Pixie demanded, eyes wide with excitement.

  “I can’t,” Ethan said, holding up the broken halves. “I broke it, and I turned our firewood into ash.”

  “So… more wood?” Buster asked, like the question was a trap he already knew the answer to.

  “More wood,” Ethan confirmed.

  “No,” Buster replied flatly. “Did it twice. That’s enough chores for one day.”

  To Ethan’s surprise, Buster returned to his sprawled position, apparently committed to his rebellion.

  “Fine,” Ethan sighed. “I’ll get it.”

  Ethan left Moose on watch and came back with an armload of branches. He crouched by the pit and built a small stack over the hottest coals, trying to give the weak little heat source something it could actually feed on.

  The wood smoked first. One corner caught, a thin flame licking up, then shrinking again as it ran out of strength. The coals were hot, but there weren’t many of them, and the fire kept trying to die back into smoke.

  Ethan stared at the reluctant flame, then at the second fire stone in his hand.

  Garrick had called them common. He’d even thrown in a spare. If Ethan was going to learn anything about his mana, doing it here made more sense than waiting until they needed a fire in bad weather.

  “Okay,” Ethan murmured. “Small push. Enough to help.”

  He touched the stone lightly, imagining the smallest trickle of energy flowing into it, like turning a faucet just enough for a single drop.

  Despite his effort to control it, the stone immediately flared hot in his palm. An intense jet of orange-white flame burst forth like a miniature flamethrower, much larger than he intended. The sputtering fire caught properly this time, and the fresh wood ignited fast, flames climbing hard enough that Ethan felt the heat on his face.

  Ethan jerked back, nearly dropping the stone. “Dang-it!”

  “Still too much?” Moose asked within the bond, backing away from the roaring flames.

  “Way too much,” Ethan said, carefully setting the stone down. “I barely pushed anything into it that time.”

  The campfire blazed much higher than a normal fire should, the flames leaping nearly two feet into the air.

  Pixie circled at a safe distance, eyes wide with delight. “It’s SO BRIGHT! Like the sun but closer!”

  Buster raised his head. “At least it’s warm,” he projected.

  Ethan shifted, trying to get away from the worst of the heat, and the tunic dragged across his shoulders like sandpaper. The fire made it worse, sweat and rough cloth combining into a special kind of irritation.

  He scratched at his side again, then stared at his hand like it was personally responsible. “I am going to develop a lifelong hatred of burlap,” he muttered.

  As the oversized campfire gradually settled to a more reasonable blaze, Ethan noticed something odd. Moose suddenly perked up, ears forward and alert.

  “Something feels different,” Moose projected, standing up and stretching. “I feel stronger.”

  Pixie, who had been beginning to settle down for the night, suddenly jumped up and ran in a tight circle. “ME TOO! I feel super zippy!”

  Even Buster raised his head. “I’m still hungry, but… less tired,” he projected.

  Ethan frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “When you used the fire stone,” Moose explained within the bond, “something flowed through the bond. Like when Mirror Link activated, but temporary.”

  Ethan glanced at his hand, then at the fire stone, then at his companions. “I did something to you guys?”

  “It felt GOOD,” Pixie assured him, still zipping around with even more energy than usual.

  Ethan stared at the fire, then at the broken halves of the first stone sitting off to the side. “Huh. That might explain why the resonance stone cracked too.”

  If his magic could enhance his companions, even temporarily, it opened doors he hadn’t even known were there. Doors that were exciting and also deeply inconvenient, because it meant he could break tools without trying.

  “We might be onto something here,” he said quietly.

  “Is that good?” Pixie asked, finally settling beside him as the fire calmed.

  “Could be,” Ethan said. “If I can figure out control before I accidentally turn every useful item I touch into a disaster.”

  Moose settled on his other side, his familiar warmth comforting even through the new clothes. “What does it mean? For us?” he projected.

  Ethan watched the flames dance. His tunic itched. His back ached. He had no idea where they were or how they’d get home.

  But he had his dogs, who weren’t just dogs anymore. He had supplies that actually made sense. He had a little money. He had a cheap tent bundle sitting beside the pack. He also had Garrick’s promise sitting in the back of his head—Durgan’s resupply tomorrow, better goods coming in, another chance to fix whatever he’d gotten wrong today.

  “It means we’ve got a chance,” Ethan said softly. “And for tonight, that’s enough.”

  Buster, apparently over his rebellion, flopped down at Ethan’s feet with a contented sigh. “As long as there’s breakfast tomorrow,” he projected.

  “There’s ALWAYS breakfast tomorrow,” Pixie assured him. “That’s why it’s called breakfast.”

  Once the fire was steady, Ethan finally wrestled the cheap little tent into place. It was light canvas with short poles and stakes that fought him until Moose held one corner steady and Pixie tried to “help” by sprinting off with a stake in her mouth like it was a prize.

  When it finally stood, the tent looked like it was meant for one tired traveler and a reasonable amount of dignity.

  Ethan crawled inside anyway, shoulder brushing fabric on both sides, and barely had time to turn around before Buster shoved his way in after him. Moose followed like it was a decision already made, calm and immovable. Pixie popped in last and immediately tried to curl up on Ethan’s chest.

  The tent sagged under the combined weight and turned into a cramped, warm dog pile, with Ethan flattened at the bottom of it. He tried to push Buster back out with one hand and got ignored.

  One of the poles bowed hard. A stake loop gave up with a quiet ripping sound, and the whole side of the tent slumped inward like it was embarrassed to be seen.

  “Oh, come on,” Ethan muttered, voice muffled into fur. “This is a one-person tent.”

  “You are one person,” Buster projected, smug and cozy. “We are one pack.”

  Ethan fumbled for the rope in his pack, looped it around the bent pole, and tried to convince the tent to survive the night. The canvas still sagged. The pole still bowed. Buster shifted once and the whole thing threatened to collapse again.

  Ethan stared at it for a long beat, then let out a slow breath. “Forget it.” He crawled back out, tugged the mangled tent off to the side, and unrolled the bedrolls on the grass instead. The tunic still scratched at his neck, but at least the air felt cooler out here. The Pack immediately rearranged themselves without discussion—Moose at his back, Buster pressed against his legs like a heavy blanket, Pixie wedged against his chest with her nose tucked under his chin.

  As stars appeared overhead—unfamiliar constellations in an alien sky—Ethan let himself breathe. Tomorrow would still be hard, but at least it would be hard with a fire, a bedroll, and three stubborn dogs that refused to let him sleep alone.