Sandbox
I stretch wide, joints poppin’, and let out a
yawn big enough to scare the crows. “Mornin’ already, huh?”
Shaq’Rai smirks. “’Bout time the princess woke
up.”
I glance at Ember—still zonked, droolin’ like a
busted faucet. “What the hell you talkin’ ‘bout?” Pause. Then it hits me. “Oh,
I get it. Real funny, Shaq’Rai.”
“Rise and shine, sugar,” she croons, all syrupy
sweet—way too chipper for this world.
I rub my eyes, still foggy, while she dives
headfirst into her sermon on gatherin’ and craftin’, like it’s survival gospel.
“You listenin’, Grant?” Her voice sharpens like a
blade.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” I grumble. “You’re
soundin’ just like my ex-wife.”
“And now I see why she’s your ex,” she fires
back, smug as hell.
She keeps goin’—tutorial quests, skill unlocks,
dailies like they’re sacred law. I half-listen, noddin’ along, willin’ myself
not to snap.
“I’m serious, Grant,” she says, her tone heavier
now. “Skip the tutorials and dailies, and you’ll regret it.”
I sigh and hit the ground for my morning
grind—push-ups, squats, sit-ups. A hundred each. No cheats.
Halfway through, Ember stirs. Rubs her eyes. Lets
out a yawn big enough to swallow the sun. “Mornin’, daddy.”
“Mornin’, pumpkin,” I say, smilin’ despite
myself.
Then, like someone flipped a switch, she bolts
up, rummagin’ under rocks, liftin’ the log bench like it’s cardboard.
“Uh… honey? What’re you doin’?”
She spins around, pout in full force. “You lied,
daddy.”
“’Bout what?”
“The pumpkin!” Her face is pure betrayal, like
I’d crushed her dreams.
I snort. “Ember, sweetheart, you even know what a
pumpkin is?”
She tilts her head, thinkin’ hard. “Uh… yes?”
I stare.
She sighs. “No.”
I lose it, laughter echoing through the trees.
She crosses her arms, all huffy. “What’re you
doin’, anyway?”
“Exercisin’.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Ember, sugar, you know what exercisin’ is,
right?”
Her face lights up like she’s about to drop
ancient wisdom. “I sure do! That’s when two grown-ups get naked and—”
“Alright! Nope, we’re done here.” I cut her off,
my face burnin’. “Let’s talk about somethin’ else. How ‘bout we level you up?”
“Level up?” Her eyes go wide, the gears turnin’.
“Yeah, get stronger.”
She giggles. “Silly daddy.” Then, like it’s
nothin’, she flicks her wrist, lifts the log again, and blasts a rock into
molten goo.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
I freeze. “Well… my kid’s got fireball powers
now. Great. Totally normal.”
I rub my face, torn between laughin’ and cryin’.
“Look, sugar—”
“Where?” she chirps, spinnin’ like sugar might
fall from the sky.
Mental note: Southern charm? Sometimes
backfires.
“Ember, my darlin’ daughter—” I say, layin’ it on
thick.
She blushes, just a smidge.
I grin, tryin’ to reel things back in. “Ain’t
nothin’ wrong with wantin’ to get stronger. But you? You’re already way ahead.”
What I don’t say? She’s teachin’ me more than
I’ll ever teach her.
Ember’s got that stubborn look again—chin out,
arms crossed, brows knit tight. She’s tryin’ to play it serious, but I see
right through it. Kid’s all bark right now. I stretch, joints poppin’, still
shakin' off sleep when she lets out this big, over-the-top sigh.
“Fine,” she huffs, dragging the word out like I
just asked her to chop wood for a week. “I’ll level up.” She throws in some air
quotes, naturally. “But—only on one condition.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And that is?”
She glances around, that mischievous grin
creeping up like a raccoon spotin’ an open trash can. “I made a deal with the
critters,” she says, puffin' up proud like she just sealed some grand alliance.
“We give ‘em food and a place to crash, they help us out.”
I blink. “Wait… what?” That’s not exactly a
decision a kid should be makin’.
Shaq’Rai lets out a sharp cackle from the
sidelines—high-pitched, smug, like she’s been sittin' on this moment. “Seems
the young one’s got the knack, Beast Lord,” she drawls, honey-thick with
satisfaction. “Tapped into her heritage before you did.”
That hits me sideways. “Heritage? What’re you
sayin’?”
Ember tilts her head, crimson eyes gleaming.
“The bond with nature, fool. The gift of
Beast-Taming. She feels it, even if you’re still stumbling around in the dark.”
Well, hell. Guess today’s not going to be the
easy kind.
Shaq’Rai doesn’t skip a beat, laying it out like
she’s quoting some sacred text. “Form a Familiar Contract,” she says. “Bind ‘em
to your soul, and their strength becomes yours.”
Simple enough—‘til I try it.
I reach toward Sir Spudsworth—yeah, the sentient
potato wearing a crown of dandelions. He freezes like I just threatened to fry
him.
“Please, no!” he squeals, little root arms
flailing. “I have so much to live for!”
I snort. “Sorry, Spuds. It’s happenin’.”
Shaq’Rai’s waits, like this is the best show
she’s seen in centuries. I focus, feeling for that thread she talked about—and
there it is. A tug, deep in my chest. The bond snaps into place.
Next thing I know, I’m linked to Sir Spudsworth,
four raccoons, and two hyperactive chipmunks. I can feel them all—tiny lives
hummin' somewhere inside me. It’s strange. Not bad. Just... connected.
Shaq’Rai grins, sharp and smug. “Now, name them.
It’s tradition.”
I glance at the raccoons—already digging through
Ember’s pack like it’s a buffet. “Rocky, Scraps, Nibbler, and Chonk,” I say,
deadpan.
The chipmunks? “Twitch and Sprocket.” Fits.
And the potato? I give him a long look. He’s
still tremblin’ like I’m about to mash him. “You’re Mr. Spuds now.”
He lets out a pitiful groan. “My legacy...
shattered.”
I lose it—can’t hold back the laugh. Ember’s
gigglin’ too, tryin’ to hide it behind her hands.
Yeah. This? This might actually work.
The sun begins to glow bright, its golden light
slicing through the trees as I hunker down to work. Ember and the critters
gather around, eyes wide, like they’re waitin’ for a show. This is it—my first
real task in this world. Tool crafting. Time to get serious if I want to
survive here.
I keep it simple—stone, wood, whatever I can
scrounge up nearby. Ember’s off with the raccoons, laughing as they roll
through leaves, but she’s close enough if I need her. First, I shape a stone
axe—rough but solid. Then a pickaxe, a shovel, a scythe, and finally, a hammer.
They’re crude, but they’ll do the job.
Just as I finish, Shaq’Rai chimes in, clear as a
bell in my head. Tool Crafting skill unlocked. Basic Tool-Making skill
acquired. Like some invisible teacher handing me a gold star. I shake my
head. This isn’t a game. It’s real.
I spread the tools out in front of Ember. “Pick
three.”
Her eyes light up. She grabs the scythe first, no
hesitation. “Slice and dice,” she grins.
I chuckle. “Figured.”
Next, she snatches the pickaxe. “It’s got ‘pick’
in the name,” she says flatly.
“Can’t argue with that,” I reply, raising a brow.
Before she can think, I hand her the wood axe.
She grins like she’s just won something.
“Like daughter, like father,” Shaq’Rai teases,
her voice thick with sass.
I laugh. “Yeah, you’re not wrong.”
We dive into training right after. I teach Ember
how to swing the pickaxe without crushin’ her toes—she picks it up fast, grit
in her bones. The raccoons run wild with the scythes, slicin’ plant fibers like
tiny, furry harvesters. I hand the chipmunks tiny shovels for diggin’ up worms
and grubs. Even Mr. Spuds gets a job—map in his leaf-hands, charting resource
veins. He grumbles but sticks with it.
I get to work splitting logs, shaping them into
baskets and rough backpack frames. It feels weirdly natural, like muscle memory
from a life I never lived. Shaq’Rai chimes in again. Weaving and Tailoring
skill unlocked.