MIKO
Student Son-Gi approached his teacher one day.
“O Great Teacher! Relieve me of this dilemma:
Why do we talk of bests and men as though they are not the same?”
The student bowed down and presented his case.
“Are beasts not born from their mothers and fathers, such as we are?”
“That is so,” the teacher admitted.
“And do beasts not hunt and sleep, such as we do?”
“They do,” the teacher admitted.
“When beasts are hurt, are they not bleeding red the same as us?”
“They are,” the teacher admitted.
“Then what makes a man different from a beast?”
The teacher pondered for a moment and said, “A man asks too many a question.”
– Tales of Student Son-Gi, Volume 12
The first thing Miko saw through the haze of her half-conscious state was a faint glow. It was pale and serene, like a sliver of moonlight cutting through the darkness.
A blue, upside-down crescent. It hovered in her vision, stark against the blur of the world, until her muddled thoughts began to sharpen.
She blinked, and the crescent turned into a bright marking, resting on the forehead of a creature. For a moment, Miko didn’t move.
The creature—no, a moonfox, she realized—stood before her, its head tilted slightly.
It was unlike any fox she’d seen. Its silver fur gleamed faintly, each strand shimmering like polished steel. Its eyes were sharp and piercing, twin pools of ice-cold blue.
Their gazes locked, and Miko held her breath.
The moonfox’s tail swayed lazily behind it. For a fleeting moment, Miko wondered if she were dreaming, but the ache in her body reminded her otherwise.
"You're hurt."
The voice came out of nowhere. Miko whipped her head around, looking for the source. “Who’s there?”
No answer came, just the sound of her own ragged breathing. There was no one else in here, just Miko and...
The moonfox stared back. Its luminous blue eyes seemed almost amused in the dim light.
The voice! Miko realized suddenly. The voice sounded familiar to her.
“You’re that silver shadow!” Miko gasped, her words tumbling over each other. “From the forest! The ice hounds!” She sounded ridiculous. “You’re the one that called me a fool back then!”
“And you are that girl,” the fox said. Its voice was smooth and precise. "That , I should say."
Miko froze. Her hand shot to her temple, half expecting to find a fever. “You’re… talking.”
I must have hit my head. That’s all. That’s all it is. Her thoughts spiraled in panicked loops.
“You are talking as well,” the moonfox said, as if stating the obvious to a particularly slow child.
Miko’s words were failing her. For a moment, she could only gape at the fox, her rational mind warring with what she was seeing.
Finally, she managed a shaky, incredulous whisper: “What… are you?”
Miko tried to stand up but immediately failed. Something was wrong with her arm. She tested it, wincing at the sharp pain that radiated through her elbow and shoulder.
Broken, she thought with a sick feeling. Her arm lied lifelessly like a twisted branch. There was no blood, at least.
Miko’s chances of climbing out on her own, even without the injury, were slim to none.
The walls were smooth and sheer; she’d made sure of that when she dug it. She groaned inwardly. Trapped in her own pit!
Do I wait for my father to help me again?
Then she remembered Sai. He might still be somewhere in the forest. The longer she waited, the worse were the chances of saving him.
The fox gave her a long, unimpressed look.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she snapped, feeling foolish and furious all at once.
You’re talking to a beast, silly girl, she reminded herself.
“I’ll look at whomever I please in whichever way I please,” the fox licked his paw. “You deserve no less.”
“I have nothing to do with this.”
“Undoubtedly. The pit appeared all on its own.”
“I told you I have nothing to do with this! Why would I break my own arm?” Miko held out her hand for the fox to inspect. She tried not to look at it herself for fear of getting sick.
“Who else, then?”
“A hunter. An enemy. A rebel,” Miko lied. “I don’t know.”
“Fine, stay down here and deny to your heart’s content.”
“Wait!” she stretched her healthy arm but could reach the fox.
The moonfox coiled his body, his eyes fixed on the edge of the pit. He crouched lower, waiting for the right moment, and then he leapt.
Miko’s heart stopped. He might pull it off.
His silver body stretched in a blur as he soared skyward. He landed softly against the wall and kicked off. And again and again, reaching higher and higher.
But the pit widened near the top, and even Miko could see he couldn’t cover the distance in one leap.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
His claws scraped the far wall as he kicked off, angling to reach the opposite side, but it only brought him a few inches higher than before. His paws skidded on the dirt, and he bounced between the walls, each jump more desperate, more pointless.
Whenever his paws slipped, his effort seemed to deepen.
At last, this hind leg caught on a patch of loose dirt, and he tumbled back down, landing with a heavy thud.
The moonfox panted with his tongue fully out, bright-blue against his silver fur. He looked exhausted, and something in the tilt of his head and the subtle slump of his shoulders reminded Miko of her father’s banewolf.
The moonfox’s icy gaze turned on her.
“I’ve been embarrassed enough,” he said. “You must be satisfied. Let me go now.”
“If I could do that, don’t you think I’d be on my way now? How should I ‘let you go’ exactly?” Miko was surprised how annoyed she was getting. Was it pain in her speaking, or something else?
“You humans design these traps. You tell me.”
“You’re the one who triggered it!” Miko shot back, her voice rising despite the ache in her ribs. “If you’d just stayed out of the way, I might’ve had a chance.”
The moonfox tilted his head, his ears twitching in mock consideration. “My apologies for not being clairvoyant. I was baited. You jumped right in. What’s your excuse?”
Miko groaned, letting her head fall back against the wall.
For a moment, silence hung between them, the weight of their mutual frustrations settling into the small space.
Finally, Miko sighed. “Fine. Maybe we’re both in the same mess.”
The moonfox gave a short, barking laugh. “A mess you created, I might add.”
“Alright, fine,” Miko admitted. “I made the trap. But you’re the one who fell into it.”
“And now we’re both stuck,” the moonfox said with a dramatic flick of his tail. “Marvelous teamwork so far.”
Despite herself, Miko felt a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”
“Part of my charm,” he replied smoothly.
They sat in silence again for a while after that, the tension easing slightly.
The moonfox’s ears perked up, and a moment later Miko heard something in the far distance:
aaaawoooh
It’s awoke? Already?
“Do you hear that?” Miko asked. “You know what this is?”
From the way the moonfox fell silent, he knew.
“The embermane is hungry. He could eat us both whole, and we would barely work as an appetizer for him.”
The moonfox did not reply.
“Help me escape, and neither of us will die.”
“Do you have a plan?”
Miko didn’t, but it’s not like the fox needed to know that.
“You could… give me a lift,” Miko said stupidly. She didn’t believe it herself.
My arm is broken and I worked well on this pit, gods be damned. It’s too deep. Deep enough for an embermane.
“How about you give me a lift, human?”
“With this?” she flopped her broken arm, and a small, rancid sound escaped her throat. “I don’t think so.”
“Then heal it.”
“I can’t,” she admitted. What use was there in beating around the bush? “I’m not like most people. My wounds don’t heal that well.”
And even if I did, there’s no way I’m going to put trust in a wild animal.
Trust. The word ignited something here.
Trust. Yes, I suppose trust will matter here.
“I can’t help you up, but…” Miko paused, as if unsure of what she was going to say. “But there is another way.”
“No,” the moonfox said sharply.
“Listen to me. Please. There is another way,” she said slowly. “If we bind our souls—”
“NO.”
“—I might be able to use your power to get us both out.”
aaaawoooh
The embermane’s howl worked better than any argument Miko could come up with.
The moonfox looked as if he was about to retch.
“The soulbinding is forever, girl.” The fox regarded her with uncertainty.
“I know.”
Talk about an unwanted marriage, huh.
The fox’s eyes lingered on her, blue and unfathomable. Miko met his gaze.
For a long, tense moment, they were silent. Then, with a tired flick of his tail, he let out a heavy sigh, his posture softening just slightly.
“Be quick about it. Before I change my mind.”
aaaawoooooh
“And before it gets here.”
Miko patted her pockets with her healthy hand. “Where is my knife?” She looked around.
She tried not to think about her situation.
A small talking moonfox! That’s exactly what I deserve.
The fox brought her the blade. “Here.”
Miko placed her knife against her palm. “Do you trust me?”
“No.”
I’m not sure I trust myself, either. But it was too late for second guesses.
Miko loudly exhaled and slashed across her palm. There was no pain, but she winced all the same.
The blood had to be fresh.
She cupped her hand, and the blood started pooling.
“Drink it,” she told the fox.
“No, thank you. I’d rather drink river sewage.”
“I would too, if that could help us.” A hammer was working a steady rhythm in Miko’s temples. “Drink.”
“Do I have to?” the fox whined. For a second, he sounded just like Sai when he had to take a spoonful of bitter medicine.
Sai. I’m doing this for him.
Miko sighed. Human or not, men could be so impossible sometimes. “I cannot make you drink. You have to do so willingly.”
“I know the rules, little girl,” the moonfox snarled.
He nestled his maw in her hand and started licking. Miko felt a ticklish sensation, like someone was rubbing her hand with sandpaper.
Like a cat’s tongue, she thought.
The fox hurried to get it done. “Pee-ew!”
“Don’t be dramatic. Surely it’s not that bad.”
“What now?” the fox asked her.
Now we pray it works.
“We are of one blood,” Miko whispered. She imagined saying the blood oath a thousand times in a thousand different ways. But never like this. “My life is yours. Your strength is mine.”
When nothing happened, she resumed the chant. The fox watched her, incredulous.
“We are of one blood. My life is yours. Your strength is mine.” The words themselves didn’t matter, Miko knew. Only the intent behind them.
So why isn’t this working?
The rules were simple and universal: you make an oath once a beast drinks your blood.
A willing beast.
“An agreement made under duress has no binding power,” Miko suddenly recalled from one of the court transcripts she’d read a while ago. A boring read that was, but what can you do once you’ve exhausted the entire library?
Let’s hope the soulbinding laws don’t work like that.
Somewhere up above and far away, the howl erupted again. It was getting closer:
AAaaawooooooh
“Are we done?” the moonfox asked. “I don’t feel any different.”
Nor do I, Miko wanted to say. Instead, she continued: “We are of one blood. We are of one blood. We are of—”
Nothing was happening.
Did you really think it would be that easy? Miko berated herself.
"Your magic is slower than I imagined," the moonfox huffed impatiently. "Or maybe you’re just no good at it."
He kept shifting his weight as he eyed Miko with those sharp blue eyes of his.
Miko gritted her teeth, blocking out all the distractions. She pressed her bleeding hand into his fur, feeling the sticky warmth of her own blood seep into his silver coat.
The thick, metallic smell of it filled the small space between them, making her feel faint.
But still, nothing changed.
The howl sounded again, ever closer, sending a chill down her spine.
AAAaaaawOOOoooooh
It was closing in on them. Her heart hammered, but she forced herself to focus.
“We are of one blood.” Her voice was shaking as bad as her fingers. “My life is yours. Your strength is mine.”
This is pointless.
No, this is my only chance.
There were two voices fighting inside of her. She tried to ignore both.
"If I end up dying alongside you, I’ll make sure you regret it in the next life," the moonfox whined. He was even more scared than her, Miko could feel.
Where DO moonfoxes go after they die?
She shook her head, the way a banewolf shakes itself dry. Not now!
“Just—be quiet,” she snapped, not sure whether this was aimed at the fox or her own mind. “We are of one blood,” she closed her eyes, pouring every drop of her belief into the chant. “We are of one blood. We are of one blood…”
Nothing.
She felt light-headed.
And there it goes…
Whether it was from the blood loss or the rising panic, she couldn’t tell. Her chest tightened, and her grip on the moonfox weakened.
Come on, she thought desperately, please, work.
Please,
AAAAAAAWOOOOOoooh
work!
It was so close now. The moonfox let out a low, sickly growl. “If this is all you’ve got—”
“WE ARE OF ONE BLOOD,” Miko interrupted. She wasn’t whispering anymore. There was no point.
She should have been frightened.
“MY LIFE IS YOURS.”
By all the laws, she should have been scared witless. And she was.
“YOUR STRENGTH IS MINE.”
But she was calm, as well. Her heart was beating steadily.
“WE ARE OF ONE B—”
Something blew up in her head. A thick dark rivulet streamed down from her nostrils.
I am bleeding out. I’m dying, she thought calmly. But somehow she knew she wasn’t.
“—LOOD. WE ARE OF—”
The world around her seemed to fold in on itself.
Miko saw the moonfox’s blindingly white fur burst afire with light. It expanded until there wasn’t anything left in her vision.
“—ONE BLOOD. WE—”
She felt a warmth—not hers, but someone else’s—seeping into her mind, merging with her own.
A stark-white light that the world turned into glowed with intensity that burned her eyes.
“—ARE OF ONE BLOOD.”
For a while, there was nothing. It went beyond color, beyond sounds.
No, not quite.
There was a sound.
thump thump thump
My heartbeat, someone thought inside Miko’s head.
She tried to open her eyes and realized they’ve been open this whole time.
There was no light anymore. The sounds were returning.
The world sang around her.
Miko flexed her fist again. The wound was closing by itself.
We are of one blood.