With the basket clutched between his jaws, Sköll padded toward Fenrir. His paws stirred up the dirt and debris from the aftermath of the battle, flicking his gaze between his companion and the unconscious serpent sprawled across the forest floor.
"Are you okay?" Sköll asked, lowering the basket gently.
Fenrir's single eye shifted toward him. His dark fur was marred with scratches and streaks of dirt, and despite his heavy breathing, he gave a short nod.
"I am fine..." he rumbled, though his voice carried the weight of exhaustion.
He glanced at the basket and its tiny occupant with an unreadable expression.
"All this... over a... tiny thing."
'What? Is he angry at me? Surely not!'
The baby frowned inwardly, scrunching his tiny face up. And besides, he would've thanked the wolf if he can, okay?
His arms flailed, not in anger but in an awkward attempt at expressing gratitude, which only made him look like he was waving at the wolf.
Fenrir let out a low sigh, easing the tension in his shoulders as he watched the baby's antics.
"Let us return home..." he muttered at last, turning towards the depth of the forest.
Sköll cast one final glance back at the unconscious serpent, Nythra, whose massive body was sprawled across the forest floor. His gaze lingered for a moment, before he turned to follow Fenrir, clutching the basket gently in his jaws.
'Finally... Are they finally taking me to another person?'
The baby mused inwardly, gripping his tiny hands on the edge of the basket as the forest canopy shifted above them. The rhythmic sway of Sköll's gait, combined with the distant sounds of the forest that was returning to normal, lulled him into a fleeting sense of calm.
But then—
'What... what's happening?'
A sudden, overwhelming heaviness flooded his body. His vision blurred, and the world seemed to tilt around him.
'Why do I feel like this?!'
Panic clawed at the edges of his mind. Is this because of the battle earlier? Did he get caught up in something?
The system's earlier warning echoed faintly in his mind: Host safety compromised... Recommendation: PRAY.
He fought to stay awake, blinking rapidly, but his breaths were shallow.
'No... not now!'
He struggled, twitching his tiny fingers as if grasping for consciousness. The soft rustle of leaves and the warmth of the basket seemed distant now, slipping further away with every heartbeat.
And then—
Darkness.
His small body surrendered to the pull, slumbering into a deep and comforting sleep.
***
Light. Warm, gentle... annoying.
His eyelids fluttered open, squinting at the brightness overhead.
What the hell just happened...
The haze of sleep still clung to him like a heavy blanket, making his limbs feel sluggish. His head tilted slightly, and his vision was focused on the towering figure of Fenrir walking ahead. Sunlight slipped through the dense canopy above, casting dappled shadows across the forest floor.
He groaned internally. Still the forest, huh? Honestly, the temptation to close his eyes again and drift back into that comforting darkness was strong. He was still so—yawn—sleepy.
But then, the trees thinned.
His drooping eyelids snapped fully open as they stepped out of the dense woods. What unfolded before him was enough to chase away any lingering drowsiness.
A clearing stretched out, bathed in sunlight. Towering trees formed a natural boundary around a secluded grove where wildflowers swayed in the breeze. At its center stood an ancient-looking cabin, crafted from thick logs and stone, its roof was covered in moss and creeping vines. The wood appeared weathered but sturdy, with intricate carvings etched into the beams—runes that seemed to pulse faintly with some unseen energy. Smoke lazily curled up from a crooked chimney, filling the air with the faint scent of burning pine.
Surrounding the cabin were various oddities: racks of drying herbs, small totems fashioned from bone and wood, and a simple wooden fence enclosing a modest garden patch. An old well stood nearby, with its stones that were covered in patches of green moss.
'This... is where an old man lives?' he thought, half-curious and half-cautious. It looked like something straight out of a fantasy story—which, considering everything that had happened, probably wasn't that surprising.
Fenrir trotted toward the main cabin, making soft thuds against the forest floor with his large paws, while Sköll followed close behind, clutching the basket between his jaws.
As they approached, the magical atmosphere of the place grew even more captivating. Delicate wisps of light—like tiny fireflies but shimmering with a soft azure hue—floated lazily through the air. Strange plants grew along the stone path, with their petals shifting colors as though breathing with the forest itself. Vines adorned the cabin walls, intertwining with glowing runes that pulsed faintly. The air was thick with the scent of pine, mixed with something faintly metallic yet oddly calming.
The cabin itself was built from dark, aged wood, along with its massive beams that were etched with ancient carvings. A stone chimney puffed out lazy spirals of smoke, adding to the rustic charm. As they reached the front steps, the baby couldn't help but gawk at a floating lantern beside the door, dancing its flame without any support.
Fenrir paused at the entrance, casting a glance at Sköll, who nodded. With a gentle push of his massive paw, Fenrir opened the large door, causing the sturdy old wood to creaked.
The interior was... an unexpected sight.
Warm light from enchanted orbs hovered near the ceiling, casting a cozy glow over the room. Shelves lined with scrolls, bottles, and various trinkets cluttered the walls, some objects were humming with latent magic. Rugs of intricate patterns sprawled across the wooden floor, and the faint scent of herbs mixed with alcohol wafted through the air.
And there, sprawled on a well-worn sofa, was the old man.
His long, scraggly white beard trailed down his chest, partially hidden beneath a loosely fitted robe that looked like it had seen better centuries. Surrounding him were empty bottles—dozens of them—rolling lazily on the floor. One hand dangled off the sofa's edge, clutching yet another bottle half-filled with amber liquid. His head tilted back, and a soft snores can be heard echoing throughout the room.
A bottle slipped from the old man's grasp, thunking onto the floor without stirring him.
'...This is the guy they brought me to?' the baby thought, blinking slowly.