Dawn arrived in Emberleaf not as a whisper, but a full celebration.

  Sunlight filtered through the leaves in soft golds and greens, catching on fluttering streamers made from dyed bark and mana-thread. Crystal lanterns—some pulsing with gentle flame, others glowing with cool light—hung overhead, dancing in the breeze. The scent of baked roots, sweet moss cakes, and roasting herbs wrapped around the village like a warm embrace.

  Kael was ripped from sleep with all the subtlety of a thunder skill.

  “WAKE UP! Festival time!” Gobrinus bellowed, bursting into his hut like a berry-stained whirlwind.

  She was already covered in tribal war paint and streaks of mashed fruit, eyes bright with excitement. Rimuru jolted upright from Kael’s pillow and launched onto his head, already wearing a lopsided crown of woven leaves and wildflowers. She pulsed with anticipation.

  Kael groaned, dragging himself upright.

  “What time is it?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

  “Festival o’clock,” Gobrinus answered as if that explained everything, a grin splitting her berry-stained face.

  Outside, Emberleaf buzzed with life. Goblins raced to finish last-minute decorations, younglings darted by with glowroot torches they probably shouldn’t have, and Nyaro perched stoically atop the training hut, surveying the chaos like a bored noble watching a village fair.

  Even Nanari, ever the voice of reason, muttered about fire safety while lighting sconces with a flick of her mana-threaded gloves.

  Kael stretched slowly, feeling the tension ease from his muscles as he stepped into the warm sunlight filtering softly through the rustling leaves overhead. Around him, the village was alive—goblins darting between stalls, laughter ringing clear, and colorful streamers fluttering in the gentle breeze.

  He surveyed the chaos with a tired but amused expression.

  “I declare this festival… probably not safe,” he said dryly, voice carrying a hint of ironic warning.

  

  Kael let out a dry chuckle, smirking.

  The festival’s main square had been transformed into a vibrant sprawl of games, food stalls, and makeshift arenas. Kael wandered toward the slime track, where Rimuru had already taken her place at the starting line alongside three other slimes of various hues—visitors from the surrounding woods.

  A goblin referee stood ready, holding a large mushroom high in the air.

  “On your mark… set—” the goblin referee announced, raising the large, spotted mushroom above his head like a finish flag.

  The gathered crowd hushed, eyes flicking between the competitors lined up at the start.

  Suddenly, a painted fruit—red and lumpy, with a few green leaves stuck to its side—tumbled awkwardly onto the track, wobbling as if trying to mimic a slime’s movement.

  “That’s not a slime,” Kael deadpanned without missing a beat, eyebrow twitching.

  The referee blinked, momentarily confused.

  “Looks slimy,” he said defensively, as if the texture alone was good enough.

  Without hesitation, Rimuru surged forward, her translucent form stretching and pulsing with precise magic. In one swift pop, she dissolved the imposter fruit into a harmless splash of juice and seeds, then gracefully slid back to the starting line.

  “Still hungry,” she projected in glowing letters, the message floating playfully above her.

  The whistle blew sharply.

  The slimes surged forward—more oozed, really—in a chaotic blur of colors and shapes, bouncing and squelching across the track. Rimuru, of course, took the lead immediately and won by a landslide, leaving the others trailing in a sticky, slow mess.

  Nyaro, standing nearby as referee, swatted one particularly sluggish contestant gently off the track with a single, well-aimed paw.

  Nearby, Gobrinus was busy running the pie-throwing contest, her laughter ringing out as goblins took turns flinging mushroom pies at wooden targets painted with wildly exaggerated monster faces—bandits, slimes, and the occasional unlucky boar. Every successful hit was met with cheers and playful boos, the atmosphere bursting with joy and mischief.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Nanari wandered past, muttering under her breath about dignity and sanitation, her eyes sharp but her smile reluctant to surface.

  In another corner of the festival, Zelganna led a log-wrestling competition. Kael, brimming with confidence, stepped up to challenge a six-year-old goblin girl half his size—

  —and was promptly thrown to the ground.

  Rimuru hovered nearby, projecting the word “OUCH” in glittering letters above his head, drawing laughter from the gathered crowd.

  The air buzzed with music and laughter, a celebration not just of survival, but of life itself.

  As the sun dipped low, the village gathered around the fire pit at the plaza’s heart. Goblin children settled on logs and grass, eyes wide with wonder, while Bokku stood in the center, his old cloak fluttering softly with each gesture.

  “It began with a prince,” Bokku’s voice carried steady and rhythmic, “a strange prince with a monster’s friend and a crown made of kindness. He named us. He saved us. He made us believe we were more than goblins—we were people.”

  Gobrinus couldn’t resist breaking the solemnity with dramatic flourish and sound effects.

  “SHOOM! And then he summoned a fireball the size of a mountain—”

  Nanari cut in dryly from the sidelines, scribbling in her notebook.

  “Citation needed.”

  Kael sat nearby, Rimuru coiled comfortably around his shoulders like a glowing scarf. Nyaro lay close, eyes half-closed but ever watchful.

  When the crowd turned to Kael for words, he rose slowly, feeling the weight of their attention.

  “This fire used to be a flicker,” Kael began, his voice steady but soft. “Now it burns brighter every day. But it’s not mine. It’s ours. You made it real.”

  Silence stretched—

  —then erupted into cheers that rippled through the crowd like wildfire.

  The celebration swelled. Music soared. Feet danced.

  And the fire danced with them, alive and bright.

  Midway through the feast—just as Gobrinus attempted to balance three mushroom pies precariously on her head—a sudden ripple in the air caught everyone’s attention.

  From the shadows, a group of demi-human scouts cautiously stepped into the firelight: sleek foxfolk with pointed ears, an antelope-woman adorned with spiraled horns, and a cloaked figure whose bark-like skin shimmered faintly with glowing veins.

  Nanari tensed immediately, recognizing the symbols embroidered on their cloaks—emissaries from a reclusive tribe deep in the wilds.

  Kael stepped forward, voice calm but firm.

  “We’ve got food. And fire. If you’re not here to ruin either, you’re welcome.”

  The antelope-woman tilted her head, eyes sharp and wary.

  “You don’t treat us like something passing through.”

  Kael smiled.

  “That’s because you’re people.”

  She regarded him a moment longer—then sat.

  Others followed.

  One scout reached out to pet Rimuru.

  Nyaro growled once, low and warning.

  Kael calmly raised a hand to still him.

  “We play nice.”

  Food passed hands. Stories were exchanged.

  The antelope-woman watched the fire a long moment before speaking again.

  “We don’t come this close to settlements without reason,” she said. “Our paths run deep. We see what moves through the woods long before it reaches your borders.”

  Nanari’s pen stilled.

  Kael didn’t interrupt. He just nodded.

  “Scouts,” he said. “Not messengers.”

  A flicker of approval crossed the woman’s sharp eyes.

  “We trade information,” she continued. “Routes. Herd movements. Monsters migrating where they shouldn’t. Sometimes… people.”

  That last word carried weight.

  “What do you want in return?” Nanari asked.

  The antelope-woman gestured toward the fire, the food, the laughing goblins.

  “Access,” she said. “Safe ground when the forest turns hostile. Food that isn’t stolen or paid for in blood. And a promise.”

  Kael tilted his head. “Which is?”

  “That when you see us,” she said, meeting his gaze fully, “you don’t treat us like ghosts.”

  Silence stretched—thin, testing.

  Kael reached down, picked up a strip of roasted root, and held it out.

  “Emberleaf trades fair,” he said. “Information for shelter. Warning for warning. You walk our roads unchallenged. We’ll listen when you speak.”

  Nyaro shifted beside him, sensing the tension—but didn’t growl.

  The cloaked, bark-skinned scout stepped forward and pressed two fingers to his chest. A faint green sigil pulsed beneath the woodgrain skin.

  “Our eyes range far,” he said, voice like creaking branches. “If danger moves toward you… you’ll know before the fire smells it.”

  Nanari exhaled slowly. “That alone is worth more than gold.”

  The antelope-woman hesitated—then inclined her head.

  “My name is Asha Virehorn,” she said. “I speak not just for myself.”

  Nanari’s full attention snapped to her.

  “I am one of the leaders of a beastfolk village,” Asha continued. “Nine days to the west. We keep to the deep trails. Few settlements ever see us by choice.”

  Kael studied her for a moment.

  “That’s a long way to walk,” he said. “If we’re trading futures… what’s the village called?”

  Asha didn’t answer immediately.

  “Thornreach,” she said at last. “A place for foxfolk, horned kin, barkbound, and those who didn’t fit anywhere else. Hidden where old roots split stone.”

  Nanari quietly repeated the name under her breath, committing it to memory.

  Kael nodded once. “Then Thornreach isn’t alone anymore.”

  Asha’s expression softened—just a fraction.

  “If Emberleaf honors this trade,” she said, “then when fire or shadow moves toward you, our village will know. And when the forest turns against us—”

  “You’ll have a place here,” Kael said without hesitation.

  No cheers followed. No ceremony.

  But the fire burned a little steadier after that.

  Something subtle shifted in the air—a bridge forming, invisible but real.

  Later that night, Kael lay stretched out on the cool grass just beyond the edge of the village. The festival’s warm glow faded behind him, replaced by a sky scattered with countless stars slowly reclaiming their place in the dark.

  Rimuru floated quietly beside him, her soft blue glow pulsing in time with his steady breath. Nyaro was curled close at his other side, tail flicking rhythmically like a silent metronome marking the passage of time.

  Nanari passed by, carrying a thick woven blanket. She didn’t say a word—only draped it carefully over Kael’s shoulders before continuing on her way.

  Nearby, Gobrinus was face-first in a mushroom pie, blissfully oblivious to everything but the taste.

  Kael stared upward, thoughts drifting as he whispered into the night,

  “We made it another year.”

  

  A slow smile curved Kael’s lips, warmth blossoming in his chest despite the chill night air.

  he murmured, eyes tracing the constellations,

  And high above Emberleaf, the stars watched silently—

  —guardians of a promise just beginning to unfold.

  Cradles of Gravity

  ?? A slow-burn Space Opera Romance

  ?? Come find family among sensual warrior matriarchs.

  ?? Soren woke up on a strange planet today—and yesterday was 8,000 years ago.

  He's taller, stronger, full of unstable cosmic energy, and surrounded by alien matriarchs.

  And they want to kill him.

  Welcome to Cradles of Gravity!

  A space opera romance with all the laughs, playful banter, and chaos that make up a good found family story. It also contains adult sexual themes, emotional trauma, and graphic violence. Come join the crew, save the world, and learn to transcend humanity.

  What do the readers have to say?

  Two new chapters per week.

  Acts 2 of 3 complete, over 200,000 words ready for reading.

  Looking forward: LitRPG novella sidestory that accompanies Act 3; 2 sequels planned + prequel and additional spinoffs.