Atop a small hill on the outskirts of town, a peculiar creature perched on a weathered grave. Its short, vibrant orange fur shimmered faintly in the waxing daylight and created the illusion of a faint, warm glow blanketing its fox-like body. Four slender legs folded neatly beneath its body, while two smaller, almost delicate appendages tucked close to its belly.

  The creature's head tapered into a long, conical snout with three pairs of small, glinting eyes tracing a vertical line down it. Beneath the lowest right eye, a seventh, larger eye lay hidden, sealed shut by the jagged scar that slashed across it. The seventh eye's damage was a great loss as its unique makeup had been a hugely beneficial tool in the past for the creature's hunting.

  The creature had chosen to sacrifice that eye for a noble cause, a decision he never regretted. Even now, as he gazed across to the hill opposite his graveyard perch, his six remaining eyes keenly focused on the sight playing over on that hill, he felt nothing but a quiet pride. The creature's long, bushy tail, more than thrice the length of his own body, wagged happily.

  On that hill out in the distance, a small herd of obedient sheep grazed peacefully on the open grass, their movements curiously synchronized. No shepherd was in sight, yet the animals maintained a flawless order, never straying from the group or quarrelling among themselves. The sight stirred a pang of nostalgia in the creature, a bittersweet echo of a time long past. Once, he had shared the responsibility of tending to these very sheep. He had shared the responsibility alongside his beloved owner.

  That was the past. Now, the creature no longer had an owner. In all truth, he never had an owner for particularly long to begin with. The creature was old and had lived a long life, older than most humans at the very least and his long life was marked by endless chapters of solitude and vagabonding. Regardless, it was those short few years he had spent with his owner that outshined any other experience he had in his long life: the games, the laughs, the smiles. Ten short years of a brilliant purity.

  It was because of that purity that had made the creature willing to sacrifice himself—and his eye—without hesitation. For all intents and purposes, the creature was no longer truly living. He lacked a bond to the soul sea. He was untethered and adrift, with no soul to solely call his own. This was a stark contrast to who the creature used to be. Once, he had basked in the grandiose waves of that boundless sea, an intricate convergence of life and death, history and future, all woven together into a tapestry of coloured time. Once, he had been an essence that balanced on the border of it all.

  The creature had given away his soul—offered it freely to his owner. It had been the only way to strengthen the owner's tenuous connection to the soul sea at the time and the only way to prevent them from slipping into oblivion. The creature did not fear his owner's death; to him, death was a transient state, a mere passage in the endless flow of existence. But true non-existence? That was unthinkable. For a being that once thrived in the liminal tides of the soul sea, the thought of such a final, irreversible erasure was an affront to the very nature of what he stood for.

  The creature could not allow the eradication of a soul, so he made the drastic choice. The creature's sacrifice had succeeded—his owner continued to exist, likely tending to the sheep even now. Yet the severance from the soul sea had left the creature blind to her presence. He could see only the echoes of her influence: the orderly flock, the serene hillsides, the gentle harmony of the world she touched. But her face, her movements, her very being—those were lost to him forever. He had saved her life but forfeited the one thing he cherished most: the ability to see her again.

  The creature rose to his feet. Today was a special day. It was the day his owner's family would come to visit, and the creature felt an unspoken duty to ensure the place was presentable. With deliberate care, he began sweeping his oversized tail as a makeshift broom to clean the grounds. He gave special attention to his owner's grave and the dusty vase aside it. After completing the task, the creature gave a put-upon look at his own tail; he did not look forward to licking that clean later. Though sacrifices had to be made, and a dirty tail was the least he could do for such a significant occasion.

  The creature worked diligently, and soon the gravestone gleamed faintly, cleaner than it had been in an entire year… because the creature hadn't cleaned it in an entire year. The creature then looked at the vase. It was spotless of grime but that simply made the wilted flowers it housed stand out all the more.

  The creature's owner's sister often entrusted him with caring for the flowers while she was gone. She would remind him each time with the same gentle insistence, but inevitably, he would forget. As the creature regarded the wilted blooms, it could almost hear her voice, a mixture of exasperation and affection, chiding him for his neglect. She would certainly scold him again this year, as she always did, for abandoning the flowers. And, as always, he would accept her reprimand with quiet humility.

  She just didn't understand. Without his soul sense, it was difficult to gauge whether things were living or dying. And besides, he couldn't devote an entire year to watching over a single bouquet. There was so much more to do. While he could no longer see the souls of his friends in the graveyard, he knew they were still there, their quiet presence lingering just beyond his reach. As the only one capable of interacting with the tangible world, he felt a deep responsibility to care for all their resting places. Not every soul buried here had a family as devoted and loving as his owner's. It was up to him to ensure none of them were forgotten.

  The creature liked to think of itself as the noble guardian of the graveyard—a steadfast keeper for those who could no longer tend to themselves. But it was still an animal at its core, and animals liked to have fun. This was why, on a completely unrelated note, the wilted flowers would have to wait. Right now, the creature had a far more urgent problem: filling in the dozens of freshly dug holes scattered across the yard, evidence of its momentary lapse in guardianly decorum.

  No one said being a caretaker of the afterlife was a full-time job. It wasn't as though constant maintenance of the graves was explicitly required, was it? Besides, burrowing and digging were part of the creature's nature—he couldn't help himself. The sheer joy of pawing through the dirt, feeling the cool soil shift beneath him, was simply irresistible. Sure, he might have gone a little overboard this time, but how could something so fun be such a problem?

  Honestly, the creature never understood why humans were so attached to their old bones—they weren't using them anymore, after all. But humans had peculiar sentiments about these things, and the family would most definitely disagree with his perspective. With a resigned swish of his oversized tail, the creature huffed and set about cleaning up the mess.

  The creature was nothing if not diligent; once he had decided to accomplish a goal, he did nothing but. He scurried from trough to trough, speedily pawing the soft dirt back into the holes from which they were dug. The creature's incredible speed and raw strength turned what could have been an all-day chore into a brief, efficient flurry of motion. In no time at all, the graveyard was restored to its former state—or at least close enough to fool the humans.

  When the family arrived, the creature knew his owner's sister would likely ask him to entertain the children, giving her some quiet solace at the grave. That meant he should probably have an early dinner to gather his strength. Hunting was once a beyond-trivial task when he could see every soul that surrounded him. Now that he was practically blind, he had to dedicate some effort to the hunt. Not much, of course—the creatures in this area were laughably inferior—but it was effort all the same. The thought of exerting himself brought a faint grumble of annoyance, though deep down, he relished the challenge.

  The creature's sharp senses painted a vivid picture of its surroundings. He could hear every scrabbling mole beneath the soil, smell the frantic movements of clambering monkeys in the trees, and even taste the pigeons upon the air currents. The moles were quickly ruled out—after all the effort spent refilling pits earlier, there was no sense in creating new ones. As for the pigeons, the gust carrying their scent wafted up from the village below, and his last hunt in town caused more than enough chaos for one year.

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  Just as he resigned himself to the exhausting thought of chasing monkeys through the treetops, the creature paused mid-step. A plump peafowl had just strutted into view, blissfully unaware it had become the solution to all his problems.

  The vibrant colours of the tall bird enticed the creature's attention, and his small appendages instinctively stretched out from beneath his stomach. But then, with a sudden jolt of awareness, the creature paused. Without the bond to the soul sea, his extra limbs were little more than a curiosity—useless for anything beyond simple physical manipulation. With a quiet grunt, the creature tucked them back under his body. Shaking off the momentary lapse, the fox-like creature silently crept forward, his gaze fixed on the unwitting bird.

  The peafowl soon sensed the approaching predator and, with a flurry of motion, unfurled its long tail, revealing a stunning array of tall, beauteous plumage. The massive, multicoloured feathers scraped against the sky, their vibrant hues forming an illusion of many watching eyes. At that moment, the bird seemed to swell in size, becoming a terrifying force of nature, its graceful form now a monstrous display of intimidation. It presented itself not as a mere prey animal, but as a formidable adversary—one that any would think twice before making an enemy of.

  Or so went the idea. The fox-like creature was not just another dumb animal though. He had garnered over a century of experience and knowledge, and he would not fall for such a simple trick.

  With a burst of speed, the creature pounced, his massive claws sinking deep into the bird's flesh. Before the peafowl could even blink in reaction, the creature's jaws snapped shut around its neck, delivering a lethal bite. The fragile bones crumpled easily under the force, and the bird went limp in an instant, and the creature could begin to feed.

  First, he would have to defeather the meal. The creature was no savage; he was a noble beast, after all, and such a creature must carry honour in all its deeds—even in something as simple as eating, just as his owner had taught him. But the aroma of the succulent peafowl was irresistible, and besides, his owner wasn't here to scold him for indulging.

  Before the creature could finish debating the matter of de-feathering or diving into the feast, his instincts had already claimed control. In an instant, he had devoured the tender bird.

  The creature, now satisfied with his meal, stretched out on the soft grass of the hill, his tongue working diligently to dislodge bits of tendon from between his teeth. However, the peaceful moment didn't last long as a loud squeak broke the stillness.

  "Basal!"

  The creature's ears perked, and he turned toward the source of the voice. There, walking toward him, was the family. Of course, they came without Basal's owner, or perhaps his owner was with them. It was hard to say, especially with the scar still obscuring his seventh eye.

  Basal sprang to his feet, excitement surging as he charged toward the young boy who had called his name. In an instant, Basal dove into the boy's chest, knocking the boy to the ground with a joyful thud. The creature's rough tongue licked all over the child's face, and the ticklish sensation sent a siren-like trill of youthful laughter to echo across the field.

  Basal loved this family, Basal loved his family. Though he had failed to preserve his owner in her original living state, he still felt a deep, unwavering responsibility to care for her immediate relatives. They were all he had left of her, and he would protect them with everything he had, no matter the cost.

  Basal paused his playful licking when his owner's sister approached. She smiled at him, her voice soft with melancholy, "Hello Basal, how is Ignis?"

  Ignis. That was what the other humans called his owner. Basal felt a pang of pity for them; the average human had such a frail grasp of the soul sea. They had no way of knowing that Ignis was still alive out there somewhere, even if she wasn't necessarily living. They must have thought that Basal completely failed to save her, that Basal had lost his eye for no reason.

  Though Basal had the intelligence to understand human speech, he lacked the biology to properly replicate any of their sounds. Basal's only way to communicate Ignis's safety was to give out the most reassuring bark he could muster.

  Ignis's sister clearly had no ability to understand the meaning behind Basal's bark besides a basic comprehension of confidence. She gave Basal a painfully fake smile. It was seemingly the only emotion she knew how to show Basal. She spoke again, voice still quiet and dishonest. "That's wonderful to hear." She then pulled out a small, dried hunk of meat from a pouch at her side and handed it to Basal, her gesture as mechanical as her smile.

  Basal slightly regretted eating that peafowl now, but he would always have room for dessert. He happily munched on the wonderfully salted snack, savouring the flavour, while Ignis's sister absentmindedly patted him on the head.

  The young boy, his face slick with slobber, scrambled to his feet, eyes wide with eager excitement. "I want to feed Basal too! Can I? Can I?"

  Ignis's sister handed the bag of treats to the small child and turned to Basal, giving him pleading eyes weighed by melancholy. On this special day, she would want some quiet time at the grave, a moment to herself, and Basal knew he'd be expected to keep the child occupied, just as he had predicted.

  Basal didn't mind babysitting; they were family, after all. With a gentle but firm grip, he clamped down on the sleeve of the eager child and began guiding him away from the grave, giving the more sombre members of the group space to mourn.

  Like a magnet of pure charisma, Basal's actions seemed to have dragged along another child. This child was a little bit older than the first, but she was still a part of the same family. She broke into a jog to keep up with Basal's swift pace, her steps quick and eager. As she caught up, the older girl took charge, her voice full of enthusiasm. "Hey Basal! Do you want to play tag?"

  Basal knew this game well. He'd been taught it long ago and trained in it extensively. The first rule, of course, was to always strike first. Without hesitation, Basal released his grip on the youngest child and shot forward, his body a blur of speed. He nudged the older girl with his nose, giving a playful bark to signal the start of the game.

  The older child laughed, her arm shooting out in a flailing attempt to tag Basal back. "No fair, I wasn't ready yet!" But Basal was already out of reach, twisting effortlessly to dodge her strike. He weaved around each of her amateurish attempts with ease, his movements fluid and practiced. The younger boy joined in the hunt, but both children working together were nowhere near skilled enough to catch him.

  Eventually, Basal would let himself be caught and try, with great difficulty, to hold himself back enough not to tag them back immediately. The game continued in this back-and-forth rhythm, filled with laughter and movement, until suddenly, the unmistakable chime of a bell echoed through the air.

  Basal pinpointed the source of the sound—it came from right above Ignis's grave, near her sister. Without hesitation, he spun on the spot and dashed toward the bell's chime, his instincts driving him to defend his family. Whoever dared to disturb them was making a grave mistake.

  Basal positioned himself between the family and the source of the sound, his body tense and ready for an attack. A low, menacing growl rumbled deep within his chest, directed at the empty space before Ignis's grave. He might not have his full eyesight, but Basal was still a force to be reckoned with, and he would protect his family with everything he had.

  Between Basal and the grave, there was what seemed to be a small pink rhombus, or it was a rhombus, but its body would reject any stable state. It would shift and transform, shrink and grow, continuously morphing into other shapes. The pink shape finally locked into a form resembling that of a featureless human with two limbs. One arm was outstretched towards the empty space above the grave, and the other was outstretched towards Basal. Each arm held onto a glowing parchment, Basal looked over the parchment in front of him: It read.