Two nights before the incident–
Calhoun stood on the brink of fulfilling the promise he had made, to claim absolute victory over the land and become Emperor. The throne was within his reach, the air fuming with the aftermath of battle and the certainty of triumph.
But his luck had only just run out.
Ambushed and cornered by the fox clan's Apex Lords, Calhoun escaped into an unfamiliar land after being brutally overwhelmed. His body tore through space before crashing violently onto the forest floor where he now lay, exhausted, defeated, aching to the bone, while being covered in his own blood. Turns out, enduring a hundred vortex strikes had left his body terribly damaged. Each merciless impact from the Apex Lords had torn through him with crushing force, battering bone and flesh alike until barely anything remained unscathed.
But even then, his instincts pushed through.
In a desperate bid to preserve what little life remained, Calhoun's body transformed, diminishing and collapsing inward until he took the form of a small, fragile fox cub lying motionless and helpless against the trees.
Despite his life-threatening condition, Calhoun found himself both unable, and utterly unwilling to forget the sheer number of betrayals he had suffered in a single day.
The audacity.
The nerve.
Those sanctimonious little paragons dared to raise their blades against him?
Rage simmered beneath his ribs like a dying star threatening to collapse into catastrophe. He wanted nothing more than to slaughter those backstabbers where they stood. To scatter their remains as a cautionary tale for the others.
Truly, their continued survival could only be attributed to blind, undeserved luck.
Calhoun seethed as he recounted the event. He– the first fox demon Prince to walk the world, an imperial prince, a sovereign above sovereign, had been reduced to this.
A cub.
A tiny cub!
…Unacceptable.
Utterly. Absolutely. Cosmically unacceptable.
Who in their right mind would tremble before him in this state?
The humiliation alone was enough to make him wish for death, and that was saying something, considering how dangerously close he already was to it.
Now that he was here… what, exactly, was he supposed to do?
The entire court was likely searching for him after his escape. If he intended to survive, and of course, he would, because someone of his caliber did not simply 'die', then he would have to remain hidden.
Temporarily.
Just until he found the perfect opportunity to rise again… and repay their betrayal with something far worse.
Unfortunately, there was one small, deeply infuriating problem.
He could not move.
Unbelievable.
Like being reduced to a helpless creature no bigger than a common woodland pest wasn't enough, he lay sprawled inelegantly on the forest floor too. If anyone saw him like this, he would sooner perish on the spot than endure the disgrace.
For now, he would grit his teeth, swallow the indignity and recuperate.
If he wished to ensure his survival, he would first need to understand where he was and the danger surrounding this place– but in his current state, even lifting a paw felt like an unreasonable demand.
This was, quite frankly, irritating for Calhoun.
The healing process dragged on for what felt like an eternity, and every passing second was a personal affront to his pride. Though, the damage he had sustained was far worse than he cared to admit, forcing him into a state of awkward stillness until dawn crept over the horizon.
He remained where he lay, his ears twitching at every faint rustle, every subtle shift in the bushes. His senses stretched taut despite his weakened state.
When at last, he managed to gather even a fragment of strength, Calhoun forced his small, furred body upright.
The task was… disgraceful.
Every movement felt foreign and uncooperative, as though the wretched form itself resented containing someone of his magnitude.
Still, there was one advantage to being reduced to something so physically useless. As a fox cub, he required far less energy to function than he would have in his true form. In fact, had he remained as he was after the fall, he would not have survived at all.
A bitter truth.
But a strategically valuable one.
Calhoun's eyes narrowed, a cold glint surfacing beneath the haze of exhaustion.
His revenge against those worthless Apex Lords would be nothing short of exquisite.
That was a promise.
As he finally began to move ahead, Calhoun suddenly stilled when he heard voices coming from the opposite direction. His ears twitched sharply as the sound drifted closer. Instinct took over once again, and he slipped behind the base of a tree. His small body pressed low against the earth as he listened.
Peering out cautiously, he caught sight of two huntsmen approaching– both carrying strange objects with them.
"Do you think it's safe to leave her by herself?" the younger one, Liam, asked. "I can't believe she survived. What do you think we should do with her?"
The older man cast him a brief glance before replying, "what else? We wait for her to wake. Her condition is suspicious, I tell yah. But she might be the proof I need, that beasts truly exist. Now stop dawdling and help me set the new traps."
Calhoun watched the interaction in silence, his snout twitching faintly as their scent reached him.
Humans.
…Seriously?
Of all places, he had ended up in the human realm?
Calhoun had never interacted with a human before. In truth, he knew nothing about them except what he had been ingrained with since birth. Humans were unwelcome in most parts of the beast world, regarded as insignificant creatures that crawled along the earth, far beneath the notice of true beings.
They were lowly. Inferior. Laughably short-lived. And, most importantly, far beneath him.
Yet, now that he stood here, if one could generously call this wobbly stance 'standing', that understanding took on an inconvenient new dimension.
If he was to survive like this, then those same 'insignificant' creatures might prove.. useful.
Humans were said to be soft, emotional, foolish and endlessly susceptible to appearances.
If that was true, then all he needed was someone– just one, gullible enough to take pity on him. One willing to overlook what he truly was.
His gaze flickered briefly toward the huntsmen nearby, cold and appraising despite the small, fragile body he currently wore.
Not them.
There was something about them that set his instincts on edge, and the older one carried himself with the wary stillness of a predator who had learned to distrust the dark.
No. These two would not do.
Calhoun stilled, his fluffy tail curling around his paws as his mind began to turn.
If he was to rely on a human, then he would simply have to find a better specimen.
Someone weaker.
Kinder.
More… foolish.
Someone who would see a trembling injured fox and think 'precious'
His ears flicked back with resolve.
Yes.
He would select his human carefully.
After all, if one must stoop to manipulation, one should at least choose high-quality material.