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Published on: 2025-12-12

Blackwood Tails: Humanity in Mith

What is this?

This short podcast episode started as a project for my first-year writing class, and I’ve decided to share it here for anyone who wants to dive into it. Listen at your own pace, settle in, and follow Ortaiga’s trail. Whether you're dragon, wolf, kitsune, or something entirely your own, he doesn’t turn anyone away.

Blackwood Tails: Humanity in Mith.

Transcript

Opening:

Narrator:

When you think of evil, what comes to mind? Perhaps a monster,

A dragon guarding its stolen treasure...

A werewolf howling beneath a cursed moon...

or some other creature that once haunted human imagination.

These beings were shaped by fear ,

the fear of what lurks in the dark,

of instincts we cannot control, of power beyond our reach.

But what if that fear was misplaced? What if the monsters weren't the villains at all?

This question, what happens when the so-called monsters become the good guys , has been explored by many authors, and I wish to continue along that path.

Through storytelling, I'll breathe empathy, purpose, and heart into these misunderstood beings.

I'll tell three short tales, of dragons, werewolves, and kitsune, each one reimagining the emotional life of a creature long seen as evil or uncaring.

So, let me tell you a story, or rather, three stories, where the monsters are not what they seem, and where the heart of myth beats with something unexpectedly human.

Section 1: A Dragons generosity:

Section 1.1: The Basilisk and the Dragon:

[SFX: faint wind, distant flutter of wings]

Narrator(Ortaiga, reflective):

Listen closely. Can you hear it? The slow beat of ancient wings... the whisper of scales against stone? They say dragons are creatures of greed, but what if the truth burns brighter than gold?

That question echoed through my mind, because soon I realized I would depend on a dragon's generosity, not for treasure, but for my family's survival.

My name is Ortaiga Blackwood. This is how a dragon's kindness saved my brother, and in doing so, saved our village.

SFX: footsteps on a wooden floor, door opens

Doren(weak, hoarse):

"Ortaiga, I failed. The basilisk, poisoned me."

Narrator:

Doren, my brother, was the strongest among us, a hunter, a protector. He brought monster carcasses to the guards so they left our family in peace. Without him, we were vulnerable.

But that night, he came home broken.

Lyra(urgent, calm):

"Herb kit, Ortaiga, quick! Everything must be ready!"

SFX: rush of fabric, herbs being opened

Narrator:

Lyra, my sister and healer, wasted no time. As I brought her the medicine, she began working. Her hands trembling, her voice gentle but firm, she brewed something to slow the venom in his veins.

SFX: bubbling liquid, soft pour

Narrator:

She gave him a potion, a life-saving brew, but not a cure. Basilisk venom burrowed deep in his blood. For two years, Lyra fought it back. But we all knew it was only a matter of time.

SFX: quiet fire crackling, night ambience

Doren(soft, grave):

"Ortaiga... listen. I don't have much time left. Someone must carry on when I'm gone. Our family... our village... it can't crumble in my absence."

Narrator:

In that moment, everything changed. I realized what he meant: I would have to become the one he was, a guardian, a warrior. He believed in me. More than I believed in myself.

Doren(pleading):

"I'll train you. Please, Ortaiga. Our future depends on it."

Narrator:

So I trained. Night after night, I studied how to fight monsters. I leaned on Lyra's wisdom about their bodies, and Doren's hard-earned knowledge of their habits.

SFX: torchlight, papers rustling

Narrator:

And then we found a glimmer of hope, not in a book, but in a mission. One of Doren's trials sent him to slay a dragon. A dragon that had been terrorizing nearby villages for two weeks.

SFX: distant roar, wings beating

Narrator(soft, determined):

That mission became our answer, or at least, the beginning of one.

SFX: heavy wingbeats, crashing trees, a deep roar

Narrator:

When we finally faced the creature, everything went wrong. I struck first, and it struck back harder. Its claws caught me across the chest, tearing through armor and flesh. I hit the ground, breath gone, vision spinning.

SFX: dirt skidding, a body hitting earth

The dragon loomed above me, ready to finish it.

Doren(furious, terrified):

"Not my brother! Not like This!"

SFX: sword drawn, boots charging across stone

Narrator:

Doren charged beneath the beast, roaring like a dragon himself. His blade tore across its belly, and its blood rained down onto me.

SFX: thick liquid splashing, sizzling on skin

Narrator:

At first, the pain was indescribable, burning, searing, like fire burrowing into my bones. But then... the fire turned cold. The cold turned warm. And then,

Strength flooded me. More strength than I had ever known.

SFX: a sudden inhale, energy rushing, ground cracking under a leap

Narrator:

I launched to my feet in a single bound. My battle-axe was already in my hands. I came down from above, striking with force that didn't feel human.

[SFX: heavy blade impact, a final roar cut short]

The dragon's head fell before it even understood what had happened.

Doren(stunned):

"Ortaiga, what in the hell?!"

SFX: morning birds, soft brewing sounds, pages turning

Narrator:

It was Lyra who understood first. The next day, she called me over.

Lyra(thoughtful, cautious):

"Ortaiga... I think I know what happened. That creature wasn't a normal dragon. It was one of Gratolas's line. The trueth is in your blood."

Narrator:

My stomach dropped.

Ortaiga(quiet, shaken):

"Gratolas? But his line was supposed to be gone..."

Lyra(firm):

"Clearly not. But that's not the important part."

Narrator:

I felt the realization hitting me before she said it.

Ortaiga:

"If his line isn't gone... then Gratolas isn't either."

Lyra:

"Exactly. And his blood can heal anything."

Narrator:

The room seemed to hold its breath.

Lyra(soft but urgent):

"Ortaiga... you have to find him. You have to ask for his help."

Ortaiga(determined):

"I will, Lyra. I will."

Section 1.2: Gratolas:

Narrator:

It wasn't hard to find Gratolas.

Not once his blood was running through my veins.

One night, I just... got up. Packed a few basic supplies, which I didn't end up needing, and ran. That was all the guidance I needed. Just wanting to find him pulled me forward, like the blood itself was showing the way.

Getting to him, though, that was the problem.

The Forest Kingdom had posted guards a short distance from his cave. The king, in his panic, thought blocking off the entire region would somehow "contain the threat." With my new strength, I could've fought my way through, but I didn't want to come back as a fugitive. (Inevitable in hindsight... but I didn't know that yet.):

So I slipped past instead, climbing trees, crawling through thorny scrub thick enough to shred anyone else's skin. Every cut sealed over within minutes. Handy then... not so much when I actually met Gratolas.

Because the moment I stepped into his cave, he nearly took my head off.

Gratolas(bellowing):

"Murderer!"

Narrator:

His claws slammed against the stone, sparks flying.

Gratolas:

"Hateful, thoughtless human!"

Narrator:

I barely managed to dodge a burst of fire that scorched the floor beside me. I pushed off the wall, springing into a flip meant to clear his shoulders, but he was faster than his offspring. He reared back and caught me mid-air like I weighed nothing.

And then he froze.

SFX: sniffing

Gratolas(thoughtful, softer):

"Wait... you smell of Scalrean."

SFX: low growl

Gratolas:

"If you killed that wretch, he probably earned it."

Narrator:

I stared into his blazing gold eyes.

Ortaiga(scared but steady):

"I have no idea who Scalrean is. If I smell like a dragon to you, it's probably the one my brother and I had to kill. He attacked six villages. Innocents died. We didn't have a choice."

SFX: low rumble

Narrator:

He lowered me to the ground, keeping a heavy forepaw braced across my chest, a reminder that I was alive only because he allowed it.

Gratolas(measured):

"Then speak, human whose name is known as the new slayer. He who bears a dead dragon's blood... why have you come?"

Narrator:

So I told him. Everything. My plight. My brother's fate. The people who would die without him.

His answer wasn't what I expected, nore what I hoped for, but maybe it was better.

Gratolas(firm):

"Very well, Ortaiga New-Slayer. I will help you."

SFX: deep rumble

Gratolas:

"But in return... you will help me."

Ortaiga:

"Help you? How?"

Gratolas(calm, absolute):

"You will help me kill a king."

Narrator:

To say I was stunned would be putting it mildly.

And as Gratolas explained his plan, my apprehension grew, but so did my hope.

If he was right... if this worked...

Then it wouldn't just be my brother saved.

Our tyrant king would fall.

And countless others would finally be free.

Ortaiga:

"Yes. If you heal Doren... we'll both help you."

section 1.3: Slayer Reborn

Narrator:

Getting out of the cave was easy.

Getting out quietly... with a three-ton dragon... was never going to happen.

I'd barely taken a step toward the entrance when,

Gratolas(curious):

"Where are you going?"

Ortaiga(confused):

"Home. To my family. So you can help."

Gratolas(soft but firm):

"Ortaiga... I heard your story. And I said I would help you.

I didn't mean I'd hand you blood and send you off to kill a king.

This isn't a transaction.

It's an offer of friendship."

Narrator:

I froze. I genuinely didn't know what to say.

Ortaiga:

"Aren't dragons supposed to be difficult to bargain with? Greedy?

All this treasure and..."

Gratolas(laughing):

"We are just as complicated as you are, New-Slayer.

Some of us, like my pitiful son, whose blood you now carry, think we're above the world.

Most of us just enjoy shiny things, and gather treasure by doing favors or finding what's been abandoned.

And some dragons... care nothing for treasure at all."

"Now. Let's go."

Narrator:

Before I could protest, Gratolas's forepaw wrapped around my chest, firm, but unexpectedly gentle, and he lifted me onto his back.

Then he thundered out of the cave and launched us both into the morning sky.

Ortaiga(shouting, exhilarated):

"Holy shit!"

Narrator:

When we reached my village, Gratolas didn't waste a heartbeat.

The villagers panicked, of course. Lyra tried to calm them, though the shock on her own face didn't help.

Gratolas looked at me.

Gratolas:

"Now, if you're right, New-Slayer, we go to Doren Old-Slayer.

And we take the healer with us."

Lyra:

"Oh hell no, you are not, W-waaa!"

Narrator:

He scooped up my sister like she weighed nothing, and we went straight to Doren.

Lyra recovered quickly, she always did, and took a sample of Gratolas's blood, brewing a potion with trembling hands.

When she gave it to Doren, he drank every drop.

Within moments, his back straightened.

Color returned to his cheeks.

Lyra:

"Doren? How do you feel?"

Doren(joyful, awed):

"It's gone. The venom... I can't feel it anymore. It's gone!"

Ortaiga:

"Then, brother... we have a king to kill."

Narrator:

And somewhere beyond our small, fragile village... the king who had taken everything from us was already stirring his armies.

Unaware that a dragon, a healer, a slayer reborn... and I... were coming for him.

Section 2: Dragons and generosity - reflected:

Narrator(steady, reflective):

For most of human history, dragons carried a reputation that... wasn't exactly flattering.

If you asked a medieval storyteller what a dragon represented, they'd say greed. Chaos. A threat that existed to be conquered.

Thomas Honegger, a scholar who has spent years digging through medieval texts, points out in Introducing the Medieval Dragon that our modern idea of dragons comes largely from the rediscovery of medieval literature. And those stories loved their monsters big, destructive, and morally simple. Dragons were obstacles, not characters.

When early fantasy authors started building their worlds, they borrowed that image almost by default.

Tolkien's Smaug is the perfect example: ancient, cunning, and coiled atop a mountain of treasure he doesn't even use. A force of nature, but not one you sympathize with.

But cultural views shift, and dragons didn't stay trapped in that single mold.

Even in the nineteenth century, writers began experimenting, creating dragons that were playful, wise, or gentle. Some pulled inspiration from Chinese traditions, where dragons were symbols of luck, rain, and cosmic order rather than destruction.

And then came the real pivot: the dragon-rider era.

Anne McCaffrey's Dragonriders of Pern didn't just change dragons, it redefined them.

Suddenly dragons could bond with humans, communicate, choose, care. They became partners instead of problems.

That momentum carried forward into the early 2000s and peaked again in 2011 with Christopher Paolini's Inheritance Cycle, which pushed the idea of dragon and human bonds straight into mainstream fantasy.

After that, dragons stopped being just monsters.

They became people, or at least something close enough that we could finally see ourselves reflected in them.

This evolution is just one thread in a much larger tapestry of shifting fantasy tropes. But to understand where our story is headed, we need to return to Ortaiga, Doren, and Lyra...

because the next creature they'll meet has a reputation of its own.

Section 3: A Guardian Wolf:

Section 3.1: To Kill a King:

SFX: cold wind blowing

Narrator(Ortaiga):)

The ridge dropped away beneath us, the king's fortress sprawling like a wounded beast across the valley. Stone walls thick as mountains. Towers rising like claws toward the sky. And the cold wind, carrying the stink of oil, iron, and fear.

Doren:

"Getting in will be difficult at best. I'm not convinced we can even reach the walls, let alone breach them."

Lyra:

"The walls aren't the problem. Look at those towers, each one's big enough to hide a ballista. We'd be dead before we ever saw the king's doorstep."

Gratolas:

"He fears me. He knows I escaped, and he has no idea what I intend now."

Doren:

"And that's exactly why that fortress exists. It's built to keep out more than just humans. Forcing our way in is suicide."

Ortaiga:

"...Then we don't force it. What if we walk in through the front door?"

Lyra(uneasy):

"Ortaiga... in case you've forgotten, the king isn't exactly fond of you at the moment."

Ortaiga:

"I know. That's why it'll work. If Gratolas and I show ourselves, the king will command the guards to seize us. They'll drag us straight inside."

sfx: low growl, wings shifting

Gratolas:

"New-slayer... I've been captured once already. If your plan fails, I'll be chained again. I have no desire to throw myself at the king's feet for slaughter."

Lyra:

"He has a point, once he's inside, he's stronger than any man, and he heals faster. If anyone can break free and reach the king, it's him."

Doren:

"Lyra... you can't truly be considering letting our brother walk into that place alone."

Ortaiga:

"I won't be alone. Gratolas will be with me."

Lyra:

"And so will we."

Ortaiga:

"No! You don't need to risk your lives. It isn't nec..."

Lyra:

"Save it."

Doren:

"We're not letting our brother march into death alone. And I won't stand by while the one whose blood saved my life walks to the king's blade."

sfx: low tail thump, [HEAVY EXHALE THROUGH NOSTRILS

Gratolas:

"If we go... we go as one."

Narrator:

I exhaled, tension draining into the cold wind.

Ortaiga:

"...Fine. We go together."

section 3.2: Inside the kings halls:

Narrator:

The plan worked. Shockingly well.

Right up until the part where we had to get out.

They dragged us inside in chains, annoying, but hardly a real problem. Gratolas even got a muzzle... some crude contraption meant to keep him from roasting them alive.

They threw us into a cell and told us to wait for the king's judgment.

I expected a spectacle, and King Valcoroth never disappoints. A coward always wants an audience.

He ordered trials of combat for each of us. Rigged, obviously. But we accepted, because I knew I'd be the first target. The traitor.

sfx: TRUMPETS, ARENA CROWD ROARS

King Valcoroth:

"Today, we witness the arrogance of the one who dares defy his king. Let us see wha..."

Narrator:

I'd heard enough.

sfx: METAL SNAP, CHAINS BREAKING

I twisted my wrists. The chains shattered like twigs.

Then I drove the heel of my palm into the guard behind me.

SFX: Bone crunch, low grunt, body collapsing, crowd gasp

Narrator:

As planned, I didn't rush for the king. Not yet.

I walked straight to the railing overlooking the arena, the one where Doren and Lyra were chained.

Ortaiga:

"My king? I see no king here. Only a coward too afraid to fight his own battles."

sfx: MURMURS ROLL THROUGH THE CROWD

Narrator:

Everyone stared, at me, at the king, at the broken chains.

The perfect moment.

I seized the chains binding my siblings.

King Valcoroth:

"Guards! What is this nonsense? Put him back in chains before I, "

Ortaiga:

"Before you do nothing!"

sfx: METAL SNAP, TWO MORE CHAINS BREAK

Narrator:

The chains shattered, and I vaulted over the railing, leaving them behind as I fell toward the arena floor.

The nearest guards lunged for Doren,

Predictable. He looked like the threat.

But they should've feared Lyra.

sfx: SOFT CLOTH RUSTLE, GRAINY POWDER SCATTERING

Narrator:

She tossed powders across the floor, herbs the guards had dismissed as harmless. Fools.

And Gratolas... my landing took me straight to him. Chained to the arena stones, muzzle locked in place.

Perfect reach.

sfx: HEAVY IMPACT, OR TAIGA LANDS ON Gratolas'S BACK

Narrator:

I shattered the vial Lyra made earlier and splashed it over the metal bindings.

The chains hissed, corroding in seconds.

Gratolas tore himself free with a roar.

SFX: Deep, guttural roar, stone cracking, muzzle snapping apart

Narrator:

He surged upward, blasting the platform above with searing heat, not fire. That was Lyra's job to place precisely.

At the same moment, Doren, sword somehow in hand, cut down a guard, grabbed Lyra, and bolted down the stairs.

sfx: ROARING FLAMES, GUARDS SHOUTING, PANICKED FOOTSTEPS

Narrator:

A ring of fire ignited behind them, blocking pursuit.

They vanished through the doors.

I leapt from Gratolas's back and landed directly before the king.

sfx: Gratolas'S WINGS THUNDER, DOORS SHATTER, DRAGON VANISHES INTO THE VAST ATRIUM

King Valcoroth:

"You wouldn't dare!"

SFX: Blade arc, wet slice, a body hitting stone

Narrator:

I dared.

And everything went wrong.

Section 3.3: Fin

Narrator:

As planned, I leapt for the massive glass window above the king's throne.

SFX: [Glass shattering, wind whistling through the break]

Narrator:

I dropped into open air, waiting for Gratolas to catch me.

One second.

Two.

Three.

After a few too many, I realized he wasn't coming.

SFX: [Branches snapping violently, a heavy body smashing through limbs, hard impact]

Narrator:

I didn't die,

but dam, it hurt.

I scrambled upright... and an arrow hissed past my cheek.

SFX: [Arrow whip, thunk into tree]

Ortaiga(muttering):

"What in chaos...?"

Narrator:

The king's guard had rallied fast.

Protocol was clear: kill the king's killer.

I knew the others were still inside... but I also knew I couldn't help anyone if I was a corpse.

I ran, faster than any human should, but the guards had horses.

They were gaining.

And then came the other problem.

SFX: [Deep, resonant howl rolling through the forest]

Ortaiga(under his breath):

"Great. Now I've got werewolves on me."

Narrator:

Funny thing, that attention ended up saving my life.

I skidded into a clearing, breath ragged, when a low growl stopped me dead in my tracks.

SFX: Soft padding steps circling , subtle snarl

Ortaiga:

"Show yourself."

Fin(calm, predatory):

"I think not, human.

Tell me,

have you just killed the king?"

Narrator:

I steadied my breath, even though my heart hammered like it wanted out of my ribs.

Ortaiga(nervous but steady):

"Yes... I have."

Fin:

"Good.

Tell me then, who are you, and why have you slain the tyrant king?"

Narrator:

So I told him.

Everything.

Figuring that with someone I couldn't even see, honesty was my safest bet.

Fin:

"Follow."

Ortaiga:

"Considering I don't know who you are, and haven't even seen you... walking deeper into a forest I know nothing about doesn't feel wise."

Fin(low growl):

"Follow, Ortaiga Kingkiller,

lest you die at the hands of those behind you."

Narrator:

That decided it.

I followed what I was fairly sure was a werewolf, down twisting trails and through trees no sane man would've found without guidance.

Ortaiga:

"So... who are you?"

Fin:

"My name is Fin.

And before you ask, yes. I am a werewolf."

Ortaiga:

"I wasn't going to ask. I'd already figured.

What I don't get is why you're helping me."

Fin:

"Because no one deserves to live in a cage, even a figurative one.

Your coward of a king, "

Ortaiga(sharp):

"He was not my king."

Fin(soft growl):

"The human king, then, was trapping your kind with his taxes, his punishments, and his cruelty toward anyone he deemed useless.

You killed him.

That makes you a freedom fighter.

And that, Ortaiga Kingkiller... I can respect."

Narrator:

I opened my mouth to ask more,

but Fin spun, slamming me to the dirt so fast I didn't even see the movement.

SFX: Men shouting, arrows thumping into trees, Fin snarling deep and vicious

Fin(bellowing):

"The Kingkiller is free!

You will NOT imprison him!"

SFX: Steel scraping free, bodies colliding, flesh tearing, panicked screams

Narrator:

Fin slaughtered them.

Not mindlessly,

but with a terrifying precision, protective rather than possessive.

Nothing like the stories our elders told us.

I couldn't let him fight alone.

SFX: Axe unsheathing

Ortaiga:

"And free shall be those who I call friend."

Narrator:

I charged forward until I stood beside him.

His silver fur burned bright in the moonlight as we fought back-to-back.

We won.

The guards had numbers,

but Fin had the forest,

and I had dragon blood.

Fin turned, silver eyes locking onto mine.

Fin(serious, solemn):

"Ortaiga... killing the tyrant earns you my protection.

Fighting beside me earns my loyalty.

You and yours are mine as well, if you'll accept it."

Ortaiga:

"I am not a possession. You can't claim me as such"

Fin:

"You are free, so am I.

I'm not claiming to own you.

I am claiming you as pack.

I would be yours as much as you are mine.

So, dragon-blooded warrior...

will you accept me?"

Ortaiga:

"Yes, Fin.

I accept you as pack,

as family."

Fin:

"Good.

Then one last gift remains.

I can make you a were, like me,

if you wish it.

Know this: your blood is already changed.

I don't know what the transformation will make of you.

But I can make you, and those you call yours, able to fight as we do.

Together, we could defend each other, and freedom, far more fiercely."

Narrator:

I thought it over.

I was already never going to be human again.

Ortaiga:

"Fin... I'll accept your gift.

But first, we free the rest of our pack from the king's fortress."

Fin:

"Then we'll need more help.

I'll take you to Solare.

But you must ask for her aid yourself."

Ortaiga:

"Alright.

I trust you, Fin."

Narrator:

Fin nodded once, sharp and certain, then lifted his muzzle to the night air.

Fin:

"Stay close. Solare won't harm you... unless you give her reason."

Narrator:

His stride carried him forward without hesitation, deeper into the dark where the trees leaned close and the moonlight thinned to threads.

I followed.

Not because I wasn't afraid,

but because turning back meant death, and going forward meant possibility.

section 4: A Guardien Wolf - Reflected:

Narrator:

Werewolves, and shifters in general, have, throughout history, been seen as thoughtless, evil beings. According to Shawn Thomas, author of The Hidden Bloodlines of Bigfoot and creator of Wildfoot Explores, this view likely grew from ancient legends. One of the earliest comes from the ancient Greeks, who told the story of King Lycaon, transformed into a wolf by Zeus after attempting to feed the god human flesh. The term lycanthropy, used to describe the shapeshifter curse or condition, comes from Lycaon's name.

But the Greeks weren't the only ones with shifter stories. Many Native American tribes tell of the skinwalkers, powerful beings capable of shifting into animals. These legends shaped the earliest perceptions of weres, and in some cases, especially throughout Europe, pushed people into believing they were real. The witch trials are often discussed, but what isn't as well known is that, around the same period, werewolf trials and executions were also taking place.

So how did the idea of the werewolf shift from a curse to a more complex archetype? The answer isn't entirely clear, but several books and films likely influenced the change. One of the biggest turning points was The Wolf Man, starring Lon Chaney Jr., which presented the werewolf state as an affliction rather than a punishment as in the passed. Harry Potter explored this further with the character of Remus Lupin, a genuinely good person forced to hide a nature he never chose.

The Twilight series by Stephenie Meyer introduced the idea of a werewolf as a protector through the character of Jacob Black. That protective image has carried into many modern stories, such as Shannon Mayer's Rylee Adamson series and Ilona Andrews' Kate Daniels novels. Over time, the concept of the were has shifted dramatically. Today, they're often portrayed as emotional, loyal, and protective, rather than as the savage monsters of early folklore.

And now... as Ortaiga and Fin journey deeper into the wilds in search of aid, another figure steps into their path, one whose legend is just as strange, perhaps stranger than, the werewolves who roam the night.

Section 5: The help of a trixter:

section 5.1: Hypnosis

Narrator(Ortaiga):

As I strode through the trees, I became painfully aware of how dark it was getting, and the fact that I was following nothing but the sound of Fin's footsteps ahead of me.

Ortaiga(soft, nervous):

"Fin... I can't see you."

"...Fin?"

"Fin, stop messing around. This isn't funny."

Narrator:

I stopped walking. Fin wouldn't leave me behind. This felt like the easiest way to call his bluff.

Solare(hypnotic, echoing):

"Follow, Ortaiga..."

Narrator:

Alarm crashed through my mind, every instinct screaming danger.

But even as the warning rose, my feet moved forward on their own, and I couldn't stop.

Ortaiga(loud, panicked):

"Hey! To chaos with you, let me go!"

Solare(hypnotic):

"Come, Ortaiga... you are safe."

Narrator :

Her voice slid through my thoughts like silk.

Something deep in my blood tried to resist, but it wasn't strong enough.

I walked willingly, calm as a sleeping child.

Safe. Protected. Comforted.

I was with a friend,

looking into her eyes.

Wait, what?

I jerked, awareness slamming back into me.

I was staring into the deep violet eyes of a woman I did not know.

Ortaiga(surprised, panicked):

"Huh! Who the hell are you?!"

Solare(laughing):

"Well, that was fast. I wondered how long it would take someone with blood like yours to break my hypnosis."

Ortaiga(panicked, angry):

"Hypnosis?! What in chaos did you do to me?!"

Solare(smooth, calm):

"Ortaiga, I did nothing except what you wanted. You wished to speak with me.

Well... here you are."

"I promise I will not harm you unless you try to harm me or this forest."

"And Ortaiga,"

"the promise of a Kitsune is something we do not break."

Ortaiga:

"Kitsune?"

Narrator:

I scrambled back, hands shaking as I grabbed for my axe.

Solare(calm, authoritative):

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"I just promised you no harm. Do not force my hand."

Narrator:

I froze.

Ortaiga:

"How do I know I can trust you? Your legends... they don't exactly paint you as truthful."

Solare:

"Says the one who flew in on the back of one of the most feared beings in Tareinia... and who shares pack-bond with a werewolf."

"Ortaiga, do you honestly think your legends paint a perfect picture of every creature out there?"

cause if so, then you're traveling with a hoarder and bonded to a thoughtless killer."

Narrator:

Irritation shot through me.

Ortaiga(annoyed):

"Gratolas saved my brother's life, and the freedom of Tareinia."

"And Fin saved mine, and was helping me free my family."

"We were going to find someone to help us, until you dragged me off track."

Solare:

"Tell me, Ortaiga... who exactly do you think Fin was bringing you to?"

Ortaiga:

"I'm not telling you that. I don't trust you."

Solare:

"Was it possibly Solare? Because if so... here she is."

section 5.2: Solare

Narrator:

The woman pointed to herself, stood, and transformed before my very eyes.

Fur rippled across her skin, claws extended, and nine tails unfurled behind her like a streaming cloak.

Solare:

"Ortaiga, my name is Solare. And I want to know why you seek the aid of a Kitsune."

Solare(echoing, powerful):

"Tell me your story, Ortaiga Blackwood."

Narrator:

Her voice didn't seize my mind like before, but Fin had said I'd need to earn her help myself.

And she'd given me the same promise Fin claimed she lived by: no harm unless provoked.

So, for what felt like the hundredth time, I told my story.

I told her about my brother, how Gratolas had saved him.

I told her how we planned to kill King Valcoroth.

I told her about Fin, how he had saved me, how he had offered help, and how I needed both him and her to save the rest of my family.

Solare:

"Well, Ortaiga... that is indeed a harrowing tale."

"I shall think upon it. But first..."

Narrator:

She met my eyes, directly, fully.

Solare(hypnotic, echoing):

"Rest, Ortaiga Blackwood. Rest."

Narrator:

I thought I might resist, but the moment my eyelids sagged, I knew I wouldn't.

Warm, soft fur brushed my back as I collapsed, and the last thing I heard was the quiet sound of Fin's paws padding into the clearing

SFX: soft paw-steps on leaves

Narrator:

, before darkness claimed me.

sfx: soft fire crackling, night insects faint in the distance

Narrator:

When I came to, my thoughts were a scrambled mess. The first thing I noticed was the warmth of a fire beside me, its glow flickering against the inside of my eyelids.

The second thing, far stranger, was that I wasn't lying on the cold forest floor. I was wrapped in something unbelievably soft, like the world's fluffiest blanket.

And the third was the unfamiliar man sitting across from me, staring into the flames as though he'd been waiting.

Ortaiga(mumbling, groggy):

"What in chaos...? Where...?"

Narrator:

It took a few breaths before everything snapped into place.

That "blanket" was Solare's tails, all of them curled around me protectively, like a nest. She must've lit the fire, too. I'd heard Fin's footssteps before I'd passed out, but right now, I couldn't sense him anywhere.

Ortaiga:

"Solare, where's Fin? And why do you have me wrapped up like a child?"

Solare(laughing softly, amused):

"You're looking at him. And as for the tails, trust me, you'd rather not sleep on the ground. It's dreadfully uncomfortable."

Narrator:

That didn't help my confusion at all. I wasn't looking at Fin. Fin was a silver werewolf, lean, furred, bright-eyed, not a stocky man with a beard, broad shoulders, and a calm smile.

But then the man lifted his gaze, and the fire reflected in a pair of unmistakable silver eyes.

It was Fin. In human form.

Ortaiga:

"Well... that wasn't very nice."

Fin:

"Yeah, sorry. Solare hates it when I bring people to her without warning. She prefers her own theatrics, something about maintaining the mystique of a three-hundred-year-old fox.

"You're pack now, but I don't particularly want said three-hundred-year-old fox mad at me. Or you, for that matter."

Solare:

"Now now, Fin. You know I'd never harm you. Or your lovely friend."

Fin:

"yeah, but Last time I annoyed you, you enchanted my paws so they stayed muddy for an entire month."

Solare(laughing, unashamed):

"And it was absolutely worth it."

Ortaiga:

"Look, much as I'm enjoying the family reunion, we're missing people."

Solare(tone sharpening):

"Right you are. So. Let's go get them back, hmm?"

Fin:

"I might've led you into a trap earlier... but I made up for it by telling Solare how wonderful you are."

Narrator:

That... was unexpected.

Ortaiga:

"So you're helping us? Just like that?"

"No deals, no sneeky tricks?"

Solare:

"Yes, Ortaiga, I will help. But there will be plenty of tricks, just not ones targeted at our pack."

Ortaiga:

"Our?"

Fin:

"Oh, kinda forgot to mention that part."

Solare:

"Fin! You didn't tell him?"

Fin:

"I was getting there! I liked the mysterious werewolf routine."

Solare(sighing, exasperated):

"Fin and I have shared a pack bond for a long time. It makes us... outcasts. A wolf bonded to a fox. But when you accepted him, you accepted me as well."

Narrator:

Oddly enough, that didn't anger me. It settled something inside me instead.

If Solare was pack, she wouldn't betray us. She'd already proven herself.

So despite the childhood stories whispering that fox spirits were nothing but tricksters, I found myself smiling.

Ortaiga:

"Alright. What's the plan?"

Section6: The help of a trixter - reflected:

Narrator(reflective):

Kitsune have a long history of being framed as tricksters, rarely helpful unless there's a deal attached. According to the Encyclopedia Britannica, this image developed because foxes in ancient Japan were known to raid food stores and kill livestock. By the Edo period, that reputation solidified with the rise of the nogitsune, wild fox spirits associated with mischief and deception.

But here's the important nuance: the idea of a benevolent kitsune isn't a modern reinterpretation. Long before the fear of the nogitsune spread, there were stories of celestial foxes, tenko and other auspicious fox spirits. These beings were worshiped as divine messengers and bringers of good fortune.

So how did we end up with both versions, feared tricksters and revered guardians coexisting in modern storytelling? As with many creatures we've discussed, the answer isn't found in one folktale, but in how society's view of good and evil has shifted.

Section 7: conclusion

A JSTOR article by Cody Delistraty connects this shift to evolving social norms, drawing from the post-Enlightenment era and works like Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. He argues that the focus moved away from the monster versus creator dynamic and toward themes like family, community, and moral accountability.

As our cultural values changed, so did our monsters. Behaviors once labeled evil are now seen as differences in nature or perspective. This explains the rise of gentler dragons noted by Honegger, Shawn Thomas's conflicted werewolves, and the dual-natured kitsune, sometimes benevolent, sometimes dangerous, featured in modern media.

Delistraty concludes by comparing today's fears to figures like Slenderman and the darker impulses within human nature. And that's the core of it: monsters aren't defined by shape, power, or instinct anymore.

They're defined by character, by the choices they make, and the harm they cause.