The sun had just cleared the horizon, painting the fields gold, and Ronald was kneeling by the carrot patch, feeling the soil between his fingers. Aeris grazed lazily nearby, and the little leaf-winged crow-totem fluttered over the soil, humming softly as its magic seeped in.
Above him, Corvo perched on the roof in human form, arms crossed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Well?" he asked, leaning forward. "Have you thought of a proper name yet? Something… epic?"
Ronald wiped sweat from his brow and gave a tired chuckle. "I'm not sure I want an epic name. That's your department, remember? You've been torturing me for days with them."
"Oh, nonsense," Corvo said, waving a hand theatrically. "I've got more where that came from. How about Ronald the Supreme Overseer of Fertile Horizons, First of the Carrot Rows, Guardian of All Living Soil and Whisperer of Airborne Seeds?"
Ronald groaned loudly. "Stop. Just stop. I… I can't even say that in one breath."
Corvo leaned back, tilting his head, five-colored eyes glinting with mischief. "Fine. Fine, I give up. You win. The mortal gets naming rights. You may name yourself."
Ronald blinked. "Really?"
"Really. Just keep the title I gave you," Corvo said with a shrug. "Corvus Amicus — you're still my friend, and that stays. The rest? Whatever your heart desires."
A small smile tugged at Ronald's lips. "Alright… I think I can live with that."
Corvo flapped into his tiny crow form, hopping onto the ground beside him. "Good. Take your time. Names are important. They stick."
The leaf-winged totem twitched its wings, almost as if agreeing.
Ronald leaned back on his heels, looking at his farm, his companions, and the little glowing totem. "Guess I'll figure out the rest slowly. For now… I'm just me. And I've got Corvus Amicus to make it official."
Corvo cawed softly, the sound more like a laugh. "That's the spirit. Now go on — dig, plant, craft. The world won't wait, even for someone who refuses to have a grandiose name."
And so, with a quiet chuckle and a warm sense of freedom, Ronald continued his morning, letting the farm, the animals, and the tiny crow-totem guide the day — the title Corvus Amicus marking him as a friend of the cosmic traveler, while his heart and hands shaped the rest of his identity.
The morning breeze drifted through the fields, carrying the earthy scent of tilled soil and growing life. Ronald — still nameless beyond the title Corvus Amicus — stood beside Corvo near the pond, watching the trickster god-crow carve into a smooth length of maple wood.
"See," Corvo said, his fingers glowing faintly with green and brown light, "this is Wood Affinity Crafting. Not the fancy kind, just a touch of mana guiding the carving. Nothing divine, promise."
He winked, and a faint shimmer pulsed through the air as the shape began to form. Bit by bit, the block of wood turned into something that looked like a crow — but not quite. Its wings were carved like layered leaves, and its body had the texture of living bark, grooves flowing like veins.
When Corvo finished, he held it out proudly. "There. A Totem of Verdant Renewal. It'll help your soil — slowly, mind you. Absorbs a bit of wood and water mana from the air, and seeps it back into the ground."
Ronald accepted it carefully, feeling faint warmth in the wood. "It's beautiful," he said honestly.
Corvo preened, feathers ruffling even in human form. "Naturally. My craftsmanship is flawless."
"Does it do anything else?"
"Not yet. It'll… hm. Grow, I suppose. Think of it like a sapling. It might take seasons, even years, but eventually it'll start listening."
"Listening?" Ronald frowned.
"Mm. All good creations wake up eventually," Corvo said with a sly grin. "Some take a while to hear the world."All creations need time to grow.
He didn't elaborate any further, and Ronald didn't ask. Instead, he placed the totem near his main field, planting it in the soil. The leaf-carved wings fluttered once in the wind — or maybe it was just a trick of the light.
For now, it was still.
Later that evening, as the sun dipped low and the farm glowed in amber hues, Ronald sat with Corvo by the campfire. The air was rich with the smell of roasted vegetables and smoked meat — the crow god had caught another wolf, declaring it "payment for hospitality."
Between mouthfuls, Corvo continued to pester him about names.
"What about Ronaldius the Verdant Vanguard? Or Sir Soilbender the Third?"
Ronald nearly choked on his food. "Stop! Please. You're worse than a random name generator."
"Worse?" Corvo gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. "I'll have you know I was worshipped as a god of artistry once! There was a cult of poets that dedicated entire hymns to my—"
"Corvo."
"—divine sense of rhythm and rhyme—"
"Corvo."
The Chaotic crow looked up, smirking.He was definitely living up to his title.
Ronald sighed and smiled despite himself. "You're impossible."
"And you're officially boring," Corvo shot back, laughing. "Fine, farmer. Keep your plain name. But at least you've earned a title: Corvus Amicus. That one's eternal."
The two shared a laugh as the fire crackled, sparks drifting toward the stars.
Behind them, half-buried in soil, the totem stood quietly — unmoving, unblinking. But for a moment, just as the wind shifted, a faint pulse of green light shimmered beneath its carved bark.
Then it stilled again.
It would be many weeks before anyone noticed it was growing.