They walked the next day beneath a soft sky, the air gentle and deceptively peaceful. Training had bruised Aiden's mind, existence had bruised his soul, and walking was finishing off his feet. Progress, apparently. Eventually, the silence became too much to carry.
"Senior?"
"Yes?"
"I have a question… and I already hate that I have to ask it."
"How delightful. Proceed."
Aiden rubbed his temples. "Can… anything wish?"
Senior tilted his head thoughtfully, the way only an ancient, aggravatingly calm fae could. "Clarify 'anything.' Mortals are fond of dramatic exaggeration."
"You know what I mean," Aiden muttered. "People, sure. But what about animals? Spirits? Furniture? A rock that suddenly realizes it hates existing?"
Senior smiled. It was the kind of smile that suggested entertainment at Aiden's suffering was a refined delicacy. "Yes."
"'Yes' like 'haha funny joke,' or yes like 'panic appropriately'?"
Senior's voice became serious in that dignified Fae way that stripped away any doubt that this mattered. "Aiden… wishing is not tied to intelligence. It is tied to awareness and desire. Anything capable of knowing want and lack can wish."
Aiden stared. "…Animals?"
"Yes."
"Spirits?"
"Yes."
"Monsters?"
"Yes."
Aiden hesitated. "…sentient furniture?"
"Rare. Generally tragic. Occasionally hilarious. Yes."
"And a rock?"
"If a rock awakens, realizes it exists, and immediately thinks 'I wish,' then yes."
Aiden sat down in the middle of the road. "I hate this cosmology."
"You will learn to tolerate it," Senior replied politely.
They did not get long to sit with that information, because the universe had terrible timing. A soft, frightened whine echoed down the path. A dog stood there—thin, trembling, one eye cloudy, tail wagging like hope refused to surrender. The wish hit Aiden's soul before he even reached out: please don't hurt me… please don't leave… please let me stay. He swallowed hard. "This doesn't feel like fire."
"No," Senior said quietly. "Not all wishes burn. Some… heal."
Aiden knelt slowly. The dog flinched instinctively, but Aiden froze, hands still, waiting, giving the creature the space to choose. Eventually the dog pressed its head into Aiden's palm, and reality… approved. No chaos. No twisted cost. Just acceptance.
Senior nodded. "Well done. Your first controlled grant."
"I didn't really do anything."
"Often, kindness does not require spectacle."
The dog then sneezed violently into Aiden's open mouth. Aiden gagged while Senior politely turned away to hide laughter.
Aiden wiped his face and scooped the dog up. "…Can I keep him?"
"It is less that you are keeping him," Senior replied, "and more that he has claimed you. Congratulations. You belong to a dog."
For exactly five peaceful minutes, life was warm and soft and tolerable. Then a sound shattered that peace.
Quack.
Aiden froze. "Senior… tell me that was God."
"No. Worse."
From the grass emerged ducks. One. Three. Ten. Twenty-seven. They formed a semicircle around him like a waterfowl council of war and stared—not blinking, not waddling, just silently judging.
"They are here to negotiate," Senior explained pleasantly.
"With who!?"
"You. The universe routed their request to your desk."
The ducks quacked in disciplined unison. Reality vibrated. The wish slammed into Aiden like a parade marching through a cathedral: they wanted to be the most respected beings in the region.
Senior smiled fondly. "Ducks are notoriously ambitious."
The dog put a paw on Aiden's chest, staring at the ducks like a furry voice of reason saying: don't enable them. The ducks took offense. Their feathers puffed. Authority quacking intensified.
"This is training," Senior said calmly. "Shape the wish. Grant without granting supremacy. Balance. Do not burn."
"I hate this!"
"Yes," Senior replied cheerfully. "That is growth."
Aiden closed his eyes and focused. "You will not rule." The ducks sagged miserably. "…But you will be safe." They paused. "…Predators will hesitate. Hunters will doubt. And anyone who mocks you will mysteriously trip into ponds."
The universe considered the request, found it amusing, and accepted. The ducks radiated smug satisfaction, then strutted away proudly like feathered diplomats who had won negotiations. Aiden collapsed backward. "I just negotiated civil rights for ducks."
"Yes," Senior agreed, sounding quite pleased. "And you didn't turn the forest into ash. Progress."
Aiden dragged a hand down his face. "What next? Angry chickens? A resentful badger kingdom? A fish union?"
Senior didn't immediately answer. His voice turned solemn again. "Aiden… one more lesson. Squirrels are… notorious."
"For stealing acorns?" Aiden guessed weakly.
"No. For holding grudges. For remembering every slight for generations. For spreading offense like inherited property. They are bright-eyed archivists of vengeance with extraordinary spatial memory and deeply concerning teamwork."
Leaves rustled above them. Tiny claws scratched bark. Aiden slowly looked up and was met with rows of squirrel eyes staring down in silence like a tribunal of furry judgment. A pinecone dropped behind him with tactical accuracy. He didn't turn. He simply picked the dog up again. "I hate this forest."
Senior sighed, almost fond. "Entire squirrel bloodlines pass down grudges like heirlooms. And when one squirrel wishes… others tend to agree."
The squirrels continued watching. Patient. Focused. Considering reality like it owed them something. Because in their tiny, furious little hearts… a wish was forming.
And the universe smiled. Because this was going to be spectacular.