Gideon Surefoot

I wasn’t born. Not really. I woke. Somewhere in the ruins, under sun-bleached sky and broken glass. Something shifted in the soil, or maybe in the stars. Animyst, they called me—half-creature, half-magic, shaped by the world that broke and kept breaking.

My first memory is hunger. Then heat. Then teeth—mine, someone else’s, I don’t know. I wandered alone, hooves cracked and bleeding, instinct battling something deeper. A need to understand. I knew how to survive before I knew how to speak. Climbing rubble. Finding the softest patch of moss to sleep on. Avoiding anything with metal and eyes

I wandered for a long time. Lived off weeds and rainwater, slept in rusted-out cars, chewed through anything that smelled like warmth. I was alone. Wild. Or close enough to pass for it. People avoided me, mostly. Too sharp in the eyes. Too quiet. Too wrong.

Then the scavengers found me.

They didn’t shoot. Didn’t run. Just stared while I crouched on a half-collapsed roof and stared back. One of them—Jessa—whistled low and held out a hand. She had eyes like storm clouds and grease under her nails. She didn’t flinch when I climbed down, slow and twitchy. Just offered a ration bar and said, “You’re coming with us.”

So I did.

And now I’m here. Camp Hope. Another name that promises more than it delivers. They let me stay because I’m strong, fast, and don’t complain. I haul water. I scale the solar towers to fix the panels no one else can reach. I keep watch when the power dips low. I’m not cuddly. I’m not polite. I still chew through things when I’m anxious, and I can’t stand the sound of electric razors.

But I know how to survive.

Jessa is a farmer that has always helped me out. She has become like a mother to me. Guiding me through this strange world and teaching me my place within the camp.

At first, Dr. Jasper Goyo Vinci wanted nothing to do with me. He called me a hazard, a "walking liability with hooves," after I shorted out a med-bay terminal by chewing through its wiring. He chased me out of his clinic twice with a broom and once with a stun rod—though he missed, and I remember the spark more than the swing. But over time, something changed. Maybe it was the day I dragged a scavenger back to his tent, bleeding from the ribs, or the way I started leaving scavenged herbs by his door after watching him grind them into tinctures. He still mutters when I enter—"Not again" or "Keep your filthy hooves off the instruments"—but he lets me stay. Sometimes, he even talks to me like I understand every word. I think he’s figured out that I do. And now, on quieter days, he gives me old bandages to chew and lets me curl up behind the heater while he works. We’re not friends, not exactly—but he no longer flinches when I nudge his hand with my nose. That feels like enough.

At eighteen, I fell in love for the first time. Her name was Gabriele Bodie Kendal. She was a medical student and had a smile like a sunrise. We’d sneak out to the old water tower and lay under the stars, whispering stupid dreams—building a house on the outskirts, raising chickens that didn’t try to bite. But she wanted normal. Kids. A family. Roots. I couldn’t give her that, not with my half-wild blood and the danger that always followed me. And her family would never accept what I am. So I left her one morning without saying goodbye. She deserved someone who she could walk openly with.

Her name’s Liora, and she came after I ended things with Gabriele—after I’d already learned how much it hurts to let someone in. By the time we crossed paths, I was running low on trust and lower on options. She wore the Solstice Syndicate brand like it was fashion, all swagger and sweet venom, and said she could help me become someone important and powerful. For a while, we made a good team—quick jobs, quiet nights, danger just close enough to feel alive. I knew better than to fall for her, but I did anyway. Should’ve known it was a setup. She bailed right before a deal went bad, left me holding the blame. Now she’s slinking through Camp Hope, all smiles and fake innocence, acting like she owns the place. Spreading rumors, digging at my past, testing the fences for weakness. She’s not here to finish what we started—she’s here to dismantle me piece by piece. And the worst part? I still can’t tell if she’s doing it for the Syndicate or just for the thrill.