The day had finally come.
After a month of hard labor under the oppressive rule of my mother (okay, fine, I helped in the shop and got extra cookies, but still), I was free.
I stepped out of the house, stretched my arms to the sky, and took a deep, dramatic inhale.
"Ahhh! Smell that, Mom? That's the scent of a boy no longer in captivity!"
From inside the shop, Evelyne's voice rang out. "If you call it captivity again, I'm extending your grounding!"
I winced. "Uh—nope! I meant, um—uh—what a lovely month of personal growth and self-improvement!"
A muffled snort from inside.
I grabbed my satchel, slung it over my shoulder, and took one step toward the door. Then stopped, I turned around and peeked back inside.
My mom stood at the counter, folding some freshly sewn garments. She already knew exactly what I was about to say.
"Where are you going, Camden?"
"Just a little trip to the woods! I figured I'd, uh, be helpful and get some firewood for winter!"
She narrowed her eyes. "Uh-huh. And you're telling me this in advance because…?"
I beamed. "So I don't get slipper-ed into next year!"
"…Smart boy."
"Also because I love you."
"Mmhm. How much trouble are you planning to get into?"
"None!"
"Uh-huh."
"Just… normal, responsible forest stuff!"
Evelyne pinched the bridge of her nose. "Camden, I swear—." Before she could change her mind and yank me back inside, I ran out the door.
"LOVE YOU, BYEEE!"
"CAMDEN, GET BACK HERE—!"
Too late, I was already gone.
...
Once I was safely out of the village and deep into the woods, I tilted my head up and whistled a specific tune.
One I had come up with exactly a month ago.
BOOM.
The ground trembled. A rhythmic thudding echoed through the trees, birds fled the treetops, leaves shook.
And then—
From beyond the towering oaks, a massive shadow emerged. A ten-foot-tall man strode forward, grinning like a man who owned the world.
Paul Bunyan had arrived.
"Well, well, well!" He boomed. "Look what the wind dragged in!"
Behind him, Babe the blue ox trotted along, chewing lazily on a mouthful of grass. I beamed up at them.
"'Sup, Paul. 'Sup, Babe."
Babe lifted his head, sniffed me once, then grunted. "Still alive, I see." Paul let out a thunderous laugh, "Barely! I heard your mom about took your head off!"
I grimaced. "Yeah… I, uh, might've underestimated her slipper-throwing range."
"Pfft!" Babe huffed. "Amateur mistake."
I rolled my eyes. "Anyway, I called you 'cause I wanna learn something important." Paul raised a brow. "Oh? And what might that be?"
I puffed my chest out.
"I want you to teach me how to be a man."
Silence.
Babe snorted so hard a piece of grass shot out his nostrils. Paul's massive grin nearly split his face. "Well, why didn't you say so?! Boy, you just made my day!" Babe muttered, "This is gonna be a disaster…"
Lesson 1#
"Alright, kid," Paul said, cracking his knuckles. "First thing's first—posture."
I blinked. "…Posture?"
"A man stands with confidence, lad! Back straight! Chest out! Feet planted like the mighty oaks themselves!"
I straightened my spine.
"Good, good!" Paul nodded approvingly. "Now… cross your arms like this."
I copied his stance.
"Perfect! Now scowl a little—like you've been through things."
I furrowed my brows. "Like this?"
"EXACTLY! Now spit!"
I choked. "What?"
"A man spits to show grit!"
Babe sighed. "Ignore him, kid."
Paul ignored him and spat dramatically onto the dirt. I tried to copy him. …But I wasn't really sure how to spit properly. So I just ended up drooling down my chin.
"Ugh!" I wiped my face. "That was disgusting!" Paul burst into laughter. "Okay, okay! We'll work on that!"
Babe muttered, "Please don't."
Lesson 2#
Paul led me to a fallen tree trunk.
"Alright, Camden," he said, planting his hands on his hips. "Strength is an important part of being a man! So today, I'm gonna teach you how to lift a tree."
I stared at him.
Then stared at the massive log.
Then stared back at him.
"Paul," I said slowly. "I'm a child."
"SO?!"
"I weigh as much as a sack of potatoes!"
"Then lift it like a strong sack of potatoes!"
Babe interjected, "Paul, just let him chop some firewood." Paul couldn't help but frown, "That ain't nearly as cool."
I waved my arms. "Firewood is literally why I came out here!" Paul sighed dramatically. "Fiiiiine. But one day, boy, I will have you lifting trees!" I doubted it.
But I let him dream.
Lesson 3#
After chopping some firewood (and totally not struggling the entire time), I sat on a tree stump while Paul paced in front of me.
"A true man," he said sagely, "must be wise."
I nodded. "Got it. Be wise."
"And what is wisdom, you ask?"
"…What is wisdom?"
Paul grinned. "It's knowing when to talk big, when to fight back, and when to RUN LIKE YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT."
Babe snorted. "Sounds more like survival instincts than wisdom."
"Same thing!"
Paul clapped a massive hand on my shoulder. "Lesson number one: If you ever meet a bear, make yourself look big and yell real loud!"
I blinked. "And that works?"
"Sometimes! But if it doesn't—"
"Run like your life depends on it?"
"EXACTLY!"
"..."
After a long day of training (and carrying firewood while Paul lifted entire trees just to flex), I was exhausted.
The sun had started setting, and it was time to head home. Paul ruffled my hair. "You did good today, kid!"
Babe muttered, "I'm surprised he's still standing."
I grinned. "So, am I a man now?"
Paul stroked his beard. "Well… You're getting there!"
"I'LL TAKE IT!" Laughing, I waved goodbye and headed back to the village, feeling taller, stronger, and wiser. (Okay, mostly just tired.)
And as I neared home, I realized something. 'I had completely forgotten to tell my mom I would be coming back very late'. I stopped in my tracks.
My blood ran cold.
"Oh no."
Behind me, a slipper whizzed through the air, I barely had time to scream.
=
=
[Time moved on]
Time marched forward, and with it, so did my training.
At the wise (questionable) hands of Paul Bunyan, I was molded—shaped—forged into what could only be described as…
A Mini-Man.
I had started this journey at five years old, now, I was eight. Three years of training.
Three years of strength (moderate), wisdom (limited), and survival instincts (absolute).
Three years of Ruby (Red Riding Hood) sneaking out from her mother's bakery just to watch my suffering and provide "emotional support." (She laughed 90% of the time.)
And yet, despite the pain, the sweat, and the occasional slipper to the back of the head from my mother, I endured.
I. Was. A. Mini-Man.
At six years old, my training had officially kicked into full gear. Paul had made a strict schedule. Babe the Blue Ox had looked over it, muttered, "This is insane," and walked away.
But Paul? Paul was determined.
"Camden, a real man must have presence."
I puffed my chest out. "Like this?" Paul nodded. "Almost. Now, put your hands on your hips!" I obeyed.
"Now, look off into the distance like you're thinking about life." I furrowed my brows and squinted at the treetops.
"Perfect! Now… say something deep."
I thought for a moment. Then, I nodded sagely. "…Beans are just little edible rocks."
Silence.
Ruby, who had snuck out with a basket of pastries, choked on a muffin. Babe was slackjawed. "Paul, stop teaching him."
Paul?
Paul looked proud. "That's my boy!"
At six and a half years old, I held my very own personal axe (The previous one doesn't count). It was not as glamorous as I had imagined. Paul handed me a smaller version of his own legendary axe and slapped me on the back.
"Alright, Camden! Time to chop some wood!"
I nodded confidently. "Got it!"
I lifted the axe and swung the axe…And immediately collapsed from the weight. Ruby, sitting on a tree stump, burst into laughter.
Paul winced. "Uh. We'll work on that."
At seven years old, I had graduated from "twig-armed" to "slightly stronger twig-armed." Paul had one goal that year:
"Camden, you need muscle." I frowned. "I have muscle." Paul poked my arm. I flexed and as expected, nothing happened.
Paul sighed. "We got work to do."
After a year of eating my vegetables (forced by Evelyne), lifting things (mostly loaves of bread at Ruby's bakery), and running for my life (mostly from my mom's slippers), I was ready.
Paul set a log in front of me. I held my axe with all the strength I could muster. Ruby held up a scorecard she had made. "I give it three seconds before you fail."
I ignored her. Paul crossed his arms and said, "Alright, Camden! Swing with your whole body!"
I took a deep breath and raised the axe. With all my might I brought it down.
CRACK!
The log split clean in half. Paul let out a roar of victory, "HE DID IT!"
Babe, the ever disapproving ox muttered, "It's literally one log." Ruby however looked genuinely impressed. "Huh. Didn't expect that."
I, meanwhile, had fallen to my knees, gasping for air. Paul clapped me on the back. "You're getting stronger, Camden!"
I weakly gave a thumbs-up. Ruby handed me a croissant from her basket.
"Here," she said. "For your efforts."
By the time I was nearing eight, Paul decided it was time to focus on the wisdom of a man.
Which, according to him, was mostly "knowing things." So, naturally, our lessons took a very educational turn.
"Camden," Paul said seriously. "The forest is full of dangerous creatures. Do you know what to do when facing them?"
I nodded. "Run?"
"Good answer! But let's get specific!"
He clapped his hands together.
"Scenario one: You meet a bear. What do you do?"
I straightened up. "Make myself look big and scream real loud!" Paul beamed. "YES! And if that doesn't work?"
"RUN LIKE MY LIFE DEPENDS ON IT."
"PERFECT!"
Ruby, eating a cinnamon roll, sighed. "This feels like survival training for idiots."
"Scenario two!" Paul continued. "You meet a wolf. What do you do?" I thought for a moment. "Is it the same wolf that tried to eat Ruby?"
"Yes."
"Throw a rock at him."
Paul snorted, "Acceptable! But you could do better!"
Ruby cheered. "YES! Rock justice!"
Babe muttered, "You're all hopeless." [A/N: Hopeless indeed]
On the eve of my eighth birthday, Paul gathered me and Ruby for one final lesson.
He stood before us, arms crossed, beard flowing majestically in the wind.
"Camden," he said seriously. "You have trained for three years. You have faced challenges, trials, and your mother's wrath."
I nodded. "All true."
"You have grown stronger. Wiser. Taller."
I beamed. "A whole two inches!"
"YES!"
Paul placed a massive hand on my shoulder.
"You, Camden, are no longer just a boy."
I held my breath.
"You… are a Mini-Man."
Ruby burst into laughter. "PFFFFT—" Babe let out a long sigh.
And me? I stood tall. For I was Camden, I was Mini-Man.
=.=.=
=.=
=
[Evelyne's POV]
The day started like any other.
The morning sun peeked over the hills, casting golden light onto the rooftops of our quiet village. The bakery was already bustling, with the scent of warm bread drifting through the streets.
Children ran about, laughing and playing, while the blacksmith's hammer rang out in rhythmic clangs. It was peaceful—just as it had been for the last eight years.
But peace never lasted forever.
I stood behind the counter of my small tailor shop, folding a freshly stitched tunic when I heard the sound of hoofbeats.
Not the casual trot of a passing merchant's horse. No, these were heavy ,rhythmic and organized. My hands froze and my heartbeat quickened.
I stepped to the window, peering past the rows of linen and embroidery.
That's when I saw them, a troop of silver-armored knights rode into the village.
Their polished armor gleamed under the sun, their blue banners billowing in the wind. They moved in formation, methodical and unwavering. The villagers—who had been tending to their morning chores—stilled.
Conversations died. Farmers paused mid-shovel. Even the rowdy children fell silent.
The lead knight, a broad-shouldered man with a crested helmet, pulled his horse to a stop before the village square.
The moment his boots touched the ground, his voice thundered.
"We seek a woman named Evelyne. Bring her forth immediately."
A hush fell over the crowd. My name rang through the village like a death knell, but no one moved. No one spoke.
A few villagers glanced my way—subtle flickers of concern—but they said nothing.
The old miller, a kind man who had lived in this village since before I arrived, stepped forward. He wiped his flour-dusted hands on his apron and tilted his head.
"Evelyne, you say?" he mused, stroking his beard. "Can't say I know such a woman."
The knight's gaze hardened. "Do not play games with me, old man."
Another villager, Martha the baker, chimed in, her arms crossed. "We have plenty of women in this village. You'll have to be more specific."
The knight's patience thinned. His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword.
"Do not test my mercy."
That was when I stepped forward.
I didn't run nor did I hide. If they were here, it meant my past had finally caught up to me.
As I walked, the villagers' eyes filled with silent pleas. Some shook their heads subtly, urging me to stay hidden. But I refused to let them suffer for my sake.
I emerged from my shop, stepping onto the cobbled street.
"I am Evelyne."
The moment I spoke, the lead knight spun toward me.
I recognized him immediately.
Beneath his helmet, streaks of gray ran through his once-dark hair. Deep scars lined his jaw—a testament to battles fought in my absence. But his sharp eyes, full of duty and devotion, were the same as I remembered.
"…Commander Aldric."
His breath hitched. Then, to the shock of every villager, the hardened knight dropped to one knee.
"Your Highness."
A ripple of gasps spread through the crowd. Whispers erupted—hushed, disbelieving murmurs.
"Did he just say—?"
"Highness? But Evelyne is—"
"I knew she was different, but—"
I kept my face impassive. "Rise, Aldric. I am no queen."
He hesitated, then obeyed, his armor clinking as he stood. With a steady voice, he announced:
"By the order of His Majesty, the King, you are to return to the palace at once."
Silence.
I had escaped. I had hidden. I had built a life for myself, far from the chains of nobility. But in the end… They had still found me. And worse—
Aldric wasn't finished.
"Furthermore," he continued, his voice carrying through the village, "the Crown Prince is to return as well."
I squared my shoulders. "I have no intention of returning."
Aldric's jaw tightened. "You must."
"No," I said firmly. "I must not."
Aldric exhaled slowly, regaining his composure. "Your Majesty, with all due respect, this is not a request. His Highness has commanded it."
I scoffed. "And since when do I follow his commands?" A flicker of hesitation crossed Aldric's face. I could feel the villagers' eyes on me. Their confusion, their unspoken questions.
Evelyne, the tailor—a princess? The wife of the King? And Camden—a prince?
The truth had been unearthed, ripped from the shadows where I had buried it. I looked Aldric in the eye. "I refuse."
His lips pressed into a thin line. He hadn't expected this to be easy. Slowly, he gestured to his men, the knights dismounted.
"We will not force you," Aldric said. "But we will wait."
With that, his men set up camp outside the village gates.
Hours passed. I did not move from my shop. The villagers did not press me for answers, but I could feel their silent support.
Even though I had hidden my past, they stood by me. As the sun began to dip in the sky, I heard soft footsteps at the village gate. A familiar, excited voice.
"I'm back!"
I looked up. There, standing at the entrance, was Camden. Flowers tangled in his hair. A handful of blossoms clutched in his small hands.
His face bright with joy.
But the moment he saw the village—saw the grim expressions, the knights at the gate, the heavy weight in the air—his smile faded.
His golden eyes, full of life, flickered with confusion.
"…Mom?"
I swallowed hard.
For the first time in years, I did not know what to say.
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