The disaster happened on the most beautiful of days. The wind was blowing through the pleasant meadows, sending cherry blossoms drifting through the air like snowflakes. The rich smell after a rainstorm tickled the ex-jester's nostrils as he wandered through the meadow, feeling the warm sun upon his back. Today, for once, was a day in which he did not regret the way things had gone. This was the life, the life of ... well, he didn't know what yet, but for once, a day out here was better than life at the castle. Oh, how quickly that had ended ... he had insulted the king a few too many times for his comfort, and after seeing the monarch cast a leering glance at him, it took Gustav only a split second to decide it was time to walk a different life path. So he had jumped out a window and set out to find one. And what a beautiful day it was! Perfect for looking!

Gustav whistled blithely upon the path, and the bells on his shoes and brightly colored coat jingled merrily to the tune of his boisterous mood. But he stopped abruptly when he saw the deep hole at the roots of a crooked and wizened tree. That hole was massive. So big ... bigger than King Crow's gilded boots. That hole could only have been made by one thing ... Gustav paled. That hole could only be Its home.

All the villagers knew It was there. The old wives and mothers told Its story to their children when they misbehaved. Gustav himself remembered quivering in his little shoes after hearing Its tale. The only consolation was that they had no reason to fear It as of yet. It never left the vast tunnels that it had dug underneath the roots, though people had gone missing in the meadow before.

Gustav gasped and slowly backed away, wondering how he could have been so foolish as to have wandered into Its meadow. Why, of all the meadows in the world, did he set his jingling feet towards this one?

Gustav knew the tales as well as anyone who had grown up in the kingdom of Marny. The fearsome giant badger, Yulio, who resided in the meadows just outside the castle walls. Legend says his size made him a carniviourus beast, and he was once used as a form of death penalty for the sinners of yore. Now, abandoned by the crown and cast out of the castle, he wandered the surrounding fields. When he was young, he was told that Yulio would come and devour him if he strayed too far from home, or did not go to bed on time, or finish his food. As he aged, he thought it little more than childrens' fable. Now, facing down the expansive maw of Yulio's lair, he began to doubt himself.

The air at the mouth of the burrow was damp and carried the sharp scent of earth and old grass. Gustav paused, hand tightening around the small lantern he had brought, its light trembling as much as he was, bells jingling in time with his heartbeat. Somewhere deep within, there came a slow, rhythmic sound—breathing, heavy and deliberate.

He stepped forward despite himself. Each tale he remembered had painted Yulio as a mindless monster, a punishment given fur and teeth. Yet the deeper Gustav went, the more signs he saw that spoke of something else: carefully worn paths, piles of stones stacked against dripping walls, bones picked clean and set aside rather than scattered. This was not chaos. This was habitation.

When the badger finally emerged from the shadows, Gustav’s heart nearly failed him. Yulio was immense, yes—broad as a cart, his striped fur silvered with age—but his dark eyes held no hunger. They studied Gustav with a wary intelligence, as though measuring not his flesh, but his intent.

“You’re not here to run,” Gustav whispered, surprised by his own steadiness.

Yulio snorted softly, a sound almost like a sigh, and lowered his massive head. In that moment, Gustav understood. Monsters were easier to rule than truths. And some legends were built not to warn children of beasts—but to hide the sins of kings.