Running for your life does weird things to your brain.
Like how I was mid-sprint, dodging spell bolts and magical tasers, and still found time to think:Wow, I forgot to return that library book.
Nyra clung to my back like a furry backpack, hissing instructions directly into my ear.
"Left—no, RIGHT! And jump over the glyph trap unless you want your soul inverted!"
"What does that even mean?!"
"Means don't step on the glowing trash lid, dumbass!"
I jumped. The trash lid exploded behind me in a puff of purple smoke and cursing squirrels. Literal, actual squirrels yelling profanities.
This city was so done with my existence.
Five close calls, three illegal portal-hops, and one flying pizza box later, we collapsed in an abandoned arcade behind a shuttered bubble tea shop.
I was sweaty, bruised, and mostly sure my left shoe had developed sentience and left me mid-chase.
Nyra paced across the cracked floor, muttering to herself.
"Why is it always the unprepared ones? 'Oh look, I exploded a lab, better activate a city-wide bounty.' Genius."
"Okay, one, I didn't mean to summon anything. Two, you said I was magically dormant—how was I supposed to know I had a curse installed like sketchy malware?"
"Because I told you. And you didn't listen."
I groaned and leaned back against an old Pac-Man machine. "So what now? What is this curse?"
Nyra stopped, tail flicking. "It's not just a curse. It's a Binding Mark. A seal wrapped around raw, chaotic magic—old stuff. Forbidden stuff. Someone buried power inside you, Vale. And now it's leaking."
"Oh good," I muttered. "I'm a magical leaky faucet."
"More like a ticking nuke with trust issues."
She leapt onto a broken pinball table and stared down at me.
"From now on, you need to keep a low magical profile. No flares. No summoning. No emotions stronger than mild annoyance."
"...Have you met me?"
"Yes. Which is why we're screwed."
I sighed. "What even are you anyway?"
"A familiar."
"No, like, really. What are you?"
Nyra paused, ears twitching. "Let's just say I used to be something a lot scarier than a cat. But I got bound to your bloodline centuries ago. Lucky me."
She gave me a slow blink.
"You're the last Vale, Ezra. That makes you my problem now."
I looked at my hands—still faintly tingling with leftover magic—and exhaled.
"Great. So I'm cursed, hunted, and babysat by a judgmental furball with trauma."
"Exactly. Now eat something. You'll need energy for when the next psycho shows up."
I reached into my bag, pulled out a melted protein bar, and bit it.
Tasted like betrayal.