If I had to choose between fighting a fire-breathing dragon or sitting through another of Mistress Cecile’s etiquette lessons, I’d honestly have to really think about it. Her sharp nose always entered the room before she did, and the tightly pulled gray bun that gave her a permanent facelift always followed. Her voice was sharp enough to cut marble, and her eyes missed nothing, not a shoulder slouched by a single millimeter, not a misplaced finger on a teacup.
The lessons on table manners and formal correspondence weren’t too bad. Arranging silverware in perfect symmetry, then crafting flowery letters with just the right amount of deference, reminded me of the diplomatic protocol taught to civil servants back in my old life. I reckon every society ends up creating similar rules to avoid upsetting visiting dignitaries, since they make the most amount of sense.
What really got to me, though, were the excruciating posture and voice exercises. Standing upright for hours with three heavy books balanced on my head made my muscles ache more than any combat training I’d ever done. Some days, I practiced projecting my voice over any feast or battlefield with such intensity that I couldn’t talk the next day. And then there was dancing. That was the absolute worst offender. I suppose, in a world starved for entertainment, this was it. I was forced to learn hundreds of precise steps. Each one was marked with chalk on the shiny marble floor until my paw pads were covered in blisters. At least Luciana beamed with delight at having a reluctant partner to twirl around the ballroom. Oh well, I live to serve. From 9 to 5, that is.
Time passed. Weeks shifted to months as scarlet and amber leaves fell and wrapped the cobblestone streets. The first snow followed, covering Academy Town and making it resemble a garden of ice sculptures. Municipal workers in lilac uniforms walked the streets with wide shovels, directing the snow toward iron manholes embedded with mana crystals, melting it instantly with a satisfying hiss into the town’s elaborate sewage system.
My days settled into yet another routine. Every other morning, I trained alone or with Uncle Flo on his days off until my muscles burned. My afternoons belonged to Luciana. I spent that time playing games I made with her or suffering together under Mistress Cecile’s precarious watch. When I got home, Aunt Estrah always left me a stack of homework. I spent my evenings at my desk, reading books and magic scrolls by candlelight to get ready for the Academy entrance exams. Suffice it to say, I kept myself busy.
One especially nippy afternoon, we were playing backgammon by the fireplace in Luciana’s playroom. The polished round pieces clicked satisfyingly against the inlaid wooden board when, out of the blue, she looked up at me through her long lashes with a dubious intent. Her fingers lingered on a black piece as she asked, “Zar, would you mind visiting the Cathedral with me this evening? Normally, I wouldn’t have asked…” Her voice was uncharacteristically hesitant as it trailed off.
“Sure thing,” I replied, moving my piece with a decisive click. “To be honest, I’ve wanted to visit it for quite a while. The way the sunset light shines through those stained windows must be breathtaking. But between my work, training, and studies, I never had the chance.”
“You have?” Her eyebrows arched delicately as she leaned forward, the scent of rose water wafting from her silk sleeves. “I would never have guessed you were interested in such things.”
“Well, duh,” I said with a half-smile. “Why wouldn’t I be interested? I’m applying to a theology course at the Academy after all.” The dice rolled from my hand, landing on double sixes a second time.
Luciana’s dark eyes widened, and she tilted her head, golden curls cascading over one shoulder as she studied me like a puzzle with new pieces. The porcelain teacup beside her sat forgotten, wisps of steam curling into the air between us. “You always manage to surprise me.” Her voice mellowed. “I thought you’d study magic, maybe even pursue a double major in the knight course.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the tension from hours of balancing books once more. “Nah, I don’t really like fighting,” I declared, watching the firelight dance across the backgammon pieces. “But I do plan to double major in theology and magic with a focus on healing spells.” My claws tapped thoughtfully against my temples. “I visited the Temple for the Goddess of Balance before, a truly beautiful building, but people there left… a hollow impression, which made me question whether I’d belong. So I’m fairly enthusiastic to check out the Church for the God of Order and see what the clergy there is like.”
Luciana’s fingers traced the rim of her forgotten teacup, her golden signet ring catching the light. “I think I understand what you are getting at.” Her voice was soft. Her eyes, usually bright with mischief, now held a faraway look. “Everyone in my family wears the silver scales of the Goddess of Balance. My mother, however…” She touched a small pendant of what must have been a golden shield hidden beneath her collar. “She raised me to favor the God of Order. So I am a bit of a black sheep in my family when it comes to spiritual beliefs.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, fragile as frost. “It is because of her I want to visit today, it’s… the anniversary of her death, and I want to light a red candle, her favorite, and offer a prayer on her behalf.”
I reached across the board, my paw gently covering her trembling hand. “It would be my honor to accompany you.” My voice was gentle, matching the warmth of her skin against my fur.
After enduring another of Mistress Cecile’s light torture sessions, during which my spine threatened mutiny against her wooden posture rod, we gathered in the estate’s marble foyer. Luciana arrived with her customary entourage for venturing outside: the loyal butler Gieffroy, her hulking bodyguard Willame, armed to the teeth just like the first time we met back at the toy store, and a pair of maids, Marie and Alesia, identical in their burgundy uniforms but opposites in demeanor. Marie was perpetually scowling, and Alesia was always suppressing a smile.
As we stepped outside, winter’s teeth bit through our cloaks. The sunshine proved deceptively bright yet offered no hint of warmth. We scrambled into the carriage, its velvet seats felt stiff with cold, our breath formed little ghost clouds that dissipated against the glass windows.
The Cathedral appeared from between Academy Town’s snow-dusted buildings after a fifteen-minute journey over cobblestones that rattled my bones. It was not centrally located like the Academy’s main campus, nor was it relegated to the fog-shrouded outskirts that hugged the town’s outer wall. The God of Order, it seemed, preferred the respectable middle ground, accessible to all.
Before us emerged a behemoth of pale limestone, seeming to absorb the late afternoon light rather than reflect it. Dozens of stained glass windows punctuated its facade like jewels set in stone. Each depicted scenes from sacred texts. The main rotunda soared at least thirty meters skyward. Behind it, a central spire rose even higher, flanked by twin towers with impressive bell chambers visible through wide openings. Most striking was the main entrance. A massive arch inverted at its apex to form the distinctive shape of God’s shield, beckoning worshippers into its protective embrace.
Upon arrival, in a practiced arrangement, we exited the carriage and proceeded inside, where the temperature shifted from winter’s bite to the gentle warmth of countless candles. My breath caught in my throat. Massive, intricate columns of polished limestone spiraled upward like petrified trees, supporting a dome painted with celestial scenes that seemed to breathe with the flickering candlelight.
Warm reds and oranges from stained glass bathed the eastern half of the space in sunset hues. Cool blues and greens washed over the western side like ocean depths. Incense hung in the air, sandalwood and myrrh, tickling my sensitive nose. In some ways, the Cathedral felt more reserved than the Temple for the Goddess of Balance. In others, it coursed with an even more vibrant energy.
A priest in ash-gray robes noticed us, his creased face impassive as he bowed slightly but didn’t approach. It seemed the custom here was to pray in solitude. Luciana picked a blood-red candle from an ornate wooden box at the entrance, though it offered others in ivory, midnight blue, and forest green, each color surely carrying its own symbolic weight. With no other choice, I mirrored her actions, the wax cool and smooth against my padded palm, and followed her to a small alcove with a mosaic of the God of Order extending his shield over a huddled family.
The maids remained at the entrance. Their burgundy uniforms resembled wine stains against the pale stone wall. Gieffroy in his stead selected an ivory candle and disappeared into his own alcove, while Willame positioned himself at a respectful distance, his hand never straying far from his sword hilt as his eyes methodically scanned the cathedral’s shadowy corners.
Luciana knelt gracefully on a crimson velvet pillow before a golden shrine inlaid with what appeared to be mother-of-pearl. She gestured for me to join her, my fur brushing against the cool stone floor as I made myself comfortable beside her. With delicate fingers, she placed her blood-red candle on a brass pedestal worn smooth by countless devotees before us. After I positioned mine alongside hers, she reached for one of the already lit tapers, its flame dancing hypnotically in the draft. The warm light caught in her eyes as she leaned forward, igniting my candle first instead of her own.
“The tradition,” she whispered, barely perceptible over the cathedral’s reverent hush, “is to bring someone dear and share a memory of the departed. This way, they live on in more hearts than just our own.” I nodded, my whiskers twitching in the fragrant air, and on her cue, I lit her candle as well.
She told me of one spring afternoon when she and her mother slipped away from royal obligations, seeking refuge in the castle’s kitchens. Together, they pressed cookie dough into shapes, dusting each other with flour until laughter left them breathless and their cheeks glowing. “I remember the kitchen smelled of cinnamon and cloves,” Luciana said softly, her eyes glistening in the candlelight. “Just like her perfume, and when I bit into a cookie, it was so soft and chewy, the sugar crystals crunched between my teeth.” There was no deeper meaning to that story. It was just a fond memory.
"Do you have a story?" she asked, the candle flames reflecting twin points of light in her expectant gaze.
I hesitated, my claws clicking softly against the stone floor. “I never knew my parents,” I finally admitted, watching our shadows dance together on the wall. “They passed when I was still blind and whimpering. But I was told they were a pair of rangers. Protectors, who saved lives.” Luciana nodded solemnly, seemingly satisfied with my offering, and closed her eyes, her lips moving in silent prayer.
Not knowing any prayers yet, I improvised and prayed to Jerome of all people. I was not certain if he’d heard me from whatever cosmic perch he occupied, but I wanted to let him know once more how much I appreciated him putting me in this body and on this path. It was truly a marvelous adventure I was having thus far, and it only just begun. At some point, my prayer melted into meditation. I inhaled deeply through my nose, my pointed ears swiveling to catch every sound, concentrating on the sensory tapestry around me, trying to eliminate each thread one by one to weave myself into a state of perfect calm.
The echoing footsteps of priests and other worshipers reverberated off limestone walls. A gentle wind whistled through the mighty hall, making the candle flames dance. Incense, woody and aromatic, tickled my receptive nostrils. Then something metallic, rust-like, with the unmistakable greasy scent of lanolin oil from sheep’s wool used to polish… weapons? Wait, what?
My fur bristled, each hair standing on end like tiny soldiers at attention. I opened my eyes, carefully rising to my padded feet so as not to disturb Luciana’s reverent posture, and moved silently toward the gray-robed priest I’d noticed earlier at the entrance.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Pardon the interruption, sir,” I whispered, keeping my voice muted enough that it wouldn’t echo in the vaulted chamber. “Is the Cathedral hosting a knight’s order or some other group of armed pilgrims today?”
“No, my child,” he murmured, the scent of mint tea on his breath, “nothing of the sort. Why do you ask?”
I dipped my furred head in a short bow, tail swishing anxiously behind me. “My deepest apologies, but urgent matters require my attention.” I retreated with deliberate casualness, then slipped through patches of colored light toward Willame. His eyes narrowed as I approached, clearly reading my tension.
“Sir Willame,” I hissed under my breath, my ears flattened against my skull, “I believe we’ve walked into an ambush. The scent of weapon oil hangs dense in the air, not just any maintenance oil, but the greasy lanolin kind, and beneath it, the unmistakable copper tang of blood.”
Willame’s eyes whittled to slits, his jaw tightening as he processed my warning. A single, almost imperceptible nod. We glided toward Luciana, her golden hair gleaming in the cathedral’s kaleidoscope light. Willame’s calloused hands grazed her silk-draped shoulder as he bent close, his whisper rough as sandpaper, “My lady, danger lurks in these shadows. We must flee.”
She rose in one fluid motion, the velvet pillow collapsing with a soft thump beneath her. In small formation, we crept toward the arched entrance, our footfalls muffled against worn stone, but as we rounded a limestone column, five figures appeared from the incense-thick air. Their hooded faces were obscured in shadow, but their eyes, cold and predatory, locked onto us with unmistakable purpose. Their cloaks parted like theater curtains, revealing lackluster chainmails that caught no light and curved short swords with blackened blades.
Willame’s fingers flew to his side, unbuttoning one of his sheathed short swords with practiced speed, then he pressed the weapon into my paw, its weight unfamiliar yet comforting, while his other hand drew his greatsword with a whisper of steel against leather.
An abrupt wet thud echoed. The tallest assailant jerked like a marionette with cut strings, crumpling to the stone floor as crimson bloomed across his neck around a steel throwing knife. My gaze traced its path to a glimpse of burgundy fabric already disappearing behind a corner. One of our ‘maids’, it seems, revealed her true skills just now.
The remaining four charged forward, boots scraping against the ancient floor. The nearest attacker veered right only to be slammed against a wall by Gieffroy, his manicured fists now pummeling the assassin’s face. The other two descended upon Willame, their blades singing through the air as they met his greatsword with a grating clang that desecrated the cathedral’s reverent silence. The last assassin, a woman with eyes cold as a winter sea, pivoted toward me, her blade describing lazy, confident circles in the air between us.
The sword’s unfamiliar weight tugged at my wrist as I drew it, keeping the leather sheath gripped in my left paw. It was not my weapon of choice, but we trained with Uncle Flo in using daggers, and I remembered some escrima techniques from my past life. Assassin’s blade whistled past my whiskers as I twisted away, my tail whipping for balance. I angled the sheath to deflect her second strike, but she coiled like a serpent, her knee rocketing in a curve toward my ribs.
With barely a split second to spare, my elbow went down, knee up, creating a living brace. The impact rattled my teeth, pain exploding through my side despite my attempt to block the attack. My padded feet skidded across stone as I stumbled backward, lungs straining for air that wouldn’t come. Through watering eyes, I saw her blade already arcing toward my throat with relentless pursuit.
I had no options, I raised my fist, forming the connection with my ring, and yelled, “[Wind Gust!]” Mana surged from an enclosed crystal, and a strong wind current blasted from my fist, catching the assassin in mid-air. Her body lifted, suspended for one heartbeat before slamming into the limestone wall with a loud thud, presumably knocking her unconscious.
“More are coming from the east side!” I heard the familiar voice of Marie, the maid, question mark.
“West side too!” Alesia’s voice followed. I guess neither of them was a simple maid.
“Damn it!” Willame growled, locking blades with his opponent, veins bulging in his neck. “Get them out, Gieffroy! Now!”
Gieffroy’s knuckles dripped red as he snatched Willame’s second short sword from its sheath. His fingers closed around Luciana’s silk sleeve, yanking her toward the exit. I followed closely. A sudden change in ambient temperature made it hard to catch my breath as frosty air burned my lungs and sliced through my fur. Our carriage waited where we left it, horses stamping nervously, but three more menacing figures stepped out from behind it.
My ring finger tingled as I thrust my paw forward. “[Wind Gust!]” The mana surged once more, and the air before me compressed, then exploded outward. The nearest assassin’s feet slid on the icy ground, his hood flying back to reveal wide, terrified eyes before he crashed into a merchant’s empty stall a good distance away.
Gieffroy’s blade clashed against the assassin’s weapons. “Take her and run, hide!” His voice cracked with urgency. I clutched Luciana’s trembling hand, and my gaze scanned the area. It was a small square, a few roads and alleys leading in and out. I chose one at random, and we ran towards it. Behind what appeared to be a butcher’s shop, we followed a narrow path that connected to another street. As the merchant stalls grew denser, a few people passed us by, their eyes wide open from surprise, but there was little hope they could be of any help against trained assassins.
“She is here, after her!” The guttural shout echoed off the walls as heavy footfalls thundered closer. Beside me, Luciana's breath came in ragged gasps, her golden hair plastered to her forehead. She can’t run much longer. Think, think. Yes, got it. I darted left into another alley, whispering “[Move. Create fog cloud.]” Cool mist erupted from my paws, enveloping us in swirling gray and temporarily hiding us from sight. Next, my sword tip scraped against iron, finding the groove of a manhole. I wedged the blade in and heaved, straining until the cover groaned open.
“Quickly, down there,” I whispered. The fetid stench already wafted up from below.
Her face contorted in disgust, nostrils flaring. “Where, in the sewers? Are you mad?” Her silk dress shimmered in the dim light, pristine fabric about to meet filth.
“Do you want to live?” My ears twitched, catching the sound of boots scraping stone not twenty paces away.
With a silent protest written in the tight line of her lips, she gathered her skirts and lowered herself into the darkness. I followed, my claws scraping against iron as I dragged the heavy manhole cover shut above us with a hollow clang that reverberated through the dank underworld.
Above us, boots scraped against cobblestones. “Where are they? I don’t see shit in this fog.” The muffled voice echoed down through the iron lid, followed by angry muttering that faded as they moved away.
Ankle-deep in murky water that reeked of human waste and rotting things, I squinted through the darkness, trying to make sense of the branching tunnels ahead. Rats scurried away from our intrusion, their tiny claws clicking against stone. Luciana instinctively wrapped her hands around my arm, in some futile attempt to seek shelter from these vermin.
“Ok, we were running eastward, that makes this ladder… northbound,” I whispered, my nose twitching at the assault of putrid odors. “The flow should lead us beneath the city center. From there, I think we can find the drainage outlet near the park and make our way to the estate."
Luciana’s face was ghostly in what little light shone through the grate above. “You think?” Her silk slippers were already ruined, dark stains creeping up the hem of her once-pristine dress.
“I hope,” I admitted, ears flattening against my skull. “Let’s go before they think to search below.”
We trudged ahead through the murky tunnel. The putrid water gradually cleared from brown to a cloudy, gray-green, and the stench faded from unbearable to merely unpleasant. Once in a while, we had to vault over a separator of sorts, part of a water filtration system, if I had to guess. After about ten minutes of navigating this subterranean maze, the cramped passage suddenly opened into a vast underground chamber.
Crystal-clear water cascaded from an enormous copper pipe overhead, the sound of its splashing creating an almost musical resonance throughout the chamber. The falling water got collected in a central cistern before being channeled through a dozen stone-lined aqueducts that disappeared into dark archways, presumably feeding different quarters of the town above. Whatever the cistern couldn’t contain spilled over its limestone edges and rushed toward another massive pipe at our level, its mouth a perfect black circle leading to unknown depths.
Luciana's hand shot out, catching my shoulder. “Wait,” she whispered, her once-regal voice now raspy from exertion. “I need to wash my… everything.” Her once-pristine dress hung in tatters around her knees, sewage clinging to the golden embroidery. “Please, it will take just a moment.”
I nodded, my whiskers twitching at the lingering stench clinging to my own fur. “Fine, just a few minutes though.” The translucent water beckoned irresistibly. I joined her at the cistern’s edge, plunging my arms into the icy current and splashing my face. Beside me, Luciana gathered her skirts, revealing one bare foot, pale and delicate against the rough stone.
“Don’t laugh,” she muttered, catching my gaze. Her cheeks flushed pink beneath streaks of dirt. “I noticed it a while back, but didn’t have the heart to look for it… in that filth.”
“Nah, I get it,” I said, pouring water between my toe pads. “Ok, we gotta go, before…” The words died in my throat as golden light flickered across the chamber walls. My ears swiveled toward the source, heart pounding hard against my ribs as a familiar silhouette emerged from the shadows, a torch held high.
“Bastien?”
His torchlight cast dancing shadows across his face. “Hey… Zar, was it?” Bastien’s eyes narrowed in faint recognition. “Well, damn.” His voice echoed off the damp stone walls. “I am really sorry, kid. I guess after this job, I’ll have to skip town. Your godmother will surely hunt me down and skin me alive if I stay.” Metal scraped against leather as he unsheathed his sword, a broad, nicked blade that caught the torchlight in wicked glints as he advanced, each footfall splashing in the shallow water.
“But why, you are a town guard, aren’t you?” My voice cracked. He didn’t respond, his eyes cold as ice, pupils constricted to pinpoints. The air between us seemed to thicken with his murderous intent. There was no point in explaining anything to us if we were already dead in his mind.
My gaze darted desperately across his imposing figure, steel plate armor encasing him from waist to ankle, leaving no gap or weak spot to exploit. He towered over me, his shoulders twice the width of mine, arms corded with muscle earned through years of combat training. No way I can defeat him in a sword fight.
I thrust my paw forward. “[Wind gust!]” I yelled. Bastien’s torchlight flickered and died, but his silhouette barely swayed, advancing with the steady rhythm of executioner’s footsteps.
My tail bristled. Behind me, Luciana’s breath came in shallow gasps. Hopelessly, I scanned the area. Nowhere to run, no exits… or is there?
“Take a deep breath, as much as you can,” I whispered to Luciana. Her chest expanded beside me. I gripped my sword and hurled it. Metal shrieked against metal as Bastien deflected it, his stance faltering for half a heartbeat. I, taking that momentary opportunity, lunged for Luciana, grabbing her with both hands and jumping into the dark, cold water.
The ice-cold current seized us like a predator, tumbling us through the pipe’s twisting gullet and spinning us through darkness. My shoulder slammed against metal, then again. Luciana’s fingers clutched my arm, then went slack. My chest convulsed demanding for air, my lungs burned as if they were on fire, and tiny sparks started to dance behind my eyelids. It felt like an eternity before, suddenly, the pipe vanished beneath us. We shot into empty air, the wind whistling past my flattened ears, but I had not even a chance to inhale before smacking against the water floor below us.
Impact burst through my bones like lightning. My vision exploded into white stars, but darkness wasn’t an option. Not now. Not with her at my side. Clawing upward through the churning black, Luciana’s deadweight dragging at my arms, I fought the water with every desperate kick. When I finally broke the surface, a ragged gasp tore my throat raw. Between hacking coughs that sprayed water from my lungs, I dragged her limp form toward a stone ledge, heaving her body onto it before collapsing beside her.
Luciana’s lips turned blue, and her chest lay still. I pressed trembling claws to her neck. Nothing. “No, no, NO!” I snarled, positioning her head back. My muzzle awkwardly covered her mouth as I forced air into her waterlogged lungs. One rescue breath. Three. Five. I slammed my paws against her sternum, counting desperately through thirty compressions, feeling ribs bend beneath my weight. Still nothing.
Panic climbed up my spine. I breathed for her again, and again. I slammed my fist down again, harder, brutal compressions that probably cracked something inside of her. "Breathe, damn you!" My vision tunneled, darkening at the edges, when almost inexplicably, violently, she convulsed, water erupting from her mouth as she gasped and retched back into the world of the living.
I collapsed on my back, finally managing to take a long, long, deep breath of my own, just for myself. The air was sweet, with a taste of moss and ancient stone. Minutes have passed. Luciana was still recovering, her teeth chattered, her breathing was heavy, and she was shivering just like me. The drip-drip-drip of water from our clothes echoed in the cavernous space until the silence was shattered by a thunderous voice that seemed to shake the very stones beneath us.
“Well, well, well. Human and wolfkin children, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
With no strength to jump up, I slid to my side, sodden fur clinging to my trembling limbs. I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. A gigantic form peered from the darkness, its scales gleaming like polished obsidian where they caught the cavern’s phosphorescent light. Each scale was the size of a dinner plate, overlapping in perfect geometric patterns across its massive neck. Amber eyes with vertical pupils fixed on us, unblinking and ancient, while wisps of sulfurous steam wreathed from nostrils large enough to swallow my head.
“Holy blue, Zar, this is a dragon,” Luciana whispered, her voice cracking as she clutched my arm with fingers gone white at the knuckles. A hysterical laugh bubbled in my throat. Those etiquette lessons sure seemed rather appealing now compared to this.
