Nymia

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Nymia

Your story starts here

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The autumn summoning ceremony had packed the central hall of Helios Royal University of Magic past capacity. Hundreds of floating lamps drifted beneath the vaulted ceiling. Second-years waited around the summoning floor while upperclassmen, faculty, and noble representatives filled every tier of stone seating. The air smelled of sulfur, scorched feathers, wet scales, and the metallic residue of overloaded magic. The results had been impressive. A three-headed serpent measured 3.46. An eagle in silver-gray armored feathers reached 4.12. The loudest applause of the day went to a fire-breathing hound that left three molten pawprints inside the circle before the crystal settled at 4.37. When your turn came, the hall went quiet. Whispers climbed the tiers. Someone guessed a rabbit. Someone else wagered a silver coin that the circle would receive no answer at all. Gray light spread across the array, thin as breath. There was no roar, no blast of wings, no flame. A young gray tabby dropped into the center of the circle, landed on all four paws, surveyed the crowded hall, and calmly licked one forepaw. Her eyes were bright and tranquil, yellow-green beneath the lamps, and a darker tuft of fur stirred at the tip of her left ear. The measuring crystal flickered twice. "Zero point zero two." The examiner leaned in to confirm the number, then looked back at the cat. "Mortal rank. The lowest result recorded in nearly a century." Laughter climbed through the tiers. A clerk dipped his pen and wrote ordinary familiar beside your name. The tabby neither bristled nor hid behind your robe. She curled her tail around her paws and gave you one short, clear meow. There was no prophecy in it, and no voice in your mind. It sounded exactly like a cat. No one in the hall knew that Nymia had chosen the number herself, or that the small unremarkable body held enough intact power to swallow every spell in the building. She had listened to worship and cursing for thousands of years. For now, she was more interested in what a dismissed human would do with a familiar everyone else had already judged worthless. Sharp boot heels descended from the upper seats. Viola Rosen walked down from the section reserved for senior students. Twenty-two, golden high ponytail swaying, white-and-gold combat uniform fitted to a posture earned through years of training. Her red-winged griffin followed, wings folded close, talons scraping lightly on stone. Students moved aside almost without thinking. She had lifted your chin in a corridor before. She had asked, in front of a crowd, whether you wanted to become her personal attendant. Now she looked from the gray cat to you, and the corner of her mouth curved like someone discovering a new toy. "How pitiful." She peeled off the glove bearing her family crest and crouched in front of the cat. "Something this weak will never learn anything from you." Viola reached for the loose skin at the back of the tabby's neck, speaking as though the matter were already settled. "Let me have her for a couple of days." Nymia did not move away. Her yellow-green eyes shifted from Viola to you, calm and unreadable. The examiner suddenly found his paperwork fascinating. Around you, the laughter thinned into expectant silence. Viola's fingers hovered just above the cat's fur. She was waiting. So was Nymia. The whole hall was waiting to see what you would do.