I stood in a strange void. Not cold, not warm. Not dark, not light. Just… still.
Then something moved—graceful, quiet.
A fox.
Its body shimmered with flowing ink, like it had been painted into reality. One long, elegant tail trailed behind it, curling gently as it hovered just above the unseen ground. Its eyes were impossibly deep, flecked with constellations—living stars caught in obsidian pools.
They stared into mine. I didn't feel threatened. Just… seen.
"What do you mean, 'I have found you'?" I asked, voice uncertain but steady. "Who are you?"
The fox tilted its head, then answered—not aloud, but from somewhere inside me.
"I am what reflects in your silence. The echo in your steps. Your shadow, your twin, your other name."
Cryptic.
Comforting.
I took a cautious step forward. "You're my familiar?"
Its tail flicked gently, leaving behind a faint ripple in the space between us.
"I am your Spiritualis Nexum. Not a servant. Not a pet. A bond." The words resonated through me, like a thought I'd always had but never known how to say.
I glanced around, only now realizing how vast and empty this place was.
"Is this… the spiritual plane?"
The fox let out what felt like a laugh—soft and wordless.
"A small corner of it. The Familiar Realm. It lies nested within greater layers of existence. One path among many."
I furrowed my brow. "Layers?"
The fox gave no answer. Only that quiet, watchful gaze—like it was waiting for me to understand on my own.
A quiet wind passed through the stillness, though there were no trees, no sky, no source.
"I feel like I've been here before," I murmured.
"Not here," the fox replied. "But close."
A pulse stirred beneath my skin—Thauma. Faint, but alive. My connection to this place, to this being… it was real.
"Do you have a name?" I asked softly.
"Not yet," it said. "That is yours to decide."
Then it stepped forward—and the space around us shimmered like water.
From somewhere distant, I felt the pull of waking.
We weren't finished. Not even close.
But something sacred had begun.
"How about I call you... Vulpis?" I asked, testing the name aloud.
The fox's ears perked, and for the first time, a visible shimmer pulsed through its inky fur—like it was smiling without moving its mouth.
"Vulpis," it echoed, voice soft as mist. "A name. A bond. Let it be so."
I felt the name settle into something permanent, carved into Thauma itself. A link formed—tangible, magnetic. My soul reached for his. His reached for mine.
"Now," Vulpis said, circling me slowly, "we must complete the rite. You and I must become one."
I stood still, breathing slow and deep as he instructed.
"Thauma flows like a current. Like ink through a quill, it must pass between us—freely, openly. Close your eyes. Let it move."
I did. And suddenly, I felt it.
A gentle stream of Thauma left me, drifting like glowing threads through the air. It entered Vulpis—and from him, a mirrored stream flowed back into me. We were a living circuit, a breathing loop of Thauma. Each pulse brought clarity. Each beat brought unity.
My body didn't tremble—but my soul did.
We didn't move. And yet, something in the plane around us began to shift. It was like the rite had been acknowledged by something far larger than us both.
Then, without warning—
Light.
The Familiar Realm faded into whiteness.
And I opened my eyes.
Sunlight spilled through the tall windows of the Grand Hall. The ceremony had ended.
Around me, first years were stretching, blinking, or quietly murmuring to one another. Fay sat cross-legged not far from me, her expression unreadable. Mark rubbed his head, clearly recovering from something intense. Bruce looked oddly quiet, while Isaiah just stared upward in thought.
A voice cut through the morning calm.
"Well?" Headmistress Aerila De'Noct stood tall at the front of the Hall, hands behind her back. "How was it?"
Fay stood up, brushing her robes. "It was… strange."
The Headmistress gave a slight nod, as if that was the answer she expected.
"It always is," she said. "The Familiar Realm exists within the greater Spiritual Plane. It obeys different laws of Thauma flow. Foreign at first, but you will adapt in time."
She paused, letting her gaze sweep across all of us.
"You've completed your rite. You've earned your companions. Now go—rest. You deserve that much."
I yawned, suddenly realizing how drained I felt. The moment we were dismissed, I regrouped with Mark, Bruce, and Isaiah. Fay and Emilia gave us a tired wave as we parted ways at the House of Dawn stairwell.
When we got to our dorm, we all looked at each other—and without saying a word, we knew what came next.
"Well?" Mark asked, smirking. "Let's meet each other's familiars."
I grinned, and in a single thought, Vulpis stepped from the shadows—tail curling, eyes glowing with soft starlight.
It was time for introductions.
The moment we stepped into our dorm room, silence blanketed us like thick velvet.
It was just the four of us—me, Mark, Isaiah, and Bruce—standing in the middle of the room, dim morning light beginning to press through the windows like a whisper. Our uniforms were wrinkled. Our eyes were tired. But none of us moved toward our beds.
Instead, we glanced at each other with the same thought: What happens now?
"We… should call them out," Mark said softly.
No argument. We each closed our eyes and focused inward, breathing slow, feeling the lingering Thauma still humming from the ceremony.
The first to appear was Mark's familiar. A glimmer of seafoam shimmered at his feet, swirling up into a small, sleek selkie pup, wrapped in translucent mist. She looked no older than a newborn seal, eyes like two deep tides.
"I am Selphie," she said gently. "Tide-borne and truth-bound. Mark of the Priestess… we begin."
Mark looked stunned. He knelt slowly. "You're so… small."
Selphie blinked. "So are you, right now."
Then came Isaiah's. A single silver feather spiraled down from the air. It touched the floor and bloomed into a tiny, downy simurgh chick, no larger than his palm. Her feathers shimmered like starlight caught in dew.
"I am Silver," she said in a lyrical voice. "The song before the silence. I'll grow as your mind does."
Isaiah smiled in awe. "You're incredible."
Silver gave a tiny chirp. "You'll need to be."
Next, the shadows stirred—and Bruce's familiar emerged. A black, inky wolf pup, no bigger than a loaf of bread, stepped forward with glowing ember eyes. His growl was soft, more like a rumble of thunder far away.
"I'm Ghost," he said, voice gravel and warmth. "Not here to teach. Just to guard."
Bruce blinked. "Dude, you're—tiny."
Ghost snorted. "So are your brains. We'll fix that."
And finally, Vulpis emerged at my feet. No larger than a fox kit, his single ink-tipped tail flicked lazily as he sat beside me, those constellation-eyes peering into mine.
"Well," he said dryly, "looks like we're all a little underwhelming right now."
I crouched and smirked. "You're perfect."
We all stood in that circle for a moment—four students, four spirits, the air charged with something quiet and sacred.
Mark yawned first. "I think… I'm going to pass out."
"You deserve it," Selphie said, curling at his feet.
The rest of us murmured in agreement and shuffled to our bunks, our familiars finding places beside us—soft, quiet presences of power yet to come.
I lay down last, Vulpis curled by my side like a shadow stitched to my heartbeat.
The sky was shifting toward sunrise.
But just as my eyes fluttered shut, a sound tickled my mind. Not from outside. Not from Vulpis.
A whisper. Cold and deliberate:
"The Familiar Realm is only the beginning."
I sat up straight.
"Did you hear that?" I whispered.
Vulpis opened one eye. "Sleep. There are worse things than whispers waiting for you tomorrow."
And with that…
We slept.