The knife glinted in the golden light as the man stepped out of the alley.
And my first instinct — my first rational instinct — was simple:
Run.
Or in my case, hobble like hell.
I spun around, heart hammering, trying not to trip over the peg leg as I moved as fast as I could in the opposite direction.
Only to freeze.
Another figure stepped out from the alley behind me.
Rough clothes. Dirty hair. Another knife.
Two thugs. Two alleyways. One very unlucky cripple caught in between.
Panic surged, but my mind kicked into gear.
Mana. Use it. Now.
I reached inside, into that new, still-raw space behind my thoughts where my mana pulsed like a second heartbeat. I grabbed as much as I dared, shaped the spell in my head — Gust, third of my core gone in an instant — and threw it at the thug in front of me.
The blast of air slammed into him, sending him tumbling backward with a startled yelp. He hit the ground hard, his knife clattering to the cobblestone.
But the other one — the one behind me — let out a guttural yell and charged, blade flashing as he closed the distance.
My balance wavered. I couldn't run. I couldn't cast again — not fast enough.
But I wasn't alone.
With a deep, snarling growl, Nyx shifted.
The satchel hit the ground as the mule body collapsed into shadow, reshaping mid-motion, limbs warping and stretching, fur bristling, until what stood beside me was no beast of burden.
But a wolf.
Mid-run, the thug's eyes widened — too late.
Nyx lunged, jaws wide, and tackled him full-force.
The man hit the ground hard, air knocked out of him, knife flying from his grip as Nyx went for his throat with unrelenting fury. Blood sprayed across the stones in a red arc. The thug thrashed once, choked out a scream — and then went limp beneath the snapping, snarling fury of my companion.
The other thug — the one I'd hit with Gust — had just gotten to his feet.
He saw the scene. The blood. The wolf.
He ran.
"WOLF!" he screamed. "WOLF!!"
He made it four steps.
Nyx turned, eyes glowing violet, and ran him down.
In a blur of motion, he leapt — clawed at the man's legs, dragging him to the ground, then pounced on his back with terrifying precision. Snarls turned to wet crunches. The thug screamed once, then went quiet.
Just like that, it was over.
I stood in the middle of the blood-spattered street, chest heaving, my one knee trembling under the weight of fear, mana fatigue, and something else — something colder.
Shock.
I had just watched my familiar kill two men.
No, not watched — unleashed.
Nyx padded back toward me, his paws sticky with blood, his white fangs stained red. His tail wagged once, like a dog proud of what he'd done, eager for praise.
He looked at me like a hunter returning to his master.
Like he'd done what he was made to do.
I swallowed hard, the back of my throat dry and tight.
This wasn't training.
This was real.
And I didn't know how to feel.
I don't remember much of the walk back.
Nyx had already shifted again — his wolf form vanishing in a blur of shadow, his body stretching and reshaping until the quiet, steady figure of a mule stood beside me once more. The satchel was still intact, resting against his side, stained with only the faintest speck of red.
We didn't speak. But the bond between us thrummed — not with fear or remorse, but something colder. Protective. Resolved.
Necessary.
The streets of Maplewood were calm again. The same cobbled lanes, flower boxes in windows, children's laughter echoing faintly from behind distant doors. The sun was still shining. The world hadn't noticed what had just happened. Two men dead. One barely standing. Nothing had changed.
Except me.
By the time the temple doors came into view, my legs were shaking — not from exertion, but from the slow, dawning realization of what I'd just been part of.
Alric was at his desk, flipping through one of his older journals when I stepped inside. He glanced up absently, ready to offer some smart remark — until he saw my face.
He stood up immediately, the mirth vanishing.
"What happened?"
I didn't answer at first. I walked over to the nearest bench and sank onto it, my shoulders heavy. My hand trembled as I pulled the eyepatch off and rubbed my brow.
Nyx clopped in behind me, mule-form and all, quietly walking to the corner where he usually rested. The sound of his hooves echoed louder than it should have.
Alric crossed the room and sat beside me without another word. When he spoke again, it was quiet.
"Jack."
I took a long breath.
"I was on my way back from the apothecary," I said, voice low and raw. "Two men stepped out of alleys. Both had knives. I panicked. Cast Gust on one — dropped him."
I swallowed. "The other rushed me. Nyx shifted. Went for the throat."
Alric didn't speak, just waited.
"He killed him. Then chased down the first and… finished him too. It was over in seconds. Just like that."
A silence settled between us — not awkward, but dense.
"They were going to hurt me," I said. "I know that. I didn't have a choice."
Alric nodded slowly. "No. You didn't."
"But still…" I trailed off, staring at the worn lines on the stone floor. "It wasn't a duel. It wasn't self-defence with a clean spell. It was blood. Gurgling, snarling, messy death."
I looked up, eyes hollow.
"And Nyx... he just wagged his tail after. Like he was proud."
Alric's face tightened, not with judgment, but understanding.
"That's how familiars are," he said. "They're born of instinct and protection. When they sense a threat, they end it. Without doubt. Without hesitation."
He placed a firm hand on my shoulder.
"You, though — you're human. You carry the weight. You feel what was lost, even when it was necessary."
I shook my head. "I didn't even try to stop him."
"Because if you had, you'd be bleeding out in some alley."
He let go and stood slowly, joints popping. He walked to the shelf and retrieved a bottle — pale green glass with a faded label — and handed it to me.
"For the shakes."
I held it loosely, staring at it.
Alric looked at me with the quiet solemnity of someone who'd once stood in the same blood-soaked place.
"You're not a monster for surviving," he said. "But you'd be a fool not to feel what that survival cost."
I sat with that for a long moment.
Then I looked toward the door, where Nyx — still in mule form — stood by the altar with his head lowered, ears twitching at some distant sound.
"Tomorrow," Alric continued, "we'll start teaching you how to ward, how to throw up a barrier before a blade gets too close. I'd rather you not depend on your wolf's teeth every time someone decides you look vulnerable."
I managed a tired smile. "So would I."
He gave a single nod.
"But tonight," he said, voice low and certain, "let yourself feel this. Let it burn. Because it's going to happen again, Jack. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week — but it will. And when it does, I want you to remember what it means to choose."
I didn't say anything.
I just sat there, with a bottle in my hand and blood on my thoughts, while the temple of the goddess of magic returned to silence.