I've done many regrettable things in my short, fluffy life.
I've eaten cursed plums. I've bit the Empress's shoe. I once rolled off a tower ledge trying to catch a soap bubble.
But this?
This was peak bad decision.
I was on trial. In front of nobles. In a hall full of echo spells.
Worse — they gave me a chair.
It was velvet. Too big. Too purple. I vanished into it like a sentient pillow.
Across from me, a row of very important-looking people stared. Most had monocles. One had a soulbeast that looked like a tax document. They all looked like they hadn't smiled in two decades.
The Binder's Assembly.
Arwen stood beside me, arms folded, gaze sharp enough to cut through policy.
A scribe coughed. "Proceeding begins. Case file: Soulbeast 919A — unregistered. Subject of anomaly surge and bond deviation."
I chirped. Loudly.
He flinched. "Record that as hostile vocalization."
"Record that you're an idiot," Arwen muttered.
A woman in gold robes frowned. "Princess, please. This is a formal evaluation, not a performance."
"It can be both," Arwen said sweetly.
The hall tensed.
I sank deeper into the chair.
---
The Mirror of Harmony was wheeled in like a bad idea with embroidery.
It shimmered with threads of light, designed to "read" magical resonance and determine a soulbeast's "compatibility" with its owner.
I hated it immediately.
"This is a routine scan," Gold Robe said. "Stand before it."
I did not.
Two handlers approached with gloves.
Arwen stepped between us. "He's not a feral dog."
"Then prove it," someone sneered.
Arwen bared her teeth. "Gladly."
I waddled to the mirror. Looked at my reflection. Tilted my head.
The mirror blinked.
Then cracked.
Magic pulsed — not dangerous, just inconvenient. One noble's wig flew off. Someone's tea exploded. The room filled with the sound of indignant peacocks.
I burped.
The mirror shattered.
Silence.
Arwen smiled like she'd won a duel. "Oops."
---
They tried to recover.
Someone attempted to summon another mirror. It refused to leave storage.
Gold Robe stood, face pale. "This familiar is clearly unstable."
"He's never been more stable," Arwen said. "He's loyal. Intelligent. Protective."
"He glows."
"So does the Empress's wig."
A gasp.
Arwen stepped forward. "He's unregistered because I choose it. Because no council has the right to chain my bond to a title."
"Registration ensures safety—"
"No," Arwen said. "It ensures control."
She lifted me up. I waved, claws out.
"This soulbeast is mine. He chose me. And I won't let you steal that."
They faltered.
But Gold Robe wasn't done. "Clause 14 allows a public challenge."
Arwen's eyes gleamed. "Then let them come."
---
Back in our tower, we said nothing for a while.
I chewed on a piece of mirror. Arwen didn't stop me.
Finally, she spoke.
"They tried to take my last familiar."
I froze.
"Years ago. Before you. A soulbeast named Fen. Small. Fierce. Like you."
I chirped softly.
"They said he was too wild. That I needed someone more… presentable."
Her hands clenched. "He was reassigned. I never saw him again."
I climbed into her lap.
"I won't lose you too," she whispered.
The bond shimmered — not glowing, but warm. Real.
"I almost named you today," she said.
I chirped.
"Almost."
She picked up one of the broken mirror shards, examining her own reflection distorted in the glass. "They'll escalate. They always do. Nobles don't like losing, and now we're a threat. Not just a curiosity."
I headbutted her arm gently, trying to express some form of solidarity, or at least a reminder that I was small but bitey.
She smiled faintly. "I can't keep you hidden forever. But I'll fight them. I'll keep fighting."
We sat there for a while in silence.
Then, unexpectedly, a soft knock came at the tower door.
Arwen tensed. She stood slowly, and when she opened it, there was no one there. Only a scroll.
She opened it.
A single line of text glimmered in pale ink:
> "Your soulbeast's spark is not his own. Ask the Empress about the Fallen Bond."
Arwen paled.
I peered up at her, confused.
She crumpled the scroll. "We're being watched."
---
The next day, paranoia bloomed like a second soulbond in the tower.
Arwen warded the windows, cursed the doorknob (I found out the hard way), and muttered equations that made the walls hum.
"Fallen Bond," she repeated. "That's old magic. Forbidden magic."
I tried to help by biting suspicious shadows.
She barely noticed.
"Why would the Empress know? Why would she—"
Her expression hardened. "I need answers."
I chirped supportively.
She threw a cloak over both of us. "We're visiting the royal archive."
---
The royal archive was not a place for students.
It wasn't really a place for people.
It was a maze of memory — corridors lined with scrolls, tablets, books made of bone and crystal. The air buzzed with whispers not spoken aloud. Each step echoed like it disturbed time itself.
Arwen strode confidently, her family sigil granting passage.
I clung to her shoulder like a particularly concerned scarf.
A librarian watched us. Not a person — a construct. All quills and gears and judgmental eyes.
Arwen approached the central vault. "Access. I need records on bond classifications. And… anomalies."
The construct blinked. "You require permission from the Empress."
"I'm her daughter."
"Incorrect clearance."
Arwen held up a ring. Nightveil's crest. The gears clicked.
"Temporary override granted. Fifteen minutes."
She pulled me close. "Help me find anything on Fallen Bonds."
I chirped and leapt to a scroll rack.
We searched. Desperately. Frantically. And then — a scroll glowed faintly.
Title: "Fallen Bond — The Forbidden Spark"
Arwen opened it. We read. And what we found chilled us both.
It spoke of soulbeasts bound after death. Sparks stolen, repurposed. Names lost. Fate overwritten. Forbidden not for danger — but for what it revealed.
"Fallen Bonds… aren't born," Arwen whispered. "They're… recycled."
I chirped in horror.
What was I, really?
---
We fled the archive under moonlight and warding mist.
Arwen didn't speak. Not for hours. She paced our tower room in circles, scroll clutched tight.
"This changes everything," she murmured. "You weren't just born. You were made. Crafted. Or worse… recovered."
I curled into her cloak, heart thudding.
The bond pulsed again. Old magic. Not wrong, but… incomplete.
Arwen stared out the window, eyes like storms.
"I need to speak with her," she said.
"The Empress."
I chirped in alarm.
"She knows. She has to. If she allowed Fallen Bonds to exist, then she knew this would happen."
Her hand closed over the scroll.
"She'll give me answers."
---
Elsewhere, the shattered mirror lay in storage.
A masked noble lifted a shard, watching it gleam.
"So the spark remains."
They turned away, disappearing into shadow.
"Soon, it will be ours."