The sun hung low over the Land of Samantha, painting the dusty streets of the city in an amber glow. Shadows stretched long and twisted along the cracked cobblestones, curling around wooden stalls and patched rooftops. Mickey adjusted the black cloak over his shoulders, tugging the hood low over his blond hair. The wind carried the faint scent of roasted meats, dust, and the tang of the nearby river.
He had just sold the lighter. The small, intricately designed object had been worth more than most could imagine, but in exchange, he had managed to secure something far more important than mere convenience. He had enough Roeco to purchase a few essential items—a shirt, simple pants, and the black cloak draped over him now—and, if fortune favored him, one more thing: the wolf.
Mickey's blue eyes scanned the market. Earth Rats bustled between stalls, trading scraps of food, trinkets, and rusted artifacts. The Sky Dwellers had yet to descend today, their hovering crafts casting elongated shadows over the street, and the occasional pirate leaning against a wooden ship docked at the edge of the city caught his attention. He felt the familiar tug of caution, a need to keep his presence minimal. But necessity dictated his next move.
He approached a stall where a man with rough hands and eyes like chipped stone gestured toward a cage. Inside, a row of wolves shifted restlessly, their paws scratching at the coarse straw beneath them. Most were pale or dark grays, yawning or sleeping, but one… one froze entirely when it caught sight of Mickey.
The wolf's fur was a perfect blend of ash gray and white, like a husky bred for the harshest climates. Its blue eyes glimmered sharply, icy and unnervingly intelligent. Across one eye ran a thin scar, a jagged line cutting through its fur and lending the animal a feral air. The wolf's gaze did not waver from Mickey, unblinking and assessing, as though it had been expecting him all along.
Mickey stopped, instinct prickling along his spine. He crouched slightly, lowering himself to meet the wolf's stare. "You," he muttered, almost to himself. "You're the one."
The trader noticed and snorted, wiping sweat from his brow. "Ah, you've got sharp eyes, friend. That one's not for the faint-hearted. Name's Shadowfang, and he doesn't take orders well. Price? 600 Roeco."
Mickey's fingers twitched, counting silently. He had just over 650 Roeco left, enough for the wolf and perhaps a modest meal afterward. He considered bargaining, but instinct warned him not to. "I'll take him," he said flatly, tossing the coins onto the stall.
The trader laughed harshly. "You're either brave… or stupid. That's your money, kid. Good luck keeping your fingers intact."
Mickey knelt, opening the cage slowly. Shadowfang didn't flinch or attack; instead, the wolf padded forward, brushing past Mickey as if acknowledging a silent understanding. Its movements were fluid, precise, and controlled. Mickey's hand went to its thick fur, feeling the power coiled beneath the silky gray-and-white coat.
"You feel that?" Mickey whispered, almost to himself. "You're not just a wolf. You're… something else."
The wolf's blue eyes locked with his, unblinking. It tilted its head slightly, almost as if replying, and then circled around Mickey, brushing against him once more.
The market around them carried on, unaware of the bond forming between boy and beast. Mickey adjusted the cage's latch, securing Shadowfang outside for now. The wolf followed willingly, tail low but controlled, a predator aware of its new partner.
"Where to eat?" Mickey murmured, counting his remaining coins. Only a few Roeco remained, enough for a single meal. He led Shadowfang toward a small stall where roasted root vegetables and bread were sold. The wolf's nose twitched, catching the aroma, but it stayed silent, walking beside him without complaint.
Mickey bought a small portion of bread, tearing pieces for himself and letting Shadowfang nibble cautiously from his palm. Even this simple act revealed the wolf's cautious intelligence. Shadowfang's eyes never left Mickey, scanning constantly, aware of every passerby, every subtle movement in the dusty alley.
Mickey leaned against a wall, cloak drawn tightly around him, watching the streets. Pirates moved in the distance, their wooden ships creaking faintly in the harbor. A Sky Dweller hovered above, the city's floating craft casting an elongated shadow across the market. Everything was as it should be, for now, yet an unease crawled along Mickey's spine. He knew he wasn't truly safe.
Shadowfang pressed close, resting its head against Mickey's leg for the first time. Mickey's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Don't get comfortable yet. We've only just started."
The wolf lifted its head, ears twitching, eyes narrowing toward the far end of the street. Mickey followed its gaze. A shadow lingered, a figure moving with unnatural silence. Not quite an Earth Rat, not quite a Sky Dweller, and certainly not one of the pirates docked at the edge.
Mickey's fingers brushed the edge of the cloak, feeling the familiar weight of the hidden dagger beneath. He moved closer to Shadowfang, crouching slightly, readying himself.
The figure paused, watching. The wolf growled low, a rumble vibrating through its chest. Its scarred blue eyes glowed faintly in the shadowed alley. Mickey's heart thumped. Whoever this was, they were deliberate, and they had been tracking him.
"Looks like our first test, Shadowfang," Mickey whispered. The wolf's ears pricked, tail flicking with impatience. The bond, though new, was immediate, electric, a silent understanding between predator and human.
The market noises faded slightly as tension coiled in the alley. The shadow shifted, moving closer, and Mickey realized with a sharp pang of awareness: this was no random follower. Someone—or something—knew exactly who he was.
Mickey's mind raced. He had bought the wolf to hide his identity, to keep a companion close, but the presence of this stranger shattered any illusion of calm. Every step the shadow took was measured, deliberate, and growing closer.
Shadowfang's growl intensified. Mickey's hand rested on the wolf's neck, feeling the taut muscle beneath the fur. "Stay close," he murmured. The wolf's blue eyes met his, unflinching, ready.
Then, with a flick of movement almost too fast to see, the shadow stepped into a narrow beam of sunlight. Mickey's eyes narrowed. The figure was tall, cloaked in black, face obscured, but there was a coldness in the stance, a silent challenge that made the air itself feel heavier.
Mickey straightened, cloak shifting as he did. "Looks like we won't have much time to eat," he said softly. Shadowfang growled again, moving slightly ahead, muscles coiled like springs.
The figure took another step, deliberate and silent, closing the distance at a rate that should have been impossible. Mickey tensed, calculating. His remaining Roeco, his new clothes, even the wolf—all these small comforts suddenly felt meaningless in the face of what was coming.
The alley narrowed, shadows deepening, and the figure stopped. For a heartbeat, there was nothing but the sound of the wolf's breathing, Mickey's own heart, and the faint clatter of distant market noise.
Then Shadowfang barked, low and fierce, a sound that carried the weight of a predator twice its size. The stranger flinched, just slightly, and Mickey took that moment.
He tightened his grip on the cloak, dagger beneath brushing his palm. His blue eyes, sharp and calculating, locked with the shadow's. "I don't know who you are," he said quietly, "but you just made a very bad choice."
The wolf leapt forward, a blur of gray and white, blue eyes fixed on the figure, growls vibrating through the narrow alley. Mickey followed, moving silently, the cloak flowing behind him like a shadow of his own.
And just as the figure raised a hand, a sudden glint catching the sun, Mickey lunged—
—and everything went black at the edge of perception, the moment frozen, the first strike about to land.
The alley held its breath.
The market continued unaware.
The pirates docked remained oblivious.
The Sky Dwellers hovered far above, indifferent.
But down in the Land of Samantha, a boy and a wolf had just drawn the attention of someone—or something—whose presence could no longer be ignored.
And the story, as always, was just beginning.