Mavis lounged on the bookstore's couch, legs tucked beneath her as she continued her dramatic retelling of the most frustrating customer of the week.
"So then he says—and I quote—'If the author wanted money for her work, she shouldn't have published the book.'" I threw my hands up. "And THEN he asked for a discount! A DISCOUNT. Alya—Alya, are you even listening to me?"
Alya sat beside me, chin propped on her palm, eyes half-lidded. At first I thought she was just bored—she usually pretended to be bored, even when she absolutely wasn't—but something about the way her ears twitched made me pause.
She wasn't bored.
She was distracted.
"Alya?"
Nothing.
I waved my hand in front of her face.
No reaction.
I opened my mouth to repeat her name—
when something small and black climbed over the back of the couch.
At first I thought it was a rat.
Then the rat put a paw on Alya's shoulder.
A paw.
Attached to a sleek black… creature.
A panther.
A tiny panther.
A miniature, perfect little shadow-cat the size of a loaf of bread.
And then—
It jumped onto Alya's shoulder.
I shrieked.
Not a dignified shriek.
Not a polite, "Oh my!" noble shriek.
A full, terrified, throat-shredding scream.
"ALYA—THERE'S A THING—A THING ON YOU—A—A—A—"
Alya jolted awake so hard her tail shot straight up.
"What? WHAT? What's happening? Who's dying?!"
"YOU—YOU—ON—YOUR—SHOULDER—LOOK—AT—YOUR—SHOU—"
Alya blinked at me. Then slowly turned her head.
"Oh."
The tiny panther blinked back at her.
She groaned.
"Mavis… that's just Wak."
"W-WHAT?!"
"My summon. Wak."
"WHY IS HE ON YOU?! AND WHY DOES HE LOOK LIKE—LIKE—THAT?!"
"He's a panther," Alya said casually, as if that explained everything.
"HE'S A WHAT?!"
The panther turned toward me.
And blinked.
His amethyst eyes shimmered like gemstones.
His ears twitched.
He let out the smallest, cutest little chuff.
And I screamed again.
Alya grabbed my face with both hands.
"Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Stop screaming."
"I—can't—he—ALYA—HE HAS FANGS—"
"He's not going to eat you! He's literally the size of a pastry!"
I looked at the palm-sized predator now sitting neatly in Alya's lap, tail curled around tiny paws.
"…He STILL has fangs."
Alya sighed dramatically.
"Everyone's summons have fangs. Even the herbivores. Summons are made of magic, Mavis, they're not just house pets!"
She lifted Wak with one hand, presenting him like a very deadly, very adorable trophy.
To her credit, Wak looked extremely proud.
I stared at him.
At his sleek midnight fur.
At the way he sat with such noble arrogance.
At the way his eyes gleamed with intelligence and mischief.
At the way he mirrored Alya's exact expression.
"…You two match," I whispered, awe creeping into my voice.
Alya blinked. "What?"
"You match," I repeated. "His fur is the same color as your hair. His eyes are the same color as yours. He even looks smug like you."
"HEY—"
Wak chuffed proudly again.
"SEE?" I pointed dramatically. "He's literally a furry version of you!"
Alya looked between me and Wak slowly.
"I—well—he's supposed to reflect the summoner's soul. That's how summons work. It's not a big deal."
Her ears twitched.
I smiled.
"It suits you. Really."
Alya suddenly refused to make eye contact.
Her tail betrayed her embarrassment by curling around her leg in a flustered loop.
"…Whatever," she muttered. "Summons are normal. Not a big deal. I thought you'd seen one by now, honestly."
"I've never seen one in person!" I said, still staring at Wak. "Only pictures in books. But seeing it… it's amazing."
And it was.
Summons were powerful creatures—living companions tied to a person's mana core. The books described them as:
"Mirrors of the soul, shaped by essence, willpower, and fate."
If that were true…
Alya had a fierce heart.
Proud.
Loyal.
Protective.
Wild.
And somehow, incredibly soft around the edges.
Wak seemed like all of that in miniature form.
Alya cleared her throat.
"Well—anyway—uh—Mavis, this is Wak." She lifted him closer. "Wak, this is Mavis."
Wak blinked at me.
Then raised one tiny paw in greeting.
My heart melted on the spot.
"He waved," I whispered. "ALYA—HE WAVED—"
"Yes, he's polite," Alya said smugly. "More polite than you, sometimes."
"HEY—!"
"Aha! See? Wak has better manners."
Wak chuffed again, puffing out his chest like he agreed wholeheartedly.
I reached forward, cautiously.
"Can I… touch him?"
Alya nodded.
"Wak doesn't bite. Unless someone deserves it."
"Do I deserve it?"
"Probably. But he won't bite you."
I extended a trembling hand.
Wak stretched his neck forward—
placed his tiny head against my palm—
and purred.
A soft, warm vibration.
I froze.
"…He's warm."
"Of course he's warm. He's alive."
I stroked his fur carefully.
It was softer than silk.
Like shadow and velvet and moonlight woven into a small, living creature.
Wak leaned into my hand.
I smiled without meaning to.
"He's perfect," I murmured.
Alya scoffed. "Obviously."
I rolled my eyes.
But couldn't deny it.
Wak climbed up my arm and sat on my shoulder, pressing his tiny face against my cheek.
I stiffened.
"A-Alya—he's—he's—"
"Relax," she said, smiling for real now. "He likes you."
I swallowed hard.
"I've never had anyone like me this fast."
"Wak's good at reading people."
"…Is that a compliment or an insult?"
"Yes."
She grinned.
And for a moment, the three of us—me, Alya, and a tiny magical panther—just sat together in the late afternoon light filtering through the bookstore windows.
Wak purred.
Alya leaned back.
I let out a tired sigh.