The air smells of fresh bread, wood smoke, and the earthy scent of the river that runs just beyond the walls of Camelot. The rising sun casts long shadows across the square, glinting off the castle's high towers, where banners bearing the Pendragon sigil flutter in the wind. The distant sounds of the knights training in the courtyard, swords clashing and armor clinking, form a somehow quiet backdrop.

"Hear ye, hear ye!" The town crier's voice rings out across the cobblestone square, bouncing off the stone walls of Camelot's shops and taverns. He stands atop a wooden platform, dressed in deep crimson and gold, the colors of Camelot. His hat, adorned with a single, albino peacock feather sways as he unfurls a scroll.

Villagers pause their daily routines to listen. Merchants halt their haggling, one hand still clutching a basket of fresh apples or rolls of linen. A pair of blacksmiths lean on their hammers, the rhythmic clang of metal on metal fading into silence. Even the children, who moments before had been darting around chasing chickens and pulling at their mothers' skirts, stop and turn their eager eyes toward the news bringer.

The town crier clears his throat, his voice booming as he begins, "By order of the King, let it be known! A grand tournament shall be held in one fortnight's time, open to knights and warriors of all lands!" A murmur ripples through the crowd, excited whispers passing from ear to ear. The news of a tournament always stirs the hearts of the people—there will be jousting, combat trials, and feats of strength, a chance for the common folk to witness the legendary knights of Camelot in action.

"And further," the crier continues, holding up a hand to still the crowd's growing excitement, "a call is made for all able mages, sorcerers, and healers. The King seeks those with talent in the arcane arts to present themselves at the castle gates. Your skills may be required in service to the realm!"

At this, the murmurs shift from excitement to curiosity, some villagers exchanging nervous glances. Magic has always been a source of wonder and fear, a force that dances at the edge of understanding.

Douxie stiffens, his hazel eyes narrowing as he glances over at Anthea. Her expression mirrors his unease, a slight furrow creasing her brow. They've heard whispers in the streets, mutterings of the King's growing distrust of magic, but this call for sorcerers is not something they expected. He can feel the tension spreading through the square, an invisible thread pulling everyone taut.

The children, sensing the shift in mood, slowly retreat to the safety of their parents' sides. An old woman at the edge of the crowd mutters a quiet prayer, clutching a wooden rosary. Two knights stationed near the platform exchange a look, their hands instinctively moving to the hilts of their swords. The tension is palpable now, a living thing in the air. Are there any sorcerers in the crowd? Will any step forth?

Anthea tugs lightly at Douxie's sleeve, a subtle gesture to move. "C'mon. It's time to go." She whispers, leading the way through the crowd.

Douxie silently follows Anthea and keeps his head low. When he first arrived in Camelot, several guards caught him using magic. He doesn't want a repeat of that or bring on Merlin's wrath.

As they walk, the din of the square fades as they slip into a narrow alley between a bakery and a cobbler's shop. The scent of freshly baked bread mingles with the sharp tang of leather, but neither of them pauses to take it in. Anthea's grip on his sleeve loosens as she leads them deeper into the maze of backstreets, away from prying eyes and ears.

"King Arthur is calling for mages?" Douxie mutters once they are far enough away. His mind racing with the implications of the crier's announcement. "For what? What is he planning?"

Anthea shakes her head, her blonde waves swaying around her shoulders. "I don't know," she admits, her voice edged with worry. "But it doesn't look good for those who have yet to swear fealty to our King."

They turn a corner, finding themselves in one of the quieter parts of town where the noise of the marketplace is barely noticeable. The stone walls here are older, covered in ivy and moss and the cobblestones are uneven underfoot. The air even smells earthier.

Anthea stops, her eyes scanning their surroundings before she leans against a wall, exhaling slowly. "The King and his sister have been acting strangely since the last council meeting with Merlin," she says, folding her arms across her chest. "Even Aunt Dion noticed it, and she never pays much attention to politics."

Douxie nods. "If he's calling for mages, it could mean he's facing something beyond the knights' skill," he reasons. "But why make such a public spectacle of it? It feels more like a show of force, or worse—a trap."

Anthea's eyes meet his, her gaze steady despite the unease in her heart. "You think he means to round us up?"

Douxie hesitates before answering, his jaw clenched. "I wouldn't put it past him," he says quietly. "The King has been suspicious of magic ever since he was young from what Merlin tells me. He might see this as an opportunity to control whatever power is left in the realm."

Anthea bites her lip, her eyes narrowing as she looks down the empty street. "Then we need to be careful. If the King is truly planning something, he won't stop at just inviting mages to the castle. He'll make sure they can't leave... just like—"

"Careful, Love," Douxie cuts her off, "Any mention of them can cause an uproar."

She huffs, "Yes, Doux, I know. But it doesn't seem fair that they have to be locked up awaiting a punishment that isn't even their fault! I love my king, but he shouldn't attack every little thing that has a trace of magic in it just because of one blood-thirsty creature."

"I know," Douxie says, his voice softening as he steps closer, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I know, Thea. It isn't fair. But you also know how deep the fear runs in Camelot when it comes to magic. One rogue sorcerer is enough to make common folk see us all as a threat."

Anthea pouts and shifts her basket full of veggies from one arm to the other, her brows furrowed with the weight of both her thoughts and the heavy load. It's a small gesture, but it speaks volumes—she's tired, not just from the walk and the errands but from the endless stream of worries that seem to have overtaken the morning. Douxie notices this immediately, the way her shoulders droop just a bit and how she sighs as she adjusts her grip.

Without a word, he steps closer and gently eases the basket from her hand, his fingers brushing hers in a small, comforting touch. He lifts it with ease, the weight barely fazing him. Anthea looks up at him, a flicker of surprise in her eyes that quickly softens into gratitude.

"You don't have to carry everything, you know," Douxie murmurs, his voice teasing but filled with genuine concern. "You'll end up with arms like a blacksmith if you keep this up."

Anthea huffs, but her pout gives way to a small, reluctant smile. "And what if I want arms like a blacksmith? You've seen them, haven't you? Strong as steel, and not to mention—"

"Glistening in the sun?" Douxie finishes with a smirk, sliding his free arm around her shoulders. He pulls her closer, giving her a playful squeeze as they continue walking. The contact is easy, familiar, as if they've done this a thousand times before—a simple gesture that says he's there, that he understands her unspoken worries.

Anthea leans into him slightly, letting herself relax against his side. "Thank you," she says softly, the words barely more than a whisper. Her words are not just for the basket.

He gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Always, Love," he replies, his tone light but his eyes serious as he looks down at her. For a moment, the weight of their conversation and the tension in the town fade into the background. It's just the two of them, walking together under the dappled light of the market square, their steps in sync as they weave through the crowd.

They move as one, a quiet partnership that has long become second nature. The sun is warmer now, casting a golden glow over the cobblestones, and Douxie catches a glimpse of Anthea's profile—the soft curve of her cheek, the way her blonde hair catches the light. Despite the uncertainty of what lies ahead, there's a comfort in this moment, in knowing they have each other.

"Now," Douxie says, tilting his head toward a stall filled with freshly baked bread, the scent wafting over to them. "Shall we grab something for Aunt Dion's dinner? I reckon she'd appreciate a loaf, and maybe it'll get us back in her good graces for taking our sweet time."

Anthea's smile widens, the worry lines on her forehead easing just a bit. "You're right. And if we get some of that honey cake she likes, she might even forgive us entirely."

"Bribery it is, then," Douxie agrees with a chuckle, steering them toward the stall.

As they approach their favorite bakery, Anthea's attention is drawn to a group of children playing by the fountain, their laughter echoing through the square. It's a sound she always finds soothing, a reminder of simpler times before the tension with the King, before the whispered suspicions about magic. Douxie takes the moment to slip away, knowing she'll be momentarily distracted.

He weaves his way through the bustling crowd, moving toward a small, nondescript stall tucked in the shadow of a tall oak tree. The merchant here is an old friend, a jeweler who keeps his business quiet and away from prying eyes, perfect for the delicate task Douxie has in mind.

"Douxie, my boy," he says in a low, gravelly voice. "Right on time. I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind."

Douxie shakes his head, his lips curving into a nervous smile. "No chance of that, Gareth. I was just trying to find the right moment... or maybe, trying to work up the courage," he admits with a small laugh.

Gareth chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he reaches under the counter. "Well, I'd say you've got nothing to worry about. The way that girl looks at you, I doubt she'll say no." He pulls out a small, intricately carved wooden box and places it gently in Douxie's hand.

Douxie takes a deep breath, his fingers running over the smooth surface of the box before he carefully opens it. Inside, nestled on a cushion of deep blue velvet, is the ring—a delicate band of white gold with a single, brilliant sapphire set in the center. The gemstone catches the light, shimmering like the ocean at sunset, a shade that perfectly matches Anthea's eyes. It's simple yet elegant, exactly what he wanted and perfect for a girl too special to ignore.

He exhales, his heart pounding in his chest as he stares at the ring. "It's perfect," he whispers, his voice filled with awe. He can already picture the look on Anthea's face when she sees it, the surprise, the joy. It's a moment he's been imagining for weeks now, and yet, standing here with the ring in his hand, it feels almost surreal.

Gareth grins, clearly pleased with Douxie's reaction. "I'm glad you like it, lad. I took extra care with this one. It's not every day you craft a ring meant for a mage's proposal," he says with a wink. "She's a special one, that girl. You hold on to her."

Douxie closes the box carefully, slipping it into his coat pocket with a nod. He turns to return to Anthea, but before he gets too far, he turns right back around, ears pink with embarrassment. "Oh, uh... what left do I owe you?"

Gareth shakes his head. "You paid me what I need upfront, boy. All I ask for you two to be happy and perhaps a favor down the road."

Douxie nods, a grateful smile spreading across his face. "You've got it, Gareth. Thank you—truly," he says, giving the old jeweler a quick, sincere handshake before turning back toward the square. He can already imagine the moment he'll get down on one knee, the way Anthea's eyes will light up, the soft gasp that might escape her lips. The thought makes his heart swell with anticipation.

As he navigates back through the bustling marketplace, Douxie spots Anthea right where he left her by the fountain. She's chatting with an older woman selling flowers, her attention caught by a bundle of delicate bluebells. The sunlight catches in her hair, making it glow like spun gold, and for a moment, Douxie feels the world slow around him. He watches her, this brilliant, kind woman who has somehow chosen him, and he knows there's no doubt in his mind—she's the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

He steps up quietly beside her, and she glances over, a smile tugging at her lips. "There you are," she says, handing over the bluebells to the vendor. "I was starting to wonder if you'd gotten lost."

Douxie chuckles, seamlessly slipping the fresh loaf of bread and honey cake into the basket he's carrying. "Me? Lost? Never. I was just, uh, inspecting the stalls," he says with a cheeky grin. He's not quite ready to tell her yet, to let slip the secret that's burning a hole in his pocket.

Anthea raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying his excuse but letting it slide. "It's getting late. We should return. Our chores aren't going to take care of themselves. But between the cake and the bluebells, I think we might actually stand a chance at escaping one of her infamous lectures."

Douxie's grin widens as he picks up the basket again, easily balancing it on his hip. "Aunt Dion loves to lecture. I'm sure she'll find something to chide us about, but at least we'll be well-fed while we listen."

The morning sun has fully risen now, bathing Camelot in warm sunlight. The marketplace is alive with color and sound—vendors calling out their wares, the chatter of townsfolk, the laughter of children. It's a peaceful moment, one Douxie wishes he could bottle up and keep forever.

He sneaks a glance at Anthea as they walk, his fingers brushing the wooden box in his pocket. It's almost as if she can sense his gaze because she turns to look at him, her blue eyes sparkling with a question. "What?" she asks, tilting her head slightly, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

"Nothing," Douxie replies quickly, his face warming with a blush. He clears his throat, trying to find his voice again. "Just... thinking about how beautiful you look today."

Anthea's smile softens, a blush rising to her own cheeks. She ducks her head for a moment, a gesture Douxie finds endearing every time. "You're sweet," she murmurs, glancing up at him from beneath her lashes. "But you're also hiding something."

Douxie blinks, caught off guard. He opens his mouth, ready to deflect, but Anthea's knowing look stops him. She always has had a knack for reading him. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Maybe I am," he admits. "But it's a good kind of secret, I promise."

Anthea's smile turns curious, her eyes bright with intrigue. "A secret, hm? I suppose I'll have to wait and see, then," she teases, poking him lightly in the side. "But you better not keep me waiting too long. I'm not very patient."

Douxie laughs, catching her hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I wouldn't dream of it," he says earnestly. He holds her gaze for a moment longer before glancing away, the corners of his lips quirking up into a smile he can't quite contain.

—

The dim light of the bistro casts long shadows across the empty tables, the scent of garlic and freshly baked bread lingering in the air. The warm, cozy ambiance that welcomed guests just a few hours ago now feels tired and worn, much like Douxie himself. He leans heavily against the counter, letting out a sigh as he surveys the mess left behind. Plates are piled high, crusted with the remnants of dinner, and a puddle of red wine glistens under the flickering neon sign that reads Bon Appétit! in loopy cursive above the door.

He runs a hand through his tousled raven-colored hair, pushing it back from his forehead, and glances at the clock. It's already half past ten. The last customer left an hour ago, but he's still here, stuck cleaning up after his shift mates who bolted as soon as the manager turned his back. He can still hear Michael's excuse echoing in his ears: "Sorry, bro, I've got a date!"

Douxie scowls, grabbing a mop from the closet. "Of course you do," he mutters to himself, wading through the puddle left by Michael's negligence. The cold water seeps through his worn sneakers, making him grimace. It's been a long day—twelve hours on his feet, with barely a moment to sit down between taking orders, bussing tables, and rushing plates to the kitchen. He can still feel the phantom weight of the trays on his arm, the clink of glasses ringing in his ears.

His grip tights on the mop as he debates leaving everything for the morning crew. He knew it would get him in trouble, maybe even docked pay. Which... he can't afford right now. His eyes wander to the gauntlet covering his wrist. Perhaps he could use his magic to finish everything? Surely no harm would befall him if he were to use it just once?

He shakes his head, remembering the conversation he had had with his master several centuries ago. "Magic isn't a permissible shortcut to hard work."

He pushes the mop around, pulling the wine into dark streaks across the floor before it finally absorbs into the fabric. He finishes the puddle and wrings out the mop, moving on autopilot now, his thoughts drifting.

He didn't plan on being here in Arcadia for so long. It was supposed to be a temporary stop, just a place to catch his breath and lay low for a while. But weeks turned into months, and the small, cramped apartment he rented above a laundromat somehow became home. He's still not sure how it happened—one day he just realized he'd memorized the rhythm of the city, the sounds of the buskers on the corner, and the old lady who always feeds the pigeons at dawn. He supposes it's easy to get attached after wandering around for centuries, never staying in one place long enough to let it sink under his skin.

Douxie lets out a sigh as he finishes wringing out the mop one last time. He hangs it up on the rack, stretching his sore arms and rolling his neck until he feels a satisfying pop. The bistro is quiet now, the only sound is the low hum of the fridge and the faint music playing from the radio in the back. He wipes his hands on his apron and tosses it onto the counter, giving the place a final glance to make sure everything is in order. Satisfied, he grabs his worn jacket from the back of a chair and heads for the door.

As he steps outside, the cool night air hits him, a welcome relief after the heat and stuffiness of the kitchen. The city feels different at night—quieter, almost serene. The streetlights cast a golden glow on the empty sidewalks and the distant sound of highway traffic hums in the distance. Douxie takes a deep breath, savoring the crisp air that carries a hint of rain. He shoves his hands into his pockets, feeling the few crumpled bills he made tonight. It's not much, but it'll get him through another couple of days, at least until his next shift.

He starts walking, the familiar path leading him toward the small alley where he usually cuts through on his way home. It's quieter here, away from the main road, the shadows deeper and the sounds muffled. He's barely halfway down the alley when he catches sight of a pair of glowing green eyes staring at him from the top of a parked car.

Douxie smirks, recognizing the sleek black shape of his familiar, Archie. The cat sits perched on the roof, his tail flicking lazily back and forth. In the dim light, he looks like any ordinary cat—small, unassuming, blending into the night. But Douxie knows better. That ordinary appearance only means one thing: the real work is about to begin.

"Evening, Archie," Douxie says casually, tilting his head up to meet the cat's gaze. "You've been busy, I take it?"

The feline gives him a disapproving look, lets out a low 'meow' and hops down from the vehicle before heading toward the closest alley, brushing his body against objects as he goes.

Douxie follows him at a distance, careful not to make any sudden movement or noises. He's been chasing whispers for weeks now—rumors of dark magic stirring in Arcadia, strange disturbances that ordinary people wouldn't notice but he can sense, like a ripple in the air. He thought it might just be a coincidence at first, but the signs are becoming clearer.

Archie slinks into the shadows of the narrow alleyway, his green eyes darting around, scanning the darkness.

Douxie watches him closely, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling with an inexplicable sense of unease. The night seems colder here, the air heavy with a strange, metallic tang.

Just as the apprentice is about to step forward, a movement catches his eye—a flicker of a shadow not his own. He freezes, narrowing his gaze, and there it is again. A dark, indistinct shape skulking along the far wall, trailing after Archie. The shadow seems to shift and warp as it moves, melting into the darkness like smoke. For a moment, Douxie wonders if he's seeing things, if exhaustion is finally getting the better of him. But then Archie stops, hissing low and feral, his back arching defensively.

"The bugger finally decides to show himself." He mumbles under his breath as his instincts kick in. He strides forward, his hand already reaching for the gauntlet beneath his sleeve. Magic pulses at his fingertips, a faint, crackling energy that lights up the dark metal like a string of fairy lights. He flicks his wrist, and a small, protective barrier shimmers into place between him and the shadow, casting a faint blue glow over the alley.

The shadow pauses, almost as if it's sizing him up, and Douxie gets his first clear look at it. The creature is no longer a creeping shadow but a lizard-like beast with three yellow eyes and a writhing black and yellow body. It doesn't seem to have a solid form; its edges waver and ripple like smoke caught in the breeze. There's something deeply unnatural about it, something that sets Douxie's nerves on edge.

Douxie tightens his grip on the gauntlet, feeling the hum of his magic course through his veins. Archie hisses again, a low, warning growl rumbling from his chest as the creature slinks closer, its three eyes gleaming with a sinister light. The thing moves unnaturally, its body gliding across the ground like liquid darkness, claws scraping noiselessly against the concrete.

"Alright, mate," Douxie mutters, stepping forward to place himself between Archie and the creature. "I don't know what you are, but you've made a big mistake coming after my familiar."

He flicks his wrist again, and a pulse of light erupts from his hand, forming a crackling orb of energy that hovers just above his palm. The faint blue glow casts sharp shadows across the alley, illuminating the creature's eerie, writhing form. It recoils, its eyes narrowing.

He flings the orb at the beast, capturing it in a large, light-blue bubble. He pauses briefly, questioning whether or not he had caught the thing. "Well, that was easy." He shrugs, glancing at his familiar. The cat only shoots him a look. "What? 'Tis my cleanest capture yet!" He gloats, grinning victoriously. He glances back at the creature and watches it scratch and claw at the barrier entrapping it. "Aren't you a nasty little beast? I figured an umber imp was the reason for all those lost pets."

A groan of disapproval sounds from behind him. "That is not an umber imp." Archie huffs, rising on his back haunches, and pulling a pair of glasses out of nowhere. He fixes them on his face. "Do you notice the three mandibles? How is it phasing in and out of existence? That is a shadow mephit. And you should know your monsterology if you're going to use me as bait!"

Douxie winces, feeling the sting of Archie's words. "But I caught it, didn't I? And there's not a scratch on you!" He eyes the creature more closely. Sure enough, as the bubble of blue light pulses around it, the mephit's form flickers like a candle in the wind. Its mandibles click together, a horrible, grating sound that makes the hairs on Douxie's arms stand on end. It lunges at the barrier, its claws scraping uselessly against the shimmering surface, leaving trails of dark, smoky residue. "Uh, let's just take a second to recognize that I've—we've done some pretty awesome magic tonight." He laughs slightly, turning back to his feline friend. "We're unappreciated, Arch, silent sentinels keeping the world safe from specters and demons—"

The familiar adjusts his tiny glasses with one paw, the gesture somehow managing to be both endearing and deeply irritated. "If you're quite finished patting yourself on the back, I suggest you deal with it quickly," Archie snaps.

"No, no—revel in the victory, Arch!" Hisirdoux says, trying to remain light-hearted as the sinking feeling of realizing that he doesn't actually know much about shadow mephits. He's been on the move for so long, dealing with whatever magic trouble that popped up wherever he was, that he hasn't had time to sit down and study new creatures properly.

"There will be time to revel later," Archie replies, stretching. Halfway through his stretch, however, he pauses and stares wide-eyed at the trap, "Uh, Douxie, I think you should turn around."

"It's fine, Arch—"

The creature screeches.

Douxie sighs, "It's out of the trap, isn't it?"

The apprentice glances over his shoulder. The crackling blue barrier starts to warp and bend under the strain of the mephit's relentless attacks, dark veins of energy spreading through the light.

"Oh, fuzz buckets!" He shouts, just as the creature frees itself from the trap.

Douxie's pulse quickens as the barrier shatters with a sharp crack, sending a pulse of dark energy rippling through the alley. The force nearly knocks him off his feet. The shadow mephit lunges forward, its form twisting and coiling like black smoke in a fierce wind. Its three yellow eyes gleam with a predatory light, fixed solely on Archie.

In a split second, Archie's fur bristles, and his tiny form ripples with energy. He lets out a low growl, his feline eyes narrowing into slits. The familiar leaps into the air, his body twisting mid-jump. Gone is the small, sleek black cat. In his place emerges a larger, more intimidating figure—a muscled feline with dragon-like wings that unfurl from his back, casting an imposing shadow against the walls of the alley. His fur gleams with a metallic sheen, and his eyes glow with a fiery gold light. Archie beats his powerful wings once, sending a gust of wind that stirs up the trash and debris littering the alley.

The mephit hesitates, its three yellow eyes widening in surprise at the sudden transformation. It screeches, a shrill sound that grates against Douxie's ears, but Archie is already on the move. He barrels toward the creature, wings flapping with a thunderous whoosh, and as he opens his mouth, a plume of searing blue fire erupts forth.

The flames lick at the mephit, scorching its smoky form and causing it to recoil. The creature lets out a pained shriek, its body flickering violently, the dark wisps of its form momentarily scattering under the intensity of the fire. Archie hovers in the air, his wings beating rhythmically as he keeps the stream of flame steady, carving a line of heat through the dark alley. The searing attack forces the mephit back, giving Douxie a chance to find his footing.

"Nicely done, Arch!" Douxie calls out, a grin spreading across his face as he feels the rush of adrenaline surge through his veins. He steadies himself, drawing in a deep breath as he focuses his energy. The gauntlet on his arm pulses with power, the runes etched into its surface glowing brightly as he channels his magic.

The mephit hisses, shaking off the remnants of flame clinging to its form. It glares at the two of them with a hatred that seems to burn brighter than its own malevolent eyes. However, instead of staying to fight it turns and falls into its shadow form.

"Your capture technique is still weak," Archie chides, "You could use a couple more centuries of practice!"

"I will not be lectured by someone who licks their own butt!"

Archie scoffs, swooping down from his aerial stance to swipe at the shadow mephit with a clawed paw. "I'm a cat, Hisirdoux, it's called self-care! And don't get cheeky with me; maybe if you actually cracked open a book once in a while, we wouldn't be chasing this thing across half of Arcadia!"

"Hey, I take care of myself! Douxie sprints after the creature as it skitters along the wall, its body melding seamlessly into the dark stone, becoming almost indistinguishable from the shadows it swims through. The alley narrows, the walls closing in as they turn a sharp corner. He slides on a slick patch of something foul but keeps his balance, his boots thudding against the wet pavement as he keeps pace.

Archie casts a glance at the ageless teenager over his shoulder, "Right, like bathing once a week is hygienic."

"It isn't that bad!" Douxie tries to argue. "I've just... had other things to worry about..." He flicks his wrist, sending a bolt of blue energy crackling through the air. It strikes the wall just inches from the creature, forcing it to dart sideways and slow down.

"Like what?" Archie questions.

"Like keeping us both fed and not getting caught by dark wizards or magic hunters, for one!" Douxie shoots back, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he launches another bolt of energy toward the fleeing mephit. The spell crackles through the air, illuminating the alley with a bright flash as it impacts just behind the creature, splintering the bricks.

Archie swoops low, his wings nearly scraping the ground as he circles around the creature. "Oh, really? Because it seems to me like you've spent more time at that bistro playing 'struggling artist' than actually dealing with magical threats!"

"Would you cut me some slack?!" Douxie pants as he scrolls through the spells on his gauntlet. "Ah, here we go. Let's see you phase through this, you little git!" He lassos the creature with a magical, light blue chain. "This spell totally worked on that specterghast back in Babylon!"

"Ah, yes, that was a fun night." Archie replies, "Heads up!"

The mephit yanks Douxie over a trash bin, but the apprentice manages to remain on his feet. The mephit snarls, its form flickering as it tries to dive into the shadows, but the chain keeps its head tangible.

"No, it had five heads!" Douxie shouts as the creature jerks him out into the street and up into the bed of a white truck. Tired of being tugged along, he slams his foot down, jerking the mephit to a halt. "This is the end of the line for you, mate!"

Archie rolls his eyes and blows a plume of fire at the mephit, knocking it into a daze, "Unlike umber imps, mephits are vulnerable to fire."

Hisirdoux groans, "Spare me the lecture." He swings the spell around in a wide arc, and the net of light bursts forth, expanding in a radiant wave. He drops the magical chain and opens up a portal underneath the monster just as it regains its senses.

The creature thrashes against its confines, its dark energy writhing against its magical tethers.

Douxie steps closer, breathing heavily, and opens a portal beneath the mephit, "Say 'Hi' to everyone in limbo for me!"

The shadow mephit screeches, its voice a grating cacophony of anger and fear as it is sucked into the swirling blue portal. The dark, smoky tendrils of its body lash out, clawing at the ground in a futile attempt to escape its fate. But the pull of the portal is too strong. With one final, shrill wail, the mephit is swallowed whole, the portal snapping shut behind it with a soft pop, leaving the street eerily silent.

Douxie slumps against the side of the truck, his breath coming in heavy, uneven gasps. He runs a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, pushing the dark strands back from his forehead. His heart still pounds from the chase, the adrenaline slowly draining from his system. He's aware of the sharp ache in his muscles, the sting of a few scrapes on his knees from when he nearly fell. He lowers himself to sit on the curb, feeling the cold pavement against his legs as he leans back, staring up at the sky. The faint glow of the city lights makes it hard to see the stars, but he searches for them anyway, feeling a pang of longing for something he can't quite name.

Archie lands beside him, folding his wings neatly against his back before they seem to disappear, leaving only the sleek black cat once more. He watches Douxie with an unreadable expression, his green eyes glinting in the dim light of the alley.

"Well, that was a bit of a workout," Douxie mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks at his familiar, expecting some snarky comment, but Archie just sits there quietly, his tail flicking back and forth.

"You put it in limbo?" Archie finally asks, his tone tinged with suspicion.

Douxie nods, letting out a tired chuckle. "Yeah, figured that was the safest place for it. I mean, better there than roaming the streets causing chaos, right?"

Archie's eyes narrow slightly. "You do realize that shadow mephits rarely show up alone, don't you? Where there's one, there are usually others lurking nearby."

Douxie waves a hand dismissively, leaning back on his elbows. "I know, I know. But we've been running around all night, Arch. If there were more, wouldn't they have come out by now?" He lets out a sigh, tilting his head back to look up at the sky again. The night air feels cool against his flushed skin, a welcome relief after the heat of the chase.

Archie's ears flick back, clearly unconvinced. He turns his gaze toward the darkened alley, his body tense as if still expecting something to leap out at them. "Perhaps," he says slowly, "but shadow mephits are cunning. They don't always attack all at once. They prefer to wait, to watch, and strike when you least expect it."

Douxie makes a face, his expression one of mild exasperation. "Arch, I get it. But for now, it's quiet. And I'm too knackered to go chasing after shadows that might not even be there." He pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on them, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over him like a blanket.

Archie watches him for a moment longer before he sighs, the sound almost a purr as he pads closer, settling down beside Douxie. "You're lucky I'm a forgiving familiar, you know. You could use a little more caution."

Douxie snorts, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, yeah. You're a saint, Arch."

Silence falls between them, broken only by the distant hum of the city. Douxie feels the tension slowly ease out of his shoulders, replaced by a bone-deep weariness. He's glad the mephit is dealt with, at least for now. But as he sits there, staring at the dark sky, he feels an emptiness gnawing at him, a hollow space that he's been trying to ignore for weeks.

"I miss her," he murmurs, the words slipping out before he can stop them.

Archie looks up, his green eyes softening slightly. He doesn't need to ask who Douxie is talking about. He already knows. "Anthea," he says quietly, the name hanging in the air like a whisper.

Douxie nods, his eyes distant. "I don't even know why anymore." He laughs, but it's a hollow sound, devoid of humor. "I thought I'd be used to it by now. But every time I turn a corner, I keep expecting to see her. Like she's just going to walk back into my life, like nothing happened."

Archie's tail twitches, and he leans against Douxie's side, offering what little comfort he can. "Grief isn't something you just get used to, Hisirdoux. It sticks with you, no matter how many centuries pass."

"I know." Douxie squeezes his eyes shut, feeling the sting of unshed tears. He presses the heel of his hand against his forehead, trying to force down the lump in his throat.

Douxie lets out a long, shaky breath, the rain pattering against his face. The city air is cool, the drizzle washing away the heat of the chase and the weariness clinging to his bones. For a moment, he closes his eyes, leaning into the familiar comfort of Archie by his side.

And then, he hears it—a voice, faint and echoing, like a whisper carried on the wind.

"Hisirdoux..."

Douxie's eyes snap open, his heart skipping a beat. The voice is unmistakable, deep and resonant, carrying an authority he hasn't heard in centuries. He sits up straight, his pulse quickening. He glances at Archie, who is already alert, his ears perked and eyes scanning their surroundings.

"Did you hear that?" Douxie whispers.

Archie's fur bristles slightly, but he shakes his head. "Hear what?"

Douxie swallows, his gaze darting around the empty street. The voice was so clear, so real. He could almost feel the familiar weight of it pressing down on his shoulders, a voice that used to fill rooms with its sheer presence.

"Hisirdoux Casperan, I know you can hear me."

Douxie's breath catches in his throat. He stands abruptly, stumbling back a step as the voice seems to grow louder, reverberating in his mind. It's impossible, he thinks. It can't be.

"Merlin?" he breathes, the name falling from his lips like a prayer.

Archie's eyes widen, and he rises to his paws, a mix of shock and disbelief flickering across his feline features. "Did you just say—?"

A green light blooms before them and a holograph powered by magic rises from the ground.

Hisirdoux gasps, "Arch, this is finally our moment!"

"Hisirdoux," Merlin greets.

"Master Merlin!" Hisirdoux bows.

Merlin smiles gently before turning serious once more, "Hisirdoux, my faithful apprentice, I need—"

"You're darn right I've been faithful! I've been mopping for almost a millennium!" Hisirdoux interrupts, rising from his seat, "Why didn't you send a raven or a text? There is texting now, you know."

"I've been busy," Merlin replies, perturbed.

"Yeah? Well, I've been quite busy, too, protecting the material plane while you weren't around."

Merlin sighs, "Hisirdoux, I need you—"

"About time!" The apprentice injects once more, "I've been practicing my incantations and my spells—"

"Enough!" The elder wizard shouts, "The Guardians of Arcadia must be gathered," He sounds urgent, tinged with a gravity that Douxie has not heard in a very long time. "With haste, Hisirdoux. Meet me at the old bookstore."

Douxie blinks, his mind reeling. The old bookstore? He hasn't set foot there in... he doesn't even know how long. It's a relic of another time, one of Merlin's hidden sanctuaries scattered across the world, places that most had forgotten existed. He thought it had been abandoned, a dusty old building that no one gave a second glance.

"Wait, Merlin!" Douxie calls out, his voice echoing in the rain-soaked street. He feels a surge of desperation claw at his chest, a thousand questions bubbling up all at once. "You've been gone for—"

"There's no time," Merlin's voice cuts through, sharp and final.

The hologram fades, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake. Douxie stands there, rain dripping from his hair, his heart thudding loudly in his chest. He feels a strange mixture of relief and dread flooding his system. Relief at hearing the voice of his old master, but dread in hearing his words. Merlin wouldn't call on him after all these centuries unless something monumental was about to happen.

Douxie runs a hand through his wet hair, trying to gather his thoughts. He feels the old, familiar fear of being in over his head, of facing things far beyond his control. But he also feels a flicker of hope, a small light in the darkness. If Merlin's reaching out, it means they're not alone. It means they have a chance.

"We have to go," Douxie says, his voice firm despite the tremble in his hands.

"Ah, so it's definitely our moment alright."

"Oh, hush, you!" Douxie grumbles, taking off in a sprint.

⋆｡°.⭒✩₊‧.°⋆•✨⋆˚｡‧⋆.✧⭒°₊｡⋆

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄:

Hey y'all!

Welcome to Anthea; A World Unknown (or Anthea 2.0). I hope you are enjoying the story so far. I know this first chapter is twice as long as it was the first time around. If it's too long, please let me know and I'll try to shorten the chapters a little. But if you like the longer style,  I'll keep it up!

I won't leave a note at the end of every chapter—or at least I'll try not to, but with chapters being longer, there might be wide-ish gaps between chapters. If you have any questions and would like me to see them right away, I do have a Discord server set up for anyone to join. There are channels for art, writing, music, etc! And if you don't want to join, I also have a Tumblr. And If neither of those work for you, I will try to reply to your comments if you post any here. I do want to let you all know though, that your comments may get lost in my notifications (which I get a lot of for some reason) so if I don't respond please don't take it personally! 

As for updates, I don't have a specific schedule. So chapters will come out after I finish writing and briefly edit them. As y'all read this chapter, I am trying to write in advance while I have the inspiration. I may even do some sketches (no promises).

Anyhow, I hope to see y'all around. Have a good day/night wherever you are! And a happy Thanksgiving for those in the States! And a Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!

Ciao~
Ash

PS— If you want to read the old versions of ANTHEA, please join my discord. I have placed everything, as is, in my archive.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 7000
𝐏𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃: 27 November 2024
𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐃: 08 December 2024