This is purely a phenomenon of strange occurrence—a what-if scenario only possible thanks to the generosity of a select few....

Our tale begins with two very different worlds.

One, where physical might outweighs even the most powerful emotion—love.
And another, where magic weaves through everyday life, where familiars—creatures born of a young mage’s soul—walk beside their companions like loyal shadows.

It is in this magical world our story begins, focusing squarely on a young witch with bouncy orange curls and a dog who appeared inquisitive at every turn.

Let’s dive in, shall we?

The day was just like any other, with the two going from class to class, their footsteps echoing through the worn hallways of the academy. However, this day would be anything but ordinary.

As Cleo and Celeste strolled side by side, something in the air shifted. Shouts erupted behind them.

“Run!”

Panicked students rushed past, their voices rising in alarm as chaos unfolded.
Before the pair could react, the ground beneath them shifted and swallowed them up impossibly fast as the world around them changed.

Gone now were the familiar stone walls and wooden floors of their school.

In their place stood a vast, ornate hall bathed in golden light. Chandeliers glittered above a long table where figures sat in tense silence. Cleo’s fur bristled instantly.

They weren’t alone.

The glint of drawn swords flashed in her peripheral vision—blades now resting at the crook of Celeste’s neck. Cleo growled as Celeste raised her arms in surrender, trembling from the cold steel.

A voice rang out from across the grand chamber.

“Control your beast before I’m forced to cut it down, strange child.”

The speaker sat at the head of the table, poised like a predator. He had long black hair, sun-kissed skin, and eyes of burnished gold that followed their every movement—unblinking, calculating.

Cleo remained still, forcing her hackles to settle and silencing herself. The two locked eyes. She didn’t need magic to know—this was a man not to be trifled with. 

Not unless you wanted to die trying.

Seeing Cleo's composure, the tension in the room seemed to ease. The swords withdrew slightly, though they still hovered close, poised to strike.

The man leaned into his hand, fingers curled beneath his chin as he spoke again—his smirk cold, unreadable.

“Now that that’s settled… tell me who you are, and how you found yourselves here.”

Celeste hesitated, her voice a whisper.
“Well, uh… my name is Celeste. This is Cleo. My… pet?”

The word felt wrong on her tongue. 

Cleo’s ears twitched, but she said nothing. Celeste could tell the gathered men were no magicians. They likely wouldn’t understand the concept of a familiar.

As Celeste tried to explain their circumstances further, Cleo scanned the room. Her eyes settled on a man with vivid orange hair, standing beside the dark-haired prince. His gaze lacked the sharpness of the others. It was softer, more human. A potential ally? Perhaps.

Then, the prince turned toward him.

“Well? Do you think they’re lying, my Royal Scholar of Hearts?”

The scholar looked between Cleo and Celeste, his gaze lingering longest on Cleo.
“No,” he said. “She’s trembling from fright. There’s no deception in her.”

Cleo and Celeste exchanged a glance, the same question sparking in both minds.

‘Is that really a man?’

But there was no time to dwell on that. Iron cuffs clicked into place around their wrists, and in Cleo's case, her neck.

“Take them to the dungeon,” the prince ordered. “I’ll interrogate them myself once this meeting is over.”

“Yes, Your Highness!” the guards chorused, dragging the pair away.

‘A prince? Just who in the heck is that guy?’ Cleo thought as they were marched down cold stone halls and thrown into a basement cell.

The door slammed shut behind them with a resounding clang.

Celeste collapsed against Cleo, sobbing into her fur. “What’s going on? I’m so scared, Cleo…”

Cleo let her cry, pressing close in silent comfort. She understood all too well.

Time passed—perhaps an hour—before the heavy sound of boots echoed down the corridor. Two figures emerged from the shadows: the prince, as promised, and the orange-haired man close behind.

In the flickering torchlight, the prince’s golden eyes were even more intense. Beautiful, terrifying, and impossible to look away from.

“I have more questions,” he said, voice like velvet and steel. “And I’ll give you one chance to speak the truth. If you lie, know that choice may be your last. I won’t spare a spy who refuses to cooperate.”

Celeste opened her mouth. “I promise, we’re not—”

He raised a hand, silencing her effortlessly.

“You had your chance to speak earlier. Your…” he chuckled softly, “pet… has had no such opportunity. Speak, dog.”

He locked eyes with Cleo. Something glimmered there—curiosity, perhaps, or recognition. Either way, he knew.

Cleo exhaled.

Then opened her mouth.

“How’d you know?” she asked, voice low but steady.

The orange-haired scholar stiffened, eyes widening before he quickly regained his composure.

The prince’s smirk deepened.

“I have my ways. And you have a presence that speaks volumes beyond that of a mere animal.”

His gaze flicked to Celeste, who flinched beneath its weight, shrinking closer to Cleo.

Then back to Cleo.

“Speak, dog. I won’t ask you again.”

Cleo met his gaze without fear now, her voice calm despite the storm swirling around them.

“Alright. Here goes.”

To be continued in part 2!