Companions

“Do you ever stop pacing?” Toren’s voice carried across the dorm hall, sharp with amusement. “It’s not even noon and you’re wearing a groove in the floor.”

Lucien froze mid-step, jaw tight. “I’m not pacing.”

“You’re absolutely pacing,” Elira said from where she sat cross-legged on a bench, quill scratching over parchment. She didn’t even glance up. “And it’s distracting.”

Lucien exhaled hard through his nose, muttering, “It’s just… the selection.”

At that, Arian closed the book in his lap with deliberate calm. “It’s natural to be restless,” he said, purple eyes catching the light. “Today shapes the rest of our years here. Or ret of the life!”

Darius, leaning against the wall with his spear across his shoulders, rumbled, “It shapes more than years. A knight without a companion is half a knight. A mage without one is worse.”

That silenced the group for a beat, until Toren grinned again. “And here I thought Lucien was just worried his would turn out to be a slug.”

Lucien shot him a glare. “Better a slug than something that bites.”

“Depends on who’s doing the biting,” Toren fired back.

Even Caelith, who lingered at the window with his arms folded, rolled his eyes. But he was the one who finally spoke sense. “We should go. The professors don’t wait for latecomers.”

The others gathered their things quickly. Books snapped shut, weapons slung over shoulders, uniforms straightened. Yet beneath the routine movements, a quiet thrum of nerves threaded through them all. Today was no ordinary class—it was the day they would call forth companions.

---

The Academy grounds were alive in a way Lucien hadn’t seen before. Banners of deep blue and silver hung across the courtyard, embroidered with the crest of twin serpents twining around a star. Students filled the walkways in clusters, voices high with anticipation.

In the very center of the courtyard, a circular stone dais had been cleared of snow, carved with runes that glimmered faintly in the sunlight.

“The Summoning Circle,” Elira murmured beside Lucien, her eyes alight. “Oldest magic still in use. Supposedly dates back to the Founders.”

Toren leaned closer with mock solemnity. “You mean the crazy mages who decided it would be smart to tether wild mana into animal shapes? Sounds like a drunk bet gone too far.”

Elira swatted him with her papers. “It’s a discipline. Companions aren’t beasts—they’re manifestations. They reflect the bond, the soul, the—”

“The headaches,” Toren interrupted.

Lucien half-listened, gaze drawn to the circle. He had read enough to know the basics: when a student stepped onto the dais, the circle would channel their mana outward, pulling at the threads of the unseen realm. From those threads, a form would take shape—a creature attuned to the summoner’s essence.

If it succeeded.

If not… well, no one liked to talk about failures.

---

Professor Vael arrived with the slow precision of someone used to commanding attention. She wore armor beneath her robes, the glint of steel visible at her collar, and her hair—iron-grey, bound in a crown braid—lent her a severe dignity.

“Silence,” she said, and the crowd obeyed instantly.

Her gaze swept over them, sharp as a hawk’s. “You stand on the threshold of one of our oldest rites. To bond with a companion is not a privilege—it is a burden, a promise, a vow. You bind not only beast to man, but will to will. Some of you will flourish. Some will falter. And some…”

Her eyes narrowed. “Some will find the circle gives them nothing.”

A ripple of unease spread through the gathered students. Lucien’s stomach turned hearing threshold however he forced himself to keep his shoulders straight. Arian is okay and everything else too.

Professor Vael continued. “Failure is not shame. But know this—without a companion, your path here will be far steeper. The Academy trains no half-formed mages. You will be tested harder, and you will not be excused.”

She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. “Now. While the preparations are made, you will recall why we do this.”

Her hand lifted, and with a flick, a constellation of glowing runes bloomed above the dais. They shifted into images—beasts of all forms, some winged, some clawed, some ethereal as mist.

“Before the founding,” she said, “mana tore through the world without form, wild and ravenous. It twisted forests into nightmares and seas into storms. The first Summoners found a way to bind it—not in chains, but in kinship. They gave it form, name, loyalty. Thus the Companions were born. Knights, mages, even kings have walked with them since.”

The illusions shifted again—figures of armored warriors with lions at their side, robed sages accompanied by foxes of flame, archers whose hawks blazed with lightning.

“They are not pets,” Vael’s voice cut sharp. “They are not tools. They are extensions of yourself. Treat them as lesser, and they will break you. Treat them as equal, and they will lift you beyond measure.”

---

Beside Lucien, Arian stood utterly still, gaze fixed on the illusions above. His expression was unreadable, but his hand twitched once at his side—as though restraining something.

Lucien leaned close, whispering, “You’re quiet.”

“I’m remembering,” Arian murmured back. His eyes flicked to him, a faint smile curling at his lips. “Do you recall when we were children, and you said your companion would be a hawk? You claimed you wanted its wings so you could fly away whenever your tutors scolded you.”

Lucien blinked. The memory struck sharp, unexpected. He had said that, years ago, in a moment he barely remembered himself.

“How—” He cut off, swallowing. “I barely even recall that.”

“I don’t forget,” Arian said simply. Then his gaze returned to the circle, the flicker of a shadow crossing his face.

Lucien’s chest tightened. The way he said it—the weight of it—it felt too real, too much like the Arian he knew.

Before he could press, Professor Vael clapped her hands, scattering the illusions into sparks.

“Form lines,” she commanded. “Each of you will step forward in turn. Remember—the circle responds to truth. Hide yourself, and it will give you nothing.”

---

The students began to shuffle into place, some confident, others visibly trembling. The air thickened with mana, humming against Lucien’s skin.

Toren leaned toward him with a grin far too casual for the moment. “Ten gold says mine breathes fire.”

Elira snorted. “Ten gold says yours bites your hand off before you finish bonding.”

“Ruthless.”

“Realistic.”

Darius muttered something about strength being all that mattered, while Caelith remained silent, his icy eyes fixed on the circle like he was memorizing every line of it.

Lucien, meanwhile, felt his heartbeat pound harder with every step the line shortened. The thought gnawed at him—what if nothing answered? What if the circle judged him lacking?

Then Arian’s voice brushed low beside him. “You’re overthinking again.”

Lucien glanced at him, startled. “I—”

“You always do, when the stakes are high.” Arian’s gaze stayed forward, calm and steady. “But you’ll be fine. You’ve always been fine.”

Something in his tone—assured, unshakable—settled the storm in Lucien’s chest, if only slightly.

---

One by one, the students mounted the dais. The circle blazed with each attempt, some yielding luminous beasts, others faltering into nothing more than sparks. The successes drew gasps and applause; the failures silence heavy as stone.

Lucien watched every one, throat dry. The diversity stunned him—fiery foxes, armored boars, shadowy panthers, serpents of light. Each seemed to reflect its summoner’s essence in ways words never could.

When the first scream tore the air—a boy whose summoning shattered mid-form, leaving him clutching his arm in pain—the crowd recoiled. Professor Vael’s expression didn’t shift. “The circle takes its due,” she said flatly. “Let that be reminder—magic is not mercy.”

---

By the time Lucien’s group drew near, the tension had wound so tight the very air seemed brittle. Toren bounced on his heels, still grinning despite the stakes. Elira muttered formulae under her breath. Darius rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. Caelith’s face was carved from stone.

And Arian… Arian stood like a shadow given flesh, unreadable, calm, but with a glimmer in his eyes that Lucien couldn’t place.

Lucien wanted to speak, to say something to break the taut silence. But before he could, Professor Vael’s voice rang out again.

“Next.”

And the line moved forward.

---

Lucien’s pulse hammered as he realized how close they were. The circle blazed faintly in the sunlight, waiting, hungry.

For an instant, he thought he felt something stir in the air—a pressure, faint but uncanny, as though the world itself leaned closer.

He swallowed hard, eyes locked on the glowing runes.

Tomorrow, or the next, or the next—it would be his turn.

And whatever answered… would shape everything.

•••