Origins

“You’re walking too fast.”

Lucien slowed his stride automatically at Arian’s quiet chiding. Not everyone got their chance yesterday. So many was in tensed mood. The selection grounds loomed just ahead, a stretch of polished stone courtyard ringed by arching wards that shimmered faintly in the morning light. Students clustered in groups, voices buzzing with excitement, nerves, and speculation.

“I wasn’t walking fast,” Lucien muttered, though he had been.

“You always walk like you’re chasing something,” Arian replied, falling in step beside him. “Maybe today you’ll catch it.”

Before Lucien could form a retort, Toren slung an arm over his shoulder from behind, nearly knocking him off balance.

“Don’t tell me golden boy’s nervous,” Toren drawled. “It’s just the Companion Selection. Pick a magical pet, feed it, scratch its ears, done.”

Elira, walking ahead with a neat stack of notes already in hand, didn’t bother to glance back. “Your ignorance is showing, Toren. Again. The bond isn’t about pets. It’s about mana resonance. The wrong choice can cripple a mage for life.”

Toren’s grin didn’t falter. “Crippled with a fluffy friend still beats alone with nothing but books.”

Elira gave him a look sharp enough to cut. “Do you ever take anything seriously?”

“Occasionally. Like food. And naps.”

Arian’s lips curved faintly, though he said nothing. Lucien rolled his shoulders beneath Toren’s weight, shaking him off. “If you’re not going to take this seriously, then keep quiet.”

“Fine, fine.” Toren lifted his hands in mock surrender. “But if I get a fire-breathing wolf, don’t come crying when it eats your homework.”

The others laughed lightly, even Elira’s mouth twitching despite herself.

Lucien’s smile faded as the courtyard opened wide before them. Rows of carved summoning circles gleamed across the stone, glowing faintly with ancient enchantments. Professors stood waiting at the edges, their robes crisp, their expressions stern. Beyond, the mana-veil shimmered—a dome of light where the companions would appear once the ritual began.

The sight pulled something loose in Lucien’s chest. A memory, a reminder.

How had he come here at all?

---

It had been years—no, more than that. A lifetime. Back then, he had been an ordinary young man in a small, cramped apartment, his days blurred by endless screens and late-night novels. He remembered the stacks of manga, the countless isekai stories he devoured where strangers awoke in strange worlds. And his loved ones...

And then, one day, it wasn’t fiction anymore.

He woke as a child again—five years old—in this place of magic and history, inside a body that wasn’t his. Lucien Veynar, son of a noble house. At first, panic should have broken him. But instead… he adapted. Almost too easily.

Because he knew this. He had read this. The tropes, the rules, the expectations—they were familiar, like a book he’d memorized and finally stepped into.

Magic had been the hardest to grasp. Not just energy, but will, intention, resonance. Mana was everywhere, in the air, the ground, the stars above. It could be shaped, sung into, sharpened. Unlike the neat systems he’d read in novels, this magic was wild, layered, alive. A conversation between soul and world.

And the world itself—Veynar’s history ran deep. Kingdoms carved from blood and flame. Orders of knights bound by oaths older than the Academy itself. Temples that whispered of gods, though no god had walked the land in centuries.

Companions were one of those ancient traditions. Not beasts to be tamed, but spirits drawn into form, reflecting the summoner’s essence. A bond that lasted a lifetime, sometimes longer.

Lucien dragged his gaze back to the courtyard, grounding himself in the present.

“You’re quiet.” Arian’s voice was low, meant only for him.

“Just thinking,” Lucien said.

“Dangerous habit.”

Lucien shot him a sidelong glance. “You do it too.”

“Not as much as you.”

Before he could argue, Professor Vael raised his hand, silencing the courtyard.

---

“Students,” Vael’s voice carried, sharp and steady. “Today marks the beginning of your true journey as mages. A companion is not a tool. It is not an ornament. It is the mirror of your soul. Choose poorly, and you will suffer. Choose well, and you will gain a partner for life.”

The dome of light flared brighter behind him, threads of mana weaving like a storm contained.

“Step forward when called. Place your hand upon the circle. The bond will reveal itself.”

Whispers surged. Excitement. Fear.

Toren leaned close to Lucien, muttering, “Bet mine’s a dragon.”

Elira didn’t bother to hide her scoff. “Bet yours is a rat.”

“Still better than your crow,” Toren shot back.

“You don’t know that I’ll get a crow.”

“I can feel it in the air.”

Lucien half-smiled despite himself. Their bickering was absurdly grounding.

But when the first student was called forward and the circle ignited, silence swept again. A shape unfolded from light and smoke—a fox, silver-furred, eyes burning gold. Gasps rippled through the crowd.

The student staggered, but the fox padded forward, touched his hand, and the bond snapped into place.

So this was it. The tradition he’d read about. The ritual he’d imagined. Now real.

And he—he was living it.

---

Lucien’s thoughts wandered again, even as students were called one by one.

He remembered being five. Standing in the Veynar manor gardens, too small for his new clothes, staring at the flowers that shimmered faintly with mana. His parents had spoken to him kindly, but distantly, their lives filled with duties and expectations. He’d hidden his shock behind wide eyes and childish silence.

He remembered testing magic for the first time. Closing his eyes, reaching for something invisible, and finding it—the flow, the pulse, the heat of the world in his palm. It had been intoxicating.

He remembered, too, the nights when he’d lain awake, staring at ceilings too tall, listening to unfamiliar winds, and thinking of the world he’d left behind. A world of plastic and steel and glowing screens. He thought he’d mourn it longer. But days stretched, and magic filled the emptiness, and soon… he belonged here more than he ever had there.

Perhaps that was why he adapted so easily. Why he fit this role. Why sometimes he feared he fit it too well.

Arian shifted beside him, hands loose at his sides, expression unreadable. Lucien wondered if he felt the same—if this world weighed on him too, or if he bore some other secret Lucien couldn’t yet name.

"Lucien Veynar.”

The call jolted him back.

---

Every eye turned.

Lucien stepped forward, pulse thrumming in his throat. He placed his palm against the glowing circle, warmth flooding through him, searing and cold all at once.

The dome of light rippled. Mana surged.

Shapes coalesced. Shadows twisted.

And from the smoke, something began to form.

A hush swept the courtyard, thick and expectant.

•••