Wolf's Magic

The ground blurred beneath them as Ylfa raced across the terrain, her powerful legs eating up the kilometers. Jere clung tightly to her fur, his systems fighting within him. Neither his processors nor his reactor were winning this battle - and only he was paying the price. He wanted to curse it, to vent frustration, but he knew such things were useless. So he held on, silently, muscles tense as the wind whipped past, ears flicking at every sound.

They stayed off the main road, running along its periphery. It was a calculated decision. First, to avoid being seen. Second, to reduce the chance of ambush. Ylfa, confident in her speed and reflexes, thought the second point less important, but the first mattered. So they ran, hour after hour, the sun arcing from brilliant blue to molten gold, then soft pink and pale violet, before fading entirely into the darkness of night.

Only when stars pricked the sky did Ylfa slow, easing into a trot before halting completely in a small clearing inside the forest. She lowered herself to the ground, her chest heaving slightly from exertion. Jere slid down her side, landing on his feet. Her eyes sparkled in the dim starlight.

“Sorry, but I’m getting tired,” she said. “Can you look after yourself for a bit? Maybe make a fire? I’ll go hunt something to eat. There aren’t any demons around here.”

Jere nodded. He didn’t need a fire, but she might. The concept of caring for her in such a mundane way - building a fire while she hunted - made something warm stir inside him.

“Great. I’ll be right back.”

She bounded into the darkness, her enormous frame briefly silhouetted against the pale moonlight before melting into the shadows. Jere turned his attention to the scattered twigs and logs around him. Using a superheated feather, he carefully ignited the gathered wood. Within five minutes, flames danced and popped, casting long, trembling shadows over the clearing.

Ylfa returned almost immediately, her form shrinking down to a more manageable, domestic dog size as she padded over. She settled next to Jere, tail swishing gently.

“Good job,” she murmured.

He nodded, watching the firelight flicker over her fur. For a few minutes, neither spoke, just listening to the soft crackle of burning wood and the quiet hum of the forest around them.

Finally, she spoke, voice low, as though louder words might break the delicate stillness.

“What happened, anyway?”

Jere considered his answer carefully. Should he tell her the truth about his nature, or keep her in the dark a little longer?

“My body is trying to get used to magic,” he said, simple and factual.

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not accustomed to it. It’s adapting.”

Her brow furrowed. She wanted to ask more, but the answer didn’t make sense in her mind.

“Sorry, I don’t understand. Are you… not from this world?”

He didn’t answer. Her mind began to wander, imagination painting impossible scenarios. Questions bubbled up, then she pushed them aside. Instead, she changed the topic.

“We’ll get back to the city tomorrow,” she said.

He nodded once. She let out a small sigh and stretched against the warmth of the fire.

“Alright then. I’m going to drop off. Wake me if you need anything.”

The thought of asking Jere to wake her felt strange - he seemed invincible, a being beyond the bounds of ordinary danger. The idea that he might need her, that she might play a role in keeping him safe, made her smile quietly as she curled into herself and drifted to sleep.

Jere watched, his gaze fixed on the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. His own body ached with the limitations imposed by his weakened reactor. Even if he were stronger than any ordinary human, without full power, he couldn’t risk overexerting himself. His skin could hold up against physical attacks, yes - but magic remained unpredictable. Enormous power pulsed through this world, enough to threaten even him.

He shifted slightly, placing another log on the fire. Its orange light flickered across the forest floor. Then he simply waited, patient and alert, for the sun to rise again.

They were running again. The forest fell behind them in a blur of dark green, giving way to open farmland. The wind rushed past, carrying the scent of tilled earth and wild grasses. Ylfa’s fur was soft and warm under Jere’s grip, one hand holding her steady, the other clutching her clothes against his chest. Her pace was incredible - ignoring her size, she maintained a rhythm that rose and fell effortlessly over uneven terrain, each bound pushing the limits of speed and grace.

Jere’s focus split between balance and observation. Every ounce of his processing power not keeping him mounted was devoted to analyzing the strange sensation he’d experienced yesterday when Ylfa had hugged him. His processors ran through the data tirelessly. It was unlike anything he had catalogued before, yet fragments of prior experience surfaced: songs, fleeting images of affection, the concept of connection.

Love, they concluded.

The processors had little data on what to do with it, or even how to fully comprehend it. They noted he had been the recipient, but this offered no actionable guidance. For more clarity, the event needed to repeat. But how? Jere had no control over that. He could only wait until Ylfa acted.

Below him, her muscles rippled beneath his hands, taut and powerful. He felt the rhythm of her heartbeat through her skin. It was rapid, insistent, almost soothing in its constancy. She was breathing hard, nostrils flaring with exertion. The sound, combined with the steady pulse of life beneath him, triggered something undefined in his systems, a resonance he could not yet identify.

Suddenly, she slowed. Jere lifted his head, peering ahead. Six imps had stepped onto the path, weapons raised. Their leader, a squat figure with sharp horns, barked the challenge.

“Formy! State your name!”

Ylfa’s ears twitched. She didn’t answer, but something in the air shifted. Jere’s sensors registered a charge of magic energy building, coalescing at the tip of her muzzle.

Then it erupted.

A fireball shot forward, streaking across the field with uncanny speed. It collided with the imp leader and detonated with a concussive roar, sending flames and black smoke into the sky. Heat washed over Jere’s face, but his processors noted no damage. When the smoke cleared, a crater remained. The imps were gone. Not a single one remained in sight.

Ylfa’s voice came softly, almost embarrassed.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you.”

Jere’s processors scrambled for the correct response. The context was unprecedented. Could this be another trigger? He paused, weighing outcomes, then spoke.

“That’s alright. That was impressive.”

Her head snapped back in surprise. Her ears perked, eyes wide.

“Really?”

He nodded once, expression neutral.

Her entire face brightened, eyes sparkling.

“Thank you! That means a lot, coming from you.”

Jere’s processors noted the expected physiological reaction: increased heart rate after gratitude. Not love, they recorded - at least, not yet - but it was a piece of the puzzle.

Ylfa accelerated, muscles coiling and releasing as she surged back to full speed. Jere crouched flat against her back, wind cutting past them in waves, and let his mind drift. He catalogued every motion, every pulse of magic, every change in her posture. Data streamed through him: speed, power, endurance, magical output, emotional resonance. Each interaction was filed, cross-referenced, stored for future use.

And somewhere deep inside, a new, ineffable calculation began to form - a quiet, unquantifiable acknowledgment that the feeling he had felt yesterday might just repeat.

The sun hung high in the sky when the city finally came into view. The palace and church crowned the hill like silent sentinels above the walled civilization below. Farmland stretched on either side, patchworked in shades of green and gold, racing past under Ylfa’s powerful stride. A handful of farmers spotted them, but simply watched, frozen in disbelief. A Formy moving this fast was beyond anything they could hope to intercept - or even fully comprehend. And the black-clothed rider clinging to her back like it was second nature? That added another layer of mystery they didn’t dare confront. The sensible choice was clear: pretend they weren’t there and return to work.

Ylfa began to slow as they approached the outskirts. She trotted across the open farmland, ears twitching and tail sweeping behind her, and finally came to a stop by a lone windmill. The area was deserted, just as Jere had confirmed, leaving them alone with the soft creak of the blades turning above. She lowered herself, letting her massive form settle to the ground, and Jere hopped down, landing lightly beside her. She immediately shrank to domestic size, motioning toward her clothes.

Jere placed them neatly beside her and waited. Ylfa fixed him with a long, unreadable stare.

“Are you just going to watch me?” she asked.

He shrugged, genuinely unsure.

“What should I do?”

Her sigh carried both exasperation and a hint of authority.

“Jere. Listen closely. When a woman is getting changed, you don’t look unless she says you can. Do you understand?”

The edge in her tone was one he hadn’t heard since he’d spoken to his superiors back on Earth. His processors registered it immediately. He nodded and turned, keeping his back straight and his focus on the horizon.

Ylfa’s eyes lingered on him for a heartbeat, then she shifted seamlessly into human form. She moved quickly, dressing with practiced efficiency, her movements precise but careful. Once finished, she patted him lightly on the shoulder.

He didn’t turn.

She let out a soft, almost theatrical sigh.

“You can look now,” she said.

Jere turned, taking in her smiling face. Relief and pride shone in her expression, and a faint warmth crept into his system at the sight.

“Shall we go?” she asked.

He nodded. Together, they set off toward the city, side by side, the creak of the windmill fading behind them as the urban sprawl drew closer. The streets awaited, full of life, unaware of the duo approaching - or the power they carried with them.

The priest paced the empty nave, concern gnawing at him. J-1 hadn’t returned yesterday. He was long overdue. What could have happened to their superweapon? He frowned, imagining every worst-case scenario, from ambush to accident. And the King - when would he return from the ongoing battle to relieve him of this burden? He had requested retirement last year, but permission had yet to come. He exhaled loudly. The echo of his sigh rolled across the high ceilings of the church, mingling with the faint smell of incense.

Suddenly, the front doors burst open. He whirled around, heart hammering. J-1 strode in, the girl at his side, calm and composed despite everything. The priest straightened, regaining what composure he could, and nodded stiffly.

“J-1. Where have you been?”

“I’ve had an issue. I will be unable to fly for at least another day,” J-1 replied, voice neutral, betraying nothing.

The priest’s concern deepened. Flying - or not flying - was far more than inconvenience; it was a weapon, a force beyond comprehension. He opened his mouth to ask more, but the rules forbade it. So he settled for a stiff nod.

“Then, on the morning you are able to fly again, come see me to receive your next mission.”

Jere inclined his head and turned, leaving without another word. The girl’s piercing gaze lingered for a moment, unsettling the priest even more, before she followed him out.

He exhaled, relief mingling with fear. J-1 frightened him more than he realised. There was something about him - the demon-like wings, the cold efficiency, the utter absence of emotion - that made the hairs on his neck stand. And the girl? Her red eyes, sharp and unyielding, spoke of threats, of death, of pain. They unnerved him.

He despised them both. For now, their skill at killing demons was a necessary evil, but that would not last forever. Soon, the demon hordes would be gone. And when that day came, he thought, he could act. He could be rid of them both. Free to enjoy the retirement he had been denied for so long.

“Yes… that would be nice,” he muttered to the empty church, voice low, almost a whisper.

The fourteen gods they worshipped looked down on him as mere statues. Silent. Still. Judgmentless - or perhaps judgmental in a way he dared not interpret.