Whistlehollow's late-spring festivities unfurled beneath cloudless blue, the square garlanded in willow ribbons and daisy chains. A spit of venison crackled over alder coals, berry tarts cooled on trestles, and children wove between stalls with painted kites. The day belonged to Aleron's tenth birthday, and every lantern seemed to sing his name.
Rina
I was limping when the gate came into view. Ten brutal days chasing rumors of the lost queen had left my ribs bruised and my strongest partners—Onyx, Dusklight, Emberfang—sealed in their stones with wounds still knitting. But I would have crawled through glass before missing the boy I'd sworn to guard.
Aleron stood by the musicians, shy smile blooming as Corvin balanced cupcakes and Eira heckled him. I managed two steps before the ward stones I'd set at the forest edge screamed in my skull.
Seven hooded intruders slipped from the tree line, masks carved with the Creator God's sun-eye. The leader's brooch matched the priest whose throat I'd slit two winters past—his brother, if hatred could wear a face.
Steel kissed daylight. "Children—behind me!"
Nyra, Saffron, and Whisperclaw—my swiftest yet weakest felines—answered in crimson flashes. Five cultists rushed me while two veered for the square.
Fatigue dragged on every parry; a glaive clipped my hip. Nyra hamstrung one attacker, Saffron snagged a spear mid-lunge, Whisperclaw's illusions split like moonlit shards—but even phantoms tire. I shouted over my shoulder:
"Handle the other two! Think before you swing!"
Third-person
Aleron whirled as the robed pair closed. An arrow hissed past, splitting a fiddle's final note. Eira planted herself between the oncoming blades and the children.
Corvin seized Aleron's arm; his blessing rolled outward—warm tide quieting panic. Aleron's mind raced: a fire spell could save them, but the blast would expose his hidden core—and torch half the square. Instead he snatched a charred spit stick, knelt in the dust, and carved a nine-tail spiral drawn from ruin-stone dreams.
Eira cracked her staff across the bowman's wrist, but another arrow streaked toward Aleron. Gold light flared around her forearm—a translucent shield manifesting for a heartbeat. The shaft exploded in sparks. She blinked, stunned; the glow vanished like a dream but left purpose blazing in her eyes.
Aleron pressed his palm to the final glyph, whispered the closing ligature. Silver radiance erupted.
Sakura stepped through—a towering fox of dawn-snow fur, nine tails aflame. Steel met petal-fire; one cultist flew backward, cloak ablaze. The second slashed—petals snapped into heat-blades. He fell, charred sickle clattering.
Corvin's empathy surged; Sakura's flames curved safely around villagers, scorching only enemies. Eira vaulted, staff cracking the bowman's jaw.
Across the square, Rina faltered under a hammer blow; Nyra bled, Saffron's eye swelled, Whisperclaw flickered. Sakura bounded to her, tails like silver whips. Together, felines and fox dropped three foes; Rina's blade caught the priest's brother mid-curse. Flames curled up the sun-eye mask until only ash remained.
With danger broken, Sakura's form rippled, shrinking to a kitsune cub that tumbled into Aleron's arms. His knees buckled, mana drained to embers.
Villagers peeked from doorways; banners sagged. Eira flexed her wrist where faint gold motes drifted, astonished. Corvin stroked Sakura's downy ears, tears drying on soot-smudged cheeks.
Rina sheathed her sword, gathered children and cub close. "You saved us all," she whispered, voice raw. "Happy birthday, little fox."
Above, breeze curled streamers as unseen eyes narrowed—the first waking note of destinies yet unwritten. Aleron held Sakura tight and hoped the gods, whatever their watching gaze intended, would let them breathe until morning.