I had one rule for the day after surviving a black market altercation.
Sleep.
Deep, uninterrupted, post-chaos slumber. Preferably in a pile of blankets, near snacks, with no nobles, no summons, and definitely no magical chimes ringing judgment in my ears.
Naturally, the universe laughed at my plans.
I was dreaming of roasted plums and victory when a thunderous knock jolted me awake. I shot upright, feathers puffed, and chirped in full panic.
Arwen groaned from the next room.
"Whoever that is," she muttered, "they're about to learn why I don't answer doors before sunrise."
Another knock. Louder this time.
I tumbled off the blanket pile and scrambled to the door just as Arwen stormed past, barefoot, hair a mess, expression murderous. She threw the door open.
A small, trembling messenger stood there holding a scroll.
"Urgent delivery for Lady Nightveil and... the beast," he squeaked.
Arwen stared at him. No words. Just pure royal disappointment radiating from her eyes.
He handed her the scroll, bowed, and bolted like his life depended on it.
I watched him vanish down the corridor.
"New record," I chirped.
Arwen opened the scroll.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Summons," she said.
I tilted my head.
"Another one?"
She nodded.
"From whom?"
She sighed.
"The Imperial Treasury."
---
The last time we visited the Treasury, I was almost arrested for biting a gemstone appraiser. To be fair, he called me a glorified feather duster. I considered it justified.
We arrived an hour later, cleaner, dressed, and still annoyed.
The Treasury was an absurd building. Gold inlays on the walls, carpets so plush I disappeared into them, and more guards than I could reasonably bite. Arwen strode through like she owned it, which she technically did, being royalty. I waddled behind her, tail feathers twitching.
An official greeted us. He had a mustache that screamed "I take my job too seriously" and robes that rustled like paper.
"Lady Nightveil," he said, bowing. "And... familiar."
I chirped.
He flinched.
"You summoned us?" Arwen asked, already impatient.
"Yes, regarding an unusual... development in the Vault Index."
I blinked.
"The what?"
He ignored me and led us into a side chamber. There, on a pedestal, sat a glowing ledger. It pulsed faintly.
"Your familiar triggered a registration flare yesterday," the man said.
Arwen crossed her arms.
"He isn't registered."
"Exactly," the man said. "And yet, several artifacts have responded to his presence. Vault records shifted. Sealed relics reacted. One object even renamed itself."
I squawked.
"I didn't do anything."
Arwen stared at the ledger.
"What object?"
The man hesitated.
"A mirror," he said. "Deep in Vault 7. It displayed a reflection... of him."
I felt my spark twist.
"And?" Arwen asked.
"It shattered," the man whispered. "And the name it left behind was... familiar to the archives."
Arwen's voice cooled.
"What name?"
He looked pale.
"Unbound."
---
We left without another word.
I clung to her shoulder as we walked through the halls.
"Unbound?" I asked.
"It's not a name," she said. "It's a designation."
"For what?"
"Something old."
I hated vague answers.
But I didn't press.
Not yet.
---
Back at our tower, we found a letter waiting.
Not parchment.
A flower.
Petals folded into script, sealed with silk.
Arwen opened it carefully.
I read over her shoulder.
> "To the Unnamed: The Tea Society cordially invites you to a private exhibition. Attendance is mandatory."
I sighed.
"Do they ever stop?"
"No," Arwen said.
"And we're going?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
She looked at me.
"Because if they want a performance, we might as well give them one."
---
The Tea Society had many talents. Subtlety was not one of them.
We arrived at the so-called "private exhibition" during twilight. The sky was dimming, casting violet shadows across the Academy's east wing. A crowd had already gathered near the exhibition hall, pretending not to notice us. Nobles in embroidered coats loitered with teacups, whispering behind fans and overfilled saucers.
Arwen did not slow her stride. I sat on her shoulder, regal and fluffy, watching with suspicion.
A servant tried to offer her a drink.
She walked past him.
Another attempted to hand me a biscuit.
I accepted it.
Inside, the hall had been transformed. Rich tapestries hung from the ceiling, woven with sigils I did not recognize. The centerpiece was a long table covered in small, strange objects... some glowed, others pulsed, one hummed softly.
In the middle sat a glass dome.
And inside the dome, suspended in swirling magic, floated a single feather.
My feather.
Arwen stopped.
Silence fell.
I stared at the feather.
It pulsed with golden light, the same spark that danced in my chest.
A noble girl with too-perfect hair stepped forward.
"Welcome, Lady Nightveil," she said with practiced grace. "And honored familiar."
I growled.
She smiled politely.
"We present this exhibition as a celebration of your soulbeast's... unique qualities."
Arwen did not move.
The girl gestured to the feather.
"We retrieved this from the Undermarket, where it caused quite the stir. Traders are calling it a 'wild sigil,' unclaimed by any registry but carrying the trace of royal blood."
Arwen's eyes narrowed.
"You stole it."
"It was left behind," the girl corrected smoothly.
"You stole it," I echoed.
The girl ignored me.
"We wish to honor this bond," she said, "with a demonstration."
At her signal, the dome vanished.
And the feather flared.
Magic surged through the hall.
I felt it.
The bond between Arwen and me twisted tight, pulling, flaring, exposing.
Whispers erupted.
"He's unmarked."
"No seal, no collar."
"How is the bond stable?"
"It isn't. Look at the pulse rate."
Arwen stepped forward.
"Enough."
Her voice was quiet. Calm.
Everyone froze.
"You dare parade him like a relic?" she asked.
The noble girl paled.
"We meant no offense."
Arwen lifted the feather.
It dissolved in her hand.
"Offense," she said, "is the least of your worries."
The air shifted.
Magic trembled.
I could feel her fury... not loud, not explosive, but deep and cold like a winter storm.
"We leave," she said.
And we did.
---
Back in our tower, I paced in circles.
"They stole my feather."
"Yes."
"They stole it and displayed it like a prize."
"Yes."
I flopped dramatically.
Arwen sat by the fire, silent.
After a while, she spoke.
"They want to name you."
I paused.
"They can't."
"They will try."
Silence.
She looked at me, eyes unreadable.
"I need to protect you."
"I'm not helpless."
"No. But you're unregistered. That makes you vulnerable."
I chirped.
"You're stuck with me."
She smiled faintly.
"That's the plan."
---
We didn't sleep.
The next morning, a letter arrived.
It bore the Imperial seal.
And it summoned us to court.
Again.