The Magical Triumvirate

     They had once been vaunted, model citizens, but magic always has a price. From these three, the price had been their morals. Ultimately, they had been exiled from Meridell for crimes whispered about but never recorded. Rumour has it that they were acts of arcane ambition, forbidden conjuring, and perhaps a touch too much fire.

     At the heart of the lair, a Vandagyre with feathers black as midnight, sat hunched over a glowing map. The map was frayed, its edges etched in runes, belying its ancient nature. Beside her, a crimson Bori twitched and paced. He was covered with glinting armour-like scales and occasionally tapped his claws in thought. Close by was the third member of the group, a lavender Techo in a swirling cloak. He was tracing sigils in the air, murmuring incantations beneath her breath.

     The Vandagyre let out an exacerbated sigh. “I don’t think this will help, another dead end!”

     All around them, hundreds of glowing eyes opened and blinked in the gloom. The Triumvirate’s Gallions. Fierce, loyal, and imbued with additional magic, their Petpet arsenal lounged in coils and clusters, waiting.

     “We need to widen the search,” the Vandagyre said, voice low and sharp. “Brightvale will not deny us these items.”

     ---

     Outside, Brightvale was bathed in afternoon sun, largely unaware of the storm of anger brewing beneath its cobbled streets. The fields of wheat on the periphery were swaying in the gentle breeze. Farmers and labourers continued their diligent work. The land was peaceful and unawares. The land around Brightvale was surrounded with small towns near rivers or nestled in forests. These small havens were protected by Brightvale’s armies and worked together to ensure they were safe, happy, and protected. In the northern woods beyond the river towns, all was quiet that morning. Much too quiet for Arlo’s liking. The young Acara trudged along a mossy path, his satchel bouncing against his side. His eyes were flicking between the treetops and the undergrowth. Foraging could be such boring work at times. His mind and imagination often wandered when he completed this mundane chore.

     The sun filtered through the canopy in lazy shafts, catching on the edges of his worn travelling cloak and the old silver ring on his paw. The ring had belonged to his grandfather, or so Grandma Esme always said. She claimed it was just a trinket, but sometimes, especially when Arlo was deep in the woods, it felt... different. Maybe even alive! Although, that could just be his imagination.

     He sighed. Another pointless walk. Another wasted morning. They had more than enough berries at home, and even more plants. Why his grandma needed this list, he did not know. A new life in Brightvale had promised books and wonders, but life on its fringes was full of empty promises, tedium, and the perpetual cycle of filling the King’s guards coin purses. They had been in Brightvale since he'd been old enough to walk. Arlo had quickly learned that you don't mess with the King's guards or ignore their rules. Whether it was walking, running, standing or even breathing, they had a tax for it. Over the years, he avoided them and anything to do with King Hagan.

     Arlo sighed tiredly. Just as he was about to turn back, a rustle in the underbrush made him freeze. He spotted a flash of red. A creature, no bigger than a backpack, tumbled into the clearing. His circular scales shimmered like embers. He had eyes, bright and curious. The little creature chirped, startled by its own landing and by the Acara standing in front of it.

     “A Gallion?” Arlo breathed.

     The creature huffed, his tiny nostrils smoking. Most Gallions were dangerous or kept as trophies by rich collectors in Meridell. But this one, well this one just looked... lost.

     The ring on Arlo’s paw pulsed with warmth.

     “Hi, little one,” he murmured, crouching down slowly. “My name is Arlo, what’s yours?”

     The Gallion blinked, then took a cautious step forward. The ring glowed again, brighter.

     “That was not my imagination, you made my ring glow!” Arlo exclaimed.

     He reached out, and the Gallion nuzzled into his hand. Arlo grinned. “Kit,” he said, deciding in that moment. “You look like a Kit.”

     He wrapped Kit in his cloak and turned toward home, heart racing. Grandma Esme wouldn’t be thrilled, another mouth to feed but something about the way the ring still shimmered and glowed told him this wasn’t just a lost Petpet. Maybe she could tell him more about his grandfather’s ring.

     When he arrived home, his Grandma Esme nearly dropped her ladle when she saw Kit.

     "King Hagan’s beard, is that what I think it is?" she whispered, stepping back, her eyes growing wide. Silver strands of hair were curling around her face as she examined the bundle in Arlo’s cloak. "You brought a Gallion into my house?"

     Arlo held the small red creature close. “He followed me,” he said, nervously. “I think... I think he's magic.”

     Esme frowned, stepped closer, glancing at the soft glow from Arlo’s ring.

     “Of course he is magic Arlo, he is a Gallion! A Petpet of fire,” she breathed, the lines on her face deepening. “How long has that been glowing?” Arlo noticed her glancing at the ring.

     “It only really started glowing when I found Kit”, Arlo said.

     She didn’t ask more questions. Instead, she pushed aside the soup pot and pried open a number of creaky floorboards. Reaching in. she retrieved a small iron box. Inside were bundles of parchment, a scattering of multi-coloured gems, numerous vials of liquids, and a leather-bound book with a carved spiral on its cover.

     “This,” she said, pressing the book into Arlo’s hands, “was your parent’s book. Our family has always had a touch of magic, I mean. Natural sorcerers. We’ve never had enough resources to make a spectacle, but enough to matter when the time came.”

     Arlo opened the book carefully. Symbols danced across the pages, some shifting as he blinked. Kit gave a curious snort of smoke.

     “Magic is very tricky to learn, we used to be a part of guild, but King Skarl outlawed that. I kept these in case they ever came in handy. You know Arlo, Gallion flame is very strong,” Esme said, pulling on thick gloves, “It can melt metal easily and help with spells. Why don’t we try some out?”

     For the rest of the evening, the old woods behind the cottage glowed with tiny sparks as Arlo and Esme worked together. From lighting candles without matches to sketching runes in the dirt with his staff, the two seemed to perfect every spell they did. They even tried casting a shimmer of protective magic over their cottage. It made the area around them glow and shimmer and even made Kit sneeze glittering sparks.

     As the last of the sun disappeared and night settled, Arlo noticed a problem. The smell came first then smoke that was thick and bitter. Then they noticed a glow between the trees.

     “That’s coming from Riverdale”, Esme said.

     “I’ll go and investigate”, Arlo said.

     “Be careful, don’t go too close and take Kit”, Esme whispered.

     Arlo raced towards the town, the journey normally takes ten minutes, but he covered the distance in five. Buoyed by a sense of urgency and fear. When he arrived at the perimeter of the town he could see flames dancing through thatched roofs. Screams echoed between crumbling homes. Townsfolk ran for the treeline. The King’s Guard were nowhere in sight.

     An old Eyrie, her wings singed and soot on her feathers, limped from the road. “Boy!” she rasped. “You—go! Warn Esme!”

     “What happened, Stella?” Arlo began. The eyrie had however frozen when she saw Kit at Arlo’s side.

     “You brought one of them here?” she hissed, stepping back. “It was Gallions that did this, they were just like him.”

     Arlo looked at Kit in disbelief. “No. He wouldn’t.”

     “They were looking for books. For gems. Magic, boy! Like that ring on your paw.”

     Panic surged through him, magical items like those they had at home.

     He ran. The forest blurred past in streaks of green and shadow. When he reached the clearing, his knees buckled.

     The cottage was gone, completely reduced to blackened beams and ash. Smoke curled into the sky. The herbs and plants strewn across the wreckage. The shelf of potion jars shattered. It had been completely ransacked.

     “Grandma?” he called, voice cracking.

     No answer.

     Kit padded softly through the wreckage, nose twitching. Then he gave a soft growl and turned to the woods, tail swaying low.

     “A trail?” Arlo asked.

     Arlo stood, brushing ash from his sleeves. His paws were shaking, but the ring on his finger was glowing brighter than ever.

     “Let’s go,” he whispered to Kit.

     To be continued…