Shade slipped into the brush, his lithe body barely disturbing the undergrowth as he dissolved into the gloom beneath the tangled limbs. The world beyond the traveling group was a shifting tapestry of scents and sounds—fresh prey trails, the earthy tang of moss, and the crisp bite of autumn wind. Shade’s nose twitched, sorting through the tapestry until a familiar musk caught his attention: a squat, horned beast rooting through fallen leaves, oblivious to danger. His senses sharpened, and every muscle tensed for the hunt.

  Yet, beneath the thrill of pursuit, Shade felt a pulse of uncertainty—an echo of Katherine’s commanding presence. She had been the only unarmed one, surrounded by wary strangers, yet her spirit had cowed not only Shade but the rest of the camp. The memory of her aura, sharp and unwavering, sent a shiver down his spectral spine. Shade respected her, even feared her in a way that felt new and confusing. Like him, she was an outsider, marked by scars and a defiant will. Why did he obey so instinctively? Was it something in her eyes—a promise of belonging if he proved himself worthy?

  Shade crept closer to the beast, his paws silent on the leaf-litter. The creature was slow, preoccupied, and Shade struck swiftly—a blur of midnight fur, claws flashing, the kill clean and final. The satisfaction of the hunt hummed in the air, but Shade did not feed. Instead, he gripped the animal gently in his jaws, careful not to damage the prize. He wanted her to see, to acknowledge his skill. Perhaps she would offer the rare, gentle touch he cherished, that sense of pride that radiated through their soul bond.

  With the carcass secure, Shade melted into the shadow of a twisted oak, his form blending until only the whisper of movement betrayed him. Navigating the darkness, he returned to Katherine’s side, the beast still clutched in his jaws. Excitement and hope mingled with the lingering thrill of fear and loyalty—a tension that would shape the bond between soldier and familiar for days to come. He did hope she scratched behind his ear again

  ...

  “Hey, everyone, I know we stopped about an hour ago, but could we pause again?” Katherine called out, her voice tight with a strange anticipation. The connection she felt with Shade was growing stronger, almost insistent. She sensed he would return before eating, eager to show her his prize.

  Her intuition was confirmed by a startled yelp from one of the group. Katherine spun around, heart pounding, and spotted Shade stepping from the shadows. He dropped his kill on the forest floor, tail sweeping low, waiting—was it for praise, or permission?

  “Go ahead,” Katherine urged softly, her words intended as encouragement. Shade nudged the carcass closer to her, his golden eyes searching her face. She felt his hunger clawing at her insides, raw and persistent through their bond. “Shade, please eat,” she said, her voice trembling with concern.

  But the oversized cub only pressed the kill closer, as if presenting it for approval. Katherine’s mind was a tangle of emotions—not all her own. Pride. Hunger. A flicker of fear. The sensations crowded her, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps. She was used to hiding her feelings, had spent much of her life surrounded by people who did the same. Now, the soul bond made Shade’s emotions crash into hers—too many, too loud, impossible to ignore. Even the game-like system called him a cub—a child—making the onslaught all the more overwhelming.

  “Shade, just eat the damn creature!” Katherine snapped, her words sharp with panic and frustration. She clamped her hands over her ears, as if trying to block out the world, but the emotional noise was deafening. Her heart raced, and a dizzy heat flushed her cheeks. The forest, suddenly too quiet, pressed in tight around her.

  Shade jerked back, flinching at the harshness of Katherine’s voice. His whole body trembled, ears flattened and tail tucked low. He wanted to flee, but uncertainty rooted him in place—he hadn’t been told he could go.

  Lira stepped in quickly, her tone gentle but urgent. “Katherine, breathe. You have to calm down—otherwise, you’re going to hurt yourself and Shade.” She reached for Katherine’s hands, trying to pry them from her head, but Katherine’s arms stayed locked, muscles rigid with distress.

  Shade’s distress only deepened. He began to whine softly, claws scraping fitfully at the dirt as he shifted from paw to paw. His eyes darted between Katherine and the rest of the group, searching for safety. Pain and confusion radiated through the bond, doubling back on Katherine and tightening the knot of panic in her chest.

  Lira’s voice sharpened, slicing through the tension. “Defenders, on me—everyone else, stay back!” She didn’t hesitate, snapping orders with practiced authority. “Mages, does anyone have any idea what’s happening?”

  One of the mages—the same who’d spoken with Katherine earlier—stepped forward, voice low and steady. “It’s the soul bond. Like I said before, it’s a two-way link. Contract or not, it goes both ways.”

  “Then say it plainly!” Lira barked, eyes flashing. Her patience was fraying fast. She knew the theory as well as any mage, but she wanted answers, not riddles.

  “They’re sharing everything—emotions, sensations. Katherine’s being overwhelmed by Shade’s feelings, and instead of pulling herself out, she’s pouring her own emotions right back into him.” The mage’s words hung in the air, heavy with warning.

  Lira’s gaze flicked to Katherine, then to the scars that marked her skin, her memories racing. The nightmares, the way Katherine never flinched at threats, the startle at certain sounds—it all fit together with a chilling clarity. “Oh gods, no,” she muttered. “Please, let me be wrong.”

  “What’s the matter?” asked a defender, shield raised in concern.

  Lira’s expression turned grim. She looked to the broad-shouldered woman. “Think about it—what kind of emotions is Katherine carrying, with scars like that? She hates certain noises, barely reacts to things that should terrify her, and wakes up from nightmares that sound like mourning. Now, imagine pushing all that onto a child.”

  Another defender’s voice came out hoarse and soft. “And he’s just a cub?”

  Lira’s realization hit like a hammer. “She’s unintentionally burying a child beneath the weight of her own pain. And that could break them both.”

  ...

  Shade lingered at the forest’s edge, the weight of his kill gripped carefully in his jaws. The pulse of his bond with Katherine grew more insistent, tugging him back to her side. He felt a rush of anticipation—an urge not just to eat, but to be seen, to be recognized for what he had accomplished. Every step toward the camp was a blend of pride and a gnawing hunger that wasn’t entirely his own.

  A startled yelp broke the quiet as Shade emerged from the shadows. He placed his prize on the ground before Katherine, ears flicking as he watched for her reaction. His tail swept low, and he waited, not daring to touch the carcass without her approval. Hunger pressed at his insides, but an even deeper need drove him: to please her, to earn the gentle touch and praise he craved through their connection.

  He watched Katherine closely, feeling her emotions crash against his own. Her pride and concern mingled with his hope, but there was fear too—sharp and bitter, echoing through the bond. Even as she urged him to eat, Shade hesitated, nudging the kill closer to her. Was this what she wanted? Would she be proud?

  But Katherine’s response came sharp and sudden, her voice slicing through his anticipation. “Shade, just eat the damn creature!” The pain in her tone struck Shade like a physical blow. He recoiled, body trembling as confusion and hurt flooded him. His ears flattened, and instinct told him to flee, but the bond rooted him to the spot—he could not leave without her command.

  He whimpered, uncertainty rising like a tide. Every heartbeat from Katherine pounded through his head, amplifying his own panic. His claws scratched at the earth, desperate for comfort, for direction. The group gathered around, their voices a blur compared to the storm of emotion funneling through the soul link.

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  Someone—Lira—stepped closer, her voice gentle but urgent, a soothing note in the chaos. Shade felt her attempt to calm Katherine, but the tension only seemed to tighten around both of them. The rising panic from Katherine doubled back, overwhelming him, and Shade was lost in the confusion: pain, fear, guilt, and longing all tangled together, impossible to separate.

  As Shade heard the fragments of voices—talk of the soul bond, of pain, of scars—his confusion deepened into something colder and sharper. He didn’t just feel overwhelmed; he felt fear blooming inside him, directed not at the strangers, but at Katherine herself. Her pain pressed on him, her anger lashing out without warning. He shrank from her, curling tighter, uncertain and suddenly frightened, no longer sure if the bond was a source of comfort or a threat he couldn’t escape.

  Through the haze, Shade caught more and more of their words—about sharing everything, about the burden he was forced to carry. He didn’t understand, not in the way a human might, but the meaning pressed into him all the same. He felt Katherine’s scars, her nightmares, her unspoken fears, bearing down on him like a storm. He was only a cub—a child himself—struggling beneath a burden too heavy to carry. He wanted her approval, needed her touch, but what he received instead was the avalanche of everything she had tried so long to hide.

  The others watched, their concern sharp and wary. Shade, sensing their tension and now afraid of Katherine herself, curled into himself, hope flickering that someone—anyone—might help untangle the pain between him and Katherine before it broke them both.

  ...

  Lira pulled a small pouch from her bag, no wider than three fingers. If Katherine were herself, she’d have recognized it immediately—smelling salts, or their equivalent in this world.

  “You and you—Galleon, Tessa—hold her,” Lira ordered, pointing to two people she’d told to stay back minutes before.

  “What are you doing?” one of them asked as they gripped Katherine’s arms.

  “I hope this works. Spells or rituals might hurt her, so I’m trying something else. Hold her tight—she might lash out, so watch for fists and elbows,” Lira warned, voice tense with worry. She cracked the pouch open, careful not to tear the outer packaging, and wafted the scent toward Katherine’s nose.

  Katherine’s senses exploded—panic and adrenaline spiking as she jerked violently. One helper caught a backhand and dropped, the other collapsed to his knees, clutching himself with a sharp gasp. The shock of pain snapped Katherine back into herself, the emotional storm receding just enough for her to gasp for breath. Embarrassment and confusion twisted through her as she realized what she’d done, but beneath it was a fragile relief at being pulled from the brink.

  “Why there, of all places?” Galleon groaned, wheezing as he cupped the inside of his thighs.

  Lira knelt beside Katherine, gripping her head gently but firmly, her eyes searching for recognition. “Katherine, look at me. Are you alright? Is it still too much?” Her concern was raw, almost pleading, as she watched Katherine’s breath slow, her face regaining color.

  “Yeah, I think so,” Katherine managed, her voice shaky but clearer. Confusion and worry flickered behind her eyes. “Shade—where is he? Is he okay? What happened?”

  Lira’s expression grew grave, her worry deepening. “Soul bonds cut both ways. There are plenty of benefits, but the downsides… they multiply just as fast.” She released Katherine and stepped aside so she could see Shade, her own thoughts heavy with fear for them both.

  Shade though physically fine to everyone’s sight. Mentally however, it is another story. Katherine tales a single step towards him. Shade scitters back as if Katherine herself was the monsterous beast instead of Shade. Katherine keeping the emotions of Shade out of her mind, but she didn’t need to use it. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end, ears were down flat, and eyes wide with terror and fear as if it were radiating off him.

  “You think I’m a monster, don’t you?” Katherine asked Shade. Surprisingly, Shade hesitantly nodded in agreement. Katherine turned to the rest of the group—Galleon having already standing if limping a bit from the blow Katherine had used against him— “You guys can go ahead. We’ll catch up.”

  After the group disappeared into the trees, only Katherine and Shade remained on the quiet path. Katherine lowered herself to the ground, sitting cross-legged, then drew her knees in tight against her chest. The hush of the forest pressed in, amplifying the ache that lingered beneath her skin. She stared at the dirt, the weight of old regrets settling heavily across her shoulders. For a long moment, she watched Shade, searching his amber eyes for a flicker of understanding—a sign that he might still trust her, that she hadn’t ruined everything between them.

  “I wasn’t always this way,” Katherine began, her voice barely above a whisper. The truth felt brittle, sharp as glass. “I used to laugh easily—less jaded, less…” Her breath hitched, the next word scraping out raw. “…damaged.” A soft chuckle escaped, but it sounded hollow, almost foreign in the silence. A memory flashed through her mind—brighter days, laughter echoing in places she could no longer return to. She squeezed her knees tighter, the urge to flee or to sink into the earth battling inside her.

  “I’ve done things that were wrong for the right reason,” Katherine admitted, letting the confession hang in the air between them. She glanced at Shade, hope flickering that he might inch closer, that she could somehow mend the rift between them. The silence stretched, thick with uncertainty. She hesitated, worried that if she pressed too much, Shade might never trust her again.

  “There’s a saying where I’m from,” she said, voice growing steadier with the shape of remembered words. “‘If you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into you.’” She paused, letting the meaning settle. “I think I stared too long into it.” The admission felt like a wound re-opening, but she forced herself to meet Shade’s eyes, needing him to see the truth behind her defenses.

  She managed a wry smile, shaking her head. “Honestly, I don’t even know why I’m talking to you.” A laugh slipped out, softer this time. “It’s not like you can speak a language.”

  Shade let out a gentle “Meoowah,” settling onto his belly and delicately licking his paw. The gesture was cautious, but not altogether distant.

  Katherine exhaled, her gaze lingering on Shade. “Trust me, I’ve tried to bury and put down what hunts me,” she murmured. For a moment, she stopped, really seeing Shade—his body tense, amber eyes locked on her, still afraid, but no longer trembling. He remained at a safe distance, but the fact that he hadn’t fled felt like a fragile victory.

  She risked a question, her voice trembling. “Do you understand me?”

  Shade paused, then gave a slow, deliberate nod. His ears flicked back, signaling his uncertainty, yet also a willingness to listen.

  Katherine’s heart pounded—a fragile hope blooming amid the anxiety. “Then… why not say anything till now?” She wanted desperately to bridge the gap, though she feared that every word might push him further away.

  Shade let out a soft “Meah,” his ears folding back and his tail twitching. He seemed to struggle to explain himself, the sound carrying as much apology as confusion.

  Understanding dawned, and Katherine offered a gentle smile. “Ah, you think I can be scary.” She tried to keep her tone light, but a shadow of regret slipped in. She hesitated again, needing to know more before the moment slipped away. “Wait—then why did you make a soul contract with me last night?”

  Shade responded with a low “Meow, hisss,” extending his claws and swiping at the air in a gesture more expressive than words. It was a murmur—a mix of fear and reluctant trust.

  Katherine’s expression softened as realization washed over her. “Oh, I see. You thought if you didn’t, I would hurt you.” She watched him intently, her own guilt flickering behind her eyes. “In my defense, you did look like you were going to eat me.” The words came out as half a joke, half an apology—a fragile attempt to find humor in the shared pain.

  Shade bowed his head and let out a mournful harumph, sounding more sorrowful than Katherine expected. She put aside the puzzle of how she could understand Shade—she assumed it was thanks to her primal language skill, though she hadn’t looked into its details—and focused on his meaning instead. “What do you mean?” she asked gently, concern flickering in her eyes as she waited for Shade’s response.

  ...

  Meanwhile, as Lira wandered with her group through the forest, her thoughts drifted absently to Katherine. Questions circled in her mind: What exactly was Katherine? How did she get those scars? How much pain was hidden behind her curiosity? What kind of trauma could shape someone so profoundly—and what could lead a living soul to emerge from a ritual meant to summon abominations and horrors that most would only imagine in their darkest nightmares?

  “Will she become one of your kind?” asked a mage—Adisa, if Lira recalled correctly—her voice laced with curiosity rather than judgment.

  Lira replied, her tone measured. “That isn’t for me to decide. If Katherine wishes to join ‘my kind,’ I won’t stand in her way. She’d need to seek acceptance from the higher-ranking members, and, above all, our patron. All I can do is bring her before the coven.”

  Adisa shivered at the mention of Lira’s patron. It was widely known that witches needed a patron—an entity neither entirely person, creature, nor any familiar supernatural or paranormal being. The term ‘creature’ barely captured what these patrons truly were.

  Trying to lighten the mood, Lira gave a reassuring shrug. “Come on, you’ve probably met plenty of my brothers and sisters—even if you didn’t realize it.” She managed a faint smile. “And honestly, if any of us crossed certain lines, the rest of the coven would be quick to demand our heads.”

  Among most people, witches weren’t trusted—many believed they were doomed by madness or twisted intent, and that it was only a matter of time before disaster followed.

  Lira tilted her head in a slightly jerky motion, attempting humor. “Besides, I’m sure my pact doesn’t have any lasting side effects.”

  Adisa let out a hesitant half-laugh, not so much at the joke itself, but because of the shadow cast by the reputation of Lira’s father.