//------------------------------//
// Chapter 6 
// Story: Shattered Pentacle 
// by Starscribe 
//------------------------------//

Lyra spent the next several hours in a waking delirium. She moved through strange places, speaking strange words to strange people. She learned some things—though not as many as she would’ve liked. After having her world transformed so completely in one night, only a few details really stuck with her.
There were more mages in Canterlot—a few hundred of them at most, based on the small scale of their hidden headquarters. The dean of the city’s humble community college was also somehow their powerful leader, wielding the fire of creation so completely that all others respected her.
But that also left her with the second, more important truth.
Seeing the incredible powers a mage could field dredged up plenty of old memories in Lyra—memories of other creatures with similar powers. Despite their beautiful exterior, the Kindred were beasts underneath, obligate parasites more monstrous than most even understood.
These mages—were still people, underneath. They had jobs, families, and ordinary lives. Dean Tan began their meeting by offering her a granola bar and reminiscing about Lyra’s harp performance at their graduation ceremony. 
There were plenty of confusing things, plenty of scary new abilities and creatures she didn’t understand. Her first few hours of instruction sounded more like something out of a Lovecraft short story than anything scientific.
But they weren’t vampires. There were no human slaves here. There were some almost ordinary people, who Tan affectionately called “interns,” working in clerical or other minor roles in the headquarters. Sleepwalkers—those who could see and understand magic without unraveling it.
None of them seemed enslaved—more like ambitious students, studying and working all they could in the hope of one day awakening themselves. None had scars on their necks from repeated feeding, or haunted looks in their eyes. Mages might be many things—maybe they were all insane, or secretly evil, or plotting against her. But they weren’t parasites. They didn’t hunger the way vampires did. She could look at herself in the mirror without feeling revulsion.
They didn’t whisper the word “human” with disdain on their voices, or switch it interchangeably for “chattel.” The mages had their own word, “sleeper.” They spoke it with pity instead, and a protective, almost parental tone. Sleepers were the victim of some ancient calamity, one that stripped all humanity from their birthright. Until it could be restored, those who awakened were their protectors. Like Bonnie. We’re more alike now.
Lyra could never learn everything they wanted to teach her, not when she was so overwhelmed. But since the mages were human too, they didn’t expect her to. So long as she could remember one principal lesson, they would allow her to return to her life, and study more gradually.
That lesson was Paradox. She still didn’t know exactly what it was, or why it was so dangerous—but avoiding it was simple enough for her to master.
“Sleepers may not ever see the Mysteries. The Quintessence in their souls will unravel them, strengthening the Lie. Only subtle magic can be wielded around them. To teach the Mysteries is a crime—to leave a spell in their presence is a greater crime. The Paradox it might create.
“Even as a neophyte, there will be no excuses for this crime. A small breach might leave thousands dead, or spawn some manifestation that haunts all Awakened for the rest of time.”
They made her swear, made her repeat a dozen different ways that she wouldn’t speak of what she’d seen to the sleeping souls, or brazenly work her magic in front of them.
“So we... can’t do anything?” Lyra finally asked, as soon as the Hierarch had retired, and only Akiko remained. “Regular people are everywhere. We can’t use magic around them, so... nothing changed.”
“We can’t use vulgar magic,” Akiko corrected. “We can’t do anything obvious where sleepers are watching. Doesn’t mean you can’t do anything. Sleepers don’t want to see magic—they actively ignore it, avoid it. The Quintessence inside them recoils wherever Supernal light shines. The ones who notice—they’re already worth investigating. They might be sleepwalkers already, or on the verge of awakening. I still can’t believe I let you just go to work after what you told me.”
“I’m glad you did,” Lyra countered. “I might’ve been electrocuted before I figured out... everything.” She gestured vaguely with one hand.
“True. We shouldn’t question the Oracles. Even if we can’t always understand their vision.”
It was early morning by the time Lyra finally stepped out onto the familiar streets of Ponyville, exiting the city bus a few blocks from home. There was probably someone in the “Consilium” who could give her a ride, even with Akiko’s car now trashed. But part of her felt better if they didn’t know exactly who she was and where she’d come from. 
So Lyra was back on familiar streets, walking through a town she'd lived in since graduating. Her familiar neighbors were only just waking up, passing her on the road in their little cars. Despite the incredible transformation Lyra had experienced, life went on. The flowers opened and faced the sun. The trees stretched higher, and stray cats prowled in the alleys.
As she walked, a black one emerged from the shadowy corner, mewling his usual greeting.
Lyra stopped. “One sec, sweetie. Let's see what I've got.” She dug around in her pocket for a moment, digging in vain. Sometimes she remembered to keep a can of wet food, or at least a packet of dried fish. Today she had forgotten both.
She dropped to one knee, running one hand along the cat's smooth fur. He was doing better than the last time they spoke—no more missing patches, though there was still a gap torn in one ear, likely the consequence of another devastating street fight. Could she heal that wound the way she'd mended Akiko's broken leg?
Probably not the best use of her magic just now. She still knew so little about where the power came from, or how long it would last. Beyond Reagan's magical tea, she wasn't sure how else she could get more of that possibility into herself, to fuel more magic. That particular lesson hadn't come up yet. “Sorry I don't have more for you. I'll bring the tuna flavor next time, that's the one you like.”
The cat looked up, meeting her eyes. Bright green, more vivid than any human. Remarkable comprehension lurked underneath. She was barely even surprised when it spoke to her.
“I thought I would deserve a little more, after being so helpful. Did I ever lie?”
That voice—Lyra recognized it instantly. She jerked away from the animal, toppling sideways in the alley. Her back smacked up against the wall, and she could retreat no further. A mangy tomcat was hardly a physical threat, even to someone as slight of frame as Lyra.
“How are... you...”
“Not, anymore.” The cat prowled over to her, rubbing up against her thigh the way felines often did. Not the least bit strange, except that he was speaking. “You're doing this. You learned while you were up there, I think. Faster than some I've taken an interest in. I appreciate the brevity.”
To her left, cars kept passing on the street, along with the occasional morning pedestrian. Ponyville wasn't an ordinary suburb—it was centuries old, built long before the automobile made everything far away. That meant plenty of its people just walked, and would see her here. Would they hear her making silly cat noises? If so, that was hardly naked magic—lots of pet owners did that.
It was still enough to make her self-conscious. She stood up, careful not to kick or step on the feline's tail as she did so. “You were in my mind.”
“Your soul, actually.” The cat hopped up onto a nearby dumpster, so that he was almost at eye-level. “But not anymore, obviously. I needed a bit of a break, and I thought I might catch you on your way home. Lucky for you.”
She folded both arms, glowering down at the black cat. She was past arguing with impossible things anymore—that path led only to madness.
“Tell me who you are, or I'm going home.”
“Capper,” he answered, without hesitation. “That's a good cat name, isn't it? I'm your familiar—or I could be. If you're smart.”
She turned her back on him, stalking out of the alley. This was it—Lyra was at her limit. Everyone talking to her like it was supposed to mean something, and there wasn't room for more. 
Without looking over her shoulder, Lyra somehow felt the little paws scampering along behind her. Scarcely ten seconds had passed before she heard him, voice a little distant, but still clear to her. 
“You don't know what you'd be missing out on! You have any idea how hard other mages sometimes search to find one like me, all the rituals and hunting and bindings and oaths... it's quite involved.”
She slowed her pace a little—enough that the cat could keep up without straining too badly. I don't want to do anything I might regret. I might wish I'd listened to him later.
She said nothing, not until she was out of earshot of anyone else on the street. “You were helping me earlier?”
“Trying to.” He scampered along a nearby planter box, dodging between the flowers. “Sometimes you listened. It would've been easier if you paid more attention. But don't feel too bad—most humans don't hear me at all. Even when they wake up, they're so stuck in their old ways of thinking. Old shackles that need to break. Two legs, two arms, two eyes. Clever, stupid. You're the most compassionate creatures on this planet, but also the cruelest. Go ahead, risk your lives to save the beached whale, then keep pumping poison into the sea.”
She stopped beside the planter-box, pretending like she had just noticed him there, and wanted to pet the cat again. She let him touch up against her palm, then ran her knuckles along his side, following the grain of his fur. “You're not a real cat.”
“I'm in one,” he answered, circling around her hand the same way as ever. “My arrangement with the animal is no concern of yours. I'm offering you something, Lyra Harper. Think carefully before you refuse. You won't see me again otherwise.”
Her girlfriend would've denied him out of spite. Bonnie did poorly with boundaries and rules imposed by others. She always made her own decisions, even when they were difficult. Even when they broke the rules.
But Lyra listened. Her memory of the night was already blurring together, but some clarity remained. Those whispers from outside had always felt useful, even if the meaning wasn't always obvious. “What happens if I say yes?”
“Familiar,” he repeated, slightly annoyed. “Better than any other familiar you'll ever find. I'm older than they are. Worked with your kind for a long, long time. I can teach you things they've forgot. Help you with your magic. Keep you company when you're on four legs, so you don't hurt yourself. Walk beside you through the Gauntlet into Shadow. Watch the ones you love when you cannot. Channel your spells through my paws, if you wish me to.”
He settled onto his haunches there, licking at his paw with sudden, casual comfort. As though that long list of incredible things were no more interesting than picking a dressing for his salad.
“What was the part about four legs?”
He mewled in frustration, loud enough that she backed away from him. There was no meaning behind it, or no meaning more than the emotion radiating from him. “Who else would transform themselves but a mage of Life and Spirit? That you even asked shows how important it would be to have a chaperone. Me, obviously. A cat who will answer all your stupid questions and keep you from stepping into the path of an oncoming train.”
A cat who can whisper things into my soul. Even by accident, he told her more about her powers than she retained during a night of hushed conversations in the Consilium’s hidden headquarters. “What do you get out of all this?”
He hopped down from the planter, brushed past her leg, then walked ahead of her, down the familiar route to her home. “A listening ear. An end to boredom. A friend who remembers what flavor of wet food to give me.”
She trailed behind him, keeping her voice a low whisper. “Sounds... like I get more than you do. You’ll do whatever I tell you?”
He laughed—high, mewling, almost giggling. “I’m a familiar, not a slave. I won’t charge to my death for you. I won’t sell my soul for you. But I’ll be your friend. I can even dreamwalk with you, how many other familiars can do that? Without masters of the art, none!”
She sighed. “Bonnie is gonna be furious with me. She doesn’t like animals much.” 
“She likes mages a lot less, but here you are.”
“How do I agree?”
The cat scampered past her, circling around her legs once in a sudden burst of energy. He was still young, still small. An older tomcat would never move that way. “You just did. Let me prove how useful I can be to you, Lyra! Your girlfriend is already home. See the car in your spot—that’s not hers, but she drove it. She needs you.”
They reached her apartment door. Lyra went for her key, then stopped. The door hadn’t shut properly—it was still open a crack.
Lyra nudged it with her foot, peering through the opening. Something deep red was splotched on the floor, leaving a wet trail towards the kitchen.
After years a slave to it, Lyra knew that smell better than anything. Human blood.