I didn't know what we were chasing. Just that Sora had sprinted off with all the determination of a knight in shining armor and absolutely none of the coordination.
She vaulted over a crate, rounded a corner, and flung herself forward, arms outstretched.
She missed.
There was a soft grunt as she hit the cobbles, and a blur of movement darted past her fallen form. I barely had time to react before it turned toward me.
I braced. Legs apart. Arms low. Just like catching a chicken. Or a bandit child with a throwing knife. Same principle.
I've got this, I thought.
I did not have it.
The little monster zipped between my knees as I flailed like a scarecrow in a hurricane, stumbling back into the wall of an alley. My palms had caught nothing but air and embarrassment.
Then Arden moved.
He stepped past me without urgency, calm as always. He raised a single hand—palm outward, fingers spread—and murmured something under his breath. A shimmer ran along the street stones, faint and almost invisible, like light through water.
And then, from the earth itself, slender tendrils of mana emerged. Pale, ethereal, rootlike. They wrapped gently around the little runner, binding it in place mid-leap. It squirmed once. Hissed in defeat.
Captured.
Sora picked herself up with a pout and a scraped knee. I bent down, finally seeing the fugitive clearly.
It was a cat.
An orange, fluffy, absolutely unrepentant cat.
We returned it to the owner—a woman leaning out of her window, still clutching the mat she'd been beating senseless. She thanked us profusely, eyes shining as she took the cat into her arms and scolded it half-heartedly for the escape attempt. Sora bowed, glowing under the praise. Arden gave a curt nod in response.
I just wanted to sit down somewhere and process my new allergy to alley-chases.
We continued on, and I tried to forget I had braced for combat against a housepet.
This had all started with a walk.
A casual stroll through the town square. Nothing grand. Just us and several thousand other people crammed into a place that smelled like spice, sweat, and something fried I couldn't identify.
I had never seen so much… everything.
Crowds. Colors. Stall after stall after stall. A woman trying to sell birds out of a cart. A man yelling about enchanted boots with "rebound properties." A kid crying because someone had stolen his toy.
Sora seemed used to it. Or maybe not used to it—she looked mildly overwhelmed—but at least she didn't look like a bumpkin with wide eyes and her mouth half-open. That was my job.
Then people noticed him.
Not all at once. But in trickles. A merchant's double take. A passing adventurer elbowing his friend. And then someone was actually pointing.
Soon enough, a small crowd had gathered.
"Is that Arden?"
"It is! It really is!"
"That's Sora, isn't it?"
"She's cuter than I thought."
The crowd grew quickly after that. A ring of admirers, gawkers, and fans. People with gifts. A few kids in ill-fitting adventurer cloaks.
He turned slowly as someone stepped forward, holding out a small wooden token carved with a symbol—probably the emblem of their town or guild. The person's eyes shone with hope.
"Would you bless this? For luck, or protection?" they asked, voice trembling.
Arden hesitated, then nodded. He took the token carefully, murmured a few words under his breath, and touched it lightly with his fingertips. The wood seemed to glow faintly, as if charged with a quiet magic.
The person bowed quickly, cheeks flushed. "Thank you, sir."
Before anyone could say more, the crowd surged closer again.
"Ah—uhm… I appreciate—" he began, and was instantly cut off.
"Is it true you defeated the Dread Serpent of Lake Tenebris with just one spell?"
"Can you cast it now?"
"Do you train with the King's Guard?"
"Can I touch your cape?"
He stood there like a deer in a magic circle. Sora shifted closer, shrinking under the attention. She grasped his sleeve and half-hid behind his shoulder. Someone in the crowd shouted "You two make a cute couple!", and I swear I saw a puff of steam come out of her ears.
Then, a voice piped up from below.
"Can I ride on your shoulders, mister?"
A tiny girl had escaped her parent and now clung to Arden's coat with both hands, staring up at him with hero-worship eyes.
He hesitated. Looked around at the gathering crowd. Then, gently, he crouched.
"Only for a moment," he said.
She climbed up with practiced ease, and he lifted her onto his shoulders with one smooth motion. Then—gods help me—he jogged.
Just a few loops in a wide circle, slow and steady, as if he feared going too fast. The girl laughed. The crowd cheered.
And I stood there, wondering when I'd signed up to trail after a legendary adventurer and his blushing sidekick like some third wheel in a parade of fans, in a town I couldn't even name.
When he set the child down, someone tried to hand him a quill. That was when the crowd started pushing in again.
And then, thankfully, a voice cut through.
"Oi! Break it up!"
A gruff, older adventurer strode forward with all the confidence of someone who'd once punched a wyvern. "Let the man breathe. He's Platinum, not your court jester."
The crowd scattered. Arden nodded his thanks with a tiny bow of his head.
And we kept walking.
That's when we passed the open window. A mat being beaten clean. A cat on the sill.
And the leap.
The escape.
The chase.
All that effort and magic for a single, smug little feline.
When we finally stopped again—Sora brushing dirt from her skirt, Arden quietly inspecting her scraped elbow—I found myself smiling. Just a little.
Because somehow, despite all the chaos, despite the fame and the spells and the crowds… they still stopped for a cat.
And somehow, so did I.