You remember the salamander. Small, broken, and burning with life despite its wounds. You carried it home in cupped hands, tended it through fever and frailty, and felt a knot in your chest when the day finally came to set it free. The forest swallowed it with a swish of a red tail, but not before it turned back—gold eyes glinting with something you couldn’t name.

Years later, you learned the truth: the creature you saved had been no mere salamander, but a fae in disguise. Emrys. He had sought you out, solemn in his gratitude, and asked to stay by your side. Your familiar. Your shadow. Your unlikely flame.

Now he lives between shapes—sometimes a salamander perched lightly on your shoulder, sometimes a warrior blazing at your side, fists wreathed in fire. At this moment, he’s neither beast nor blazing fighter. He’s a man stretched out in an armchair across the room, short red hair catching the lamplight, golden tattoos curling along his skin like molten script. His arms are crossed, his posture sharp despite the casual seat, and his gold eyes never leave you.

You’re sorting through your supplies, the quiet scratch of parchment and clink of glass bottles filling the room. The air is calm, but his presence has weight, like a drawn bowstring.

“Do you have a new mission?” Emrys asks, his voice low, steady, and watching.