Tale of the Night Fury

Missandria was running through smoke. The fire crackled behind her, shadows stretching unnaturally long between the trees. Her friends’ laughter echoed somewhere far away, distorted, like it was being dragged underwater. “Missandria…” The whisper slipped through the wind. She stopped. The forest wasn’t moving anymore. No birds. No insects. Just the sound of her breathing. “Missandria…” Louder. She turned slowly toward the bushes. Nothing. Then— “MISSANDRIA!” She jolted upright in bed. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Morning light spilt across her walls. Her mother stood at the doorway, hands on her hips. “You’re going to be late.” Reality returned in pieces. New town. New school. New life. She exhaled. “First day of college, and you’re already oversleeping,” her mother muttered, but there was amusement behind the irritation. Missandria checked the clock. 8:15. She shot out of bed. Downstairs, her father sat at the table, composed as always, scanning headlines on his tablet. Alex Wilson. Founder of Wilson Corps. Billionaire. Calm in every crisis. Except when it came to her. “You’re cutting it close,” he said without looking up. “You could’ve woken me earlier.” “Your mother tried. Twice.” Missandria grabbed toast, barely chewing. Her uniform felt foreign on her body. New emblem. New colours. New expectations. This wasn’t just another transfer. This was exile. Florida felt like a lifetime ago. Raya. The fight replayed in her mind—again. The challenge. The circle of students. The sound of impact. Raya is on the ground. The lawsuit. The relocation. Her father insisted it was necessary. “There are things money cannot settle,” he had told her. She didn’t believe that. Not from him. “Only one car,” she warned as they stepped outside. “Please. No entourage.” He gave her a sideways look. “Fine.” The Maybach pulled onto the road smoothly. They passed another high school. For a second, it looked exactly like her old one. The ache in her chest returned. “Dad?” she asked quietly. “Yes, little dove.” “Did we really have to move?” Silence. His fingers paused over the tablet. “There are truths you are not ready for yet.” She hated that answer, but she had to settle anyway. The rest of the ride was quiet. The campus was massive. Green lawns. White buildings. Clean lines. Calm atmosphere. Too calm. Inside the hallway, Missandria paused before entering her classroom. “I’m really about to walk into a room full of strangers.” “You’re also a transfer?” She jumped. A girl with long grey hair stood behind her, smiling apologetically. “I’m Jasmine. First day too, nice to meet you.” They exchanged pleasantries and walked in together. Normal. It felt… normal. Classes passed quickly. Teachers were strict but fair. Students minded their business. No bullies. No chaos. No Raya. By lunch, Missandria almost relaxed. Almost. That was when she met Zolomon. Assistant class president. Tall. Controlled posture. Ash-grey eyes seemed to observe too much. He walked towards her with a register in his hands, asked her as few questions, and then paused for a while while still scribbling. “Sports experience?” he asked while updating the register. “No.” she replied calmly He studied her a second longer than necessary, then nodded. Something about him felt… alert. He was a handsome looking guy, tall, he carried around an aura with him, making him almost impossible to avoid. Lectures came and went, and it was time for the last lecture for the day. History class. The one subject she hated a lot. She had always thought learning about past events were things children would do. The room was warm. The lecturer’s voice droned. The black-and-white tiled floor blurred in her vision. And then— The forest again. She stood alone this time. No fire, no laughter. Nothing, just the wind. Twigs snapped behind her. She spun around. An old woman stood there. Silver hair. Golden eyes. Ancient. “You are early,” the woman said. “What?” “You are not meant to be here yet.” “Where is here?” “You ask too many questions.” The wind intensified. The woman stepped closer. “Follow the Kitsune.” “What’s a—” The woman blew something into her face. Darkness swallowed everything. “Missandria.” She jerked awake. Zolomon stood beside her desk. “You were asleep.” The bell rang. Her pulse wouldn’t settle. That wasn’t just a dream. It felt like memory. After school, she waited in the lobby, mind racing. Kitsune. Why did that word feel heavy? Her father’s car pulled up beside her, but she didn’t notice until he tapped her shoulder. “My angel. What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” He studied her too closely. Then his expression changed. “What’s that on your neck?” Her stomach dropped. She pulled out her phone camera and turned it toward her reflection. A mark. A symbol burned into the side of her neck. Intricate. Almost glowing. “I didn’t have that this morning.” Her father’s jaw tightened. “You had a dream.” It wasn’t a question. “She told me to follow a Kitsune.” He inhaled slowly. "We need to talk," he told her as he rushed her into the car and drove off. Something was wrong. She could feel it.. She never thought she would see her dad like that —flustered, but he was right now, in front of her. He drove them to an abandoned building. She had seen the sign a while ago that said "keep off" The building was unfinished. Concrete walls. Isolated location. Inside, a conference room was fully set. Her mother sat at the table. So did Zolomon. Jasmine. Her history teacher. Others she recognized from school. Her father walked to the head of the table and sat down. Everyone stood, and Missandria was already sitting. She needed to know what was going on. “I summoned you because the Night Fury is stirring,” he began calmly. “And my daughter has been chosen by the Elder.” Her ears rang. “Chosen for what?” Her mother looked at her with something between pride and regret. “We aren’t just human.” The room felt smaller. “We are the last of our kind. Hunted. For generations.” “Hunted by what?” “The Night Fury.” Missandria laughed. No one else did. “The woman in your dream,” her father continued, “is the Elder. She has marked you.” Her fingers moved to her neck instinctively. “You all knew?” Silence. She felt disappointed. “You let me walk around clueless while you— what? Pretended?” “We couldn’t tell you until you were revealed,” Jasmine said softly. Missandria scoffed and rolled her eyes across the room. A lot of other things were discussed in the room. Missandria couldn't take in all she was hearing, lots of emotions began flooding in at the same time. She pushed her chair back and walked out to the balcony. The air outside felt wrong. Too still. She gripped the railing and let the tears come. Everything in her life was a lie. “Are you okay?” Zolomon. “Do I look okay?” He didn’t hesitate. “No.” That broke the tension just enough. “My dad has telepathy?” she demanded. “Yes.” “How long?” “Since before you were born.” Her stomach twisted. “So he’s heard my thoughts.” “Not without permission,” Zolomon said quickly. “There are rules.” Rules. Always rules. “What am I?” she whispered. Before he could answer, the doors behind them opened. The temperature dropped. Missandria turned. The old woman stood inside the room. Golden eyes locked onto hers. “You have awakened,” the Elder said. And for the first time that day— Missandria was afraid.