If I had known I'd be wanted for magical terrorism before lunch, I wouldn't have skipped breakfast.
But alas, there I was—running through the east campus quad, clutching a half-melted chemistry textbook, and being chased by a man in a trench coat who just turned a squirrel into a grenade.
Let me rewind.
My name's Ezra Vale. Nineteen. College sophomore. Majoring in Biotech and minorly cursed by something that really hates Mondays. I like coffee, solitude, and not being exploded. Which is why what happened today felt especially rude.
The chaos started during third-period Chem Lab.
I was trying to get through the semester quietly. No enemies, no attention. That was the plan. Just breeze through college, graduate early, and disappear off the grid like every other overachieving burnout. But of course, the universe decided to make me its chew toy.
"Ezra, what's with the weird glyphs on your notebook?" asked Vanessa, the lab assistant who always smelled like lavender and judgment.
I looked down. The page I was doodling on was covered in what looked like spirals and strange angular runes. Problem is, I didn't draw them.
"I, uh… don't know?" I said intelligently. "Stress doodling?"
Before she could respond, my beaker exploded.
Not a little pop. A full-on, camera-shaking, action-movie-style fireball that scorched three desks and set the fire alarms off. The blast flung me across the room, smashed a window, and reduced a whole row of experiment trays into glittery smoke.
Everyone screamed. I blacked out for maybe three seconds.
When I opened my eyes, there was a cat sitting on my chest.
A black one. With glowing violet eyes. And an attitude.
"Ugh. You woke it up already? Typical. No ceremony. No ritual. Just boom. Humans really are the worst," she said, in perfect English.
I stared.
She licked her paw, then swatted my nose. "Congrats, genius. You've activated a Class-B Binding Curse. Oh—and you also summoned me. I'm your familiar now. My name's Nyra. I don't like you."
"I… what?"
She sighed. "You're cursed, Vale. Big-time. You just set off a magical beacon loud enough to wake the entire local Arcane Registry. That explosion? Not a science accident. That was raw spellback. You're leaking magic like a cracked soda bottle. And now they're going to come."
"Who?" I asked, blinking.
That's when the lab door exploded inward and a man in a glowing trench coat stormed in, flanked by two floating drones and a sword made of what looked suspiciously like pure lightning.
"Ezra Vale," he shouted, voice booming with authority, "by the decree of the Council of Etheric Enforcement, you are under arrest for unauthorized magic, unsanctioned summoning, and property damage exceeding ten thousand credits!"
"Oh," I said. "Cool. I haven't even had coffee yet."