Chapter One — The Pup in the Storm
The storm hit Ember Coast at noon.
Rain fell in thick ropes. Thunder rolled so close it shook the fish stalls and rattled the shells that hung on the harbor lines. Most folks ran inside. Jett Ember did not.
He pulled his hood tight and kept moving. "If I don't work, I don't eat," he told himself. His shoes slapped the wet boards of the dock. He hauled a crate of smoked fish for Old Bran the net-mender and took his pay in bread and a single copper. It wasn't much, but it was honest.
Lightning split the sky. Jett glanced up. For a breath, the clouds glowed white like a lantern held against black cloth. He loved storms. They felt wild and alive, like the world was clearing its throat to say something big.
"Boy!" Old Bran called from under his awning. "Storm's turning. Harbor watch says Glow strikes are drawing Arclings. You head home."
Glow strikes. Lightning that pulled Glow-type Arclings in closer than they meant to be. Jett nodded, but his feet slowed at the pier's edge. He had never seen an Arcling up close. Only in posters and books and on the sleeves of Keepers who passed through town twice a year.
Across the water, the old lighthouse stood like a bone finger. No light shone from its crown. Everyone said it broke before Jett was born and nobody had fixed it since. A bolt hit near it and flared bright as day.
Then he heard it—a small, thin sound, almost lost under rain and wind.
A whine.
Jett turned. The sound came again, from under the dock stairs. He crouched and lifted the board latch. A pale shape trembled in the dark.
"Hey, little one," Jett said softly.
Two blue eyes blinked up at him. A pup, but not a normal pup. Its fur was yellow-white, tipped with faint silver. Tiny sparks cracked from its paws to the wet wood. A Sparkpup. Jett had seen one in a book once. Rare. Friendly, if handled with care. Fast as a thrown knife when scared.
"You're far from your den," Jett whispered. He held out his hand. The pup sniffed. A small shock zapped his fingers. Jett did not pull away.
Thunder boomed. The pup flinched and pressed into the corner. Jett looked back toward the market. The lanes were empty. No Keeper in sight. If he left the Sparkpup here, rain and fear would drive it to bolt. It could run into the sea or the road or into a Metal flock looking for scraps.
"Come with me," Jett said. "Just until the storm passes."
He took off his hooded jacket and made a cradle. The pup hesitated, then climbed in and curled tight. The sparks faded to a soft, steady buzz, like a cat's purr made of static.
Jett moved fast across the slick boards. The wind shoved him sideways. Halfway to the steps, a shadow dropped from the sky with a scream of tearing tin.
RUSTBEAK.
He knew the name before he knew why. Every kid on the coast knew it: a Metal-type Arcling, shaped like a big crow, rust-red edges, bent iron beak strong enough to bite a chain.
The Rustbeak slammed onto the railing and tilted its head. Its eyes were glass marbles. It clacked its beak twice. Sparks jittered out of the jacket cradle. The Sparkpup poked its nose out and growled in a tiny voice.
Jett's mouth went dry. He had no Bond Band. No stones. No orders to give. He was not a Keeper. He was a kid with a pup in his jacket and no plan.
The Rustbeak spread its metal wings. Rain drummed on them like drumsticks. It hopped closer. Another shadow landed on a post behind Jett. Then another on the rope line. A flock.
"Easy," Jett said to the pup. "We're okay."
They were not okay.
A Rustbeak lunged.
Jett jumped back. The beak snapped shut where his wrist had been. He ran. Boots pounded on the boards. The pup yipped, then faced the open air, ears flat, eyes bright.
"Don't," Jett told it. "Stay down."
The first Rustbeak cut him off. Another swooped from behind. Jett skidded to a stop. He couldn't fight metal with bare hands. He needed cover, a door, anything.
A whistle cut the rain.
"Down!" a woman's voice shouted.
A shining line streaked past Jett and slapped into the nearest Rustbeak. Sun Wire. Light-type. The line wrapped the metal bird and pinned it to a post. The bird screamed and thrashed, but the wire held.
Jett looked left. A tall woman in a long coat strode across the dock, rain sliding off her hat in sheets. A white stag Arcling walked at her side, hooves making soft sounds on the wood. The stag's antlers glowed like moonlit ice.
"Keeper," Jett breathed.
The woman flicked her wrist. The Sun Wire retracted with a snap. The bound Rustbeak slid into a round glass seal clipped to her belt. She held up her other hand. "Stay close, boy. Don't run."
Three more Rustbeaks dove at her. The stag lowered its head. Light gathered at its antlers.
"Sun Beam!" the woman called.
A clean, bright pulse blasted the birds out of the air and sent them skidding. They shook, stood, and hissed. Metal burned where the beam hit. One limped, one wing bent.
"Go!" the woman told Jett. "To the net house. I'll keep them off you."
Jett ran. The Sparkpup wriggled in his jacket, then wriggled harder, nose pushing at the cloth. "Hey—no—"
It popped free, landed on the deck, and faced the flock. The tiny thing growled so hard its whole body shook.
The nearest Rustbeak laughed in a grinding way and sprang at the pup.
Jett moved without thinking. He slid between them and lifted a broken oar off the deck. He swung it like a bat. The oar smacked the metal beak and cracked in half. Pain shot through his hands.
The Rustbeak reared back, more annoyed than hurt. It clacked hard. The other birds turned their glass eyes toward Jett.
"Why did you do that?" the woman demanded, pulling up beside him. "You don't have a band!"
"It's scared," Jett said, heart hammering. "So am I."
The stag stepped forward and stamped. Its hooves flashed. The birds shifted, wary of the light.
The Sparkpup stepped up until it stood by Jett's ankle. Its fur stood on end. Sparks ran from ear to tail. It looked up at him, then at the birds.
"Don't," Jett whispered. "You'll get hurt."
The pup's eyes said something else: Let me try.
The lead Rustbeak hissed and dove. The woman reached for another Sun Wire. She was a breath too late.
"Zap Pop!" Jett shouted.
He did not know where the words came from. Maybe from a book. Maybe from the storm. Maybe from the bond that had started when the pup crawled into his jacket.
The Sparkpup leapt. A bright snap cracked the air. Blue-white light burst around the pup like a small firework. The Rustbeak jerked mid-flight, stunned, and crashed hard onto the deck.
"Quick Pounce!" Jett yelled.
The pup hit the metal bird and slid, claws scratching sparks. It wasn't strong enough to hold the big crow down. The Rustbeak thrashed and threw the pup off.
"Again!" Jett said. "We can do it!"
The woman stared at him, surprise in her eyes, then gave a short nod. "I'll cover you. Stag—Light Guard!"
A soft shield spread around them like clear glass. Rain slid off it. The Rustbeaks circled. The one that got stunned stood slow, angry now, eyes redder.
"Howl Charge!" Jett called.
The Sparkpup threw its head back and howled. The sound rose over the rain and wind, thin and fierce. Electricity ran around its body in a tight ring, then shot to its paws. It dashed forward so fast Jett almost lost it. It slammed the lead Rustbeak in the chest. The metal bird skidded into two of its flock and they all clanged together in a heap.
"Good!" the woman said. "Keep up that talk. It hears you."
Jett swallowed. He felt strange and bright, like his whole body was a bell and someone had struck it.
"Left side!" he said. "Watch the wing!"
The pup shifted, eyes quick, and dodged a metal swipe. It snapped at the bent wing joint.
"Bolt Bite!" Jett tried.
The Sparkpup bit down. A tight flash sparked from its teeth into the joint. The wing locked. The Rustbeak screamed.
"Stag—Sun Tether!" the woman ordered.
A ribbon of light snapped out and looped the stunned bird. She tugged once and the ribbon pulled the Arcling into her glass seal. She clipped it shut and spun to the next.
Two Rustbeaks remained. They hesitated now, heads tilting, metal minds counting odds. One glanced up as another lightning bolt tore the sky.
"Press them," the woman said. "Fast."
"Quick Pounce!" Jett called.
The pup leapt, struck the nearest bird in the beak, and bounced back, drawing it off guard.
"Zap Pop again!"
Pop—crack—flash. The second bird staggered. The stag's antlers flared.
"Sun Beam!"
Light washed the dock. Jett blinked spots away. When his sight cleared, the last two Rustbeaks were down, smoking lightly, then pulled into seals with a double click.
Silence fell fast after that, like the storm itself had stepped back to watch.
Jett sank to one knee. His hands shook. He looked at the pup. It panted, then grinned in a doggy way and wagged its tiny lightning tail. A little spark hit Jett's cheek and made him laugh.
"You did great," he said, voice low and rough.
"You both did," the woman said. She crouched so her eyes were level with Jett's. Up close, he saw small laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and a thin scar under her jaw. "Name's Mira Solis. Keeper, Third Circle. This is my partner, Lumenstag."
The stag dipped its head. The glow of its antlers softened to a warm night-light kind of shine.
"I'm Jett," he said. "Jett Ember."
"Jett Ember," she repeated, like she was trying the taste of it. "You called moves without a band, and that Arcling listened. That's rare. Dangerous, if you're foolish. Useful, if you're brave."
Jett looked down at the Sparkpup. It had curled up on his foot. Tiny zaps tickled his boot.
"I'm not foolish," he said. "Most of the time."
Mira smiled. "The harbor watch will want a word about the fight. After that, come to the net house. I have something for you."
She turned and walked off with Lumenstag, boots steady on the wet boards. Jett picked up the pup and tucked it inside his jacket again. It yawned and licked his chin.
The storm began to ease. Rain softened to a steady tap. Light leaked through the clouds like thin soup through a sieve.
At the watch shed, Old Bran stood with two other fishers and the harbor chief. The chief had a beard like driftwood and a coat with brass buttons. He looked Jett up and down, then looked at the pup nose peeking out from the jacket.
"You brought a Glow pup to a Rustbeak flock," he said flatly.
"It found me," Jett said. "I was taking it somewhere safe. Then the birds came."
The chief grunted. "And you fought."
"Keeper Mira did the heavy work," Jett said at once. "I just… helped."
Old Bran coughed. "Helped plenty," he said. "I saw the whole thing from the awning. The boy was lightning himself."
The chief's mouth twitched like he wanted to smile but didn't know how. "Fine. No harm to folk, only to boards, and we needed new boards anyway. Go on."
Jett went on. The net house was warm and smelled like rope and tar and fish. Mira waited at a long table. She had taken off her hat and set a small wooden box in front of her. The box had a sun mark burned into the lid.
"You said you had something," Jett said.
Mira opened the box. Inside lay a simple black band with a small glass socket and three smooth stones: one yellow, one white, one gray.
"A Bond Band," Jett breathed.
"Loaner," Mira said. "From the coast armory. But if you want it, really want it, you'll take care of it like your own. I can't force the choice. You can hand that pup to the watch and they'll return it to the reserve forest, no risk to you. Or you can make the bond and start down a road that doesn't end easy."
Jett's heart beat fast. He looked at his hands. They were nicked and rough from years of hauling nets and boxes. He looked at the pup, who looked back like the choice belonged to both of them.
"What happens if I say yes?" he asked.
"You travel," Mira said. "You learn. You make mistakes that cost and wins that sing. You protect small places. You fight things that should not be here. You grow up fast. Maybe too fast. But you won't be alone."
Jett touched the yellow stone. It thrummed like a held note. "This one?"
"Glow Core," Mira said. "Good for a Sparkpup."
"And the others?"
"White is Light. Gray is Stone. You'll find more."
Jett swallowed. "I don't have money."
"I didn't ask for money," she said.
He slid the band onto his wrist. It fit as if the band had been waiting for him. He set the yellow stone into the socket. It clicked. A tiny thread of light connected the stone to the band and then to his skin.
Something opened.
He felt the Sparkpup more clearly, like hearing a small drum under a big drum. He felt its tired legs and bright heart. He felt its trust.
"Hey, partner," he whispered.
The pup wagged and touched the band with its nose. A faint mark shaped like a little bolt drew itself on the band, and a warm line ran up Jett's arm to his shoulder, then to his chest.
"Say the words," Mira said softly. "Make it real."
Jett took a breath. "Sparkpup," he said, "will you be my Arcling?"
The pup yipped once. The yellow stone flashed bright, then settled to a steady glow.
The bond held.
Mira nodded. "Welcome to the road, Jett Ember. Lesson one starts now. Lesson one is this: Listen. Your Arc-partner is small, and you are new. Don't pick fights you can't finish. Choose your ground. Use your head."
Jett thought of the broken oar, the bright pop, the wild rush he had felt when the pup leapt. He nodded. "I'll listen."
"Good. There's a rust nest out by the old lighthouse," Mira said. "We clear it tomorrow, before the next storm. Tonight you rest. Feed your partner. Learn its moods. We will train at dawn."
"Dawn?" Jett said, and then he smiled. He had hauled fish at dawn his whole life. Dawn was fine.
He left the net house with the band warm on his wrist and the pup tucked deep in his jacket. The storm had moved offshore. The sea was dark iron, the sky a softer gray. The lighthouse stood against it all, tall and quiet.
Jett stopped at the edge of the dock and looked up. His life until now had been small: fish, crates, coppers, bread. He had never hated it. He had just always felt like there was a door somewhere that he could not see.
The door had opened.
"Tomorrow we train," he told the pup. "Tonight we eat."
The pup sneezed a spark and wagged.
They walked home through puddles that held pieces of sky.