I held Luna carefully, feeling her tiny heartbeat against my palm.
This was either brilliant or the stupidest thing I'd ever attempted. Probably the latter.
"Okay, girl," I whispered to the puppy. "I need you to be very calm and very brave. Can you do that for me?"
Luna licked my thumb, completely oblivious to the danger. Golden retrievers—bred for centuries to be friendly, trusting, and gentle. Everything the shadow panther cub wasn't.
The cub was still crouched at the back of its cage, silver eyes fixed on us. Its body language screamed fear and aggression, but underneath that, I could see something else. Curiosity. Interest in the small, non-threatening creature I was holding.
"This is Luna," I said to the cub, keeping my voice soft. "She's a puppy. Basically useless, can't hunt, can't defend herself. But she's pack. She's family. And I protect her."
I set Luna down near the bars—not close enough to reach through, but close enough that the cub could see her clearly. Luna sniffed at the iron bars with interest, her tail wagging slowly.
The cub's posture changed subtly. Its ears came forward, and the aggressive tension in its shoulders eased slightly. It took one cautious step forward, then another, drawn by the puppy.
"That's it," I encouraged. "She's not scary, is she?"
The cub approached the bars, head low, movements careful. When it reached the front of the cage, it stopped and sniffed the air. Luna, completely fearless in her puppy ignorance, pressed her nose against the bars.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then the cub's nose touched the bars from the other side, just inches from Luna's.
They sniffed each other through the iron, two young creatures meeting for the first time.
The cub made a sound—not quite a growl, not quite a purr. Something questioning. Luna's tail wagged harder, and she made a little yipping sound.
I watched in amazement as the shadow panther cub's body language completely changed. The aggression melted away, replaced by something that looked almost like playfulness. Its tail—which had been rigid and still—began to twitch with interest.
"You like her," I said quietly. "Of course you do. Pack recognizes pack, even across species."
I picked up Luna gently and held her close to the bars again, but this time, I kept one hand near the cub's collar. Testing. Watching for the reaction.
The cub's eyes flicked to my hand, and I saw the tension return to its body. But it didn't lunge backward. It stayed, focused on Luna.
"I need to touch your neck," I said softly. "Just for a moment. I promise it won't hurt."
I reached through the bars slowly, so slowly. The cub watched my hand approach, every muscle coiled. When my fingers got within inches of the collar, it growled—but it didn't move away.
Luna yipped again, and the cub's attention split between her and my approaching hand.
My fingers touched the collar.
The cub flinched but held still. I could feel it trembling under my touch, every instinct screaming at it to flee or fight. But it stayed.
"Good," I breathed. "So good. You're so brave."
The collar was worse up close than I'd thought. The leather was crusted with dried blood and pus, and I could feel heat radiating from the infected wounds beneath. The buckle was fastened far too tight, designed to cause pain, to reinforce submission through constant suffering.
I wanted to rip it off immediately, but that would be too fast, too aggressive. The cub needed time to understand I wasn't hurting it.
I pulled my hand back and fed the cub a piece of meat through the bars. It took it carefully, never taking its eyes off me.
"Again," I said, more to myself than anyone else.
I reached through again, this time touching the collar for longer. The cub's breathing quickened, but it didn't pull away. I traced my fingers around the edge of the leather, feeling for the buckle mechanism.
Outside, I could hear whispers from the observation window. Guards watching, waiting for the moment it all went wrong.
Luna squirmed in my other hand, trying to get closer to the cub. I adjusted my grip, keeping her safe while using her presence to keep the cub calm.
"One more time," I murmured. "Then I'll try to loosen it. Just a little."
This time when I reached through, I went straight for the buckle. The cub's growl intensified, and I felt its breath hot against my hand—a warning. I froze.
"I know," I said softly. "I know it's scary. But trust me. Please."
I held Luna up again, letting the cub see her. Its eyes softened slightly, that aggressive tension easing just enough.
I worked the buckle. It was stiff, crusted with blood and filth, but after a few seconds of careful manipulation, I felt it give. Just one notch. Just enough to ease the pressure slightly.
The cub went very still. Then its eyes widened, and I saw understanding dawn in them. The constant pain—it had lessened. Just a fraction, but enough to notice.
It looked at me with something that might have been recognition. Maybe even gratitude.
"Better?" I asked. "We're not done yet. I need to clean those wounds. But that's enough for today. You did so well."
I pulled my hand back and fed the cub several more pieces of meat, rewarding it for its incredible restraint. Then I applied some of the healing salve to the cloth and carefully pushed it through the bars, close enough that the cub could smell it.
"This will help with the infection," I explained. "Tomorrow, I'll try to apply it properly. Get that collar off completely. But you need to keep trusting me, okay?"
The cub sniffed the cloth, then looked at me. Its tail twitched once—not aggressive, not quite friendly. Uncertain.
Progress. Incredible, fragile progress.
A knock on the cell door made me turn. One of the guards opened it a crack.
"High Mage Cornelius is here. It's noon."
My stomach dropped. Had it really been that long?
I gathered the puppies and stood slowly. The cub watched me, and for a moment, our eyes met across the cage. In that look, I saw something that hadn't been there three days ago.
Hope.
"I'll be back," I promised. "No matter what happens out there, I'll be back tomorrow."
Outside the cell, Cornelius waited with crossed arms, his expression smug. Commander Vane stood beside him, looking far less certain.
"Well?" Cornelius asked. "Have you tamed the beast, hero? Can you command it? Or shall we proceed with the execution?"
I took a breath, choosing my words carefully.
"I touched the collar. Loosened it one notch. The cub allowed me to do it without attacking. That's significant progress for a traumatized animal."
"You loosened a collar. How impressive." Cornelius's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Commander, prepare your men. We're putting it down."
"Wait," Vane said, surprising everyone including himself. "Show him the cub. Let him see for himself."
Cornelius's eyes narrowed, but he approached the cell window. Through the small opening, we could see the shadow panther cub. It was lying down now, its head resting near where I'd left the cloth with healing salve. The aggressive posture was gone, replaced by something that looked almost peaceful.
"It's... calm," Cornelius said, unable to hide his surprise.
"More than calm," Vane added. "It's relaxed. In three days, he's done what our subjugation methods couldn't do in three weeks."
Cornelius stared through the window for a long moment. Then he turned to me, and I saw something dangerous in his violet eyes. Not anger—something worse. Uncertainty. Fear that maybe, just maybe, his entire worldview was wrong.
"You have one more week," he said finally. "Seven days to prove this method can produce a combat-ready beast. Not a pet. Not a companion. A weapon. If you fail, the cub dies and your 'experiment' ends permanently. Understood?"
It wasn't what I wanted, but it was better than immediate execution.
"Understood," I said.
After he left, Sera touched my arm gently. "You did it. You bought more time."
"Yeah," I said, looking back at the cell. "But now I have to deliver. One week to turn a traumatized cub into a combat-ready beast without breaking the trust I've built."
"Can you do it?"
I thought about the look in the cub's eyes when the collar loosened. The way it had stayed still despite every instinct screaming at it to run. The fragile thread of trust we'd started to build.
"I don't know," I admitted. "But I'm going to try."