(Waluge Solomon POV)

'The moon looks Shity today'

This was the thought that passed through my head as I lay on the ground. With my body covered in sweat and blood with my heart beating as if I had just done a marathon.

As I mustered the strength to sit up, every muscle in my body protested with a symphony of pain. The stench of blood mingled with the acrid scent of scorched wood and metal assaulted my senses.

Slowly, I opened my eyes to survey the aftermath of the explosion. The warehouse, once a respectable building, now lay in ruins. Charred beams jutted out like skeletal remains, and flames licked hungrily at the few remaining scraps of debris.

Beside me, my faithful familiar, a rabbit with a tiny top hat perched jauntily on its head, twitched its nose in concern. Its furry presence brought a small measure of comfort amidst the chaos. With a grunt, I pushed myself upright, wincing as fresh waves of pain shot through my battered body.

The moon, casting an eerie glow over the devastation, seemed to mock me with its indifference. "Basterd," I muttered, my voice hoarse from the smoke-filled air. But there was no time for self-pity. I needed to assess the damage, salvage what I could, and disappear before anyone connected me to this catastrophe.

As I hobbled through the debris-strewn warehouse, my eyes caught sight of a mangled body amidst the wreckage. It was a chimairic wolf reduced to a grotesque display of torn flesh and shattered bone. Despite the carnage, there was a faint whisper of mana emanating from its still heart.

With cautious steps, I approached the fallen creature, my senses alerted me of any lingering danger. As I reached down to inspect the source of the mana, a surge of energy pulsed beneath my fingertips. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I carefully extracted the wolf's heart, its pulsating glow casting an eerie light in the darkness.

The heart I retrieved from the mangled body of the chimaeric wolf was a sight to behold, both mesmerizing and unsettling in equal measure. Its surface is shimmered with an ethereal purple hue.

As I held it in my trembling hands, I couldn't help but feel a chill creeping into my bones despite the warmth of the surrounding wreckage. The heart radiated an unnatural coldness, as if it drew its vitality from the surroundings.

What struck me most was its continued pulsation, a steady rhythm that defied logic and reason. Despite its otherworldly appearance and icy touch, there was an undeniable allure to the heart, a temptation to unravel its secrets and harness its hidden potential

With a sense of trepidation, I carefully secured the heart within my satchel, shielding it from prying eyes and wandering hands. But for now, my priority was to escape this place before more trouble found me.

With the rabbit perched on my shoulder, I limped away from the scene of destruction, each step a testament to my resilience in the face of adversity.

I had to find Miss Tracy and Detective Derrick. Just to make sure they were alright and not dead. I didn't want another bad thing to happen and have to shoulder the responsibility.

Hobbling through the side alley, every step felt like an uphill battle against the pain coursing through my body. The rabbit on my shoulder remained steadfast, its tiny hat askew from our tumultuous journey.

After what seemed like an eternity of limping, I finally reached the spot where Miss Tracy and Detective Derrick were. Miss Tracy, her chest rising and falling with exertion, looked up with a mixture of relief and horror as she saw me approaching in my battered state.

"Waluge!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with concern. "What happened to you? You're covered in blood!"

Ignoring the question for the moment, I focused on Detective Derrick, who lay unconscious at Miss Tracy's feet. With a grimace, I knelt beside them, assessing his condition. Despite the chaos around us, his breathing was steady, albeit shallow, and his pulse faint but present.

"He's alive," I muttered, more to reassure myself than anyone else. "But we need to get him out of here."

Miss Tracy nodded, her expression a mixture of worry and determination. Together, we carefully lifted Detective Derrick, Miss Tracy taking the bulk of his weight while I supported his legs. It was a struggle, but we managed to get him onto his feet, albeit unsteadily.

"We need to find somewhere safe," i said, my voice tinged with tiredness.

With a nod of agreement, I scanned the dimly lit alleyway, searching for any sign of shelter or sanctuary amidst the chaos.

"That way," Miss Tracy said, pointing towards the building. "My home is Closer to here than yours and I presume that we won't get an answer from him."

"I see, yeah let's go to your boss." I replied with a huff as I once again stood up in pain. This was one of the drawbacks of magic since Magic was dependent on a Magic Formula for the spell right spell and if it was perfect it would have a drawback that hurt your body overtime leading to an early death due to a weaker body then needed to be alive.

With that both Miss Tracy and I picked up the detective and started to walk towards Miss Tracy's home. The moon was still at the top.

Despite the late hour, the city buzzed with life. Carriages clattered past us, their wheels echoing against the pavement, while pedestrians hurried along, their footsteps muted by the thick fog that hung in the air.

Every step I took sent jolts of agony coursing through my body, Each breath I drew felt like inhaling fire, my lungs protesting against the smoke-filled air. Yet, despite the pain, I pressed on, driven by even i didn't what.

As we stumbled through the dimly lit streets, I couldn't help but notice the wary glances of passersby, their eyes lingering on the unconscious detective slung between Miss Tracy and me. Suspicion hung in the air like a tangible fog, whispering of suspicion. But I paid them little heed, my focus locked on the task at hand.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of trudging through the labyrinthine streets, we reached Miss Tracy's home—a grand mansion surrounded by imposing fences. The two-story structure loomed before us, its windows darkened against the night sky.

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With a sigh of relief, I leaned against the wrought-iron gates, my muscles trembling with exhaustion. Miss Tracy, her brow furrowed with concern, hurried forward to the guards that opened the gate.

As the gates swung open with a creak of protest, I couldn't help but marvel at the sight before me. My mind was already whirling with ideas and such in what, why and how with the mansion.

It wasn't like I hadn't seen a mansion before but something about this seemed so normal, so ordinary that it was comforting.

As the gates swung open, revealing the grand mansion beyond, my weary muscles found a momentary reprieve. Miss Tracy, ever the picture of grace, hurried forward to greet the butler and maids who had appeared at the entrance.

The butler, a distinguished figure in his tailored attire, regarded us with a mixture of curiosity and concern. His gaze lingered on Detective Derrick, whose unconscious form Miss Tracy and I supported between us.

"Welcome home, young lady," the butler said, his voice a soothing baritone that resonated with authority and warmth. "What has happened? You seem to have encountered trouble."

Miss Tracy nodded, her expression grave. "Indeed, James," she replied, her tone tinged with urgency. "These are my friends, Waluge and Detective Derrick. They are in need of assistance."

With a respectful nod, James motioned for the maids to assist us, his demeanor radiating an aura of competence and professionalism. Together, we guided Detective Derrick into the mansion, the butler and maids offering their support every step of the way.

As we crossed the threshold into the lavish interior, I couldn't help but marvel at the opulence that surrounded us. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting a soft glow over the marble floors and intricately carved furnishings. It was a world of luxury and privilege, a stark contrast to the chaos and destruction we had left behind.

Miss Tracy led us through the grand foyer, her steps confident and purposeful. Despite the weariness that weighed heavy on my limbs, I couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for her steadfast presence amidst the turmoil.

James, the butler, maintained a respectful distance, his keen eyes observing our every move with silent vigilance. It was clear that he was accustomed to handling crises with grace and efficiency, a testament to his years of service in the household.

As we reached the living area, Miss Tracy gestured for us to settle Detective Derrick on the plush sofa, his form now resting in relative comfort. With a sigh of relief, I sank into an armchair opposite him, my body protesting with every movement.

"Thank you, James," Miss Tracy said, her voice soft yet commanding. "Please ensure that Detective Derrick is attended to. He will require medical attention."

"Of course, young lady," James replied, his tone deferential. "I will see to it personally."

With that, the butler and maids sprang into action, bustling about the room with practiced efficiency. I watched in awe as they tended to Detective Derrick with gentle care, their movements fluid and purposeful.

As the bustling activity of the mansion continued around us, Miss Tracy's inquiries pierced through the tranquility like a shard of glass, pulling me back from the edge of exhaustion.

"What were those monsters, Waluge?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and apprehension.

I sighed, running a hand through my sweat-drenched hair as I struggled to gather my thoughts. "Chimaeric wolves, I suspect," I replied, my tone grim. "But beyond that, I'm as clueless as you are."

Miss Tracy nodded thoughtfully, her brow furrowed with concern. "Chimaeric wolves... I've never heard of such creatures?"

I offered her a weary smile, though it was laced with uncertainty. "In this world, Miss Tracy, truth is often stranger than fiction."

Her next question cut through the air like a knife, sending a shiver down my spine. "Is magic real?"

I met her gaze squarely, my expression solemn. "Yes," I replied simply, no hint of hesitation in my voice. "It is as real as the air we breathe, though it often hides in the shadows, unseen and unacknowledged."

Miss Tracy's eyes widened with astonishment, her mind undoubtedly grappling with the implications of my revelation. "And can you not heal Detective Derrick?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

I shook my head, my heart heavy with regret. "Nope, never was good at healing magic," I admitted, the words tasted bitter on my tongue. "My skills lie elsewhere, I'm afraid."

Silence descended upon us like a heavy blanket, the weight of our shared experiences pressing down upon us with suffocating force. For a few moments, we sat in quiet contemplation, each lost in our own thoughts as we processed the events of the night.

But our respite was short-lived, shattered by the sound of hurried footsteps echoing down the hallway.

As the door swung open, revealing two figures in nightgowns, I could sense the tension in the air thickening, an older couple with stern yet caring expressions, rushed into the room with a sense of urgency.

A middle aged man His grizzled gray hair was wet, and his beard was obvious. Wore a nightgown and a thick suit over it. He stood at six feet and his body was much more built then one would expect from someone of his age.

The woman on the other hand had black hair. She appeared to be in her late forties with clear green eyes and a sense of worry in them yet even then she appeared refined and elegant.

"Tracy, dear, what's going on?" the woman exclaimed, her voice filled with concern as she rushed to Miss Tracy's side, her gaze sweeping over the scene before her.

"It's nothing, Mother," Miss Tracy replied, her tone strained. "Just a minor... incident. We're taking care of it."

The older man, presumably Miss Tracy's father, cast a critical eye over the room, his expression unreadable. "Minor incident, you say?" he muttered, his voice tinged with skepticism. "With that man unconscious on our sofa? I hardly call that minor."

I winced at the accusation in his tone, knowing full well that our presence here would undoubtedly raise questions and suspicions. But before I could offer an explanation, Miss Tracy's father turned his attention to me, his gaze piercing and intense.

"And who might you be?" he asked, his voice sharp with authority.

"I'm Waluge," I replied, my voice steady despite the weariness that weighed heavily on my shoulders. "I work at the Library that Miss Tracy manages."

As my gaze locked with the older man's, I felt a peculiar sensation wash over me, a tingling at the edges of my consciousness that signaled the activation of my special eye. In that moment, I saw not just the physical form before me, but the essence that lay beneath.

The man's soul, bathed in shades of blue, emanated a sense of clarity and strength. But amidst the ethereal glow, my eye caught sight of a peculiar anomaly—a small circle nestled within the heart region, a void that seemed to suck in the surrounding colors like a hungry maw.

My heart skipped a beat as I recognized the telltale sign of a Mage. Despite the revelation, I maintained my composure, my expression neutral as I met the older man's gaze. I knew better than to reveal the extent of my abilities, especially in the presence of strangers who might not understand or appreciate the truth.

The older man regarded me with a critical eye, his gaze lingering for a moment longer before he nodded, seemingly satisfied with the explanation. "Very well," he said, his tone gruff yet not unkind.

With that, Miss Tracy's parents retreated from the room, leaving us once again in relative solitude. As the door clicked shut behind them, a heavy silence descended upon the room, broken only by the soft sounds of the mansion settling into slumber.

With a weary sigh, I sank deeper into the plush armchair, the soft cushions cradling my battered form. Beside me, Detective Derrick lay still, his breathing steady but shallow. There was something circulating through the detective something akin to mana but more prominent.

Miss Tracy also left for the night so she could get some sleep as she had a busy day today.

But as the minutes ticked by, the weariness that had settled over me proved too overwhelming to resist. With a yawn, I closed my eyes, allowing the darkness of sleep to envelop me like a warm embrace.

In the depths of slumber, my mind drifted through a labyrinth of dreams, each more surreal than the last. Images flickered and danced before my closed eyelids, a kaleidoscope of memories and fantasies intertwining.

And then, amidst the swirling chaos, a single image emerged with startling clarity—a city engulfed in flames, its towering buildings crumbling to ash as smoke billowed into the night sky.

I watched from above, a silent observer floating amidst the clouds, my heart heavy with sorrow as I witnessed the destruction unfolding below. The city of Bolton lay in ruins, its streets deserted and its people fleeing in terror.

As the flames licked hungrily at the crumbling buildings, I heard a flap of wings from behind me and as I turned around what I saw surprised me.

On the horizon was a massive figure that blocked the light of the moon as it flew closer and closer to the city.

As the massive figure drew nearer, its silhouette became clearer against the backdrop of the moonlit sky. It was a creature of myth and legend, a behemoth of darkness and power—the legendary black dragon.

Its scales were obsidian, reflecting the faint glimmer of distant stars like a sea of polished onyx. With each beat of its colossal wings, the air trembled, sending ripples across the heavens. Eyes as dark as the void itself glowed with an otherworldly intensity, fixed upon the smoldering ruins below with an inscrutable gaze.

Smoke curled from its nostrils, mingling with the billowing clouds of ash that rose from the devastated city. The dragon's form seemed to eclipse the very stars, casting a shadow that stretched across the land like a shroud of despair.

Even from a distance, I could feel the palpable aura of ancient power radiating from the creature, a force as primordial and unfathomable as the depths of the ocean.

Just as the black dragon's immense form loomed ominously over the city, I strained to see a smaller figure perched upon its head, obscured by the dragon's massive horned crest. My heart raced with a mixture of awe and dread, the identity of the figure a mystery yet to be unveiled.

But before I could discern any details, a jolt ran through me, wrenching me from the depths of my dream. With a gasp, I found myself back in the plush armchair, blinking groggily as reality slowly reasserted itself.

The remnants of the dream lingered like tendrils of smoke in my mind, the image of the black dragon and its mysterious rider burning brightly against the canvas of my thoughts. But try as I might, the identity of the figure remained tantalizingly out of reach, lost to the depths of slumber.

Shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, I glanced around the dimly lit room, the familiar surroundings of the detective's office coming back into focus. Beside me, Detective Derrick stirred slightly, still lost in the depths of his own exhausted repose.

From the curtains a faint light of the sun was passing through. It seemed it was just sunrise happening.

As I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, the memory of the dream clung to me like a shadow, a portent of things unseen and mysteries yet to unfold