Chapter 1: A Meeting in at the Park

John Myers is no ordinary man. There’s something about him—something that sets him apart, though few could pinpoint what it is. Perhaps it’s his quiet demeanour, the way his eyes seem to carry stories untold, or perhaps, it’s the cats. Yes, the cats. They’re always around him, always watching. How many does he have, you might wonder? That’s hard to say. It’s not that they belong to him in the traditional sense. No, these creatures are no one’s property, not even John’s. They’re… companions. Their own masters. Yet, they orbit him, like planets around a sun. Why? Because of him. Because of his ability, his unique gift—or curse, depending on whom you ask. For you see, John’s cats are special.

It all began on a day that seemed deceptively ordinary. It was twenty years ago, in early spring. The winter had been relentless, its icy grip only recently loosening. On that morning, the world felt fresh, new, as if nature itself had taken its first breath after months of hibernation. The air was crisp, yet warm enough to hint at the promise of spring and summer to come. The sun hung high in a vivid blue sky, while the birds, after months of silence, filled the air with their jubilant songs.

John, eager to shake off the heaviness of winter, laced up his worn but reliable running shoes. He had a ritual—every year on the first true day of spring, he’d head to the park for his first run of the season. The city’s park, vast and sprawling, was teeming with life. Couples strolled hand in hand, children played near the duck pond, and elderly folks basked in the sun on park benches. The sounds of laughter and conversation mingled with the soft rustling of leaves, still bare from winter’s grasp.

As John jogged along the winding paths, passing trees just beginning to bud, he felt at ease. The rhythmic thud of his shoes on the paved path, the steady rhythm of his breathing, all melded together into a kind of meditation. That is, until something unusual caught his eye.

From the corner of his vision, something small and swift darted out from a cluster of dense but still leafless bushes. The movement startled him, causing him to slow down. There, standing on the edge of the path, was a small cat. Its fur was a mix of browns and greys that blended with the somewhat muddy ground around it.

John stopped his jogging, his heartbeat suddenly loud in his ears. The cats eyes were locked onto his, intense and unwavering. There was something strange about this creature—something too deliberate, too conscious for a mere animal. The park was full of life, yet in that moment, the world seemed to narrow to just John and this small animal. He could hear the soft hum of the wind, the distant chatter of people, but all of it felt far away, as if they had been pulled into their own reality.

And then, the cat approached. Slow at first, cautious, before suddenly darting forward, coming to a halt right at John’s feet. It sat there, looking up at him with those large, knowing eyes. John couldn’t help but smile, assuming the little thing was lost or hungry. He crouched down, intending to give it a gentle pat on the head.

That’s when it happened.

The cat opened its mouth, but instead of the expected, innocent “meow,” what came out was something else entirely. It wasn’t the sound of a meow. It was the word, “Meow.”

John blinked, his brain trying to catch up with what had just occurred. He straightened up, running the moment back in his head. No, the little creature hadn’t simply meowed. It had said the word—clear, distinct, and conscious. He stood frozen, staring down, waiting for it to do something again, to explain itself somehow.

But the cat now just sat there, looking up at him as if nothing unusual had happened. As if cats speaking was the most natural thing in the world. John glanced around, half-expecting someone nearby to have seen it too. But no one seemed to notice. A jogger passed by without a second glance, a child laughed in the distance, and an old man fed pigeons near a statue. Life in the park went on, oblivious.

John’s breath caught in his throat. What was this? Some trick of his mind, perhaps? But deep down, he knew that wasn’t it. This was real. And that cat with the jet-black fur that had silver streaks running through it, with its unnerving, almost human gaze, was waiting for him to understand something—something that had just begun to unravel in his world.

Still in a crouch, he reached out his hand to the small animal. Curiously, it came still closer, its nose touching John’s hand. Then it looked up at him, its eyes meeting John’s. And it seemed to him that there was a deep purple shimmer in those slitted pupils, something John had never seen in a cat before. The eyes just caught him, deeper and more powerfully than any gaze he’d ever seen, be it on an animal or a human.

“Hey, little one. You have beautiful eyes!”

The words were spoken directly from the depth of John’s mind. An expression of deep wonder, rather than a conscious thought. And the cat, looking straight at him, without so much as twitching a whisker, answered in a soft, feminine voice.

“Why, thank you! So kind of you to say that.”

John’s hand, stretched out to her, jerked back, his crouch becoming a backward tumble, ending with him half-lying on the ground, propped up with hands and elbows to cushion himself. In shock, he stared at the cat. At her! Yes, she was a she. How could he have not seen it before? And she did the most unlikely thing. Instead of running away, scared like he supposed a normal animal would do after such a sudden, jerking motion in its vicinity, the little beast calmly jumped up on his stomach, walked right up to his face, and gave him a soft bump with her nose onto his left cheek.

“Really? You’re such a clumsy man to fall like that! No grace, no elegance, not even a smidgen of sensible movement! You have a lot to learn, young one!”

The voice had gone smug and reminded John in this moment of a haughty dance instructor in a ballet academy scolding a pupil for being unable to perform a simple pirouette.

That was actually too much for John. His mind was unable to process that there was this tiny cat standing on his chest and calmly berating him for being… well, a clumsy oaf! At the same time, the shock of it all triggered in him an automatic counterclaim.

“I’m not clumsy! I’ll have you know that I was quite a skilled gymnast! I even won the South English regional competition… oh… like ten years ago!”

Even as the words left him, he realised how childish and absurd his argument was. But with that thought also came an acute awareness of how silly his overall situation was. He looked around and saw that even though his actions had created some odd looks from nearby people, no one was close enough to have overheard or shown real interest. The thought went through his head that he might be better off not attracting too much attention right now, just in case he actually was losing his mind. He didn’t feel like it, but heck, he was talking to a cat. And even though that was a quite normal thing, many people talked to their animals, after all, the cat had answered him, which definitely was not inside the usual operating parameters of a sensible world!

“Yep. You’re right. We really should take this somewhere more discreet.”

With that, she jumped off him and came to rest at his side. John stared at her, speechless. Not only was the cat talking, it had obviously answered his very thoughts! But there wasn’t any time to react to that either as her voice continued, its tone now no longer haughty, but quiet and matter-of-fact.

“Get up and pick me up. Then let’s go home. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

There really wasn’t much else to do, was there? So John, without saying anything else, did exactly as he was told.

Chapter 2: Nyra

John stepped into his home, the cat perched confidently in the crook of his arm. As the door clicked shut behind them, he glanced down, still half-expecting the strange encounter to evaporate like a dream. But there was the cat, resting her small paws on his forearm, looking around with the air of an inspector sizing up a new estate.

John’s house was a place of understated elegance, nestled just off a winding road at the southern end of Petersfield, a quiet little town in the South Downs National Park in Hampshire. The two-storey structure held a quiet luxury, with large windows that opened up to the rolling green hills outside. Soft morning light filtered through the glass, illuminating walls adorned with landscapes he’d collected over the years—scenes from remote mountains, golden deserts, and dense forests. A collection of walking sticks, lined with wood carvings, leaned in the corner, while antique bookcases filled with travel logs and art books spanned an entire wall of the living room. Earthy hues filled the space, from deep oak floors to rich leather armchairs, creating a sense of warmth and depth.

As he set his little burden down on a polished wooden table near the door, he watched her stretch, then leap gracefully onto a nearby armchair. She sat, tail curled around her paws, and looked at him with the cool detachment of someone who owned the place.

John raised an eyebrow. “So… you talk.”

“Yes, I talk,” the cat replied in that same soft, smug voice. Her tail flicked slightly. “Although not everyone is blessed with the privilege of understanding me.”

John chuckled, shaking his head as he made his way to the kitchen. He needed a drink! “Well, I’ll admit, that’s not something you see every day.”

He took a glass out of a cabinet and a bottle of his favourite Scottish whisky. As he poured the drink, he looked over at his strange guest.

“Can I… offer you some milk?” he asked, pulling a small saucer from the cupboard.

The cat narrowed her eyes, as if he’d just insulted her intelligence. “Milk? Really? I’d prefer water, if it’s all the same to you.”

John paused, bemused. “You don’t drink milk?”

“Not unless it’s absolutely necessary. Water will suffice.”

He shrugged and filled the saucer with water, then brought it back, setting it down on the table near her. Her nimble tongue flickered as she leaned forward, drinking with a dainty precision, as though every movement were rehearsed. After a few sips, she looked up, her gaze as steady as ever. John sat down opposite her, watching quietly, trying to order his thoughts.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“John Mythen,” she began, her voice low and almost musical, “you’re not just an ordinary human…”

John interrupted her. “How the heck do you know my name?”

“Well. We… know things.” The slight pause in her sentence and the look she gave him were quite expressive, and told him in no uncertain terms that humans were, in her opinion, miles beneath her species.

John, coming more and more to grips with the situation, simply smiled and asked politely, “And what is your name then, all-knowing goddess?”

The cat totally ignored the irony in that and answered him quite seriously.

“I am Nyra. But that’s not important right now. What’s important is that you possess a gift—one that has been in your bloodline for generations, though it has often been forgotten. Your family’s connection to the Astral Plane is… rare. Stronger than most.”

John’s smile faltered. The Astral Plane. He had, of course, read about the concept. No traveller with even a slight interest in myths and legends hadn’t heard the term before.

“Right,” he said, his tone dry and somewhat ironic, “because I’m a natural-born guardian of otherworldly realms, is that it?”

Nyra’s eyes glinted. “It’s no jest, I assure you.” Her tail swished, the only visible sign of impatience. “Although actually I am the Guardian. You are but my human. But you have the ability to channel energies from the Astral Plane—an ability most humans can barely conceive.”

John leaned against the counter, crossing his arms, studying the cat with suspicion. Just her human, indeed! But he let it pass. 

“So you’re telling me I have… powers?” He half-laughed, the disbelief evident in his voice.

“In a manner of speaking,” Nyra replied, sounding faintly amused. “The channels within you are stronger, more attuned. You could harness energy from the Astral Plane, perhaps even open doorways to it.”

John shook his head, running a hand over his face. He looked around, as if seeking confirmation from the familiar warmth of his home.

“All right. So I am sitting in my living room, talking to a cat named Nyra, and she’s telling me that I’m special. And although I do think of myself as a somewhat extraordinary person, I surely have never had anything to do with anything so… so… insane! You must have the wrong person, Nyra.”

She let out a soft, almost exasperated sigh. “There is no mistake. You feel that sense of restlessness, that nagging intuition? You were drawn to me today, just as much as I was drawn to you.”

He scoffed. “Restlessness? That’s just—” He waved a hand dismissively. “Everyone has their moments of discontent. It doesn’t mean I’m some… mystical gatekeeper.”

Nyra watched him, her gaze calm but unwavering. “Your bloodline carries this connection, whether you accept it or not. Denying it won’t change what you are.”

John pushed off from the counter, pacing the length of the living room. “And why should I believe any of this? For all I know, you’re some… anomaly. Maybe I’m just crazy, lying in a ditch and imagining this whole thing.”

Nyras voice sharpened, cutting through his denial. “You didn’t imagine anything, John. The Astral Plane is real, and so are its doorways to this world. I guard them—along with a few others. It’s no small task.” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important.”

John turned, his gaze hardening. “So you just happen to show up, tell me I have powers I’ve never heard of, and expect me to… what? Take on some kind of magical duty? You’re wasting your time, Nyra. I don’t know anything about this, and frankly, I don’t want to.”

The kitten let out a soft, unimpressed “hmph,” curling her tail around her paws once more. “You think you can choose to ignore this, but it’s not that simple. The Astral Plane has its own ways of reminding you.”

He took a steadying breath, gripping the edge of the counter. “Listen, I’ve had enough of mysteries. My life is fine just the way it is. I really don’t need anything crazy like this.”

Nyra’s gaze softened, though her voice retained that haughty edge. “Then perhaps you don’t understand what’s at stake. Ignoring this isn’t as harmless as you’d like to think. It’s not just about you, John. When the doorways are left unguarded, they attract… undesirable things.”

He looked away, determined not to let her words unsettle him. “I don’t care. You should find someone else for this, Nyra. I’m not your man.”

Nyra watched him in silence, and for a moment, the two were locked in a quiet standoff. She broke it with a soft sigh, her eyes half-lidded with what looked like disappointment.

“Very well,” she murmured, almost to herself. “But understand, John, that you’re closing the door to more than just me.”

John ignored the slight twinge in his chest and walked over to the window that led to his garden. He unlatched it, swinging it open, and gestured for Nyra to leave.

“Out you go,” he said, trying to sound resolute.

Nyra didn’t move at first, fixing him with a gaze so piercing it felt like she could see right through him. With a faint flick of her tail, she rose, walked over and hopped to the window ledge, looking back at him one last time.

“Suit yourself, John,” she said, her voice colder now. “But this isn’t over. You’ll see.”

She gave him a disdainful look, her eyes narrowing with a touch of that earlier smugness, then leapt gracefully to the ground outside. Without so much as a glance back, she began to walk away, her tail held high, her posture radiating a dignified indifference.

John closed the window and leaned against it, feeling a strange mixture of relief and unease. He watched as Nyra padded down the path, her silhouette suddenly barely visible. Just as she was about to disappear around the bend, she paused, looking back over her shoulder as if to confirm he was watching. And strangely enough, the deep purple glow of her slitted eyes was suddenly very visible, even over the distance.

Then, with an elegant turn of her head, she vanished from view, leaving him alone in his quiet, familiar home—a home that now felt a little less secure, and a little less ordinary.

Chapter 3: The Dream Pool

Soft silver light filtered through thick, misty foliage, casting a serene glow over the strange, garden-like realm. Trees grew tall and twisted, their branches heavy with luminescent leaves that pulsed gently in the quiet air. A dream pool lay at the center, as still as glass, reflecting the otherworldly scene and the sky above, which held no sun or stars, only an endless expanse of violet twilight. The air was alive with an energy that hummed just beneath the surface, as though the very ground breathed.

By the pool’s edge, Nyra waited, her jet-black fur a stark contrast against the iridescent moss that covered the stones. Her tail flicked impatiently as she watched the pool ripple in lazy waves, shifting as if some invisible hand brushed against its surface. Slowly, the faint image of an elderly woman began to materialise in the water. She sat slouched in an armchair, her silver hair falling gently around her face, eyes closed as she slumbered. A soft light from a sleek, modern lamp lit her face, casting long shadows that played across a dark, contemporary living room with carefully curated decor—vibrant but minimal, elegant yet homey.

The woman’s eyelids fluttered, then her form seemed to dissolve from the darkened room, reappearing in the garden beside the dream pool. Her back straightened, and her eyes brightened as she looked around with an air of familiarity, as though arriving home. Her face and skin appeared much younger than they had in the image reflected in the still waters but a moment ago. Her beautiful green eyes looked calmly and with quiet expectation at the sitting cat.

“Sophia,” Nyra said, with a respectful tilt of her head.

Sophia smiled, her wrinkled hand lifting slightly in acknowledgment. “Ah, Nyra. I assume your errand went as expected?”

Nyra’s nose wrinkled, and she gave a dismissive flick of her tail. “As expected, yes. But unproductive.” She sat back on her haunches, her tone dripping with disdain. “The chosen one, a man named John, has no interest in his purpose. Quite an unworthy creature, as I’ve come to expect of his kind.”

Sophia laughed softly, a low, knowing sound. She moved closer to the pool and gazed down, watching the strange water ripple with her presence. “Oh, Nyra. And how, exactly, did you present the matter to him?”

Nyra narrowed her eyes, looking mildly offended. “I explained his lineage, his connection to the Astral Plane, and his potential responsibilities. Quite clearly. He ought to have understood the honour bestowed upon him.”

Sophia’s gentle chuckle broke through Nyra’s diatribe. “Yes, yes. I’m sure you were thorough. But, perhaps a touch… abrupt?”

The cat’s eyes flashed, the faintest glint of embarrassment flickering in them before she brushed it away. “I was clear. Humans require clarity; they waste enough time muddling about as it is.”

Sophia shook her head, smiling as she sat down on a large stone near the pool’s edge, her hand dipping briefly into the water, causing ripples to fan out in wide circles. She remembered too well the time she herself had been meeting with Nyra’s mother. And the little cat wasn’t any more patient than her mother. “Clarity is valuable, my dear, but not at the expense of patience. Now, tell me more about this John. What is his full name?”

Nyra’s tail swished as she fixed her gaze on the rippling pool. “John Mythen,” she said with distaste, as if the name itself held disappointment.

“And where is he?”

“Petersfield, in southern England,” Nyra replied, then hesitated, as if debating how much more detail to offer. But Sophia’s warm gaze urged her on. “He lives on the southern edge of town, in a modest cottage. It’s one of those quaint structures humans adore, with wide windows overlooking the hills. Trees surround the house, and there’s a garden that’s—” Nyra paused, her expression torn between admiration and disdain, “—charming, in its own way. The entire area is full of trees and those rolling green fields you humans find so lovely.”

Sophia closed her eyes, imagining the scene, her breathing calm and steady. “It sounds peaceful.”

“Yes, too peaceful for my liking,” Nyra muttered. “Humans grow stagnant in such places, lulled into passivity by their comforts.”

“Perhaps it’s not such a bad thing,” Sophia murmured, her voice thoughtful. “Humans need their comforts, Nyra. Not every soul is immediately ready to accept its greater purpose.”

Nyra huffed, her tail flicking. “And that is precisely the issue. They cling to their ordinary lives, blind to the vast reality around them. John is no different. The moment I explained his role, he dismissed it as ‘insane,’ as if the very idea of a higher calling were something laughable.”

Sophia smiled knowingly. “We are often overwhelmed by the extraordinary, Nyra. It’s the nature of our kind.”

Nyra’s whiskers twitched, her frustration still visible. “Well, if he cannot see the honour in it, what is his worth?”

Sophia’s smile faded, her expression growing thoughtful. “It is not for us to determine their worth. That is for each of them to discover.”

There was a silence between them, broken only by the quiet hum of the realm around them. Nyra looked down at her paws, her gaze softening just slightly. “I only wish humans were more… resilient. They buckle so easily under the weight of knowledge.”

Sophia reached out, brushing her fingers across Nyra’s fur with surprising tenderness. “We are resilient, Nyra. But in ways we do not always understand. We humans have a different strength. A quiet one, hidden in unexpected places.”

Nyra looked up, her eyes skeptical. “John hardly fits that description. He seemed more interested in preserving his comfortable existence than embracing his potential.”

“Then perhaps we need to approach him differently,” Sophia suggested, her gaze distant as she pondered. “Give him time, and maybe a gentler reminder. Sometimes the path to understanding one’s destiny is a winding one.”

Nyra sat back, her tail curling around her paws. “If it’s winding, he’s likely to get lost along the way.”

Sophia chuckled, the lightness of her laughter softening the otherworldly air. “Not if we guide him. You must remember, Nyra, that while humans can be frustrating, we are also remarkable in our own way. And John Mythen… well, the Choice brought you to him, didn’t it?”

Nyra flicked her ears back, begrudgingly acknowledging the truth in Sophia’s words. “Yes. It did. He has potential, buried beneath all that human stubbornness.”

Sophia nodded, her gaze warm. “Then we shall nurture that potential, carefully. There are many ways to bring a soul to its purpose.”

Nyra’s tail swished thoughtfully. “So, you believe he may yet become… worthy?”

Sophia looked down at the dream pool, her reflection mingling with the ripples, as though she too were part of the astral mist. “If he has been chosen, then he already possesses the spark of worth within him. It simply needs the right kindling. Besides, ask your mother about me sometime, how she saw me at the beginning.”

Nyra’s eyes narrowed, sceptical yet intrigued. “Very well. I shall wait. But I’m not convinced he’s the best candidate.”

Sophia’s lips curved into a gentle smile. “Sometimes, the best candidates are the ones who seem the least likely. Give him time, and perhaps a touch more… tact.”

Nyra rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath. “Tact. Humans require so much… handling.”

Sophia’s laughter filled the garden, a sound that mingled with the gentle hum of the realm around them, wrapping around Nyra like a soft, comforting breeze. “Indeed, we do. But that is why you care for us, is it not?”

Nyra gave a begrudging nod, and together, they sat in silence, watching the quiet surface of the dream pool, its ripples casting shimmering reflections of violet twilight onto their faces.