“The West will rise!” The insurrectionist in the center of the train station decreed, shaking his gun towards the swaying chandelier. He was not alone, other rebels with swords flanked his side, taunting the rest of the station passengers to fight back.

Particularly, the cats behind their leader were focused on the few birds that hadn’t left the station. While the birds could have taken a chunk out of a cat with those long talons, instead the birds mostly cussed at them from the tops of tapestries. They were clearly more inclined to watch than to get involved with cat politics.

The Himalayans quickly locked the windows of the ticket booth and pulled down security shutters. The little balls of fluff may have been brave and demanding while inside a train, but outside of a train, they were no cop.

More than anything, Misty was taken aback by the weapons the rebels were carrying. If cats were magical, why the need for a gun? And if they had a gun, was the sword just for decoration?

She had witnessed a fair share of violent spats between warring packs when she was Fang, and she could instantly tell this group was inexperienced and over their heads. Misty could see by the way the leader was overly confident, and by the way that his entourage trembled as they held their swords.

Clearly, they only had one gun between them, and most had no idea how to properly use the blade at their side. Misty couldn’t help herself but wonder, what could have possibly caused them to throw their lives away like this?

The leader of the gang had fur like a sky of stars, speckled black with gray flecks. Unlike most of the cats Misty had seen, the group had tied up the ends of their robe around their ankles to resemble billowing pants. This must have been a Western tradition, because they stood out from the rest of the crowd that let their robes freely flow around their heels.

The direction of their ire was a skinny boy who had not yet grown a full chin, a teenager dressed in shades of green, his white fur spotted with large gray blots over his bi-colored eyes and cheek.'

“Back off!” The spotted teen hissed at them, like how a mouse would squeak at a dog.

Misty took the opportunity to run behind a trash bin to get closer to the train. The warm smell of exhaust wafted over her as she approached. She had to get to that door.

But, she had a problem. The endangered teen was standing right in front of the train door. To go in would involve running right behind his feet. She hesitated, because running by this kid might attract the attention of the gun wielding, sword swinging terrorists and she didn't really want to get lumped in with any of this.

“Whatchya gonna do kid? Get your Daddy?” Said one, flailing with his sword like a theater pirate.

“Cuz he’s DEAD!” Another guffawed, squatting on his haunches.

“Adnrolia Avu!” The kid yelled, extending his hand with long, crooked fingers. Misty expected a simple gust of wind to accompany the magic, but instead, every person in the room felt their feet leave the floor. Their backs hit the opposing wall with a slap.

Under the immense well of gravity, Misty’s claws dug into the floor as she climbed towards the train. Every moment Misty prolonged going through those two sliding doors, was a moment that Ahzila could catch up to her.

“To think some upstart can throw me around with just his voice!” Misty thought to herself. “How is it possible these people are using magic this powerful when I never knew it existed at all! Why not take Earth by force?”

“So like a Westerner to bring a sword to a wizard fight.” The kid sighed, his lip curled as he watched the rebels drop to the ground. “At least you had the sense to realize something as light as a bullet will never hit me.”

“So it’s weight?” Misty wondered.

The weird weapon choice wasn’t just for theatrics. Swords were chosen because blades were heavy, not that she saw many swords in her time in the streets. In fact, she saw that these swords had been weighted, which must have been part of the reason that the rebels had a hard time extending them without shaking.

It occured to her that he could simply take their swords and direct it back at them, like Ahzila with her tiny knife. But maybe the kid wasn't so agile with his abilities as Ahzila was. Perhaps he treated magic like hitting baseballs instead of with the fine motor skills of miniature golf.

“Prince Percy Vlidel!” The leader cried, his ears back, his grimace showing the gums above his incisors. “You’re the first to die! You and the rest of the infants who think they will rule Avurn! Today is the day the West secedes!”

“Miranda’s going to exile you for treason!” Percy sighed, with a slight phlegm to his voice. “You keep saying you’re seceding, for reals this time! You say this basically every day, and yet you’re all still here!”

Misty had to give the little Prince some credit, he was masking his fear really well. It wasn’t a complete illusion, she could still see his terror in the way his tail fur bristled, but this type of encounter was clearly not new to Percy Vlidel.

“Miranda Hanshicock is gonna exile us? Oh? Where is our un-crowned Queen?” They scoffed.

It was then that Misty remembered why that was.

The reason Miranda wasn’t here protecting Percy was because Miranda was occupied looking for Misty. She felt guilty about unintentionally creating this insurrection until Percy pushed them back again. This time the criminals hit the ceiling. Misty got stuck in a tapestry.

Suddenly Misty felt a lot less bad for Percy. Still bad—she still felt kinda bad—but clearly this kid was already some sort of menace to society.

“You have to be nuts if you’re going after me! I’m 2^nd in this kingdom! Do you hear me!? I might be young, but I am going to survive all of you until there’s nothing left of this kingdom but tombs!”

“Watch out!” Misty hissed at him.

One of the assailants crawled behind Percy while he was lost in his speech and managed to make a quick wrist slash through the sleeve of Percy's robe. The cut wasn’t very large, it did not even bleed, but just that one simple slice was enough to bring a powerful Prince to his knees.

In a distorted shift that blurred her eyes and refracted light into soft prisms, Percy came out it falling through the air small, naked, and on all fours. His long robe was in tatters on the wind, unwinding from it’s pattern until it was nothing but tendrils and fibers.

Before Percy hit the ground, the lead terrorist flicked his wrist and uttered the same spell Percy had just used on them to suspend the Prince in the air, helpless. His orange eyes lit up at the chance to hold him so mercilessly. Percy kicked his legs as if he were attempting to swim away.

With a squeal of plastic weather strips, the train doors started to close. Misty's gut sank, her one chance to leave would fall out of her grasp if she stayed any longer. The terrorists wouldn’t care about her running by them now they had Percy in their grasp. She had to go now.

But as she ran, she looked back at this boy about to be executed. Misty no longer saw a monster, but someone as terrified and hopeless as her. In his eyes she saw someone that could see no future ahead of him. Someone who’s life had already ended and was uncertain what purpose he had for still existing.

“The C Train is now departing.” The intercom chimed, clearly automated because no one was manning the desk.

“Adnrolia Avu!” Percy yelled, powerless in his tiny form. The jackets on their clothes flew to the side as if a fan turned on, but their feet were firmly planted to the ground. Percy heard the train doors shut behind him, waiting for his short life to come to a quick close.

“Yeah kid,” The man said, plucking Percy out of the air by the scruff of his neck. “It was that easy.”

He braced himself for the point of a sword to pierce his stomach. But instead, he felt nothing.

One eye after the other, Percy looked up at the old rebel, and saw that his oppressors eyes had filled with deep red light. Him and every other cat in the room stared blankly in front of them with beaming red eyes. Even the birds on the ceiling that were once chittering from the tapestries stood still as a statue with their eyes filled with fire.

“What the hell!?” Percy shuddered.

“Stop.” Misty said behind him in a distant voice that clawed through his chest. “Let him go.” Percy swung his head around and saw the same ruby eyes on her face. Before he could react in fear, he felt the grip at the back of his neck release, sending him to the ground.

She was a terror to behold, a one eared cat who was poorly groomed and matted, who carried a weird smell from some other world.

A clatter rang through the hall as every terrorist dropped their sword to the ground and took the ammunition out of their gun. They waited for her call, like a row of toy soldiers.

“What are you? What ARE you!?” Percy hissed desperately. His voice cracked.

“I’m saving your-”

Percy was already running out of the hallway before she could even properly introduce herself.

Misty had missed her train, but there would be other trains. While at first Misty was going to flee this place rather than understand it, she could not bear to leave it's questions unsolved. Saving Percy was worth it if it meant she could get some clues to why her alley was so brutally incinerated and why Brinkley brought her here at all.

(an old cover for the book (when it was called "Avu"), for funsies)