She read the letter aloud:

“‘Congratulations on the birth of your storm beast! Your storm beast has been registered in the records of Alorria.’” She skimmed through. It was all official language, stilted and impersonal, from the office of the prime minister—​welcoming her storm beast, discussing what a great honor it was to be guardian to an Alorrian storm beast, a rare creature of great importance to their country’s safety and prosperity, the reason their country was superior to those beyond the mountains, blah, blah, blah. It was the kind of letter copied hundreds of times.

And then: “‘You and your storm beast are officially enrolled in Mytris Lightning School in the Northwest Barrens. Two river-ship tickets are enclosed.’”

Yes!

She felt relief so sharply that tears popped into her eyes. No one was going to separate them! She was going to become a storm guardian with Pixit!

«See? Nothing to worry about.»

Except her family. And how they weren’t going to understand.

She read the letter again, reassuring herself that she hadn’t imagined it. At the bottom, the letter was embossed with a quote from one of the first storm guardians of Alorria: “‘A true heart is never a mistake.’”

«I like that,» Pixit said.

I like that too. Even though she’d heard the famous quote before, it felt as if that long-gone guardian were talking directly to her. Pixit had been shaped by her mind and heart, and it couldn’t be a mistake that he was what he was. He was meant to be a lightning beast, and she was meant to be his guardian.

She knew that. He knew that. And soon everyone else would too.

Pixit pressed his furry forehead against hers, and she knew he could tell what she was feeling even before she put it into words. She threw her arms around his neck. Sparks skipped over his scales and across her skin.

We’re going, she thought firmly. Together.

Now she just had to figure out a way to tell her family. Releasing Pixit’s neck, she looked down at the letter on her lap—​in time to see a flame eating away a corner.

Mina yelped, threw it on the ground, and jumped up to stomp the flame out. She then picked up the slightly-charred-around-the-edges letter. «Sorry.» At least the two tickets were unscathed. She tucked them into her pocket and stared at the house.

There was going to be more yelling. She wasn’t sure how to make them hear her.

«I wish I could talk for you.»

Me too.

With Pixit beside her, she went into the house. Mother was wrestling Beon into his highchair, and Papa was feeding Rinna. “Mina,” Mother said without turning around, “your beast stays outside. Or on the hearth.”