The Prince of Whispering Pawns

In the ancient kingdom of Lunalith, nestled between twilight forests and forgotten ruins, there existed a realm unlike any other—one governed not by kings or queens, but by familiars, you know the magical animal spirits who served the old bloodlines of witches, mages, and prophets. Among them none were more revered than Puja, the Prince of Whispering Pawns.

Puja was not born into royalty. He was a tabby of humble beginnings, found by moonlight in the crumbled courtyard of an old healer’s tower. He bore the marks of divine lineage—soft stripes that shimmered like runes when the moonlight struck just right, eyes of deep honey that could see through enchantments, and a stillness that only the wisest of souls carried. It was said that Puja never meowed unless it was prophetic teachings and when he purred the dead dreamed sweetly.

For centuries, Puja had been the trusted companion to the great witch Elaria, a seer whose visions shaped the fate of kingdoms. But one fateful winter, when Elaria passed from this world to the next, the Council of Familiars gathered and declared Puja the new Prince of Whispering Pawns and tasked with guiding lost familiars, overseeing sacred contracts, and protecting witches in exile.

In his hall of cedar and enchanted velvet, Puja sat upon a polished wooden throne, his forepaws always folded like clasped hands in silent contemplation. He governed not through command but presence. Familiars from across dimensions traveled to Lunalith to seek his counsel. A raven grieving the loss of its twin bond, a fox struggling with loyalty to a fading bloodline, a ghost cat searching for the witch it once guarded; all found solace in his gaze.

Despite his wisdom, Puja remained deeply tethered to the human world through a witch named Elara; a woman of shadowed scars and golden spirit. He had found her again, this time not in her destined prophecy but in pain. She had forgotten the old ways, worn down by the weight of mortal wounds and memories that clawed in the dark. She fed him broth, spoke to him like he was just a cat and cried when she thought he didn’t understand.

But Puja understood everything.

Each night, while Elara slept, he whispered into the fire and sent prayers to the old goddesses begging them to return her power. When her hand trembled with sorrow, he curled against her ribs to keep her spirit warm. And though he could not speak, he left small tokens, threads of light, the sound of laughter in dreams, the nudge of destiny through unexpected meetings. He was her guide, her anchor, her witness.

One evening, as the snow fell like soft ash and the hearth crackled with violet flame, Elara looked down at him and said, “You’re not just a cat, are you?” Her voice was barely louder than a thought.

Puja blinked slowly, the light in his eyes flickering like candlelight. No answer was needed.

She knelt beside him and kissed his head. “Thank you for finding me.”

And in that moment, the crown he never asked for shone brightest, not from gold or gemstone; but from the quiet, unfaltering loyalty that only a true familiar could carry.

The night air was cool and heavy with the scent of spring rain, but Puja barely noticed as he landed with quiet grace on the sidewalk. The city noise seemed to recede into the background, replaced by the sound of his own breath—rhythmic, deep, alert. His tail flicked once in anticipation as something stirred in his chest, a distant echo… not a memory, but something older. Older than this lifetime. Older than fur and whiskers.

He walked, not sure where he was going, only certain that he must follow the invisible thread tugging at his heart. The city lights shimmered like stars fallen too low, and as Puja rounded a corner, something strange happened.

The shadows around him shifted, not like leaves in the wind; but like veils being lifted. The pavement beneath his paws shimmered, momentarily translucent, revealing a glowing pattern etched into the ground. A faint golden spiral that pulsed once before fading. Puja paused and blinked. His ears rotated, listening for the mundane. But no dogs barked. No sirens passed. Just the wind and a voice.

“My prince… it is time.”

The voice was female and gentle, yet it held power like a drumbeat echoing through time. It didn’t come from ahead or behind. It came from within.

Puja turned sharply and found himself no longer on the street but in a long corridor of stone and moonlight. Pillars rose into the mist above, carved with feline symbols he could not consciously read but felt familiar with. His steps grew silent. His back arched instinctively, not in fear but reverence. He had been here before.

And then he saw her.

A tall, regal feline stood before him, black as obsidian, eyes like opals, swirling with purple and silver hues. She wore a diadem woven of starlight and wind and when she walked, the shadows danced behind her.

“Mother?” Puja whispered before realizing the word had formed.

The cat did not deny it. Instead, she bowed her head once.

“You were not always meant to remember,” she said softly, circling him. “But your soul has awakened because the time has come. The threat that once ended our realm is stirring again. And you, little prince… are the last of your line.”

Puja blinked. He remembered something then—not in images, but sensation. A throne room crumbling. Cries of battle. His paws pressed against a golden orb. A promise made.

He sat down heavily, overwhelmed.

“I’m just… a house cat. I don’t remember how to be what I was,” he admitted.

The regal cat smiled.

“You never forgot. You only needed the right doorway.”

And just like that, the corridor vanished. He was back outside beneath the city moon, but now, the wind whispered secrets to him. The trees greeted him by name and the necklace his human once wore; a small, star-shaped and tucked inside a keepsake box. It glowed faintly through the apartment window behind him.

He remembered it now. It wasn’t just her jewelry. It had belonged to his kingdom.

But before Puja could return inside, he felt something behind him—a presence. Another cat, sleek and silver with green eyes, watched from the alley. Her energy was different—not threatening, but also not comforting.

“I wondered when you’d return,” she said, licking a paw.

“Do I know you?” Puja asked cautiously.

She smirked.

“You will. We fought side by side, once. And now you’re back, in this world of steel and glass, and everything’s about to change again. Come find me when you’re ready, Prince. You’re not the only one who remembers.”

And with that, she disappeared into the shadows.

Puja stood for a long moment with his thoughts spinning. He was no longer just a curious, intelligent cat with a habit of stealing dishes and hacking his food bowl. He was something else…something older. Something important.

And he wasn’t alone.

His human would still pet his head and hum soft songs while she cooked for him. She would still pour love into the meals that healed him and she was part of this too some how. She didn’t know it yet but she was a thread in the tapestry of his past, his present—and the future war that was whispering through the city fog.

He turned and leapt back to the windowsill. There was more to learn. More to remember. But for now… he was home.