A Tower and it's Pets
The tower woke the way old things do, slowly, from the inside out. First came the awareness of time and weight and importance.
Something was wrong. The tower did not panic, it was far too old for that, but a low, uneasy thought settled in its foundation. I am meant to be doing something.
It searched its memory, sifting through centuries like dust motes in a sunbeam. Storms weathered. Travelers sheltered. Songs overheard. Spells absorbed. But this, this felt immediate. Important. Forgotten in a way that mattered.
A flutter stirred in its upper chambers. "Ah," said a voice, papery and pleased. "You're awake." The book-dragon emerged from between two shelves that hadn't been there a moment ago but had always been there, if one asked the right question.
Something is wrong, the tower said, its voice a vibration through every stone. "Yes, well, that's usually when you wake up," the book-dragon replied.
A cold breeze spiraled down the central stair, coalescing into the faint outline of a person who had long since misplaced their edges. "Oh good," said the ghost, hovering just above the floor. "You're actually conscious. I was getting bored of haunting the same three corners."
Do you remember what I am supposed to be doing? the tower asked. The ghost tapped their chin, "Important tower business? Looming? Existing ominously? You're quite good at that."
A small, determined thump-thump-thump echoed from the lower halls. Then a streak of fur shot up the stairs, skidded, corrected, and leapt onto a windowsill that obligingly widened to catch it.
The werekitten blinked at them all, golden-eyed, slightly too sharp, and currently very much in kitten form.
"The tower is awake!" it chirped. "Does this mean breakfast happens twice?"
Possibly, the tower said absently. But first, Another, heavier set of footsteps approached, accompanied by the soft jingle of something that might once have been a bell. A creatures trotted into view: long-bodied like a cat, enthusiastic like a dog, with a tail that wagged in multiple directions at once. It sat. Then stood. Then sat again, just in case that helped. The tower gathered itself. I believe, it said slowly, that I have forgotten something important.
The room went quiet. The book-dragon's pages rustled. "Define "important."
Urgent. Necessary. Something I am meant to do. The ghost drifted in a slow circle. "Ooh. A purpose. Those are tricky. I misplaced mine decades ago." The werekitten's ears perked. "Is it a hunt?" "I hope it's not a hunt," said the dog-cat, wagging cautiously. "Unless we're hunting something friendly." The tower considered. I do not think it is a hunt, unless we are talking treasure hunt.
"Shame" said the werekitten. "Relief" said the dog-cat. The book-dragon hopped onto a lectern that assembled itself beneath it. "Well then. We investigate. Towers don't simply forget things without leaving clues. You're practically made of them." The ghost brightened. "A mystery! Finally, something new to haunt." Where do we begin? the tower asked.
The book-dragon smiled. "History" it said. "Or failing that, your rooms."
At once, the tower felt its corridors shift, not dramatically, just enough. A door that had been sealed for a century loosened. A staircase reconsidered its angle. Somewhere high above, a bell that had never rung trembled faintly. I will open what I can, the tower said. Some things may resist.
"Well" said the ghost. "When things resist it builds character." The werekitten bounced in place. "I'll check the tight places!" "I'll sniff out the friendly places," said the dog-cat shifter. "I," said the book-dragon, spreading its wings, "will check the records." The tower felt something close to comfort settle through its stones. Thank you, it said. "Don't thank us yet," the ghost replied cheerfully. "We might make it worse." And with that, the investigation began. Meanwhile, somewhere deep within the tower's oldest foundation, something shifted in response, something that had been waiting very patiently to be remembered.