Pyra woke to the sound of something industriously chewing.

This was not how her mornings began in their Guild quarters. The chewing was rhythmic, purposeful, and accompanied by satisfied chirps that suggested whatever was doing the chewing was enjoying itself.

Memory returned in a rush—Spark, their unexpected salamander, their new parental responsibilities—and she sat up abruptly to assess the damage.

The salamander had grown. Noticeably. What had been kitten-sized yesterday evening now approached the dimensions of a small cat, its scales gleaming with healthy sheen that suggested it had been eating well. Very well, based on the evidence scattered around their quarters.

"Oh no," Pyra whispered, taking in the scene of cheerful destruction.

Spark had discovered Ash's carefully organized book collection and had decided that certain volumes made excellent midnight snacks. The salamander looked up from its current literary meal—something that had once been "Essential Ecology for Beginners"—chewed its mouthful of paper with obvious pleasure, and chirped a greeting at Pyra.

"Spark, no!" Pyra scrambled out of bed, but the salamander had already reduced the book to its spine and a few scattered pages. "Bad salamander! Books are not food!"

Spark tilted its head with innocent confusion, as if the concept of inedible books was a novel philosophical problem requiring serious consideration.

Ash, roused by the commotion, sat up blinking. Her attention immediately landed on the partially devoured book, and her expression transformed into one of profound intellectual betrayal.

"My book!" She gasped, waking the rest of her selves. "Spark! How could you?"

Spark's only response was a happy series of chirps followed by a burst of orange flame from its nostrils, which served to ignite the remnants of the book in a dramatic flare of light and heat.

"What's—oh," Ember mumbled, barely conscious but aware enough to grasp the essential facts of the situation.

"Is that a book on fire?" Kindle asked, squinting through sleep-bleary eyes.

"Why is our book on fire?" Cinder asked with far more alarm.

"My book," Ash moaned, watching the conflagration. "I only read it twice."

Pyra sprang into action, dashing across the room to grab Spark, who wriggled with delight at the physical contact, its tail curling happily around Pyra's arm. With her other hand, Pyra extinguished the book-flame by snuffing out the fire with her mind as easily as if it were her own flames.

"Bad salamander," Pyra scolded, though she was unable to maintain sternness in the face of Spark's obvious joy at seeing her. "Books are for reading, not eating."

Spark trilled at her with affectionate obliviousness.

Ash sighed, observing the wreckage of her text. "Now what?"

"It's gotten bigger," Kindle observed from the safety of her bed. "What did we feed it?"

A quick survey revealed that Spark had consumed portions of four different volumes, with clear preference for texts dealing with magical theory. The salamander had also eaten three candles, a lamp wick, and part of Kindle's spare boot.

"Why?" Kindle lamented, examining the damage to her footwear. "Why would it eat my boot?"

"Growth spurts are normal for young magical creatures," Ash said, though her tone suggested she was as much convincing herself as informing them. "Many species experience rapid development during their first weeks."

"How rapid?" Ember asked, calculating space requirements and potential problems.

"Well, salamanders—" Ash paused to stare at her destroyed books. "You know what? I can't answer that question because my reference materials have been eaten."

Spark, sensing disapproval, scampered over to Pyra and began climbing up her arm with casual wall-climbing expertise. Reaching her shoulder, the salamander curled around her neck like a scaly scarf and peered at the rest of the room with bright, curious eyes.

"Look how sorry it is," Pyra said.

"It's not sorry," Cinder replied flatly. "It's proud of itself. Look at that expression."

"No, that's its happy expression." Pyra defended the salamander. "I think."

She reached up to give Spark's head an affectionate pat, and the salamander leaned into the touch with pleasure, its tail flicking against her neck.

"We need to figure out the rules," Ember decided, surveying their quarters with new eyes. "Guild policies about pets, housing regulations, whatever bureaucracy we need to navigate."

"Quietly," Kindle added. "We can handle this without drawing official attention."

"Right," Pyra agreed, gently stroking Spark's scales. "Subtle inquiries. Casual research."

The Guild's main hall buzzed with its usual morning activity—adventurers comparing assignments, clerks processing paperwork, and the general controlled chaos of an organization that specialized in managing dangerous people doing dangerous work for money.

They approached the information desk with casual confidence, though Pyra's attempts to look nonchalant were undermined by the way her cloak bulged around her midsection where Spark was hidden.

"Good morning," Ember said to the clerk, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes that had seen more paperwork than actual fieldwork. "We were hoping to get some information about Guild policies."

"What kind of policies?" the clerk asked, pen poised over a form that had categories for every conceivable type of bureaucratic inquiry.

"Pet policies," Kindle said with determined brightness. "You know, regulations about keeping animals in Guild housing."

The clerk's pen stopped moving. "Pets?"

"Hypothetically," Ash added quickly. "We're just curious about the regulations. Academic interest."

"Academic interest in pet policies," the clerk repeated slowly.

"We like to be prepared," Cinder said with her most convincing smile. "Understanding the rules before we need them."

The clerk set down her pen and fixed them with the look reserved for people attempting to register stolen merchandise. "What kind of pet are we talking about? Hypothetically."

Pyra's cloak chose that moment to emit a soft chirping sound.

"Cat," Pyra said quickly. "Very small cat. With respiratory issues."

Another chirp, followed by what sounded distinctly like purring.

"Uh-huh." The clerk regarded them with professional suspicion that came from years of dealing with adventurers who thought creative interpretation of rules was an acceptable life strategy. "Mr. Alderton handles magical creature registration. Third floor, office three-twelve."

"Magical creature registration?" Ember repeated carefully.

"All non-standard pets require registration with the city," the clerk explained with the patience of someone reciting frequently requested information. "Guild housing has additional requirements beyond standard municipal regulations."

"Additional requirements," Kindle echoed weakly.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

"Permits, housing modifications, feeding licenses, damage bonds, monthly inspections." The clerk was enjoying their growing expressions of alarm. "Mr. Alderton will explain everything. He loves explaining everything."

Spark chose that moment to poke its head out from Pyra's cloak, drawn by the conversation or just curious about the morning bustle. Its scales caught the light streaming through the Guild's tall windows, creating small rainbow patterns that were immediately visible to anyone paying attention.

The clerk blinked. "Is that a salamander?"

"No," Pyra said automatically, then realized the denial was undermined by the obvious salamander sitting on her shoulder. "I mean, yes, but it's very small."

"Fire salamander," the clerk said with growing interest. "Those require special permits. Enhanced fire safety measures. Dietary regulation compliance."

"Enhanced fire safety measures?" Cinder asked faintly.

The clerk reached for a small pamphlet, which she consulted with enthusiasm. "According to the Eldorian Standards for Domesticated Magical Creatures, Fifth Edition, larger salamanders—specifically, species identified as Ignis vulgaris, or common fire salamander—require a three-meter clear perimeter of nonflammable material to ensure safety for magical creatures during unexpected ignition events."

"That's surprisingly specific," Ash observed.

"And surprisingly ominous," Ember added.

The clerk was now consulting a thick manual that had appeared from somewhere beneath her desk. "Let me see... fire salamander in Guild housing... that's municipal permit AV-47, Guild modification permit GH-23, dietary compliance license DC-8..."

"How many permits?" Ash interrupted.

"Seventeen," the clerk replied cheerfully. "Eighteen if you want to take it outside Guild housing for exercise."

"Eighteen permits," Ember repeated, feeling a familiar headache building behind her eyes.

"Plus housing modifications, which need to be inspected and approved before permit issuance. And the bonds, of course."

"Bonds?"

"Damage bonds, compliance bonds, emergency response bonds. Standard procedure for destructive magical creatures." The clerk was now pulling out additional forms with the efficiency of someone who'd guided many optimistic pet owners through this particular bureaucratic maze. "Mr. Alderton will have the complete list."

Spark, bored by the conversation, began exploring Pyra's shoulder area with casual confidence that suggested it considered itself part of the family rather than a destructive magical creature requiring seventeen permits.

"How much do the permits cost?" Kindle asked with the careful tone of someone bracing for financial disaster.

The clerk consulted her manual again. "Well, the application fees total about two hundred gold pieces, but that's before housing modifications and bonds. Those depend on assessment."

"Two hundred gold pieces in application fees," Pyra said weakly. "Before housing modifications."

"And bonds," the clerk added helpfully. "Don't forget the bonds."

At that moment, Spark decided the conversation had gone on long enough without proper attention being paid to its needs. It chirped once, opened its mouth, and breathed out a small puff of orange flame that immediately attracted the attention of everyone within sight.

The Guild hall fell silent.

"Right," the clerk said into the sudden quiet. "You'll want to see Mr. Alderton. Soon."

Mr. Alderton's office occupied a corner of the Guild's third floor that had been designed to intimidate potential applicants into compliance through sheer bureaucratic atmosphere.

Wooden filing cabinets lined every available wall, each labeled with small bronze placards in a crisp, precise font that suggested administrative perfection. A large window bathed the room in sharp morning light that illuminated dust motes floating in the air, which had probably been cataloged, inventoried, and filed somewhere for future reference.

"Fire salamander," he said without preamble as they entered his office. Word traveled fast in Guild administrative circles. "Juvenile, based on size. Hatched within the last twenty-four hours, given development patterns."

"You're very well-informed," Ember said carefully.

"It's my job to be well-informed about every hazardous magical creature that takes up residence in Guild facilities." Mr. Alderton gestured for them to sit in chairs that had been positioned to make visitors feel small and supplicant. "Though people come to me before they acquire the creature, rather than after it's already eating their possessions and breathing fire in the main hall."

Spark, still perched on Pyra's shoulder, chose that moment to chirp brightly and wave one tiny claw at Mr. Alderton in what was a friendly greeting.

"Charming," Mr. Alderton said dryly. "But charm doesn't negate regulatory requirements."

He began pulling files from various cabinets with practiced efficiency, spreading forms across his desk like a general planning a campaign. "Fire salamander in Guild housing. Let's see what we're dealing with."

"Is it very complicated?" Kindle asked.

Mr. Alderton looked at her over his spectacles with the expression of someone who'd been asked if dragons were slightly warm. "Miss, you are attempting to house a creature that eats fire, grows rapidly, can climb walls, and will reach a size where it could accidentally incinerate half this building. Complicated doesn't begin to cover it."

"Accidentally?" Pyra asked faintly.

"Fire salamanders aren't malicious, but they are fire salamanders. They don't understand concepts like 'please don't eat the curtains' or 'that tapestry is historically significant.'" Mr. Alderton spread out what were blueprints. "Housing modifications will need to include non-flammable materials throughout your quarters, enhanced fire containment and suppression measures, and a designated flame-eating area for... well, flame-eating."

As if to emphasize the point, Spark gnawed contentedly on Pyra's cloak.

"How much will housing modifications cost?" Ember asked, though she was beginning to suspect she didn't want to know the answer.

"Depends on the extent of modifications required, but between five hundred and fifteen hundred gold pieces." Mr. Alderton consulted a thick ledger. "Plus monthly maintenance fees, inspection costs, and replacement bonds for any equipment the salamander damages."

"Fifteen hundred gold pieces," Ash repeated numbly.

"Before permits and bonds," Mr. Alderton added cheerfully. "The permits themselves are modest—only about three hundred gold pieces total. But the bonds are where things get expensive."

"How expensive?" Cinder asked with the tone of someone watching a tactical situation deteriorate beyond all hope of recovery.

"Damage bond starts at one thousand gold pieces for a juvenile fire salamander. Property damage bond is another five hundred. Emergency response bond is two hundred and fifty." Mr. Alderton was enjoying their expressions of mounting horror. "All refundable, assuming no incidents."

"What counts as an incident?" Pyra asked weakly.

"Property damage, unauthorized fire starting, consumption of anything not approved for salamander nutrition, failure to maintain proper containment..." Mr. Alderton consulted another list. "The usual things."

Spark, sensing that it was the topic of discussion, chirped happily and began grooming its scales with casual confidence that suggested it had no awareness of being a potential financial disaster.

"So, conservatively," Ember said, calculating rapidly, "we're looking at around three thousand gold pieces to keep our salamander legally."

"Conservatively," Mr. Alderton agreed. "Assuming no complications."

"What kind of complications?" Kindle asked, though her voice suggested she was afraid to know.

"Well, fire salamanders have been known to attract other magical creatures. Territorial disputes, mating behaviors, that sort of thing. Also, they grow rapidly during their first year, so you'd need to budget for facility expansions."

He handed them a small pamphlet titled, "Salamander Growth: What to Expect in the First Year."

They stared at the numbers. Then they stared at Spark. Then they stared at each other.

"We're in trouble," Ash observed.

"A lot of trouble," Cinder agreed.

A pause. Then, "We can't give it away," Pyra said with sudden conviction. "Look at that face!"

Spark, still perched comfortably on Pyra's shoulder, offered what was unmistakably a contented trill.

"We're keeping it," Pyra declared, her voice carrying the confidence of someone willing to fight an army to protect her pet. "We'll figure out the money."

"And the housing?" Cinder asked.

"And the dietary compliance?" Ash added.

"And everything else?"

Pyra was unmoved. "We're heroes. This is what we do. Save innocent creatures from bureaucracy."

Mr. Alderton, who had been watching the discussion with polite attention, cleared his throat. "If you're retaining custody, we'll need to review the special permit applications."

They stumbled out of Mr. Alderton's office forty-five minutes later, laden with forms, regulations, requirement lists, and a growing sense that their simple pet situation had become a bureaucratic nightmare of epic proportions.

"Three thousand gold pieces," Ember said numbly. "Minimum."

"We don't have three thousand gold pieces," Cinder pointed out.

"We could get three thousand gold pieces," Kinde said with the optimism of someone who hadn't just sat through an hour of administrative gloom. "Lots of high-paying Guild missions. Easy."

"Lots of high-paying Guild missions that involve us leaving Spark alone for days," Ash added. "In quarters we haven't modified yet."

"At least one of us will have to be on babysitting duty at all times," Ember said with the tired voice of someone who had just been forcefully introduced to the concept of salamander childcare. "For the foreseeable future."

Spark, oblivious to the administrative crisis it had caused, was busy playing with the fringe of Pyra's cloak with complete and utter contentment.

"We'll figure it out," Pyra said with the dogged determination of someone who wasn't prepared to admit defeat. "We can do high-paying missions with one less person, and someone can always stay with Spark."

"Constantly," Cinder emphasized.

"Always," Ash agreed.

"And it's only temporary," Pyra added, looking at Spark with affectionate confidence. "Until we sort out the permits and money."

Spark, clearly sensing it was the topic of conversation, trilled cheerfully and nuzzled Pyra's shoulder.

"Temporarily permanent," Kindle said, reaching out to pet the salamander, which responded by trying to eat her fingers with enthusiastic gnawing sounds. "Ow."

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