The first time Veyne drew his blade after the Contract, the stone cracked beneath his feet.
It wasn't brute force. It wasn't magic either. It was density. His mana had condensed—folded inward like a star preparing to collapse. Every movement left a trail of heat in the air. Not fire. Friction.
He didn't notice.
I watched from the edge of the courtyard, seated on a low stone wall with my coat drawn tight against the wind. Lirae stood a few paces behind me, arms crossed, eyes like ice.
"He's not stable," she said.
"He's alive," I replied.
"Barely."
Veyne moved like a man possessed. Each swing of his sword tore wind into sharp lines, snapping against the dead air. His footing was aggressive, calculated. But not human. Not anymore.
"Watch his shoulder," I murmured.
Lirae did. Her eyes narrowed.
"It's healing too fast. Overcompensating."
"His cells are rewriting faster than his body can handle."
"So what happens when the growth outpaces his control?"
I said nothing.
The System had stopped offering guesses. That worried me more than the risks.
[Subject: VEYNE – Soul Contract Sync 47%][Biostructural Drift Detected — Draconic Mutation Accelerating][Cognitive Loyalty: Reinforced. Emotional Sync: Unknown.]
He finished the drill and turned sharply, breathing hard, eyes wild.
"I need a harder target."
"You'll get one," I said. "Tomorrow. You spar with Gray."
He grinned. Sharp. Almost predatory.
"Good."
I studied him carefully. Not with fear. With curiosity.
This was power made visible. Living proof that the System wasn't just theory—it was transformation. But it came with a cost.
And I needed to know exactly how high it climbed.
That night, I met Gray in the old war chamber, the room where we kept what little gear we had. Rusted weapons. Dented armor. Nothing fancy. But Gray had kept it clean.
He stood by the weapon rack, inspecting a curved blade Veyne had brought from Drakonveil.
"Not ceremonial," he said. "This was forged for internal war."
"You think he's hiding something?"
"I think he was something. Now he's becoming something else."
I nodded.
"You ready to spar with him tomorrow?"
"Not really."
"But?"
Gray turned and grinned faintly.
"I'll make him bleed anyway."
That was why I liked him.
Not because he was fearless.
Because he was honest.
They met at dawn.
Gray was already bare-chested, his old blade in hand, body relaxed. Veyne entered shirtless, tattoos and scale-patches shining in the low light, eyes lit faintly gold.
They didn't speak.
I stood at the edge of the ring, Lirae beside me again, arms folded.
"You're using them like pieces on a board," she said.
"No," I murmured. "I'm letting them prove their shape."
She gave me a sidelong glance.
"Are you so sure you're not just watching to see which one breaks?"
The match began with a blur.
Veyne charged first—predictably. Gray sidestepped, redirected the momentum, struck once at the ribs. Veyne spun back and retaliated with a knee that cracked against Gray's side.
They separated.
Bled.
Then charged again.
The air around them shimmered with mana. Sparks danced in their wake—resonance clashing, raw and untrained.
Veyne began to overpower Gray.
Faster.
Stronger.
But Gray didn't fall.
He adapted.
Every failed block became a feint. Every dodge, a read. And when Veyne overcommitted, Gray stepped inside the arc and slammed the hilt of his blade into the Dragonkin's jaw.
Veyne staggered back. Spit blood.
Then smiled.
"Again."
They fought for twelve minutes before I called it.
Both breathing hard. Both bleeding. Both smiling like devils.
Lirae turned to me.
"You're not building soldiers," she said.
"No," I agreed.
"I think you're building monsters."
I didn't deny it.
Because she might be right.
Gray had a cut above his brow and a split lip when he passed me in the corridor that morning.
He didn't complain.
Didn't ask for healing.
Just nodded once—sharp, satisfied—and limped toward the storage room to clean his blade. I caught a flicker of something in his eyes, though. Not pride. Not pain.
Purpose.
Veyne had taken a seat on the fountain's edge, arms resting across his knees, sweat running down his spine. The scaled patches on his back pulsed faintly, the ridges shifting like muscles of their own.
Lirae sat opposite him on the stone bench beneath the old iron tree, legs crossed, body still.
I joined them slowly. No one spoke.
The morning had the taste of dry ash and cracked earth—sharp, gritty, and thick with magic. The pyre fire had burned out, but the mana residue still hung over the estate like an echo.
Veyne finally broke the silence.
"I dreamed last night."
I glanced at him.
He didn't meet my gaze.
"It wasn't a memory. Not mine. Not from this life."
Lirae shifted subtly.
"Describe it," I said.
He ran a hand through his damp hair.
"I stood in a room made of bone. A throne of obsidian and gold at the center. But it was empty. The walls whispered. They said, 'You woke too early.'" He paused. "And then I saw my reflection in the floor… but it wasn't me."
I sat forward, elbows on knees.
"What did it look like?"
He was quiet for a beat too long.
"A beast. Horns. Fire behind its eyes. Wings made of ash."
Lirae's voice was cold. "And you don't think that means something's wrong?"
"Everything's wrong," Veyne said. "That's the point. I was nothing. A fifth-born noble grunt with a broken oath and a price on his head. Now?"
He flexed his hand. Gold light shimmered across his skin, faint but steady.
"Now the fire answers me."
Lirae stood.
"I've seen what happens to people who confuse power with permission."
Veyne looked up at her. "And what about people who hide their power in servant clothes? What do you call that?"
I tensed.
She didn't blink.
"You know nothing of me."
"I know enough," he growled. "You watch him like a hawk, speak like a scholar, move like a killer—and you've never once flinched at blood."
They stared at each other, silence thickening like a noose.
I cut in before it snapped.
"Enough."
They both looked at me.
"I don't need you two drawing daggers in the garden."
Veyne exhaled through his nose. "As you command."
He rose and walked off, heat shimmering in his wake.
Lirae remained still for a long moment.
"You can't control him," she said.
"Not yet."
"And what happens when you can't?"
I looked down at my hands. Mana still buzzed beneath the skin—hot, hungry.
"That's why I'm training him. Not just to fight. To remember who he is."
She gave a faint, dry laugh.
"Are you so sure he wants to remember?"
I didn't answer.
Because I wasn't.
That night, after the tension had simmered to a dull hum, the System returned.
It didn't announce itself this time. No flicker. No alert. Just a presence that slid in under my thoughts like a second breath.
[Soul Contract Tree – Updated][New Tier Unlocked: Resonance Bind][Warning: This Contract reacts to emotional equilibrium, not authority.][Risk Level: Variable – Subject Sync Required]
I read it twice.
Then again.
Resonance Bind. Emotional sync.
Not just loyalty. Not dominance.
Connection.
I opened the interface.
Three outlines pulsed.
Gray – 21%Veyne – 47%Lirae – …locked.
I touched her name.
[Subject resists scan][Warning: Unknown interference – Tier IV Encryption Detected][Note: Target may be linked to an external divine source]
I stared at that line.
Divine?
I shut the screen down fast.
In the hallway, I found her leaning against the stone arch, watching the dead moon rise over the distant cliffside.
"Tell me something," I said.
She didn't move.
"Were you sent here to watch me… or to kill me if I changed?"
Silence.
Then:
"Would you believe me if I said I don't know anymore?"
I stepped closer.
"No."
She turned her head just enough for her hair to shift, the braid slipping over her shoulder.
"Good."
I studied her in the moonlight. The calm. The control. The constant restraint.
"You're hiding more than a name."
"And you're asking questions like you already know the answers."
"Not yet," I said softly. "But I'm learning the right ones."
She faced me fully now. No smile. No warmth.
But no denial either.
"You should be careful," she said. "There are some answers that bind you more than any contract ever could."
Then she walked past me into the corridor, her shoulder brushing mine.
And for the first time, I felt it:
A faint pulse of her mana brushing mine—smooth, ancient, and layered in pain.
The kind you couldn't fake.
The kind that had lived through too much to trust easily again.
The volcanic winds of Drakonveil did not cool with the seasons.
They pulsed—hot and sulfuric—through the black stone corridors of the Skyforge Citadel, where the banners never fell still. Red silk. Golden flame. The twin-headed dragon emblem spread wide over every wall like a reminder: everything here was born to burn.
Dracalia Virex, First Daughter of the Flamecrest Throne, stood alone in the Grand Scrying Hall.
She did not wear armor. Not here. Her gown was tailored silk and enchanted scale, sleeveless, draping from her shoulders like molten shadow. Her crimson hair was tied into a braid wrapped in flame-stone rings. Her gaze—sharp as obsidian—remained fixed on the central brazier.
It burned blue today.
Mana-scrying fire. Linked to a dozen hawks, two dozen scouts, and a whisper web of lesser conjurers embedded throughout the outer provinces.
A robed attendant approached and knelt.
"My Lady. There has been… a beacon. Lit from the Black Wastes."
Dracalia didn't turn her head.
"A beacon?"
"Yes, High Flame. A pyre. Lit with mana—reportedly unfiltered. High output. No containment sigils. Wild."
Dracalia slowly tilted her head.
"And the source?"
The attendant swallowed. "Caelen. Eldric. Vaelthorne. The exiled prince."
A beat of silence.
Then a quiet, amused exhale from the princess.
"He's still alive."
"Yes, High Flame."
Dracalia extended one hand. The fire in the brazier shifted, condensing into an image.
Caelen—dirt-streaked, half in shadow—standing before the flaming pyre, a Dragonkin kneeling beside him.
Veyne.
Dracalia's brows arched slightly.
"Oh. Him."
Her fingers curled.
Behind her, heavy footsteps echoed through the chamber.
A man entered, clad in war-scorched armor and draconic bone pauldrons. He was massive—nearly seven feet tall—with one eye replaced by a polished onyx stone.
Kaerik Vurn, her war-forged general. Leader of the Obsidian Vanguard.
He bowed shallowly.
"You summoned me."
"I did," she said. "The exile is making moves."
"Then he dies."
Dracalia tilted her head again.
"Like that?"
"Like that," Kaerik growled. "He's a broken name with broken blood, holding territory we already abandoned. He's feeding myths to savages."
"Is he?"
Kaerik gestured toward the fire. "That's Veyne. From the disavowed branch. One of yours, barely. Probably cut a deal to save his own hide."
"Or," Dracalia said, "he saw something worth kneeling to."
Kaerik scoffed. "A human prince with a glowing hand?"
Dracalia turned fully to face him.
"Not just a hand. A system. And a Soul Contract that reshaped Dragonblood."
Kaerik hesitated.
"It could be heresy," he said. "Unnatural manipulation of the flame-gift."
"Could be," she agreed. "Could also be evolution."
He stepped closer. "You can't be serious. That boy was useless when he wore a crown. Now he plays warlord with the bones of the desert."
"He doesn't play," she said softly. "He invites predators."
Kaerik's lips curled. "Then I'll go and show him what a predator really looks like."
"No," Dracalia said, voice sharp.
He froze.
Her eyes burned gold now—inner flame roused.
"You will stay. Watch. If he burns himself out, we gain nothing by moving. But if he survives the Wastes—if he thrives—I will speak to him myself."
Kaerik clenched his fists.
"My Lady—"
"Enough."
Her voice hit the air like molten steel.
The fire rippled. The scrying image vanished.
Kaerik bowed lower, jaw locked, and exited without another word.
Dracalia turned back to the now-empty brazier. Her expression unreadable.
She whispered to the silence:
"If you were born from ashes… then I want to see what you do with fire."
Veyne hadn't slept for three nights.
Not because of dreams.
Because the voices didn't stop.
He stood in the courtyard just after midnight, bare-chested under the pale blue stars, his sword embedded in the soil beside him. His breath came slow. Measured. But his eyes twitched—tracking something I couldn't see.
I watched from the shadows.
He hadn't known I was there.
Until now.
"You're following me," he said, not looking back.
"I'm listening."
"Same thing."
I stepped closer.
His scales caught the starlight faintly. Not just on the arms anymore. A thin pattern was forming at his collarbone—like etched flame. I'd seen similar markings in the ruins beneath the barracks. Not tattoos. Not decoration.
Script.
He finally turned.
"They whisper to me."
"Who?"
"The ones who gave this," he said, touching his chest.
I looked him over. "Is it the System?"
He shook his head.
"It's older. Fainter. Like… echoes."
He took a breath.
"Sometimes they chant. Sometimes they sing. But lately… one of them speaks with my voice."
That made my pulse slow.
"You're sure?"
"Positive."
"And what does it say?"
He looked me in the eye.
"'Open the Door.'"
I didn't ask which door.
Because I already knew.
The chamber beneath the old training yard was colder than it had any right to be.
The stone was a deep, iron-black that refused torchlight. Even my mana sense flickered uselessly here, like sound swallowed by thick fog.
The wall at the far end bore the seal.
A massive disk—half-sunken into the rock—etched with the coiling image of a dragon biting its own tail. Around the rim, ancient script shimmered faintly in the dark. No hinges. No handle. Just the feeling of weight.
Of age.
Of warning.
Veyne stood before it, sweat on his brow.
The voices were louder here.
I didn't need the System to tell me that.
But it did anyway.
[Divine Residue Detected – Tier IV Seal][Access Requires: Dragonblood – Minimum Threshold: 42% Mutation Sync][Current Subject Match: VEYNE – 37%][Warning: Attempting Force Entry May Trigger Soul Fracture]
I stepped forward and laid a hand on the disk.
It was warm.
Like something beneath it breathed.
The script reacted—one symbol flaring gold beneath my touch.
Veyne moved beside me.
"It wants blood," he said quietly.
"It always does."
Without waiting, he drew a short blade from his belt and cut his palm.
The blood hit the seal.
Nothing happened.
A long silence.
Then a hiss. Low and sharp.
One of the runes cracked—and bled.
Veyne stumbled back, clutching his hand, eyes wide.
"I felt something pull."
"Like what?"
"Like it wanted… all of me."
That stopped me.
Not a key.
A sacrifice.
The System pulsed again.
[Soul Lock Detected – Partial Ancestral Bind][Offer Secondary Conduit? Y/N]
I froze.
"What does that mean?" I whispered.
No answer.
Not from the System.
Not from Veyne.
Not from the seal.
But beneath the stone… I heard it too.
A heartbeat.
One that didn't belong to anyone living.
I stayed in the chamber long after Veyne left.
The heartbeat didn't stop.
It wasn't loud, but it wasn't quiet either. It just was—constant, steady, like an anchor dropped through the layers of time. No rhythm a living creature would survive. It didn't match human or dragon.
It was slower. Colder. Older.
The System tried to scan it twice. Failed both times.
[Source: Unknown][Function: Unknown][Recommendation: Cease Interaction]
That wasn't going to happen.
I traced the bloodstained rune again with two fingers.
[Partial Activation Logged][Note: Ancient Seal Reacts to Hybrid Mana Threads][Observation: Draconic and Human Mana Mixing in Host Body — Progressing]
I sat down on the stone floor.
I wasn't ready to open it.
Not yet.
But soon.
Lirae found me in the west corridor the next morning, just as the sun cracked open the eastern sky like an overripe fruit.
She didn't say hello.
Just fell in beside me as I walked the overgrown path toward the estate's old watchtower. Her silence was sharp. Surgical. It said more than most words.
I let it hang until I couldn't anymore.
"You're angry," I said.
She didn't deny it.
"You were gone all night."
"I was working."
"You were digging."
"And?"
"I told you not to open that door."
"I didn't," I said. "It opened itself a little."
She stopped walking.
"Don't joke."
I turned to face her. She stood with her arms folded, chin slightly lifted, eyes full of something I rarely saw in her.
Not suspicion.
Fear.
"There's something sealed beneath this place," she said. "Something that shouldn't wake."
"I know."
"No, Caelen. You don't."
Her voice didn't rise. That's what made it worse.
"This estate was chosen as your exile not because it was abandoned—but because no one else wanted to be near it. The royals knew something was buried here. Something even the dragons feared."
I waited.
She stared at me.
"Whatever it is… it changes people."
My breath caught.
"Is that what happened to you?"
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Lirae went still.
The expression that passed over her face was sharp and immediate—pain and fury wrapped in restraint. Her mouth opened slightly, but nothing came.
Then she stepped in, close enough that her voice was barely a whisper.
"I saw a boy in you once. One they abandoned. One who didn't understand power, or war, or the weight of a name. But he had kindness. Quiet. Clumsy. Real."
I didn't speak.
"Now I see a man who uses loyalty like chains. Who reshapes souls to fit his kingdom."
She turned, beginning to walk away.
"I'm not sure which one is worse."
My voice was low.
"You don't understand what I'm building."
She didn't look back.
"No," she said. "But I'm starting to understand what you're becoming."
Later, I found Veyne in the courtyard, polishing his blade in silence.
He didn't look up when I approached.
"Nice of you to not mention the part where the seal nearly devoured your soul," I said.
He shrugged.
"I thought it might be worth the risk."
"Why?"
He glanced up now, golden irises gleaming faintly in the light.
"Because I want to know what you'll do if something inside answers you."
I stared at him.
"And what if it doesn't?"
He smiled.
"Then we put it down. Together."
I stayed in the chamber long after Veyne left.
The heartbeat didn't stop.
It wasn't loud, but it wasn't quiet either. It just was—constant, steady, like an anchor dropped through the layers of time. No rhythm a living creature would survive. It didn't match human or dragon.
It was slower. Colder. Older.
The System tried to scan it twice. Failed both times.
[Source: Unknown][Function: Unknown][Recommendation: Cease Interaction]
That wasn't going to happen.
I traced the bloodstained rune again with two fingers.
[Partial Activation Logged][Note: Ancient Seal Reacts to Hybrid Mana Threads][Observation: Draconic and Human Mana Mixing in Host Body — Progressing]
I sat down on the stone floor.
I wasn't ready to open it.
Not yet.
But soon.
Lirae found me in the west corridor the next morning, just as the sun cracked open the eastern sky like an overripe fruit.
She didn't say hello.
Just fell in beside me as I walked the overgrown path toward the estate's old watchtower. Her silence was sharp. Surgical. It said more than most words.
I let it hang until I couldn't anymore.
"You're angry," I said.
She didn't deny it.
"You were gone all night."
"I was working."
"You were digging."
"And?"
"I told you not to open that door."
"I didn't," I said. "It opened itself a little."
She stopped walking.
"Don't joke."
I turned to face her. She stood with her arms folded, chin slightly lifted, eyes full of something I rarely saw in her.
Not suspicion.
Fear.
"There's something sealed beneath this place," she said. "Something that shouldn't wake."
"I know."
"No, Caelen. You don't."
Her voice didn't rise. That's what made it worse.
"This estate was chosen as your exile not because it was abandoned—but because no one else wanted to be near it. The royals knew something was buried here. Something even the dragons feared."
I waited.
She stared at me.
"Whatever it is… it changes people."
My breath caught.
"Is that what happened to you?"
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Lirae went still.
The expression that passed over her face was sharp and immediate—pain and fury wrapped in restraint. Her mouth opened slightly, but nothing came.
Then she stepped in, close enough that her voice was barely a whisper.
"I saw a boy in you once. One they abandoned. One who didn't understand power, or war, or the weight of a name. But he had kindness. Quiet. Clumsy. Real."
I didn't speak.
"Now I see a man who uses loyalty like chains. Who reshapes souls to fit his kingdom."
She turned, beginning to walk away.
"I'm not sure which one is worse."
My voice was low.
"You don't understand what I'm building."
She didn't look back.
"No," she said. "But I'm starting to understand what you're becoming."
Later, I found Veyne in the courtyard, polishing his blade in silence.
He didn't look up when I approached.
"Nice of you to not mention the part where the seal nearly devoured your soul," I said.
He shrugged.
"I thought it might be worth the risk."
"Why?"
He glanced up now, golden irises gleaming faintly in the light.
"Because I want to know what you'll do if something inside answers you."
I stared at him.
"And what if it doesn't?"
He smiled.
"Then we put it down. Together."