The infirmary reeked of herbs and blood. The walls glowed faintly with ward-lights, steady pulses of gold that kept the room from sinking into silence. The Circle lay in rows, each on their own cot, bandaged, bruised, pale. Their breaths came in uneven rhythms, but they were alive.
Kaito stood at the far wall, arms folded, the spear propped within reach. The blade tips still shimmered faintly blue, even under the muted lamplight. No cloth could cover it without smoldering. It was no longer just a weapon. It was a beacon.
Healers moved from bed to bed, whispering chants, pouring glowing liquids over wounds, pulling darkness from blood like smoke from fire. Mira groaned when the lightning scars along her arms were closed. Ryo hissed when bone knit back into place. Aria lay still, her chest rising shallowly under a blood-spotted wrap, her eyes half-lidded but fixed—always—on Kaito.
The Headmaster entered last, robes heavy, face grim. His gaze lingered on each wounded student, then on the spear, and finally on Kaito.
"You fought well," the Headmaster said. "Without you, none of them would still draw breath. But—" His voice faltered as his eyes flicked to the spear's glowing tips. "—what you called upon… it was not ordinary."
The room tensed. Even the healers paused, glancing between Kaito and their Headmaster.
Kaito's jaw locked. "It was necessary."
A silence followed, broken only by the drip of water from a cracked jug near the beds.
Aria spoke first. Her voice was hoarse, weak, but sharp enough to cut. "Necessary or not… you changed that weapon. You changed the battle. And you changed what we know about you."
Every gaze turned toward him now. Suspicion, gratitude, fear—all mingled into something heavier than the smoke still clinging to the academy walls.
Kaito met their eyes one by one, steady, refusing to flinch. He did not tell them that the fire had always been there, coiled in his bones since before he drew his first breath as a human. He did not tell them the truth: that once, he had been more than they could imagine, and the blue flame was only a fragment of what he'd lost.
Instead, he said, "The spear is mine. And I will master it."
The Headmaster's lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't argue. "Then you will train harder than any of them. You will master not only the weapon, but yourself. Because if you lose control, Kaito…" His gaze swept over the wounded students. "They will be the ones who pay the price."
The words struck harder than any blade. Kaito lowered his eyes briefly, then nodded once.
That night, when the others finally slept under heavy herbs and tired breaths, Kaito remained awake. He polished the spear in silence, even though its blue tips could not be dulled. Each spark of color caught his reflection—his human face framed by light that did not belong to it.
In the stillness, whispers curled through the academy halls. Servants spoke of the blue fire. Apprentices murmured about the dragon's flame. Rumors already had wings.
Kaito tightened his grip on the spear. He could hear them, faint but steady. And he knew this was only the beginning.