Indeed, that's what Yarrow thought too. Since his power originated from Zen, consulting her might offer a way to control it. But would she agree to help him if he asked?
Returning home, Yarrow headed upstairs and stood before Zen's door. He raised his hand and knocked. After a moment, her lazy voice drifted from inside.
"What?"
"It's me, Yarrow. I have something to ask you."
"Hmm."
With permission granted, he opened the door and entered. Inside, Zen was lounging on her side of the bed, surrounded by books, bags of cookies, and fruit candies. She was reading a novel while munching on snacks, her dragon tail swaying behind her.
Zen had assisted with the previous commission, so after settling the reward, Yarrow bought her several popular novels and the latest pastries from the confectionery shop. As a result, Zen had barely left her room for the past two days, holing up to read and eat.
"Your room is a mess..." Yarrow frowned, looking at the wrappers scattered on the floor.
"Then clean it up. What's the point of just standing there and complaining?" Zen replied flatly.
"Tch, this lazy dragon," Yarrow muttered inwardly. But since he needed her help, he picked up the trash, put it in a bin, and took it out.
As soon as he finished cleaning and returned to the room, several pieces of clothing were thrown at him.
"Take these to be washed too," Zen said.
"You—" Yarrow pinched a small, pale blue, lace-trimmed pair of underwear between two fingers. "Wash your own underwear, you lazy dragon!"
"Having you wash my clothes is a favor, so be grateful," Zen said, flipping over to a more languid prone position.
"Tsk." Yarrow tossed the clothes aside, pulled up a chair, and sat by the bed. After the previous incident, their relationship seemed to have improved, and they weren't as reserved as before.
"Zen, I have something to ask you."
"What?" Zen didn't even turn her head.
"How did you dragons learn to control your powers in the beginning?"
Zen finally turned her face, looking at him with raised eyebrows. "Why are you asking this?"
"Just academic research. You know I've been studying magical theory lately, and there are questions about this," Yarrow said, carefully choosing his words. "Since dragons are born with powerful magical abilities, how do you control such immense power at such a young age and prevent it from going out of control?"
"Don't imagine dragons are like you humans. We have extremely high spiritual awareness from birth, unlike human infants who only know how to eat," Zen said.
"But there must be a learning stage, right? Mastering your own power? Studying magic? How did you experience these things?" Yarrow continued.
"That kind of thing is learned naturally. As the most powerful race, we encounter many self-righteous adventurers. After dealing with them a few times and getting used to using magic, you'll learn everything," Zen said.
"Isn't there any detail in between?"
"What details do you need? The magical talent we dragons possess is beyond your human imagination," Zen huffed proudly.
Yarrow leaned back in his chair, disappointed. Indeed, dragons, a race born with terrifying power and a long lifespan, would not have any trouble controlling their power. They would master it independently over their long lives. But he was different. He didn't have centuries to adapt. The entrance exam was less than three months away. If he couldn't learn to control his magic in that time, he would either have to give up on entering the academy or be captured and dissected on the exam site.
What to do? Should he just give up on entering the academy? He already had such powerful abilities, so spending a few more years studying independently would still allow him to become a powerful archmage in the future.
Just as he was struggling, Zen glared at him, dissatisfied.
"Hey, what's wrong with you today? You come to ask me about dragons, and then you put on a dead face after I answer."
Yarrow looked at her, his mind turning over, and he said directly, "Zen, actually, I have a terminal illness."
Yarrow stiffened, staring at Zen in disbelief, lips parted. There was something about the way Zen lounged—shirt half-open, that amused curve in his lips—that made it hard to breathe.
"Your… mental illness has finally been diagnosed?" Zen asked, voice low and velvety, edged with sarcasm.
Yarrow blinked. "Serena told me—wait, no! I'm not mentally ill."
Zen cocked her head, silver strands of hair falling into her eyes. "Then?"
"It's magical instability. Rampage syndrome," Yarrow said grimly. "If I lose control… I'll explode. Literally."
For once, Zen's teasing smirk faded. She sat up slowly, her movements liquid, graceful, the bedsheet slipping off her torso.
"You could explode? Just like that?" she said, almost fascinated.
"Yeah," Yarrow said, nodding heavily.
Zen narrowed her eyes. "Then stay over there. I don't want to get blown to bits because you're unstable."
Yarrow threw his hands up. "Do you even care?"
"I care about not being vaporized." Zen leaned back, reaching for a chocolate-covered biscuit and popping it into her mouth with infuriating nonchalance. "Besides, I'm starting to like this human form. Less fuss. Cookies taste better."
He licked a smear of chocolate from her thumb, deliberately slow. Yarrow looked away, jaw tightening.
"Ze—Zen," he corrected himself quickly. "If I die, the spell binding you might never break. You'll be stuck like this forever."
Zen chuckled, that deep, throaty sound curling around Yarrow's spine like smoke. "Not a bad fate. Fewer claws. Fewer dragonslayers."
Yarrow rubbed his temples. "Can you be serious for a second?"
Zen tilted her head. "Maybe if you begged prettily."
Yarrow paused. Then, exhaling slowly, he stepped closer, dropping his voice. "Please, Zen-sama… teach me a dragon secret technique. I'll owe you—everything."
Zen's gaze sharpened. Slowly, she sat up, eyes gleaming with wicked interest.
"You really are desperate," she murmured. With a flick of her fingers, an old, tattered book appeared in a shimmer of magic. "This technique will stabilize your magic temporarily. Keep you from combusting."
Yarrow reached for it, relief lighting his face—only for Zen to pull it back, just out of reach.
"Not so fast," she said, voice dripping with command. "You want this? Earn it."
Yarrow blinked. "What do you want? Gold? More sweets?"
"No." Zen's lips curved like a dagger's edge. "This time, I want something else."
She stretched his leg out lazily, letting her foot rest on the bed between them. Long, toned, and bare. Her toes flexed slowly, deliberately.
"I want your dignity."
Yarrow frowned. "What…?"
Zen's voice was low, cruel, and intoxicating. "You'll lick my foot. Just once. From heel to toe. Then I'll give you the technique."
Shee expected resistance—anger, shame, hesitation.
Instead—
Yarrow stepped forward, knelt wordlessly, and grasped Zen's ankle.
Zen's eyes widened, breath catching.
Yarrow's tongue pressed to her heel, warm and wet, trailing up the arch in a single, slow, shivering stroke. He didn't pause until he reached the soft, sensitive skin between Zen's toes, his tongue flicking just slightly before he pulled back, wiping his mouth like it was nothing.
"I've done what you asked," Yarrow said evenly, holding out his hand. "Now give me the book."
Zen's breath came shallow, pupils dilated, skin flushed. The wet trail on his foot tingled maddeningly. The power dynamic had flipped so fast he didn't know whether he felt triumphant or undone.
"You…" Her voice came out hoarse. "You actually did it."
Yarrow arched a brow. "Wasn't that what you wanted?"
Zen's throat bobbed as she swallowed. Slowly, he handed over the book.
Yarrow took it, calm and cool, turning to walk away.
But Zen couldn't look away from the memory of that tongue. That heat.
And suddenly, the air between them felt like it might combust.
Not because of magic.
But because of the tension neither of them could deny anymore.
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