Aurora stretched her hands forward dramatically.
"Summon!!" she screamed at the top of her lungs.
Nothing.
Not even a spark.
Ragnar blinked twice.
"…You serious?"
Aurora's cheeks went pink. "W-Well… yeah. I thought that's how magic works."
Ragnar rubbed his forehead. "Did you really think yelling a spell fixes everything?"
"Okay, okay! Sorry!" she snapped, crossing her arms. "No need to look at me like that."
He didn't say anything, but he did give her that look the one that looked really disappointed.
'I excepted this... but wow.' Ragnar thought to himself.
For a moment, Ragnar drifted back to when Godfrey taught him magic. It felt unreal that months had already passed.
He clapped his hands once.
"Alright. Let's do this properly."
Aurora lit up immediately, eyes shining.
Ragnar placed a hand on his chest. "Mana travels from your magic core through your veins. Take a little mana emphasis on little and guide it to your hand."
Aurora nodded. "So I just… pull it out?"
"Not rip it out, I can't stress this enough. " Ragnar said. "Guide it. Gently."
She shut her eyes. Her breathing slowed. And as she drew mana from her core something clicked.
Her eyes shot open, glowing faintly.
"…I know the spell," she whispered, shocked.
"Perfect now cast it" Ragnar frowned. "You using a little to much mana. "
"Summon."
[Summon(10th Grade)]
Light burst from her fingertips.
Reality warped.
It looked as if her hands had become a door,
a door to some radiant realm.
A massive golden bird tore through the light, feathers shimmering like sunlight on metal. Its grey armor clinked as it spread its wings, illuminating the entire courtyard as if it were midday.
Aurora's jaw dropped.
"YES! IT WORKED! I summoned a giant bird-thing!"
Ragnar couldn't help laughing. "It worked, and on your first try? That's insane."
Four days… he remembered.
It took me four days to summon anything at all… Is she some kind of prodigy? …No. No, I'm overthinking it.
Ragnar smiled.
"You did but you used to much mana."
But before he could say more.
The bird shattered into particles.
Aurora swayed.
"W-Wait… I feel… dizzy—"
She collapsed.
Ragnar caught her instantly.
"Aurora—hey"
As he held her, he noticed faint, thin black veins at the base of her neck barely visible, but definitely there.
Ragnar let out a long sigh.
"This is why I said 'little mana.' But nooo… you had to use all of it."
A shadow fell over him.
Her butler had appeared tall, broad-shouldered, and cold-eyed. His aura alone made Ragnar feel like he had walked into a beast's den.
"She fainted because—" Ragnar began, but the butler cut him off.
"I know what happened."
His voice was deep, almost growled, dripping with irritation.
Ragnar raised a hand defensively. "And what's wrong with you?"
Ragnar didn't want to start a fight with this man so he walked back inside the castle. His stomach twisted he suddenly wasn't hungry anymore mostly because he didn't want to eat next to the king . He headed to the bath, washed off the stress, and stepped out wearing his sleepwear.
As he walked down the hall, he passed the library.
'Man I still hate the Mr. Kings gusts' Ragnar he thought.
"…Maybe a book will help," he murmured.
He pushed the door open. Darkness swallowed the room until he flicked on a single lamp. The warm glow revealed shelves packed tightly with old tomes. He grabbed one at random.
Its cover was pitch black.
The title scratched in white:
"Dancing With the Devil"
Ragnar raised an eyebrow. "Edgy… but interesting. "
But the book looked ancient edges torn, pages stiff. Red stains dotted the cover, and Ragnar really hoped they weren't what they looked like.
"Why does the palace have this book?" He murmured to himself.
He sat down and opened it.
The story began simply enough.
A young girl wanting strength to protect her family.
But as Ragnar read further, something didn't feel right the room suddenly felt ominous almost something or someone was watching him.
The girl's family was murdered, she was sold off, abused and her prayers to the gods went unanswered.
Ragnar's eyes narrowed as he continued reading.
Then the demon appeared.
The book described it too vividly the smell of burning flowers, the sound of bones cracking in the dark, a whispering voice promising salvation. The girl accepted.
Her revenge wasn't triumphant it was horrifying. The pages described blood falling like rain. Bodies twisted in ways they shouldn't. Her smiles becoming too wide, too broken. Her laughter echoing across burning fields.
By the time she destroyed the continent, the book called her.
"The Rose of Ruin."
Ragnar felt his skin crawl. Something about the story felt… wrong. Like the book wasn't just telling a story but inviting him to understand it.
He closed it slowly.
"…A demon contract, huh…"
His hand tightened.
"Maybe I can—"
Ragnar stopped mid-step, staring at the old ritual page.
Then he let out a short, almost embarrassed laugh.
"No. No, that's that's stupid… and way too dangerous. And you know it," he muttered to himself, closing the book with a thud.
"Perish the thought."
But as he slid the book back into the shelf, something soft slithered past his ear a whisper, faint, amused, alive.
He froze.
Nothing. Silence.
"…I'm imagining things," he told himself, but the hairs on his neck stayed raised.
---
Meanwhile…
A small wooden house sat deep in a quiet forest, warm and cozy inside despite the cold outside.
A woman hummed softly while tending to the flowers lined neatly across the windowsill. When she finished, she sat by the crackling fireplace.
Above the mantel hung a picture of Ragnar.
Frey's eyes softened — too soft.
"My sweet little Ragnar… I can't wait for the day we finally meet," she whispered, voice dipping into something sadistic, hungry.
She rose, lifting the picture frame gently then hugging it tightly, almost possessively.
"You're still young," she murmured, brushing her thumb across the image. "But just a little more time… and you'll bloom into the most beautiful flower this world has ever seen."
A knock echoed at the door.
"Come in," she said, not looking away from Ragnar's picture as she absently spun it between her fingers.
The door creaked open. A tall figure stepped in clown makeup, white hair, violet-red eyes.
Queen.
"Frey," he greeted lightly, "how are you doing?"
His gaze shifted to the picture. His smile flattened.
"…And why exactly are you this obsessed with him?"
Frey didn't even blink.
"I'm wonderful. And what brings you here, Queen? Or should I say… Harley Quinn?"
Queen's posture stiffened instantly.
"Only Ragnar calls me that," he said quietly. "So how do you know?"
His fingers slipped toward the cards in his pocket, expression dark.
Frey rested her chin on her hands, bored.
"Oh, don't be dramatic. I know everything about Ragnar. And put the cards away — it's not like I'm the one lying to him."
Queen hesitated, then slowly withdrew his hand, though his eyes stayed sharp.
Frey smirked. "Did you really believe you could beat me? That's adorable."
Queen clicked his tongue. "Cute. Anyway—" He crossed his arms. "We're planning to attack Saint High during the tournament. We need someone to cast a strong barrier. We're short-handed. So… are you helping or not?"
Frey's grin widened.
"Of course. And lucky you, another organization is attacking that day too. Different goal, same timing. They asked for my help as well. Want to know what they're after?"
"No," Queen said flatly. "Unless it interferes with us."
"It doesn't."
"Then I don't care."
Frey let out a soft, amused laugh. "You're always so serious around me. But with Ragnar? You joke. You smile. What changes?"
Queen stared at her without blinking.
"You have a disturbingly unhealthy obsession with him.
Your aura feels like a graveyard.
You're an Ancient-grade mage.
And you're— a demon."
Frey's expression shifted into something twisted and delighted.
"See? Nobody understands me. But… maybe Ragnar will."
Her fingers stroked the picture frame. "Maybe when he meets me, he'll love me."
Queen tilted his head. "Then why not meet him now? You clearly want to."
Her gaze hardened instantly, glued to the picture.
"He's not ready. Not yet. I'll meet him… next year."
A soft, shivering sigh left her. "By then, he'll be perfect."
Queen's discomfort spiked visibly. He didn't want to stay another second.
He flicked a napkin into the air it expanded mid-fall, turning into a swirling fabric vortex.
It wrapped around him, swallowing him whole.
And he was gone.
Frey gently kissed the glass covering Ragnar's face, setting the frame back above the fireplace.
"Grow strong for me, Ragnar," she whispered, eyes glowing faintly.
"I've waited centuries for someone like you."