The pain came back as heat.
Not agony—more like a fever that didn't sweat out. It pulsed beneath the skin, hummed behind the teeth. Mana. It wasn't just stabilizing anymore. It was multiplying.
I could hear things now.
Not whispers. Just… frequencies. The hum of iron. The static in torchlight. My heartbeat slowed when I focused, and with it, I felt more than sound. I felt intention.
The System hadn't spoken since the dream.
But something was evolving.
I stood on the estate's northern wall that morning, wrapped in mist and the scent of ash trees. The ruined battlements still bore scorch marks from gods knew what war. Below, the cracked courtyard curved into a weed-choked training yard and a distant, broken arch.
Gray was there, as always. Moving through combat drills with quiet fury. Every swing of his blade carved just slightly more wind than the one before.
"Your mana's leaking," Lirae said behind me.
I didn't flinch.
She leaned against the far wall, arms crossed. Her hair was pulled back tight, braided with a small pin shaped like a leaf.
"I know."
She narrowed her eyes.
"No, I mean it's leaking. It's reaching the outer perimeter. If anyone's tracking magical signatures within the Dead Zone, they'll feel you now."
I didn't respond.
"You're not hiding anymore," she added. "That's a choice."
"It is."
"Why?"
I glanced at her. "To see who shows up."
The answer sat between us for a long time, sharp as broken glass.
That afternoon, I found a forgotten chamber beneath the east wing. One of the servants led me to it—an old man named Corran with one good eye and the gait of a retired beast-handler.
He said it used to be a barracks.
What I found were bones.
Six beds. Rusted armor. One wall covered in chalk marks—hundreds of them, tallies and scratched words. In the far corner, a banner lay curled in dust: half-burned, crimson with gold stitching.
I unrolled it.
A dragon coiled in flight.
Not the current Drakonveil sigil—no, this one was older. Rougher. Pre-unification. Feral.
[Historical Sigil Detected: Drakonveil – Obsidian Wing Rebellion (classified)][Faction: Defunct | Known Operations: Scouting, Infiltration, Ritual Weapons Testing][Recommendation: Extreme Caution]
I stared at the system message.
Someone from the dragons had been stationed here. Before me. Before the exile. Before the wasteland was wasteland.
Which meant the Seven Kingdoms hadn't just agreed to cast me out. They'd used this place before.
A staging ground.
Or a grave.
I stored the flag. Took nothing else.
That night, just after sunset, Gray called up from the gates.
"Rider approaching!"
I walked to the main courtyard, Lirae already beside me, arms still, eyes sharp. Her stance had changed—tense, almost alert.
"He's alone," she said. "Which means he's not stupid. Or he thinks we are."
The rider came under a white flag. His horse was sleek, silver-coated. His armor was draped in travel-stained cloth, but the way he sat the saddle gave it away—discipline. Trained in military posture. Back straight, one hand relaxed, the other near the blade hilt.
I could smell his mana before he spoke.
Warm. Metallic. Like hot stone after a lightning strike.
Dragonblood.
He stopped at the base of the steps.
"Message for the Prince," he said.
I descended slowly. Lirae moved beside me—just close enough to strike if needed.
"I wasn't aware I still had mail service," I said.
The rider smiled thinly. "It's more of a question."
He reached into his cloak and withdrew a scroll sealed with crimson wax. A broken-wing insignia.
[Warning: Sigil matches Obsidian Wing Rebellion | Active Sub-Faction][Intent Scan: Masked — Trace Elements of Oathbound Magic Detected]
Lirae's eyes flicked to the seal. Her lips tightened.
"You know this group?" I asked.
"Yes," she murmured. "I fought them. Once."
The rider handed me the scroll. I didn't open it.
"What's the question?"
The rider looked me over, not with disdain—but with the cold curiosity of someone measuring a weapon.
"Are you going to stay dead, or do we need to bury you ourselves?"
The words echoed in the quiet.
Lirae moved slightly. Not a threat. Just ready.
I tilted my head. "You came all this way to be rude?"
"To assess."
I stepped down the final stair.
"I'm flattered."
He dismounted with fluid grace. No wasted motion.
"I'm told you've made something. Bound a soul to yours. That you burned mana through your own bones to keep a dying man alive."
"People exaggerate."
"I hope not. I've come to see it for myself."
"And if I say no?"
"Then I kill someone until you say yes."
The courtyard stayed still. Even the wind went quiet.
I smiled. "Then dinner, I suppose."
He blinked.
I clapped once. Gray appeared from the shadows with practiced smoothness.
"Set another place," I said. "Our guest wants to test my hospitality."
The rider looked between us, clearly unsure.
Good.
The dinner was served in the old hall—simple fare, mostly dried roots, broth, and a few hard biscuits. I took the seat at the head of the table. Lirae sat opposite the rider. Gray stood behind me.
The tension was a third guest.
"My name is Veyne," the rider said eventually.
"Caelen," I replied.
"I know who you are."
"Not really. I barely know who I am."
He tilted his head. "Then I'll enjoy discovering it."
I met his eyes. "Try."
The duel that followed wasn't physical. It was silence. Pauses. Jabs hidden in courtesy.
He asked about the System—I said it talked too much.
He asked about Soul Contracts—I said I preferred bonds that didn't break when the world did.
He asked about my ambition.
I said I didn't need a throne. Just leverage.
He smiled at that.
But he made one mistake.
When he reached for the wine, his sleeve slipped. A flash of scale. Not tattoo. Flesh.
And something else.
A mark on his palm.
A rune that shimmered under mana sight.
[Target is Initiate Class — Bloodbound Scout | Soulline Fragment Present][Contract Weak Point: Exposed. Initiate Secondary Option?]
I leaned forward slowly.
"Let me offer you something," I said. "Not out of fear. Not out of mercy. But because I'm tired of being underestimated."
Veyne watched me carefully.
"Swear to me. Pledge loyalty, not as a servant, but as a sword. I'll grant you power. And freedom."
He raised an eyebrow.
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I'll break you," I said calmly. "Not out of hate. Out of necessity."
Silence.
Then he stood. Drew his blade.
"I prefer truth to riddles."
I rose too.
We circled once in the hall. No crowd. No applause.
Then he struck.
Fast. Elegant. A downward slash meant to disable, not kill.
But I was faster.
Mana moved before me.
I stepped inside his swing and caught his wrist—palm to palm.
[Combat Contract Option Unlocked][Warning: Soul Stress Threshold Approaching][Proceed? Y/N]
"Yes."
The light exploded from both our hands.
He screamed.
A second later, I staggered back, smoke rising from my shoulder. His blade clattered to the floor.
He was on his knees, breathing hard, eyes wild.
But alive.
[Soul Contract: Incomplete Bind – Class Adjusting][New Class Created: Draconic Vanguard][Status: Bound Under Fireline Accord][Subject Loyalty: Unstable | Monitor Closely]
He looked up at me, teeth bared in shock.
"What did you do?"
"I offered evolution," I said. "You said no. Your blood said yes."
He stared at his arms—scales shifting, his veins lit with faint gold.
"I feel… everything."
"Good. You'll feel it all."
Behind me, Lirae said quietly, "That was a violation."
"He attacked first."
"You knew he would."
I turned to her.
"You said I'd need to control my mana."
"This isn't control," she said. "It's possession."
I met her eyes. Held them.
"Then maybe that's what this world needs."
That night, I stood at the old war pyre on the estate's edge and lit the first flame.
Veyne stood beside me, armor gleaming. Gray at my back. Lirae above, silent in the tower window.
The fire climbed high into the sky—visible for miles.
A beacon.
Not for hope.
For warning.