Chapter 43: The Conspiracy of the Mountains, The Ascension of the Bodies

Chapter 43: The Conspiracy of the Mountains, The Ascension of the Bodies

The world was holding its breath.

At the heart of the continent, far from the cold stones of the Academy, rose the Red Mountains. Peaks of petrified lava, tall as cathedrals, pierced the sky darkened by clouds. The fissures still spewed torrents of fire, and in their shadows gathered hundreds of dragons. Titanic silhouettes crowded on the ledges, their folded wings covering entire valleys. Their breaths stirred burning winds that twisted the air like invisible flames.

At the very top, on the highest peak, a natural throne opened in the rock. That was where the Ancient Dragon awaited. His immense body, armored with red scales veined with gold, shimmered like a dormant volcano. His broken horns bore the mark of millennia, and each of his glances set the mountain ablaze.

Facing him stood Oratius.

He did not need to roar to impose silence: his aura, made of ash and concentrated mana, already smothered the surroundings.

— "How long?" asked Oratius, his deep voice resounding like a death knell. "How much longer before your preparations are finished?"

The Ancient Dragon let his voice rumble, deep as an earthquake.

— "Our legions will be ready in one year."

Oratius sketched a thin smile.

— "A year... that’s long, for a people who call themselves immortal."

The Dragon’s golden eyes blazed. The mountain shook under the snap of his tail.

— "We do not rush ascension. Each generation of dragons collapsed because it wanted to reign too quickly. I will not repeat that mistake."

Oratius bowed slightly, but his blue embers betrayed his amusement.

— "Wise precaution. But..." His voice lowered, honeyed. "Thrones have this cruelty: they always attract other claimants. Perhaps a princess too curious. Perhaps... a Primordial amused enough to support her."

An incandescent breath rolled out from the Dragon’s fangs.

— "I will tolerate no rival. And if a Primordial dared to interfere, he would discover that lava can consume even shadows."

Oratius stepped forward. His shadow stretched, as if it sought to cover the colossus’s scales.

— "Then we are agreed. I will come with an offering worthy of you. Not an empty promise, but a weapon, an ally, something only my hand can bring."

A heavy silence fell, broken only by the crackling of molten rock. Then the Dragon’s voice, cold as a sentence:

— "I hope for your sake you are not selling me wind, demon. For a volcano does not warn before swallowing what deceived it."

Oratius let a brief laugh slip, almost courteous.

— "Rest assured. When the world burns, it will not be your flames that are feared, but your name."

The black portal opened behind him, and he vanished into its flames.

Silence fell again on the mountain, and only remained the incandescent breath of the Ancient Dragon whose wings spread to cover the entire summit: in the Red Mountains, a forbidden pact had just been sealed — and already, the flames of a future war stretched toward the Academy.

~~

The light had not yet risen when I opened my eyes. Dawn hesitated behind the shutters, a pale thread slicing the room into dull shadows.

Her arms around me. Her warmth against my chest. Hikari.

Her bare skin pressed to mine, still damp from the night. Her breathing steady, calm, almost too calm. As if nothing we had just done mattered.

I froze, staring at her. Her sleeping face had something innocent, almost childlike. Her lashes sometimes trembled, her parted lips let out a discreet sigh. Nothing like the Hikari from the night before, drenched in sweat, panting, begging me to take her. No. Now, she looked like the fragile girl I thought I was protecting.

I would have liked to stay, just for the stupid comfort of her warmth. But my head, it screamed at me to get the hell out. I gently slid her arms away, as if afraid she might break if I pulled too hard. She stirred a little, then fell back into sleep.

I dressed quickly, grabbing my wrinkled kimono at the foot of the bed. My fingers still trembled as I tied the belt. And in my head, the same refrain: What the fuck am I doing?

I left her room without a sound. The hallways were icy at this hour, the stone oozing a dampness that seeped into my bones. I hurried to get back to my own room, as if each step could awaken the ghosts of the night.

Back in my room, I sat on the floor. Inhale. Exhale. Mana flowed in, invisible golden filaments vibrating against my skin and sinking into my lungs.

I guided the flow, as usual. Toward my aching muscles, my scars. But as soon as I neared the face...

... the horror returned.

My right eye. Or rather, the void behind the bandage.

Each puff of mana crashed there like against an open wound. A dull, alien burn. Not in the flesh — the flesh had already been cauterized, patched. No. Deeper. As if that black hole refused to be filled. As if Azrakan had left there a mark that nothing could ever purify.

I swallowed, my breath ragged.

Why had it hit me so hard yesterday?

I saw Azrakan again. His words. His theatrical expressions. The instant the light had gone out on that side.

Sweat beaded my forehead. I abruptly opened my eyes, breaking the meditation. The more I pushed, the more the pain grew, like a reminder that something was missing that mana could not repair.

I dragged myself to the bathroom. The shower was a blessing. Hot water cascaded over my scars, over my chest, then crashed on my bandaged face. I rubbed my skin as if it could erase something more than sweat.

The cracked mirror sent me back my reflection. A single eye, the left, ringed with shadows, shining too harshly for my age. And on the other side, that dark bandage covering the absence of the right eye: a gulf, a void that seemed to look at me more than I looked at it.

I clenched my teeth, fist tight against the sink.

— "Fuck..."

I looked more like a survivor than a hero. And every morning, that fucking mirror reminded me of it.

I left the bathroom still damp, hair dripping, body half-numb from the water’s heat. Then, like every morning since we’d been here, I went down to find my dose of bitterness in the only place I knew to find it: the black coffee of the refectory.

The smell of burnt coffee greeted me even before I pushed the common room door. Sickening mix of over-roasted beans, warm bread, and morning sweat. Nothing new. Even the creaks of the stone benches already felt familiar.

I went down the steps, Aurelia properly sheathed on my back. Instantly, eyes clung. Always the same fucking reactions.

I paid no attention. I went to sit at a table apart, near a blackened pillar. A human waitress came at once, the tray trembling in her thin hands. Her bright eyes searched for mine, overflowing with a mix of pride and fear.

— "M... mister Kaito... what can I serve you?"

Mister Kaito. Fuck, it still sounded like a bad joke. But well, her eyes expected a dignified answer, so I raised an eyebrow and replied in a grave tone:

— "A coffee. Black."

She bowed immediately, vanished as if she had just received the orders of a king. I stifled a bitter laugh, resting my forehead against my palm.

A few minutes later, the steaming cup arrived. I stared at it for a long time. The dark liquid shimmered under the torches, a miniature mirror that reflected my own face. Well... not all of it. Just what I wanted to forget.

The bandage on my right eye stared back at me from the black depths of the coffee. Always that void. Always that gaping hole that even Hikari’s magic couldn’t fill. Why had it hit me so hard yesterday? Each sip of mana I had guided there had turned into burning. As if the absence itself refused to be healed.

I exhaled, clutching the cup. The bitter taste clung to my tongue. Bitter like my thoughts.

A noise pulled me from my torpor. A chair scraped, harshly.

— "Reina... another journal today?"

— "You are mistaken."

That voice. Clear, grave, full of assurance. Not Reina.

I raised my head. It was her.

Sylvara’Khareth.

Her golden eyes clung to me like claws, shining with a predatory gleam. Her smooth skin, flecked with subtle scales, reflected metallic hues. Her pale hair slid over her shoulders, heavy and radiant. A beauty from another world. Too perfect to be human. Too arrogant to be just beautiful.

I let an ironic smile curl my lips.

— "What are you doing here? Avenging your boyfriend?"

I expected a snarl, a spit of flames, a venomous barb. But no. She remained calm. Too calm.

— "Some of us have learned from our mistakes. We were arrogant... but not stupid enough to ignore the truth."

I chuckled, shaking my head.

— "Interesting. I see why you’re acting like this. But don’t play the comrade. I know very well why you’re here. You want to train with me, don’t you?"

Her cheeks flushed despite herself, betraying an embarrassment I never thought possible from a draconic heiress. I had seen her yesterday, yes. The way her gaze lingered on us, when we spoke of our methods. Even she, the proud feline, had ended up spying.

I crossed my arms, leaned back in my chair.

— "But sorry. No. Until now, you and yours have only brought us trouble. You even looked down on me from the moment we arrived. So guess what: I refuse."

She regained her composure, her gaze blazing with a sharper gleam:

— "I don’t need to be your comrade. I only want to observe closely what turns human weakness into method."

I raised my hand, cutting her short.

— "See? Again, the problem is in your words."

I emptied my coffee in one gulp. The burn slid down my throat, dry as a verdict.

I stood, my tone cracking louder than I meant:

— "No, Sylvara."

I turned on my heel, without waiting for her reaction. Her metallic scent, mixed with warm honey, clung to me for an instant. But I didn’t look back.

I arrived in the draconic gym, still reeking of yesterday’s ash and sweat.

I pushed the heavy door, and the heat enveloped me at once. They were already there.

Reina, sitting cross-legged on a bench, chin resting on her fists, a pile of notes on her knees. Miyu, standing, arms crossed, insolent smile as always fixed on her lips. Hikari, bent over a basin of clear water, her fingers brushing the surface as if to test her power. Ayame, straight, her aura calm but dense, like a blade in its sheath.

Their eyes lifted when I entered. For the first time in a while, there wasn’t that tense silence. Just something... expectant.

I let myself drop heavily on the bench.

— "Alright... let’s debrief."

Reina lifted her eyes from her notebook, her icy irises locking onto mine.

— "First, your eye. Yesterday, when I placed my hand on you, your flow was unstable. Not a simple interference, but a black hole. As if mana disappeared into the void."

Hikari, at my side, bit her lip, her voice low.

— "I healed you, Kaito, but... it didn’t look like a burn or a magic wound. It was like your body refused all regeneration. I could close the flesh, but the flow itself... crashed with every attempt."

I ran a hand over my bandage, clenching my jaw.

— "Yeah. I felt it. Like that void devoured everything. No room for mana, no room for light."

A heavy silence fell. Then Reina resumed, sharp:

— "Then we won’t waste energy on it. We adapt. Your right eye is a dead system: we work around it, not against it."

She pulled out a flask and set it between us. The golden liquid inside glowed faintly.

— "Concentrated mana root, raw honey, mineral salts. It’s not a miracle potion, but a metabolic support. We drink it between each cycle. Not to ’get better,’ but to push back exhaustion."

Miyu grabbed the flask, spun it between her fingers, a mocking smile on her lips.

— "And the taste, Doctor Frankenstein? We’ll survive, yeah, but with nausea?"

Reina barely looked up.

— "Taste is secondary. The point is to compensate catabolism. If you force your muscles without supply, your body devours its own tissue. Result: pure loss of power."

Ayame nodded slowly, her deep voice delivering a calmer diagnosis.

— "She’s right. Muscle fibers don’t just heal. They need raw material: proteins, electrolytes, energy. Without that, you just pile up useless micro-tears. I’ve prepared solid rations: dried meat, mana grains, salts. It won’t replace a proper diet, but it will keep the body building."

Hikari frowned.

— "Even with that... the risks remain enormous. Too fast regeneration can create unstable tissue. Cramps, spasms, mutations."

Miyu burst out laughing, springing to her feet.

— "Fuck, this sounds like a medical class. You’re forgetting the basics: we don’t have the luxury of taking it slow. We want to survive? Then we burn. Ten minutes tearing muscles, express healing, food, and start over. It’s brutal, but it’s that or die later."

I raised my hand, cutting their voices before they overlapped.

— "No. She’s right, Miyu. But so are you. We do both: brutality and method."

I leaned in, resting my elbow on the table, voice low.

— "Cycle: destruction. Healing. Nutrition. Then destruction again. Each loop tears, rebuilds, fuels. The body will have no choice: it will adapt."

Reina was already scribbling in her notebook, her notes snapping in the silence.

— "I’ll pace it. Ten minutes of maximum effort. Hikari, you intervene at collapse. Then liquid intake. Then solid. Rest: two minutes. Then repeat."

My heart hammered in my chest. Not fear, not this morning. Another feeling: impatience, rage.

I stood, throat tight.

— "We stop being prey. From today on, we forge ourselves into weapons."

I stepped onto the runic mat and grabbed the gravitational weights as if I wanted to tear my own limits with bare hands. The glyphs pulsed under my fingers and the weight fell on me at once: each squat was a calculated tearing. My quads vibrated like cables under tension, my forearms burned with lactic acid, my joints cracked under the strain — but I didn’t let go.

Reina counted in her sharp voice:

— "Three more reps. Micro-tears targeted. Breathe."

I breathed, rougher, more metallic with each movement. Ten minutes of this torment and my fibers were already on fire. When my knees gave out, I collapsed on the stone, trembling.

Hikari was there before I asked. Her hands pressed on my shoulders; the warmth of her mana descended into my muscles like a burning infusion. The golden filaments infiltrated between torn fibers, sealed micro-tears, stimulated circulation. I felt like she was melting into my blood, her panting breath entering my lungs and reprogramming my tissue on the fly.

Reina immediately handed the flask.

— "Drink now."

The taste was bitter, almost metallic. I swallowed it in one go, feeling the energy and burn mingling in my veins. Ayame set a solid ration beside me — dried meat, compressed mana grains.

— "Chew slowly."

I barely nodded and already got up. My legs still trembled, but blood pulsed under my skin like drums.

Each cycle was harder than the last.

Ten minutes of max effort. Targeted healing. Liquid intake. Solid intake. Two minutes rest. Repeat.

The pattern imprinted itself in my skull like an equation of survival.

Destruction.

Repair.

Nourishment.

Repeat.

Pain changed nature as hours passed. It was no longer a sharp burn: it was a continuous heat, a buzzing in every fiber. It became a companion. A cruel lover whispering to every cell: "You can go further." My mind floated in a hazy zone, between bliss and torment. Each impact was a bite; each healing, a brutal caress; each sip of potion, a flame in my veins. I was forging myself cell by cell.

I raised my head for a moment to catch my breath... and I saw her.

Almost invisible in the shadow, leaning against a column, Sylvara’Khareth. Her golden eyes blazed like two blades under the torchlight. Not a word. Not a smile. Just that look, half-fascinated, half-contemptuous.

A metallic taste rose in my mouth. I gripped the weights tighter.

So you’re watching, huh? You who said we were nothing. Watch closely how the "wrecks of Duskfall" turn their pain into a weapon.

And I plunged back into the loop. Ten minutes. Healing. Intake. Another ten minutes. Until the entire gym vibrated with our breathing and the air itself became a battlefield.

After the day of suffering, I collapsed on my bed without even taking off my kimono. Each movement drew groans I no longer had the strength to stifle.

I closed my eyes, unable to fight any longer.

The next day, the routine resumed.

I went down to the common hall, each step feeling like dragging an anvil on my ankle.

The same smell greeted me: burnt coffee, warm bread, and the sweat of a hundred students too nervous to stay still. I took my usual seat, and the waitress came at once, her hands still trembling around her tray.

— "Mister Kaito... another black coffee?"

I sketched a half-bitter smile.

— "Yes. Please."

She slipped away, and I found myself alone with my thoughts. The cup arrived a few minutes later, steaming, dark. I plunged my eyes into it.

The coffee returned the reflection I hated: a face too tired for its age, a single eye that still shone with lucidity, and that black bandage over the right eye staring at me like an abyss.

Every morning, it’s the one looking at me, not me looking at it. And every morning, I wonder how long before it swallows me.

I raised the cup to my lips, bitter taste, taste of metal. And then — that sharp sound. A chair scraping.

I looked up, already ready to toss out a comment.

— "Reina... another journal today?"

— "You’re mistaken once again."

Her voice, clear, chilled me.

Sylvara’Khareth, her again, sat facing me. Her golden eyes pierced through the fog of fatigue, and her metallic scent mingled with the coffee’s.

But this time, she wasn’t alone.

A shadow slipped in behind her. A massive bulk, a raw aura that made the benches around us creak. Garrum.

I felt my stomach clench, my fingers tighten around the burning cup.

Oh fuck... I have a bad feeling about this.

And the silence of the refectory grew as heavy as an anvil, suspended on the breath of a clash that was only just beginning.