Chapter 50: The Azure Pact — A Madman’s Bet?
The world was quiet. Too quiet.
One of those silences before a storm, when every breath feels suspicious.
I meditated alone, cross-legged on the cold floor of the room Sylvara had lent me—a draconic sanctuary where even the air vibrated with energy.
With each inhale, pale golden filaments flooded my body. They wrapped my muscles, slid under my skin, and wound through my veins with the slow crawl of a poison you learn to love.
It was both strange and familiar: a gentle warmth rising, then that almost sensual shiver before the burn.
But every time those filaments neared my right eye... everything unraveled. The pain returned—dull, sharp, alive—like a blade twisting in an old wound.
I held on. One second. Two. Then it all blurred.
The bandage over my eye heated up, sweat ran down my neck, and my breathing snagged. It felt like a fire inside me was trying to force its way out through the scar, like a memory was clawing at the skin, demanding to be heard.
I broke the meditation with a harsh motion. Short of breath, I wiped my face with my sleeve and let myself sink back against the wall. The cold bite of stone helped. My head was heavy, my heartbeat off-tempo, and there was that strange hollow in my gut.
Always the same burn. Even asleep, that damned eye reminds me it’s empty.
I sighed. The mana still flowed—I felt it in my arms, in my lungs, all the way into my chest—but it refused to stay. As if my own body were rejecting something, refusing to accept a truth I couldn’t grasp.
I shut my eyes a moment, trying to calm the current. The mana went in, went out. Again. And again.
Mana enters, flows, and won’t remain. As if my body were saying something else... trying to show me the right path, and I was too blind to see it.
I pressed a hand to my chest and listened to my heart’s uneven rhythm.
Each beat seemed to hesitate between two worlds—the one of flesh and the one of mana. As if my body were just a poorly fitted shell.
A pale light slipped through the runes in the ceiling, skimming the stone. Dawn.
The sun was lifting. Golden haze filtered through the glyphs, turning the room into a warm, blue-edged halo.
I exhaled, still a little dizzy.
Time to stand, to rein in my breath.
A new day had begun.
The corridors of the draconic wing smelled of dust and hot metal. Every step rang like a forge. Even the air thrummed, saturated with mana—a low, almost organic rumble pulsing in the walls.
When I passed under the arch of the gymnasium, a wave of heat hit me. The runes carved into the floor lit with every breath, casting that signature blue that clung to the skin. And in the center—of course—she was already there.
Sylvara. Impeccable, upright, focused. Even slick with sweat, she looked like she’d stepped out of a fresco. Her snow-white hair, streaked with red, was tied high; the room’s runes caught in it like flashes of copper and blood. Her golden eyes—calm, hard—weighed every one of my movements. Even sweat-damp, she seemed carved from marble—perfect, inhuman.
Her gaze hooked into mine.
"You’re late."
I raised a brow and stretched my stride on purpose.
"I thought dragons didn’t count minutes. Only centuries."
A flicker crossed her face—not a real smile, but enough to make me want to provoke another.
"Garrum, however, is punctual," she said simply.
Probably a jab at whatever there is between Garrum and me.
"But I don’t see him."
A short pause.
"He’s ill."
I froze.
"Ill? You can get sick, too?"
She looked me over, head tilted, her gold irises glowing like banked coals.
"Mana isn’t a blessing, Kaito. It’s a fire. Even dragons suffer for it."
I let out a breath, a smile tugging at my mouth.
"So even legends cough. Comforting."
She glanced aside, as if my remark slid off her without purchase. Yet I could’ve sworn the corner of her lips trembled.
I stripped off the top of my kimono, rolled my shoulders, and heat folded over me at once like a heavy wave.
The ritual could begin again.
I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly. Mana surged into my veins—a golden tide that rose, swelled, and burned everything in its path. Always the same loop: destruction, pain, reconstruction. Push to the breaking point, let the current knit the fibers back together, and start over.
Again. And again.
Voluntary torture. Living alchemy. The secret isn’t brute force, but how long you can sit with pain. The ability to break and still keep moving.
Breathe. Bend. Hold. Let yourself be broken, rebuild, repeat.
Around me, the gym was already waking. Reina timed the cycles, notebook in hand, imperturbable. Ayame laid out rations and recovery vials on a side table, methodical as a surgeon. Kaelthys and Talyra trained in tandem—a striking contrast: his aristocratic grace against her quick, nervous energy. And then... Miyu and Hikari.
Side by side. Not a word.
Their movements were precise, in sync, almost hypnotic, but their eyes never met. No chatter, no wasted gesture. Just that charged silence that hums between two souls too close to pretend they don’t notice.
They avoid each other as if a single glance could drag everything back up. Too many burned things between them; too many wounds badly closed. And me in the middle, pretending not to see.
Miyu hit harder; each impact rang off the walls. Hikari answered with speed, a ballet of fluid, almost graceful motions. The air between them vibrated with everything they weren’t saying.
I looked away. No desire to be a spark between two powder kegs.
"Cycle one," Reina called, clear and crisp. "Ten minutes, maximum effort."
Heat climbed, mana pulsed, and the forge began. Every strike ripped a cry from the body; every breath tasted of iron and burn. A survival engine: destroy, repair, feed, repeat. My muscles cinched taut, my blood hammered harder with each cycle, until the pain grew familiar—almost tame.
When I looked up, I caught Sylvara’s eyes. She was leaning against a column—still, almost fascinated despite herself. No contempt this time. Just that weighty silence when two people understand the same thing: you aren’t strong because you’re born a dragon; you’re strong because you let yourself burn without fleeing the fire.
After hours of training, the room emptied, little by little. The mana hanging in the air like a golden mist slowly settled and dimmed. I wiped sweat from my brow, lungs raw, muscles heavy and numb.
I climbed the stone stairs.
Dry cold replaced the mana-thick heat, and my footsteps echoed a long time before I saw a silhouette atop the steps.
Reina waited.
Straight, still, chin slightly raised, a scroll pinned under her arm. Her blue eyes mirrored the rune-light like cut glass.
"Always right at the exit..." I murmured, half-smiling.
"I was asked to come get you."
She had that calm, almost administrative tone that always announces official trouble.
"Get me? Why?"
"You’re summoned by the Rector."
I arched a brow.
"She wants to see you about your... club."
I stopped mid-step, breathless but curious.
"The Azure Pact?"
A small smile slid across her lips.
"So you picked a name."
I nodded, rubbing the nape of my neck, still hot from training.
"Yeah. Came to me yesterday. Something simple, clear. Not a banner—an idea: a place where races can train together without tearing each other’s throats out."
Reina lifted a brow, half skeptical, half amused.
"You really think that’s possible?"
"I don’t know. But if Sylvara can save a human without being ordered to, then yeah, I want to believe it."
Her expression shifted—less stern. Almost thoughtful.
"That’s... ambitious."
"No," I said, shrugging. "It’s necessary. If we keep watching each other like curiosities, we’ll end up under the same headstone."
Silence followed. The kind that says more than speeches.
She stepped down one stair, her footfall barely a whisper on stone.
"Then—the Azure Pact... It sounds good."
"Thanks. I hesitated with Suicide Squad, but it tested poorly with the marketing team."
She shook her head; a small laugh escaped her despite herself.
"Don’t say that in front of the Rector, or she’ll help you make it literal."
I grinned—too much.
She shot me a brief, complicit look.
"Come on. Not the time to keep her waiting."
I fell in beside her. The corridor glowed a soft blue. Each step sounded like a fragile truce between two wars. And I caught myself thinking that maybe this so-called club would be the first step toward something bigger. Not just for me. For all of us.
The light changed.
The narrow halls opened onto the Rector’s circular chamber.
The air smelled of brimstone and black flowers, like incense lit for a forgotten god. The walls, sheathed in fossilized scales, pulsed with dark blue mana. Each throb made the runes in the floor tremble.
I knew her before I saw her.
Sahr’Veyra.
Seated behind a desk of living stone, back straight, gold eyes calm as a sleeping forge. She barely looked up, yet I felt her aura unfurl—a low, familiar pressure, like the memory of her roar.
I advanced, Reina at my side.
"Rector," I said, bowing slightly.
A thin smile crossed her lips. No mockery. Curiosity, maybe.
"Kaito. Still managing to survive, then."
"It’s my main talent," I said.
"And your most dangerous," she replied gently.
Her voice carried that gravity that never needs volume to command silence. Next to me, Reina tightened her grip on the scroll, as if a stray word might ignite it.
Sahr’Veyra leaned forward, elbows on the desk, fingers interlaced.
"You asked me, recently, for permission to found a club. Have you chosen a name?"
I nodded.
"The Azure Pact."
Her golden gaze narrowed.
"Why that name?"
I drew a breath.
"Because some wars aren’t won by fighting. And what we started in your gym deserves a symbol. Not a banner, not a battle cry—a pact. A place where each race can learn to breathe the same air without choking."
Silence again.
Runic firelight danced in her eyes. She seemed to dissect me without moving, as if checking whether my words burned for real or were only warm embers.
"You think unity is achieved by will?" she asked.
"No. By necessity," I said simply.
She let out a short laugh—rough, almost warm.
"An honest answer. Rare, here."
Her claws slid over the desk’s surface. A parchment appeared, laced with runic lines. Slowly, she took the draconic seal from her right. The blue metal lit in her palm, then struck the parchment with a hard click.
Energy rippled outward: azure filaments scorched letters that sank into the paper.
"Azure Pact—recognized by Rector Sahr’Veyra."
She lifted her eyes to me.
"There. It’s official. Under my wings, your project now exists."
A smile rose despite me—half pride, half irony.
"And if this pact fails?"
"Then you’ll learn that even Azure wings can close on their own children."
Her words fell like a sword. I held her gaze and didn’t look away. She liked testing limits.
"You asked for a club," she said at last. "I grant it. But remember: wagers aren’t won by faith alone. They’re won by pain."
I bowed my head in respect and answered with a tired smile:
"Good. Pain and I are getting acquainted."
A brief breath—almost a laugh—vibrated in her throat.
"Go, Kaito. And make sure your pact survives its first week."
I bowed and stepped back. Reina fell in behind me without a word.
As the heavy doors closed, the corridor’s light closed around us. The air out here was cooler, easier to breathe.
We walked in silence.
Under her wings... I thought.
I still don’t know if she’s protecting me or brooding me before she eats me.
Reina said nothing, but the look she slid me said everything: You’ve just stepped into something far bigger than you. And she was right. But right then, with the brand of that draconic seal still warm in my mind, I just wanted to believe a wager could turn into a legend.