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The next morning arrived in silence, with thick clouds blotting out the sun and a heavy mist rolling in from the eastern cliffs. Zephyr rose before the bells rang, his breath visible in the frigid air of the dorm room. His dragon—still unnamed—was curled at the foot of his bed in a ball of heat and soft scales, tail twitching lightly with each exhale. Zephyr moved quietly, unwilling to disturb the creature's sleep. He knew that what they had was delicate, not just in the physical sense but something far more intricate. The bond between them had grown rapidly in the past twenty-four hours, and yet, it felt like they had only begun to scratch the surface of what was possible.
He stirred a mixture of crushed root feed and featherleaf pollen into warm water and placed the bowl beside the bed. As expected, the dragon sniffed it once and resumed sleeping. Spoiled already. Zephyr chuckled under his breath and turned to dress. Wren had summoned him again, but this time, not to the infirmary. The message was short and to the point:
Training Yard. North Wall. Bring what you've bonded with.
That alone made his hands tremble slightly.
He wrapped the little dragon in a thick wool cloth, nestled it in the crook of his arm, and slipped out of the dorm through the back corridor. Snow had begun to fall again, this time heavier, swirling in loose spirals over the rooftops and beast cages. The academy was quieter than usual. Word had begun to spread—rumors of a strange egg, a burst of red mana, and a beast no one could identify. Some claimed it was a mutated wyvern, others a chimera. But no one had guessed the truth yet.
Wren waited near the north wall of the academy, standing in a cleared combat ring with a small table beside her covered in scrolls and crystal markers. She didn't look surprised when Zephyr arrived with the bundled dragon, only nodded once and gestured to a stool.
"Sit. This won't take long."
Zephyr did as told. The wind howled above them, and snow continued to fall, collecting in her hair and along the rim of the table, but she didn't seem to feel the cold.
"I spoke with the guild archivist," she began, unrolling a parchment. "We've reviewed every recorded familiar that matches even a fraction of this creature's signature. None of them compare. Nothing registers in the national bestiary, not even among the extinct categories. Which means either this dragon is truly the last of its kind—or it's something new entirely."
Zephyr didn't speak. He kept one hand against the dragon's back, feeling the soft rhythm of its heartbeat.
She unrolled another scroll. "The moment your blood activated the bonding seal, the containment runes failed. That should've been impossible. That magic was woven with high-order soul-lock threads. Even I can't break those. But the moment you approached, they shattered like glass."
He frowned. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying whatever is inside you—whatever bloodline you carry—it's not just rare. It's forbidden."
The words hit him like ice water. "Forbidden?"
"Bloodlines from the age of the First Tamers were sealed after the War of Embers. Every record, every relic, every blood trace was erased or locked away. The gods feared what they had created. They feared the return of the Sovereigns."
Zephyr swallowed. The system hadn't said anything about that. It had only shown him glimpses—words like resonance, dragonheart, and evolution. But it hadn't told him that this power might be outlawed by the world itself.
Wren stepped closer. "This is bigger than both of us. And it's going to get worse. Soon."
He tightened his grip on the dragon.
"What do I need to do?"
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she reached beneath the table and retrieved a training orb, roughly the size of a melon, inscribed with runes that pulsed faintly with blue light.
"This is a combat memory orb. Level C. It will simulate a battle scenario—low risk, low impact, but enough to test your link. If this dragon is to stay, you need to start training it. Now."
Zephyr nodded. He gently unwrapped the cloth, and the dragon yawned sleepily, blinking up at him with molten-silver eyes. He placed it carefully in the arena's center. The snow hissed around its small body, but the dragon gave a single shake and released a faint warmth that melted a circle clear around its feet.
Wren activated the orb.
The air shimmered. A projection formed—an illusory beast, wolf-shaped, built of smoke and red light. It snarled and paced toward the dragon, eyes glowing with artificial malice.
The dragon froze.
Zephyr rose to his feet, heart pounding. "It's too young—"
Wren raised a hand. "Let it try."
The projection lunged.
The dragon squealed and rolled backward. Its wings fluttered in panic, and its tail lashed wildly. It stumbled to its feet, trembling, but the projection turned again for another strike.
"Come on," Zephyr whispered. "You're stronger than this…"
The dragon didn't attack. Instead, it chirped once, then looked toward Zephyr—eyes wide, filled with panic and something else.
Trust.
Zephyr felt a tug inside his chest.
The system pulsed.
[Link Stabilizing… Instinct Transfer Initiated.]
The warmth in his body surged. His heartbeat synchronized with the dragon's. His feet felt rooted in ancient soil. His breath carried the scent of fire and wind. Without meaning to, his voice called out—not in command, but in connection.
"Focus!"
The dragon's wings snapped open.
The projection lunged again.
This time, it didn't run.
The dragon stepped forward, tail curling, eyes glowing brighter than before. It opened its mouth and released a pulse—not fire, not wind, but pure heat. The snow around it vaporized. The projection staggered, then burst apart like shattered glass.
The system chimed again.
[Bond Strengthened: 6%]
[Familiar Trait Activated: Ember Core (Dormant)]
[Description: The dragon possesses a unique ember core. As it matures, this core will allow it to harness flame-shaped soul energy. Trait not yet battle-active.]
Wren blinked, then looked at Zephyr with an expression somewhere between disbelief and wonder.
"Do you realize what you just did?"
He exhaled, knees weak. "No."
"You transferred instinct. Without a verbal command, without a rune link. That's not taming. That's something else."
He stepped into the ring and scooped the dragon into his arms. It chirped softly and curled into his chest, exhausted but unhurt.
Wren turned away. "I need to make preparations. There are things I need to check—names I need to look for in the sealed records."
Zephyr nodded and started walking back toward the dorms.
Snow fell heavier now. The wind carried the scent of fire, barely noticeable.
But Zephyr felt it in his blood.
The dragon had awakened.
And so had he.