I studied the bird perched in its cage. Overnight, it had transformed. Its size had increased noticeably, feathers turning sleek and vibrant. Most striking were the vivid streaks like captured lightning bolts tracing paths from its wingtips down its back to its tail feathers. Even its beak now gleamed with a sharp, metallic silver. Cautious wonder filled me as I observed these changes.
I went to the kitchen, filled a small bowl with seeds, and placed it just outside the open cage door. The bird cocked its head, intelligent eyes fixed on me, then hopped cautiously onto the rim of the cage and down to the bowl, pecking at the seeds.
Tentatively, I reached out a hand, aiming to gently stroke the creature's head. Before my fingers could make contact, the bird darted forward with surprising speed, its silver beak pecking sharply at my index finger. A bead of blood welled up, and instinctively, the bird flicked its tongue, tasting it.
A jolt surged through me—not pain, but pure, raw energy. It felt like a circuit closing inside my veins. Suddenly, I could feel the bird's presence, a distinct, vibrant awareness humming right at the edge of my own consciousness. A connection snapped into place, profound and undeniable, thrumming in my chest.
Startled, I snatched my hand back, quickly wrapping the small wound with a strip of cloth. I took a deep breath, the new bond vibrating within me like a plucked string. This time, when I slowly extended my hand again, the bird remained still, watching me. Gently, my fingertips brushed the feathers atop its head. A wave of warmth and fierce loyalty flowed through the connection, strengthening the bond forged by blood.
As I petted the bird, my mind drifted, pulled back not to the Crimson Dragon's vast memories, but to a specific, painful shard of my past life as Zion.
I was twelve. Zion. Small and thin in a stark white lab coat that hung loosely on my frame like a sack. I stood alone at a cluttered workstation within the sterile Academy laboratory, the sharp smell of chemicals pricking my nose. My brow was furrowed in concentration as I meticulously measured a viscous brown chemical into a beaker, noting the results with a pencil that felt too big in my hand. The air hummed with the quiet focus of other students absorbed in their own experiments, the clink of glassware a constant backdrop.
Suddenly, a jarring shoulder knocked hard into me from behind. The beaker jolted in my grasp, sloshing precious liquid over the rim, ruining my careful measurement. Frustration boiled up hot and fast in my chest. I whirled around. Three older boys stood there, smirking. In the center was Marcus, thick-necked and perpetually cruel, flanked by his usual sycophants, their grins ugly.
"Watch it, orphan," Marcus sneered, his voice dripping with mock concern that scraped against my nerves. "Wouldn't want you to waste the Academy's resources. Oh wait, it's not like your parents are paying for it, are they?"
The familiar taunt, the casual cruelty about my parents' abandonment, struck me like a physical blow to the gut. I saw red. All reason fled. With a choked cry of pure rage, I lunged, swinging a fist wildly at Marcus's smug face.
He caught my punch effortlessly, his grip like iron bands closing around my wrist. My bravado vanished instantly, replaced by icy dread flooding my veins. Pain exploded in my side as one of Marcus's cronies drove a fist into my ribs. The air whooshed from my lungs in a painful gasp, and I doubled over, tasting the coppery tang of blood on my tongue. Through watering eyes, I saw Marcus draw back his leg for a brutal kick aimed squarely at my unprotected ribs. I squeezed my eyes shut, muscles tensing, bracing for the impact, the shame burning hotter than the pain.
It never came.
I heard a startled grunt from Marcus. Opening my eyes, blinking away tears, I saw a familiar figure standing beside me. Silas—taller and broader than Marcus even then—had intercepted the kick, catching Marcus's ankle in one strong hand, holding it immobile mid-air. Marcus wobbled, off-balance.
"Silas!" I gasped, relief washing over me like cool water, so intense it made my knees feel weak.
Silas didn't look at me. His gaze was locked on Marcus, who was struggling futilely against his grip, face turning red. "I don't make a habit of watching my friends get jumped," Silas stated, his voice calm but carrying an edge of steel that sent a shiver down my spine. Then, with deliberate, controlled force, he twisted Marcus's ankle just enough to make the bully yelp in genuine pain. Silas released him, and Marcus crashed heavily to the polished lab floor, clutching his leg, face contorted.
Silas finally turned, offering me a hand up. His grip was firm, hauling me easily to my feet. He ruffled my hair roughly, a rare, fierce grin flashing across his face. "You were brave, standing up to them like that. Guess it fired me up too. See you later, Zion." With that, Silas walked off, leaving Marcus's friends to hastily, fearfully, drag their whimpering leader away.
A sharp, insistent chirping shattered the memory. I blinked, the sterile smells and harsh lights of the lab dissolving back into the familiar, sun-warmed wood and hay scent of my room. Storm, perched on the edge of the now-empty seed bowl, was chirping loudly, its lightning-streaked feathers fluffed up, its presence in my mind radiating a potent mix of curiosity and impatient demand for attention.
Storm hopped onto my shoulder, tiny claws pricking lightly through my shirt, as I opened the door and stepped outside. Morning sunlight washed over the yard, warm on my skin. I saw my father, Cassian, near the large paddock, tending to our family's prized riding dalfin. The powerful, horse-like beast, muscles rippling like coiled springs beneath its sleek, sun-dappled coat, nudged Cassian affectionately as he offered it a bucket of grain that smelled sweet and earthy.
Cassian turned at my approach, his eyes immediately drawn to the transformed bird perched confidently on my shoulder. A slow, proud smile spread across his weathered face, crinkling the corners of his eyes.
"Well now," Cassian chuckled, wiping his hands on his dusty trousers. "Congratulations on the new familiar bond, son. Didn't think you'd earn its trust quite this fast." His gaze sharpened, becoming intensely observant as he took in Storm's altered appearance—the increased size, the unmistakable, vibrant lightning streaks, the dangerous silver gleam of its beak. "And... it evolved? Already? To Tier-C, by the look of it." He whistled low, a sound of pure astonishment. "How did that happen?"
I shrugged, still processing the strange events myself, the lingering echo of that energy jolt in my nerves. "Honestly, Father, I'm not entirely sure. It happened after... well, after it tasted my blood. There was this surge... this connection..." I trailed off, the sensation difficult to articulate, like trying to describe a new color.
Cassian studied both me and the bird intently, his expression deeply thoughtful, eyes flicking between us. "A blood bond accelerating evolution... rare, but not unheard of with particularly compatible creatures. Powerful magic." He paused, his gaze softening slightly. "Have you named it?"
I rubbed my chin, feeling the faint prickle of stubble, before looking directly at the intelligent eyes of the bird perched on my shoulder. "Storm. How about I call you Storm?" The name felt right, resonant with the energy I felt humming through our connection.
The bird seemed to consider it, tilting its head. Then, with a powerful, snapping beat of its wings that stirred the air around us, it launched from my shoulder. It soared high above the paddock, a dark shape against the bright morning sky. It hung suspended for a breathtaking moment, sun glinting off its metallic beak. Then it folded its wings tight against its body and plummeted earthward in a silent, deadly dive. As it fell, it became enveloped in a crackling, hissing sheath of pure, blinding lightning. It struck the packed earth near the dalfin's hooves with a sharp crack and a small puff of scorched dirt, leaving a smoldering divot before effortlessly, gracefully, taking flight again and landing lightly back on my shoulder. I chuckled, a surge of pride warming me, and rubbed its sleek head. "Storm it is."
Cassian watched the display, his astonishment deepening into profound respect. "Remarkable," he breathed. "Truly remarkable control for a newly evolved Tier-C." He then noticed me flexing my hand unconsciously, the hand Storm had pecked. "Something else?" he asked, his tone shifting to keen interest.
I hesitated, then held out my palm, focusing inward. I drew on the now-familiar feeling of channeling mana, feeling the warm current flow down my arm. A small, vibrant flame sprang to life in my cupped hand, flickering red-orange. Then, almost immediately, responding to an instinct I didn't fully grasp, the flame shifted. Its colour deepened dramatically, washing from orange-red through crimson into a brilliant, intense cobalt blue. It pulsed gently, radiating a noticeably fiercer heat that warmed my face.
Cassian's eyes widened considerably. He stepped closer, leaning in to examine the blue flame with intense focus, the heat making him squint slightly. "Blue... already?" he murmured, his voice thick with disbelief. "Adam, the blue flame isn't just hotter. It signifies a high degree of mana infusion and control. Mastering it usually takes practitioners years of dedicated, grueling training." He looked from the pulsating blue fire in my palm to my face, seeing not arrogance, but the same flicker of surprise that he felt mirrored in my own expression. "This... this accelerated growth, both with Storm and your mana... it's extraordinary. Unprecedented in my experience."
I let the blue flame wink out, the sudden absence of its heat and light leaving a coolness on my skin. A thoughtful frown settled on my