I said it. The words tore out of me with more strength than I thought I had.
Ashweist's eyes narrowed, stormlight flickering in their depths. His voice rolled like distant thunder. "No, little Grey. This is not a game. You stand at the edge of a pact—and only one truth matters. Either I bind you, or you bind me. Fail to choose, and the seal breaks entirely. I will walk free. Decide carefully."
My throat was dry, but I clenched my fists, forcing the words out. "I… I know you don't bow to anyone weaker than you. I know I'm asking something selfish. But—" my voice cracked, then steadied, "—can you become my familiar? If you do, I'll grant you whatever it is you want in this world."
For a heartbeat, silence. Then Ashweist threw his head back and laughed, the sound jagged, echoing against the stone walls. "Hah! You still don't listen, do you? To 'grant me anything'? Child, do you even comprehend what I might desire?"
"I don't care," I shot back, though my voice shook. "Mock me if you want. But if this is the only way… then yes. I'll accept it."
He leaned down, his presence suffocating, his smile carved like a blade. "Very well. You are bold, at least. Then it's settled. I will become your familiar… and you will grant me my wishes. Every last one."
Before I could breathe, the air rippled. Symbols I didn't recognize blazed into the circle, searing into my skin like molten chains. A mark, black-veined crimson, spiraled across my arm and burned itself into my chest.
"Hear and tremble: the covenant is made. Familiar and summoner, shackled by an unbreakable vow. Not time, not blood, not death itself shall undo what has been written."
A voice—his voice—suddenly bloomed in my mind. Smooth, intrusive, like smoke curling through cracks. "Now I am your official familiar. Before we begin… I must alter their memories."
My breath caught. "What? Why?"
"Relax," he murmured, almost amused. "If they recall this summoning, panic will spread. Chains will come for me again. Better that they believe the seal remains untouched."
Realization struck me. "You can… rewrite their minds?"
Ashweist's smirk widened. "Watch."
He raised a hand and snapped his fingers. A shiver tore through the hall. Students slumped deeper into unconsciousness, their faces twisting—then smoothing into placid calm, as though they had dreamed nothing at all. Even Professor Halvors' eyes fluttered shut, his mouth frozen mid-warning.
The oppressive aura ebbed, vanishing like smoke on wind. To anyone who woke, it would seem as though the trial had ended quietly, uneventfully.
Ashweist turned back to me, chains of light fading from his form. "There. Now, only you and I remember the truth."
My legs trembled. My heart hammered. I had made the pact. I had bound myself to the Forbidden One.
And there would be no going back.
"Okay," Ashweist said, leaning back with the air of a king about to pass judgment. His voice carried enough weight to silence the clinking of cutlery nearby. "Now… for my wish."
My fork froze halfway to my mouth. "H-huh? More?"
"Yes. Did you think I would wait centuries more? I was chained for an age. Now I am free." His eyes glinted, and then, with maddening casualness, he picked up a menu written in elegant gold script. "And I wish… to eat."
That's how I ended up here. The most aristocratic restaurant in the entire city. Crystal chandeliers. Velvet chairs. A string quartet in the corner playing like their lives depended on it. Everyone wore tailored suits or silk gowns. And then there was me, still in my school uniform, trying to pretend I belonged at this table while across from me sat… him.
And Ashweist—dressed in the plain black-and-silver garb of the Academy. A uniform that on any other boy looked stiff and ordinary, but on him? It became something else entirely. The jacket clung to his frame with soldierly precision, its silver trim glinting as if alive. The tie hung loosely, as though rules meant nothing to him, and yet every thread seemed to bend around his presence. The crest of the Academy burned faintly at his chest, transformed by his aura into something regal, almost sinister.
I leaned forward, whispering, "Um… are you finished yet?"
He arched a brow at me, slicing into something I couldn't even pronounce. "Finished? What nonsense. That was only the appetizer."
I nearly choked on my water. "Appetizer?! You ordered enough food to feed an army!"
"Correct." He dabbed his lips with a silk napkin as if he were the picture of etiquette. "And I intend to devour the rest."
My soul left my body. If he keeps eating like this, I won't survive until tomorrow. Forget being his summoner—I'll be a slave washing dishes in this place for eternity.
Around us, I could feel stares burning into my back. Noblemen gawked, ladies whispered behind jeweled fans, waiters froze mid-step. Their expressions shifted between awe, horror, and something close to reverence as Ashweist ate like he was enthroned at a royal banquet.
Of course they stared. The air around him shimmered with restrained power, a storm pressed into human shape. No one knew who he was, but everyone could feel it: he wasn't just a man. He was something far above them.
And me? I was the pathetic girl sitting across from him, praying the bill wouldn't end my life before his "wish" did.
"Oh my… what is my failure little sister doing here?"
The voice struck me like a cold blade. I turned, and there she was—a tall woman draped in an aristocrat's gown of deep crimson silk, the fabric embroidered with golden lilies that marked our house crest. Her long hair, black as raven feathers, framed her sharp, proud face. Her eyes gleamed with superiority as she looked down at me from where I sat.
Hawka Grey.
My third sister. We shared the same father, but not the same mother. Blood bound us, yet the distance between us was wider than the skies.
"S-sister! What are you doing here?" My voice trembled without my permission.
Hawka smirked, lips curving into mockery. "I dine here, of course. As someone of influence, it is only natural. But you…" her eyes trailed over my plain dress with disdain, "…I did not expect you to have the coin to even breathe in this establishment."
Her words stabbed deeper than knives. I remained silent, for what could I say? It was true—I barely scraped enough to survive day by day. To afford even a single plate here was impossible… if not for Ashweist's demand.
My sister leaned closer, voice dripping venom. "And now I see… dining with this gluttonous man? Is that what you've come to? A desperate attempt to charm someone with appetite rather than worth? How pitiful. Even in love, you are unlucky."
Her laughter was soft and cruel, echoing like glass breaking. I lowered my gaze, heat rising in my chest. To speak back would only give her more reason to humiliate me.
But then, the chair opposite me scraped sharply against the floor.
Ashweist stood. His academy coat caught the candlelight—dark navy trimmed with silver, the insignia of his rank gleaming on his shoulder. His very presence seemed to shift the air around us. He fixed Hawka with eyes like smoldering coals.
"Hey, spoiled brat." His voice rang with authority, low and dangerous. "You will apologize to her. Retract your words. Only fools judge with their eyes, but the wise see with their hearts."
Hawka blinked, then narrowed her gaze, venom now redirected at him. "Who are you, to speak so arrogantly? You dress like some common academy student, and yet you dare raise your voice to me? Shush, before I decide to have you dragged out."
I felt my stomach twist. This was dangerous. Very dangerous. Hawka was not only a noble of great standing—she was a Master of the Sword. Few in the city could rival her.
"S-sister, please…" My voice cracked as I tried to ease the storm. "I am sorry if I shame the family. Just leave us be."
But Ashweist's hand rested on my shoulder, firm and unyielding. His voice was steel. "Leora, do not apologize. She doesn't deserve it."
Hawka's eyes flashed with fury. "How dare you! To defy me, here of all places? I, who hold authority and command, will not suffer such insolence."
She reached for the hilt at her waist, and in that moment I knew—this was about to turn into a disaster far beyond a family quarrel.
"If you claim authority, then so be it," Ashweist said calmly, his voice resonating with a sharp, cutting tone that made even nearby diners glance our way. "I will not bow to authority built only on arrogance. If need be, I shall break it here and now."
The restaurant air thickened. Forks paused mid-air. Conversations ceased. My heart dropped into my stomach.
"Y-You!" Hawka Grey's eyes widened in fury, her aristocratic pride inflamed. "How dare a commoner speak such words in front of me!"
Her voice carried like a whip crack, silencing what little murmur was left in the grand hall. She slammed her jeweled hand against the table, the silverware rattling with the impact.
"Hey, brat!" Hawka's gaze locked on Ashweist, her eyes like drawn blades. "What is your name?!"
"Ash—"
"His name is Ash. Just Ash." I cut in quickly, my voice trembling but sharp, desperate to keep his true name from escaping. If she knew… things would spiral beyond control.
Ashweist turned his head slightly toward me, his expression unreadable, but he did not protest.
Hawka smirked, her aristocratic arrogance returning like a storm. "Very well. Ash," she spat the words like venom. "I, Hawka Grey of the Grey Family, challenge you to a duel of the sword!"
The declaration struck the room like thunder. Gasps rippled among the noble guests, whispers filling the corners. A duel—here, in the most esteemed restaurant of the city—was unheard of.
My blood froze. This was no simple quarrel between sisters. Hawka wasn't just an aristocrat—she was a Master of the Blade, trained in the Grey family's ruthless sword arts.
This wasn't going to end well.