Hey guys, sorry for the delay, I'm back, but my vacation time is over, so I will post when I can, thanks for the support, and Good New Year for everyone.
***
Days blurred.
Not in the lazy, "oh school is boring" way. No — they blurred like steel dragged across a whetstone, each pass shaving off another layer of weakness.
Morning broke with fire. Noon trembled with earth. Night glowed with sacred light.
And in the middle of all three, there was me — Hyoudou Issei, the idiot who decided to let a dragon queen take a chisel to his soul.
Between sessions in her den, life in Kuoh didn't stop. I still had a body in the human world, a family that made dinner and worried about exams, a school that didn't give a shit about dragons so long as my grades stayed high.
I'd stood in front of Sona Sitri in the student council office, back straight, eyes calm, voice casual.
"I'll be… away a lot after class hours," I'd said. "Family business. I'll keep my grades up."
She'd studied my face like a puzzle. Behind her glasses, her gaze flicked over my aura — which I kept buried as deep as possible.
"Family business," she repeated. "Nothing that will threaten Kuoh?"
"No," I said. "If anything, it'll make me better at stopping the things that do."
Her lips twitched. "Always so careful with your wording, Hyoudou-kun."
She'd given me and Asia a formal "authorized leave" status for certain after-school periods, on the condition we kept our marks.
Asia's grades got fast-tracked by Sitri-approved tutors and some late-night study sessions involving flashcards, tearful giggles, and Kalawarna threatening to burn the math textbook if it looked at her wrong.
So yeah — school life continued, like a thin, fragile layer of normal stretched over the furnace underneath. Under that layer, in the forest between worlds, we were being remade practically.
On the seventh day, Tiamat circled me like a storm deciding where to land it's lightning.
We were in her crater — the training pit where ambient magic got stripped down to raw essence. Normal spells burned away here. Only draconic power stuck. She walked around me in slow arcs, bare feet ringing softly on stone that had once been molten under her breath.
"Your flame," she said, voice cutting the quiet, "your stone, and your light are separate. This is good. Children who try to skip to fusion without understanding their pieces die fast and stupid."
She stopped in front of me.
"But true power," she continued, "is born when all three act as one. You've done it by accident. Once. Twice. In moments of adrenaline peaks. Today, we stop calling it an accident."
Sweat steamed off my skin even though we hadn't started yet. My muscles ached in new, creative ways. My aura thrummed under the surface, eager and tired at once.
I nodded. "Alright. Show me where I'm still fucking it up."
Her lips twitched — a dragon's version of a smirk.
"Palm out," she ordered.
I lifted my hand. Heat gathered instinctively, Ddraig's power swirling up on cue. Red fire flickered into existence above my palm — not human flame, not demonic, nothing that belonged to the usual magical systems. A living ember, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
"Good," Tiamat said. "This is your draconic core. Now…"
She stomped one heel, lightly. The earth beneath my feet shivered, then responded — not to Tiamat, but to me. Cracks formed in a perfect ring around my stance, glowing faint gold as my earth affinity stirred. A whisper of sacred light slid down my arms, coiling around my forearm, then into the ember.
"Fuse it," she said.
I inhaled slowly.
Fire flared in my chest. The ground softened under my boots, like standing on a beast's back. The sacred energy that usually sat politely in my heart and hands — Asia's influence, Ashdod's residue, Saint George's myth twisted through my soul — answered.
The red flame shifted. It deepened. Streaks of gold laced through it. White bled along the edges. It stopped looking like "fire" and more like a small, angry star trying to be a supernova, but not mature enough.
Crimson. Gold. White. And a thin heartbeat of green pulsing through — the Boosted Gear's jewel echoing in miniature. The air around my hand vibrated softly, like sound too low to hear.
Tiamat's eyes narrowed, gleaming. "Holy Draconic Fire," she said, and there was satisfaction in the name. "Good. Now hold it."
The flame didn't want to be held. It wanted to expand, erupt, burn the surroundings, set a new definition for "surface area." Keeping it compressed was like holding my breath and screaming at the same time. Sweat rolled down my jaw. My aura flared — four-layered: red at the core, gold and white spiraling around it, green pulsing in measured beats.
But the flame didn't explode. It stayed, dense and dangerous, compressed into a sphere the size of a marble.
Tiamat watched, then gave a short nod.
"A fire that can burn devils," she said, "heal allies, and reshape battlefields. Ddraig chose well. Well, first time, really."
[Heh. She admits it. Mark the date, partner.]
'Not now, Ddraig'.
[You say that a lot lately.]
"Do not get complacent," Tiamat snapped. "Pretty colors and triple affinity do not make you a dragon. Most of your kind would already be bragging." She stepped back, eyes narrowing. "Defend."
She slammed her foot down.
The shockwave wasn't just sound. The ground ahead of her cracked, reared up, and launched forward as a jagged wave of stone, sharpened by dragon magic. It came at me like an avalanche of dark, magmatic stone. A dangerous strenght demonstration in my opinion.
I didn't think to react. Thinking would've been too slow.
I dropped to one knee and thrust my free palm onto the ground.
Sacred energy surged out, riding my earth affinity. The ground rose in response — not as random slabs, but as a single, unified shape: a massive wall of fused stone, its surface glowing with veins of gold-tinted light.
It wasn't just earth. It was "No" physically described.
The Holy Wall of Gaia.
Tiamat's attack smashed into it. The impact sounded like two mountains punching each other. Blue sparks, fragments of shattered stone, draconic fire hissed across the barrier's surface. The wall shuddered. Groaned. Held.
On the sidelines, Kalawarna whistled, hands on her hips. "That would stop a High High-class devil's charge nicely," she said. "Maybe even two, if they're dumb enough to line up. And we now mos of them are."
Asia clasped her hands, eyes shining. "Issei-san… it's so cool."
"Function first," I muttered, keeping my hand pressed to the stone until the last vibrations died down. Only when I was sure it would hold without me did I pull back and let the construct fade into dust.
My arms trembled. My heart hammered. The Holy Draconic Fire in my other hand flickered once, then steadied.
I forced my breathing calm. "It's strong," I said. "But not enough yet."
Tiamat's tail flicked behind her, the motion sending a ripple through the air.
"Correct," she said. "A wall is not tested by one attack. It is tested by every attack. When the enemy is exhausted and the world is rubble, then we see if your wall still stands."
Of course her version of "encouragement" was redefining endurance as "outlast reality."
Day seven rolled into day ten like a tide I couldn't step out of. We didn't just drill fire and shields. We sculpted elements until they didn't feel like "tools" anymore — they felt like habits.
By day ten, we'd moved to another part of the Den: Tiamat's personal training crater. A pit where the mana density stripped away ornamental magic. Human spells, devil circles, angel blessings — all of that got eaten by the ambient dragon saturation. Only raw affinity and contracted draconic pacts remained.
Tiamat stood at the edge, hair rippling in mana wind that didn't touch anyone but her. The ground around the crater was a tapestry of scorch marks, glassed stone, and weird fused rock that I was pretty sure had once been a boulder and a spellbook at the same time.
"Magma," she said, lifting her hand. "Is fire and earth. Any fool with both affinities can imitate it. Lava is stupid and predictable."
She stamped the ground. A line of dark, bubbling rock oozed up, then sank again.
"But Holy Magma?" She turned toward me. "That is fire, earth… and divine blessings, holy energy or what you prefer to call. You already brushed that territory once. Now you will learn to walk in it."
She pointed to the center of the crater.
"Stand."
I dropped down, boots crunching on unstable ground, and moved to the mark she'd etched with her heel earlier.
"Left hand," she said. "Fire."
I raised my left hand. Flame bloomed — pure draconic red at first, then shaded by the lessons of the past week, becoming more compact, less eager to run wild.
"Right hand. Earth."
I lifted my right, pulled from the deep layer beneath us. Stone answered, rising as dust and shards that gathered into a dense, hovering clump.
"Now," Tiamat said, "remember: you are not stacking spells. You are aligning your draconic energy natures with the holy energy you inherited."
Sacred light hummed in my sternum. I pulled it into the equation. Golden-white threads slipped from chest to arms, coiling around both fire and stone. For a moment I held them separate, distinct pieces. Then I slammed my hands together.
The crater answered. The ground pulsed under my feet. Red-gold cracks shot outward from where I stood, thin lines of molten energy tracing into the rock like veins of some artificial geology.
With a low, viscous roar, Holy Magma erupted — not wild and splashing, but rising in controlled streams. Rivers of molten, glowing substance hovered around me like tame serpents, coiling in the air without falling. The heat washed over my face, intense but not hostile.
My control screamed. My reserves howled. I clenched my teeth and refused to let any of it slip. At the edge of the crater, Kalawarna took a sharp step back. "Okay," she said. "I'm officially done calling you 'dumb human' even as a joke."
Asia's eyes were huge. Rassei hid behind her hair, peeking with one bright eye.
Tiamat watched, gaze intent. She extended her senses, testing the stability.
"At last," she said. "You grasp the tertiary fusion. Fire, earth, holy energy — no longer sniffing at each other suspiciously, but actually working. Keep practicing until the magma answers as easily as your breath. You will need it when you fight things that laugh at simple fire."
I swallowed back the instinct to say "Everything laughs at simple fire in my life." Instead, I nodded slowly. I could feel the magma not just around me but in me — a new pattern etched into my aura, ready to be called.
"Dismiss," Tiamat said.
I exhaled and let the Holy Magma sink back into the cracked ground, cooling instantly into strange, glassy stone. My knees threatened to fold. I didn't let them.
While I caught my breath, Kalawarna's turn came. She stepped into a circle Tiamat had carved in the air with a single claw — a floating ring that shimmered with light and shadow.
"You," Tiamat said, circling her like a drill sergeant with a PhD in death, "rely too much on those stupid spears."
Kalawarna bristled. "They work."
"They work on stray exorcists," Tiamat said blandly. "On stray devils. On mooks. If you throw the same straight spear at a dragon, it will use it as a toothpick."
Kalawarna opened her mouth, then closed it, because as much as her pride wanted to argue, she wasn't suicidal.
"Your heritage has fallen," Tiamat continued. "You are not failed angels. You are light that chose sinful idiotic freedom over idiotic blind obedience. Your magic should reflect that. Angels cast straight. You should not."
She flicked a finger. A strand of pale blue draconic magic curved in the air in an elegant S-shape.
"Warp your spears," she said. "Make them lie. Make them bend. Make them look weak until it's too late."
Kalawarna inhaled. Closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them, they were focused.
Dark-violet and golden energy collected around her arms, threaded with shimmering gold flecks. It wasn't holy. It wasn't corrupt. It was… fallen. Light that had learned bad habits and liked them.
She spun her wrist. The energy slithered down, coiling around her forearms like living ropes. With a flick, she hardened it — the light shaped itself into twin, curved blades: kukri-like constructs of sharp, humming radiance.
"Interesting," Tiamat murmured. "Now throw."
Kalawarna moved.
The blades didn't fly straight. They arced, twisted mid-air, split into clusters and remerged, dancing like drunken fireflies with murderous intent. Each fragment curved unpredictably, converging on a target pillar from blind angles.
When they hit, they didn't explode; they sank, then detonated a heartbeat late, bending force inward. The pillar cracked from the inside out.
Tiamat nodded once. "Better. Fallen light should always misbehave. Make your enemy think they've dodged, then remind them you never threw straight in the first place."
Kalawarna grinned, breathing hard. "You know, I'm starting to like you."
"That will pass," Tiamat said.
Then came Asia. She stood in front of a line of enchanted trees — heavier, denser versions of normal forest giants, bark infused with magic, roots anchored deep into the dragon-fed soil.
Asia held her hands close to her chest, fingers trembling slightly. Rassei perched on her shoulder again, tail curled around her neck for comfort.
Tiamat approached her differently. The aura pressure eased by half, like the dragoness had decided the world had already tried enough to break this one.
"You are gentle," Tiamat said. "This is not a crime."
Asia blinked, surprised.
"But power," Tiamat continued, "is not the enemy of gentleness. Weakness is. Your magic is designed to preserve life. We will not twist that. But you will learn that preserving sometimes requires force."
She pointed to the trees.
"Show me your healing first," she said. "On yourself."
Asia nodded quickly. She knelt, scraped her own palm deliberately against the rough stone until a thin bead of blood appeared. Then she cupped her injured hand with the other and whispered a quiet prayer.
Warm light blossomed — golden-green, soft, steady. The wound closed like it had never existed.
"Good," Tiamat said. "Your control is precise. Now…"
She gestured, and a faint blue glow surrounded Asia like a second skin.
"Channel that same light through your muscles," Tiamat said. "Not to erase damage — to prevent it. Reinforce fibers, tendons, bones. Healing under strain. You will not always have the luxury of resting before working."
Asia hesitated, then nodded. She stood, extended her hands slightly, and focused. Light flowed inward instead of outward. Her legs, arms, back — all lit faintly from within. Not dramatic. But present.
Tiamat snapped her fingers. "Run."
And Asia ran. Back and forth between marked stones. Up onto low platforms and down again. Across balancing beams of conjured rock. All while maintaining the inner glow.
At first, she stumbled constantly. The light flickered, flared too much in one limb and vanished in another. But with each adjustment, it smoothed. She found a rhythm between breath, movement, and magic.
"Now shape it," Tiamat said after a while.
Asia slowed, panted, then raised a hand. The light stepped outward again — this time forming a circle in front of her.
The circle condensed. Spun. A halo of healing mana formed, rippling like liquid glass.
"Good," Tiamat said. "Now…"
She snapped again. A small blue orb of condensed mana flew toward Asia's shoulder — not lethal, but it would've hurt like hell and thrown her off balance.
"Attack," Tiamat finished.
"A-Attack?!" Asia squeaked.
But she trusted. She thrust her hand forward.
The halo snapped into a flat barrier, redirecting the orb aside in a scattering of sparks. At the same time, a thin beam of focused light, almost reflexive, shot from her fingers and nicked the trunk of the nearest enchanted tree.
The tree shuddered. Its bark blackened in a precise line.
Kalawarna stared. "Holy shit," she muttered. "She's becoming dangerous."
As the tree's bark healed itself ten seconds later, Asia clapped her hands over her mouth. "I-I didn't mean to hurt it!"
Tiamat waved that away. "You didn't. And this forest regenerates every ten minutes. It has seen worse."
Asia peeked. "Oh. Good. It's relief."
"Your attack did not kill," Tiamat said. "But it staggered. That is enough. Wounding to create an opening is as valuable as killing in one stroke. You will learn when to choose."
Asia nodded firmly, even as her knees shook.
Day after day, we drilled.
Holy Draconic Fire. Holy Wall. Holy Magma.
Draconic flame-core stability and language-based casting — Tiamat had me shaping my will with dragon-tongue syllables, compressing intent into sounds that shook the marrow. Each word carried more power than an entire human chant could dream of.
"You have a mouth," she said. "Use it properly. Roaring is not just for intimidation. It is technique."
Kalawarna spent her nights practicing fallen-light constructs — blades, whips, spirals, clusters, fan patterns. She'd throw a volley; Tiamat would tell her "Too predictable"; she'd twist it more. Aerial casting became second nature — light spears curving from angles that would make a math teacher cry.
Asia built stamina, barrier shaping, and focused light emission. She learned to cast while panicking, while tired, while crying; Tiamat would provoke her gently, then yank her back to focus.
"Emotions are not your enemy," the dragoness said. "Uncontrolled emotions are. You can cry and still form a barrier."
By the end of the twelfth day, the three of us stood in a clearing Tiamat had leveled specifically to watch us break.
I stood in the center, Holy Magma pulsing under the ground like a second heartbeat waiting for my call. The Holy Wall pattern sat ready in my legs and arms. The Holy Draconic Fire hummed in my palm like a familiar weight.
Kalawarna hovered ten meters up, wings strong, aura steady, dark-light spirals coiling around her like serpents ready to launch.
Asia stood at my left, one hand glowing softly with inner healing, the other wrapped in sharper light, ready to become shield or beam. Rassei sat atop her head because apparently that's where a baby dragon felt most useful.
We were exhausted.
We were dangerous.
Tiamat stood before us, arms crossed, tail flicking lazily, expression as unimpressed as always — but her aura told a different story. It carried a thread of satisfaction.
"You've improved," she said. "Barely. But it is a start."
Kalawarna groaned. "Barely, she says. I could bench-press some mid-class devils at this point."
Asia giggled weakly.
I forced a grin. "You expecting praise from a dragon? That's like expecting a tax refund from Azazel in person."
Tiamat's lips twitched.
"You want a compliment," she said, "survive the next stage and I won't call you 'hatchlings' as much."
Asia's eyes widened. "We're still hatchlings…?"
"Yes."
"Oh…"
I let out a slow breath, feeling the Holy Magma's pulse, the stable flame in my core, the way the earth listened when I shifted my weight.
"What's the next stage?" I asked.
Tiamat's wings spread wide behind her, blue flames swirling in a slow galaxy-spin.
"Tomorrow," she said, "we move on to real combat magic."
The forest trembled, as if the trees themselves knew that whatever came next would mark a point of no return.
[Combat magic,] Ddraig said. [As opposed to what you've been doing, which was apparently "stretching."]
'Stretching with lava.'
[You sound excited.]
'I am.'
[Good.] His chuckle rumbled like distant thunder. [This is what dragons are for.]
I looked at Kalawarna, at Asia, at our bruises and burns and growth.
Whatever shape my power took next — it wouldn't be just mine.
It would be ours.