It wasn't until the little leopard's breathing evened out completely—soft, rhythmic snores slipping out from beneath his wing—that Soren finally opened his eyes.
Golden pupils flickered in the dim light.
He lowered his head slightly, careful not to disturb her, and glanced at the small figure curled against his side.
Blanca was sprawled in a most unguarded manner, paws tucked close to her chest, tail loosely looped against his neck as if it belonged there. Her ears twitched once, reacting to nothing more than a passing dream, before settling again.
For a brief moment, Soren simply watched, wings half-unfurled, shielding her from drafts and noise alike.
Then there was a light knock at the door.
Soren's gaze lifted, irritation flickering for only an instant before he answered in a low voice, "Come in."
The door slid open.
Spade stepped inside—and froze.
His eyes locked onto the scene before him: the black dragon, nearly two meters long even in his reduced form, lying in the center of the room. His massive wings were partially unfurled and curved protectively around a tiny leopard. The contrast was almost absurd. One embodied absolute power; the other looked so fragile she could be crushed with one careless movement.
And yet, the dragon's posture was relaxed.
Spade had served under Soren for years. He had seen him covered in blood, standing amidst ruins, eyes burning with hysteria and fury. He had seen him injured, enraged, ruthless, and terrifyingly calm in the face of death.
But he had never—never—seen him like this.
'Sir… you're being far too eccentric,' Spade thought silently, his expression stiff.
"What's the matter?" Soren asked, his tone flat, eyes never leaving Blanca.
Spade jolted, snapping back to attention. His mouth opened, then closed, twitching as he struggled to reorganize his thoughts. After several attempts, he finally managed, "Sir, the—there's a video call from His Majesty."
Soren's eyes narrowed just a fraction.
The royal banquet was drawing close. Soren had used his long-standing excuse—serious injury—to avoid attending. In the past, that had been more than true. His frequent bouts of hysteria made long appearances impossible. But this time, his recovery had been… unusually smooth.
Naturally, the Emperor was alarmed.
It was impossible for His Majesty not to ask questions. However, Soren's personal terminal had long been sealed against all external access. The only place the call could be redirected was the aircraft itself.
Soren glanced down at Blanca again. Her nose twitched, and she shifted slightly, pressing closer to the warmth beneath his wing.
After a brief pause, he said calmly, "You pick it up for me."
Spade blinked. "Sir?"
Soren adjusted Blanca's position with meticulous care, curling his wing just a little more securely around her. "Handle it."
"…Yes, Sir." Spade bowed, backed out, and closed the door behind him, his mind in complete turmoil.
'This is bad,' he thought grimly. 'Very bad.'
Not for the empire—but for anyone who might target that little beast.
Spade resolved then and there that when Aquila arrived in the capital, he would personally emphasize the importance of protecting Blanca. No, strongly protecting her. Whatever her origins were, whatever secrets surrounded her, she had clearly stepped into a place no one else occupied.
Inside the room, silence returned.
The aircraft continued its steady journey toward the Imperial Capital, cutting through the void with unprecedented smoothness. Unlike previous trips—where Soren's unstable state often caused turbulence or sudden delays—this time, the voyage was fast and remarkably calm.
Blanca slept through it all.
She dreamed without fear, wrapped in warmth, undisturbed by alarms, by power struggles, by the invisible currents of danger gathering around her name.
For the first time in a very long while, Soren closed his eyes again—not from exhaustion, but from a rare, fleeting sense of peace.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
When I finally woke up, the first thing I realized was that I wasn't on the floor anymore.
I was being carried.
Again.
I blinked sleepily and lifted my head, only to see Soren's chest right in front of me. One of his arms was securely wrapped around my body, supporting me with practiced ease, as if carrying a small beast was second nature to him by now.
Before I could grumble about it, my attention was stolen.
Outside the terminal window where the aircraft was docked, a breathtaking scene unfolded.
"…Woah."
My eyes widened as I stared out in disbelief.
Floating islands.
Not just one—but several, suspended in midair like colossal platforms, connected by luminous bridges of light and sleek transport lanes. Massive buildings rose from the islands, tall and elegant, their surfaces reflecting the sun with polished metal and crystal glass. Some structures hovered slightly above the ground, stabilized by glowing energy cores beneath them.
'Is this… how the future is supposed to look?' I thought in awe.
The Imperial Capital was nothing like the cities I had seen before. This place didn't just feel advanced—it felt unreal. Floating vehicles zipped smoothly through the air in orderly streams, leaving faint trails of light behind them. Below, the streets were spotless, lined with greenery that looked carefully engineered rather than natural. Even the trees had subtle metallic veins running through their leaves.
High technology. Absolute order. And overwhelming prosperity.
I was still staring when Soren glanced down at me, noticing my alert eyes. "You're awake."
I flicked my ears and nodded, unable to tear my gaze away from the window.
"I'll take you to the academy first," he continued calmly. "We'll complete your registration before going home."
I nodded again, more obedient than usual, then turned back to the view like an excited cub seeing the world for the first time.
Soon, Soren set me down gently on a table inside the aircraft. "Wait here."
He stepped into the adjoining room and returned moments later dressed in casual clothing, his aura noticeably toned down. The sharp, commanding presence he usually carried was carefully restrained.
After that, he picked me up once more and walked out of the aircraft.
Waiting outside was a sleek, glossy black sports car, its surface reflecting the surrounding lights like liquid obsidian. The design was sharp and aggressive, yet elegant, with glowing lines tracing along its frame.
My ears perked up.
'Wait a second…' I thought, staring at it hard. 'That thing looks even more expensive than my old one.'
Soren placed me in the passenger seat—securely—and took the driver's side. The vehicle activated silently, lifting slightly before gliding forward. As we drove, the city unfolded around us in layers of motion and light.
I pressed closer to the window, watching everything pass by: floating billboards projecting holographic advertisements, pedestrians moving along elevated walkways, and enormous towers adorned with artistic carvings embedded directly into their structures.
Then, the academy came into view.
My jaw nearly dropped.
The Imperial Artificers Academy wasn't just large—it was majestic. The main grounds stretched across an entire floating island, surrounded by cascading gardens and sculpted terrain that blended natural beauty with artistry. Stone pathways curved gracefully between buildings.
Energy flowed visibly through the environment—soft glows etched into the ground, faint runes embedded into pillars, and floating fragments of stone that rotated slowly as decorative installations.
I felt something stir inside my chest, a familiar excitement I hadn't felt in a long time.
Soren carried me as we entered the academy and walked straight toward the main building. Students and staff passed by, some glancing curiously at me, others doing double takes at Soren's tall figure—even disguised, his presence was hard to ignore.
We stopped in front of an ornate door.
"The principal's office," Soren said.
I flicked my tail thoughtfully.
From what I heard, the principal wasn't just anyone. He was the master carver who had gone to extraordinary lengths to carve a high-level energy stone for Soren in the past. Unfortunately, that stone had been… poorly activated.
And I had been the one to fix it.
Which meant—
'I'm about to meet the best master sculptor in the entire empire.'
The door opened.
Inside stood an elderly man with sharp eyes and an upright posture. His hands were rough with years of carving, and faint energy lines traced along his fingers.
Principal Varek Duran.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
When Varek received the news that Soren was coming, the first thing that flashed through his mind was trouble.
Specifically, trouble with the energy stone.
As the empire's top master carver, Varek Duran was rarely summoned personally by the Black Dragon Commander. The last time Soren had come to him, it had been for a high-grade dragon-type energy stone—an order that had pushed Varek to the limits of his skill.
Even now, he could still recall the pressure of those days, the sleepless nights spent refining the design, adjusting the carving lines again and again to match the terrifying purity of a dragon's power.
So when he heard Soren was arriving today, Varek immediately cleared his entire schedule.
He dismissed apprentices, postponed meetings, and personally prepared the office. To be cautious, he even brought out the original design drafts from his previous carving—every structural line, every energy channel, every conceptual diagram painstakingly preserved.
On the side of the room, an ultra-high-definition three-dimensional projection hovered in the air: a majestic black dragon, its scales sharp, wings unfurled, eyes burning with restrained ferocity.
Varek stood in the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back, posture straight but tension creeping into his shoulders. His eyes flicked toward the door more than once.
'Did something go wrong?'
'Was the activation unstable?'
'Or was the stone no longer compatible with Soren's current state?'
Any of those possibilities would be serious.
The door finally slid open.
Varek instinctively stepped forward, already preparing his greeting—
"Commander Soren—" The words died in his throat.
Because Soren wasn't alone.
Cradled casually yet protectively in his arms was a small beast—a little leopard with snow-white fur, soft golden markings, and crimson red eyes that glimmered with intensity. The little beast looked around curiously, tail swaying lightly, completely out of place inside the master artificer's office.
Varek froze.
For a brief moment, the dragon projection behind him felt utterly absurd.
Before he could process what he was seeing—before he could ask why the Black Dragon Commander had brought a beast cub into the Imperial Artificers Academy—Soren spoke first.
"Varek," Soren said, eyes steady. "I want to withdraw my orders. I won't be ordering from you in the future."
Varek's pupils shrank. "…What?"
His mind went blank for half a second, something that almost never happened to him.
Withdraw… orders?
No longer ordering from him?
For a master carver, an order from Soren Markelov wasn't just a commission—it was recognition. It was proof that his skills stood at the very peak of the empire. For years, being Soren's designated carver had elevated his status beyond dispute.
And now—
Varek's gaze flicked unconsciously to the dragon projection beside him, then back to Soren, and finally—hesitantly—to the little leopard in his arms.