The wind in Wessex carried the scent of old blood and molten stone. Above, the Sky Dungeon hung like a fractured moon — its chains groaning in the wind, its underbelly pulsing faintly with imprisoned light.

Beneath that ghostly glow, two figures faced each other — one kneeling, bruised and trembling, the other towering, shadow-winged and ancient as the ruin itself.

Aiden could feel the hum of the creature's presence like a pressure against his ribs, the low thrum of something older than gods, older than mercy.

The air itself seemed to recoil from Aros — the Abomination. The dust refused to settle near him, as though gravity had learned fear.

He didn't move, didn't breathe for a long while. Only stared up into those crimson eyes that shimmered like molten glass.

He could still taste the iron tang of his own blood, thick at the back of his tongue.

"What are you planning?" His voice was hoarse, stripped of strength. "Why keep me alive?"

The question slipped out more like a plea than he wanted. But Aiden had always known how to mask fear — to lace it with sarcasm, to hide it behind wit. This time, his voice cracked despite himself.

Aros smiled, slow and patient, the kind of smile that made the air tighten. "You still do not see it, little tongue. I told you before — you have use."

Use. That word again. He'd been called it by nobles, commanders, even Augustus in a rare moment of candor. But hearing it from this monster, this ruin in flesh, made something deeper twist inside him. He was tired of being someone's leverage, someone's hope, someone's pawn.

The abomination's gaze sharpened, and for a fleeting moment, Aiden thought he saw something almost human flicker there — something like recognition. Then it was gone, replaced by that same terrible calm.

"I do not intend to simply burn there world," Aros said, voice rolling like distant thunder. "I intend to remake it — upon the ashes of the elves."

Aiden blinked, heart stuttering. He thought he had misheard. "....War?" The word was a whisper, swallowed by the empty wind.

Aros's smile widened. "Not war, boy. Cleansing."

He raised one clawed hand toward the distant mountains — toward the horizon where the forests of the elves lay like a dark green sea. "They once chained me beneath their cities. They feasted on my young scales, bound my blood in their magic. Everyone forgot that part. But I.. I remember."

Each word carried weight, as if the air itself bowed beneath it.

Aiden wanted to laugh. He wanted to tell him that revenge was an old, stupid fire — one that never stopped burning the hand that held it. But instead, he found himself staring at that horizon too, his thoughts darkening.

He had seen those same forests from a distance once, when he was stationed with the knights of the western fief. Beautiful, yes. But behind that beauty was cruelty, politics, greed — the empire's hunger mirrored in green.

Still, this… this was madness.

"You're... insane," Aiden murmured. "You think you can use humans to destroy them? They'd never follow you."

Aros chuckled, low and knowing. "Of course, They won't follow me.... They'll follow you."

Aiden froze. "...What?"

The creature took a step closer. The ground cracked beneath his talons, and the air smelled of ozone and scorched stone. "You think I did not see it? The way you twist hearts with that honeyed voice. The way she listens when you speak — the one of flame and wings."

Catherine....he was talking about her.

"You survived me once," Aros went on, circling him slowly, "and lived to stand beside those who hunt monsters. You have no strength, no blade worth naming — yet they moved heaven and earth to protect you.

Why, do you think?"

Aiden didn't answer. Because he knew. Oh he knew the truth.

He had influence. That, fragile thing. A voice that made people listen. A way of surviving by weaving trust and guilt and warmth until even the strongest forgot to guard their hearts. His system making it even more deadly and easier.

He'd used it before — on Arina, on nobles, even on Catherine. Sometimes to grow. Sometimes to save himself.

"You would make a fine weapon," Aros said. "Not of steel. Of will."

Aiden stepped back, his breath quick. "You think I'll help you...to start a war? I'm not your damn prophet."

"Perhaps not yet." Aros's wings flexed, scattering embers from the dungeon's light. "But every war needs a herald. And every herald begins with one choice — Greed and lust, lust for power, lust for belonging."

The silence that followed pressed like a hand on Aiden's throat.

Lust and greed. That was the word that had followed him since his past life — through the broke times to his millions, through the friendshis, through every betrayal he'd crawled out of. He had always done what he had to. Always chosen to rise.

Even when it cost him pieces of himself.

He tried to steady his breath, but the air felt thick. He needed to think, to buy time. "You want a contract," he said slowly. "You said it before."

Aros tilted his head. "Yes. A real one this time. No mercy, no accident. A covenant. A real covenant."

Aiden's mind spun. He knew what that meant — the old blood-binding magic, the kind of pact that tethered souls. It could grant power. It could also consume.

He forced a laugh. "You'll forgive me if I don't rush into lifelong commitments with things that breathe fire."

Aros's talons scraped the stone, sparks blooming in the dark. "You misunderstand. I am offering choice.

Tell me, little knight — what do you desire? Power? Redemption? Or something smaller — like the approval of gods who never cared?"

His voice became a whisper that seemed to come from everywhere, wrapping around Aiden's thoughts. What do you desire?

The question cut deeper than claws. He wanted to say *nothing*, to claim he was beyond wanting. But inside, his mind whispered truths he didn't want to hear.

He desired not to be weak. Not to be pitied. Not to be the fragile piece everyone tried to protect but never trusted. He wanted to be seen — truly seen — not as someone to save, but as someone who could change things. Like the bloody high ranking Nobels.

He looked up, meeting Aros's gaze, golden against crimson. "What I want," he said, voice rough, "is power."

The word tasted bitter on his tongue. But it was true.

Aros stilled. Then — laughter, sharp and deep, like stone splitting under pressure. "Power," he echoed. "So honest. Few men ever are."

"I want the dungeons," Aiden continued, surprising himself. "Their riches. Their resources. The links your kind guard like dragons of old. I want every tool this world has buried."

Aros's grin widened, revealing teeth like molten iron. "And in return?"

Aiden swallowed. "You get your war."

For a heartbeat, silence. Then the world seemed to shift.

The air rippled, light bending around them. The dungeon above flared, its underside glowing brighter, the chains trembling as if in approval. The ground quaked, and a low hum rose from beneath their feet — the sound of old magic stirring.

Aros's wings spread wide, casting half the valley in shadow. "You would trade peace for power. Millions of lives for your own survival, for your own gain. You are not as different from me as you pretend."

Aiden's hands trembled, but his voice stayed steady. "The world's already bleeding. I'm just making sure I'm not buried with it."

"Cold," Aros said, amused. "Efficient. Perfect."

He extended his hand — vast, clawed, wreathed in faint fire. "Then speak it. Seal it."

Aiden hesitated. His pulse thundered. He could feel every scar, every breath, every lie he'd ever told pressing against his ribs. He remembered Augustus's disappointment, Arina's desperate call, Catherine's fury. He remembered being held by the neck — both by monsters and by fate.

He thought, briefly, of turning away. But the mark on his neck throbbed like a heartbeat, like something inside him had already decided.

"Aiden," he whispered. "By that name, I bind it."

The moment the word left his lips, the ground split.

Light exploded from the fissures, spiraling upward in ribbons of gold and crimson. The dungeon's glow answered, a pulse syncing with his own racing heart.

Pain shot through him — searing, electric — as the mark on his neck blazed, its edges burning anew. His vision blurred; he could smell ozone and smoke and something older — the scent of creation and ruin intertwined.

Aros's laughter filled the valley, echoing against the cliffs. "It is done!"

Aiden fell to one knee, gasping. He could feel it — threads of power coiling through him, heavy and wild. Not his own. Never his own. But his blood hummed with it, thrumming in rhythm with the dungeon's chained heart above.

He raised his head slowly. "Now what?"

Aros looked down at him, wings half-folded. "Now, you rise. You will speak to them — your kind, your guild, your flame. You will tell them the elves have betrayed the covenant of peace. You will feed their fear, their hunger. And when the first sword is drawn, I will come...."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.