Azrael turned back toward the estate. His footsteps stayed quiet on the empty street.
He broke into a run. The black coat flapped behind his small body like a shadow chasing him. Cool night air filled his lungs and stung his cheeks. His heart pounded hard.
'Why the hell does the Jexis Church need a dragon egg?' he thought. 'And why traffic humans? This isn't some random raid. They definitely had a plan. I need to figure it out fast.'
Questions kept spinning in his head. The dragon egg felt warm in his hidden storage. It pulsed like a tiny heartbeat against his mind. He ran faster. Boots slapped the cobblestones.
Sweat prickled under his collar. The estate lights grew brighter ahead. He had to get back before anyone woke up and noticed the youngest Draekon missing.
The streets stayed empty. A stray cat darted across his path. He dodged it without slowing. His small legs burned a little from the effort, but he pushed through.
Right now he was in a hurry. Still, the questions wouldn't leave him alone. Jexis Church in Draekon lands? After everything he remembered from his past life? It felt wrong. Dangerous. He needed answers tonight.
He reached the side gate and slipped through. The garden smelled of night-blooming flowers and damp earth. He slowed to a walk once he hit the path. No guards in sight. Good.
Meanwhile, in the warm glow of Count Alaric Draekon's private study, the meeting wrapped up.
The representative from the Jexis Church sat straight in the leather chair. His dark robes carried a faint gold chaos emblem on the sleeve. He cleared his throat.
"Sir," he said politely, "the Jexis Church would like to become part of the Draekon territory."
Alaric looked up from the papers on his desk. A warm smile spread across his face. His red eyes stayed kind, but something sharp hid behind them.
"Ah, of course," he answered. "As a count, I will try my best."
The representative nodded slowly. Inside his head he thought, 'That smile is a clear warning. Don't overstep your bounds here, or there will be trouble.'
He stood and bowed low.
"Thank you, Count Draekon. I will carry your words back." Then he left the study without another word. His footsteps echoed down the hall until the door shut behind him.
Alaric waited a moment. He let out a long breath and rubbed the scar on his cheek. The smile faded into something more serious. He stood and walked out toward the family sitting room where Lady Selene waited by the fire.
He told her everything that had happened. She listened with her head tilted, her silver hair catching the lamplight like moonlight on water.
"Maybe it's a good thing the Jexis Church came in," she said softly. A small hopeful smile touched her lips.
"New allies could strengthen the territory, bring more trade, And more protection."
They sat together on the couch. Alaric took her hand. They talked quietly about the visit, about the subtle power plays nobles always made. Then the conversation turned warmer. It always did when they spoke about their children.
"Azrael has great talents in magic," Selene said. Her violet eyes lit up with real pride. She squeezed her husband's fingers.
"He can maybe reach the legendary 9th class magus one day. I just know it."
Alaric chuckled low. His chest swelled with quiet joy.
"Our boy is special," he agreed. "Strong mind. Strong will. Just like his mother."
They shared a soft laugh. The fire crackled. For a moment the weight of the church visit felt lighter. Family talk always did that.
Back in his room, Azrael sat cross-legged on his bed. The door was locked. Curtains drawn.
He closed his eyes and focused on his mana. The air around him felt thick and alive. He breathed slow and deep. Sweat already beaded on his forehead. It trickled down his temples in warm lines. His small hands rested on his knees.
He used his own unique method to cultivate. He called it the Crimson Dominion Pulse. It fit him perfectly. He imagined his blood pulsing like a steady drum inside his veins. Each heartbeat reached out and synced with the mana floating in the room.
He pulled it in slow threads, weaving the energy into his core the way a blacksmith folds steel. It built strength layer by layer.
Sweat soaked his nightshirt now. His breathing got a little ragged. But he kept going. The mana responded. It flowed smoother. Stronger. A warm rush filled his chest. He felt the circle inside him expand and settle.
When he finally opened his eyes, he let out a long breath. A real smile tugged at his lips. He laid back on the bed. The pillows felt soft against his damp hair.
'Peak of 4th circle now,' he thought. Satisfaction settled in his bones like good wine. 'Not bad for one night in this body!'
He closed his eyes again. Sleep came fast and deep.
Morning light filtered through the curtains. A soft knock sounded on the door. The young maid stepped in. Her blonde braid swayed as she moved. She smiled warmly, green eyes bright.
"Young Master Azrael," she said cheerfully, "the madam and count asked you to get dressed. Today we are going to Count Eldric Blackthorn's ball."
She explained it while she helped lay out his clothes.
"A count's ball is a grand event in our kingdom. Nobles from nearby territories gather in a magnificent hall lit by floating crystal orbs and magic lanterns. Music comes from enchanted violins that play themselves. There are long tables piled with roasted meats, honeyed fruits, and spiced wines."
"Knights show off sword aura in friendly displays that make the air hum. Mages perform small spells that sparkle like fireworks. Everyone dances in fine gowns and polished boots. It's a night for forging alliances, sharing news, and a little politics hidden behind smiles and curtsies. The perfect place for families like ours to shine."
Azrael nodded like any excited ten-year-old would. Inside he felt a mix of curiosity and that familiar annoyance at playing dress-up. 'Another night of acting cute,' he thought.
'But maybe I'll hear something useful about the church.'
He finished getting dressed. The clothes felt rich against his skin. A crisp white shirt with a ruffled collar. Dark trousers that fit snug down to his knees. Over it all, a fine black coat with deep red lining that showed when he moved.
Gold braided cords crossed his chest in neat loops. A small cloak draped over one shoulder, held by a silver pin. Polished black boots completed the look. It was old-fashioned noble style, elegant and sharp.
He stood in front of the mirror and stared. Black messy hair combed neat for once. Red eyes bright under the morning light. The outfit made him look every bit the young heir.
'Not bad,' he thought. 'Humiliating to play doll, but it fits the part.'
He headed downstairs. His parents waited in the entrance hall. Count Alaric looked tall and proud in his formal jacket. Lady Selene glowed in a deep blue gown. They both smiled when they saw him.
"Ready, my sweet boy?" Selene asked, voice full of warmth.
Azrael gave his biggest grin and nodded. "Yes, Mother."
They stepped outside together. The family carriage waited on the drive. Black lacquer shone in the sun. Two strong horses stamped impatiently. A footman held the door open.
Azrael climbed in first. His parents followed after. The door clicked shut. The carriage rolled forward with a gentle sway. Wheels crunched on gravel. The estate fell behind them as they headed down the long road toward Count Blackthorn's hall.