They emerged from the catacombs into the cool night. Damien didn’t stop until he reached her home.

Christofer was already waiting inside with a table covered in salves, spellbooks, and enchanted clothes.

“What happened?” he asked as Damien laid her down on her stomach.

“She did it,” Damien said, brushing sweat-soaked hair from her face. “All six. At once.”

Christofer went still. Then quietly, “Shit.”

He didn’t wait for confirmation. He gestured to the bed, and Damien gently eased her down—chest first—onto the sheets. Her back was a ruin of burning sigils, still glowing faintly with sovereign fire.

Christofer's lips parted, eyes narrowing. “This is worse than Varkhaz’thar.”

“I’m fine,” Renee mumbled, barely audible.

“No,” Christofer said. “You’re not.”

She tried to smirk but winced instead. “So dramatic…”

He hovered his hands above her back and winced. “It’s not just physical damage. The sigils are still settling. They’re imprinting on her soul. This kind of fusion isn’t meant to happen all at once.”

Damien’s jaw tensed. “How bad?”

“Worse than last time. She’s going to feel like she’s being burned alive from the inside out for the next seventy-two hours.”

Christofer grabbed his phone. “Calling Xavier. I need Cecil. I can’t manage this alone.”

Ten minutes later, lightning cracked outside the house. Xavier entered with the wind still in his hair.

“Got it,” he said. “I’ll find him.”

Before anyone could ask, he vanished again.

An hour passed.

Sasha and Eleonor arrived next, quietly slipping into the room.

Sasha blinked at the sight of Renee—her pale skin damp with sweat, fists clenched in the sheets.

“Damn,” Sasha whispered. “She looks like shit.”

Renee’s voice was hoarse but clear enough. “You… always know how to charm… a girl.”

Sasha blinked, then smirked. “Glad to see you’re not dead.”

“Yet,” Renee muttered, then hissed through her teeth as another wave of pain twisted through her. “But if… one more of those dragons had fancy claws… I might reconsider.”

Eleonor moved to her side, her face tense. “She’s boiling from the inside out. Her mana field’s in chaos.”

Christofer nodded. “It’s like her soul is being rewired while her body’s still running.”

Damien dipped a cloth in cool water and brushed it over her neck.

Renee flinched. “That’s freezing.”

“Good,” he muttered. “Means you’re still here.”

Renee tried to laugh, but a shaky cough came out.

Christofer wiped the blood from one of the carved sigils. “This will get worse before it gets better. We keep her stable, conscious, hydrated. No interruptions, no magic spikes, no light channeling. If one of these sigils destabilizes—”

“She’ll burn out,” Eleonor finished, her voice quiet.

No one spoke after that.

It started three hours after Xavier left.

Renee’s body, already fragile from the ritual, crossed an invisible threshold. Her breathing turned shallow and sharp, her entire frame trembling under the weight of seven dragon bonds seared into her back. The sigils pulsed like open wounds, her skin glistening with sweat.

Sasha sat beside her bed, helpless and still.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, voice barely above a breath. “I don’t know how to help her.”

Renee whimpered, her voice breaking between a gasp and a growl.

Then—faint, slurred, but unmistakable—came a name:

“Damien…”

Sasha jumped to her feet and grabbed her phone. No hesitation, no second thoughts. She hit Damien’s name and put the phone to her ear.

“She’s asking for you,” she said when he answered. “It’s bad.”

“I’m on my way,” Damien replied—and hung up.

He arrived ten minutes later, practically kicking in the front door.

“Upstairs,” Sasha said, already leading him.

Damien didn’t speak. He just ran.

Renee was curled on her stomach, every breath a trembling, shallow drag. Her body shook with each throb of pain, her back glowing faintly with burning sigils still raw and unhealed.

The moment Damien entered, her body shifted—seeking him instinctively.

“I’m here,” he said gently, kneeling beside the bed.

He shrugged off his hoodie, yanked his shirt over his head, and slid into the bed behind her. Carefully, he lifted her into his arms, keeping her back untouched.

She melted into him with a soft, broken sigh. Her face was buried against his chest. Her hands clutched at his side.

And the shaking slowed.

Damien tightly wrapped his arms around her and pressed his cheek against her temple.

Sasha stood in the doorway, stunned. “She’s calming…”

“Yeah,” Damien said quietly. “She always does when I’m close.”

Sasha stepped in slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You know what this is, right?”

Damien didn’t respond immediately.

“She’s bonded to you,” Sasha said softly. “You’re her chosen one.”

He looked down at Renee—messy hair stuck to her forehead, lips parted, breath shallow but no longer gasping.

“I’ve… suspected,” he admitted.

“She clings to you like it’s survival,” Sasha said. “Not just emotional comfort. It’s soul-deep. You anchor her.”

Damien nodded faintly. “It's not just missing her when she’s away too long. It’s like gravity pulls sideways. Like I’m half-empty.”

Sasha smiled gently. “Then you’re already feeling it.”

He looked at her. “Feeling what?”

She tilted her head, her voice quieter. “We’ll find out for sure soon. Her birthday is Sunday. She turns twenty-one.”

“So?”

“That’s when the chosen bond locks in. If it’s you, you’ll feel it. She will, too. You won’t have to guess anymore.”

Damien looked down at Renee again. Her hand rested directly over his heart, her fingers curled faintly in his skin.

“I don’t need a bond flare,” he whispered. “I already know.”

Sasha smiled, sad and warm. “Good. Then you’ll be ready when it hits.”

The night wore on.

Renee’s fever surged again. Her skin burned hot, then ice-cold, her breathing spiking and falling. No one slept.

By morning, her condition was neither better nor worse.

They took that as a win.

Saturday passed in fragments. Christofer took over for a while, carefully pressing healing pulses into her spine. Eleonor helped monitor her vitals, muttering stabilizing spells under her breath. Sasha napped in the chair beside the window, one hand gripping a dagger just in case.

Damien never moved.

Sometime after noon, Renee stirred again.

Her body instinctively curled toward him, fingers twitching. She pressed her face into his chest, and then her palm slid beneath the blanket, resting flat against his bare skin.

Damien didn’t flinch. He just pulled her tighter and tilted his head to rest against hers.

Her pain didn’t vanish. But it dulled.

“Better?” he murmured.

A breath. Then a soft, rasping, “Yeah…”

Christofer took advantage of the moment and stepped in. “Let me hit her with another spell wave while she’s calm.”

He pressed glowing fingers over the back sigils, carefully threading healing through her raw magic.

“She’s stabilizing,” he said finally. “Still not good. But better than before.”

At 19:03, Damien’s phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Xavier:

Found him. We’ll be there before sunrise.

Damien let out a slow breath and kissed Renee’s temple.

“Cecil’s coming,” he whispered. “Just a few more hours.”

Renee didn’t reply. She was asleep again—her hand still curled over his heart like her body remembered a promise her voice hadn’t spoken yet.

And Damien just held her, steady as stone.

Waiting for the morning. Waiting for her to come back whole.

It happened just after midnight.

The magic in the room shifted—sharp and unstable, like a scream without sound. Renee arched off the bed, a strangled cry tearing from her throat. The sigils along her back pulsed blindingly bright, seeping magic and blood as if her soul itself were splitting open.

“Renee!” Damien was the first to move.

Her body convulsed, limbs thrashing uncontrollably. Her skin burned hot as the dragon markings seared deeper—not just into flesh, but into the very framework of her soul.

“She’s hemorrhaging magical flow!” Christofer barked, sprinting in, already channeling stabilization runes. “The bonding’s reaching her core—her soul isn’t used to housing this much!”

“We have to hold her,” Eleonor said. “But not her back—those sigils will rupture.”

“I’ve got her arms!” Christofer dropped to her side, pinning her wrists magically.

“Legs—pressure wards!” Eleonor responded, anchoring her knees with a glowing net of stabilizing force.

Sasha hovered nearby, hands shaking. “She’s not responding—she’s just screaming.”

Damien climbed onto the bed, shirtless, eyes glowing with a profound gravitational aura. “She doesn’t need to be pinned. She needs a center.”

He reached out and gently, slowly pulled her upright, positioning her with infinite care so that she was straddling him, seated across his lap, facing him. Her back hovered just above his chest.

Then he exhaled and let the magic flow.

Gravity bent around them.

It wrapped Renee like an invisible cradle, drawing her into Damien’s body and anchoring her with pressure and presence. It didn’t crush—only held.

She gasped, her hands suddenly fisting in his hair, breath breaking on his bare shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” Damien whispered, pouring all his strength into the pull. “You’re safe. You’re with me.”

Then it slipped out—soft, instinctive, unguarded.

“My love.”

The moment the words left his mouth, even through the chaos, something shifted.

Renee stilled—just for a heartbeat—before the next wave of pain crashed over her.

But it was different.

She stopped fighting the bond. And instead, her soul moved toward it.

Then, a knock at the door, slow and steady.

Cecil entered with a presence like a blade hidden in silk. His eyes swept across the scene: Renee straddling Damien, her body soaked in sweat and blood, runes aglow. Everyone was frantic.

“I need the room,” he said, calm but firm.

“No,” Damien said. “She’s anchored to me. I’m not leaving.”

Cecil knelt at their side. “Then don’t move. Just hold her like that.”

He opened his kit and began drawing runes in the air—golden threads of ancient alignment magic.

“She’s not dying,” Cecil muttered. “She’s becoming.”

“Can you help her?” Sasha asked, desperate.

“I’m not healing her,” Cecil answered, hands glowing as he worked. “I’m teaching her soul to hold this much power without tearing itself apart.”

One hand hovered over Renee’s lower back. The other hovered near her sternum. Between them, golden light pulsed like a second heartbeat.

“She bound too many too fast. It’s like setting fire to a new forge before the metal’s shaped.”

He worked for hours.

And slowly, one by one, the glowing sigils dimmed.

The bleeding stopped.

Renee’s breathing softened.

Then, finally—her body went still.

Cecil exhaled and stood. “She’s stable.”

Damien nodded. “Thank you.”

Cecil studied him for a long moment. “You’re more than just an anchor, you know.”

Damien didn’t reply.

“She’s going to feel it when she wakes,” Cecil said. “And so will you.”

He gathered his tools and headed for the door. “When she wakes, don’t let her pretend it didn’t matter.”

And then he was gone.