Just seconds later, a swarm of translucent creatures bursts out of the lake, flying toward the wolf at breakneck speed, drawn by his mana like starving hounds. The shadow wolf lets over twenty of them touch him, unfazed by the damage—if any—even reaching through his powerful resistances. And since they can't freeze or slow him, he opens his jaws and lets out a shadow howl.

Every wraith touching him—made tangible by their contact—instantly freezes in place. The others, still floating and snarling through the air, remain unaffected.

For a moment, all I see is my shadow wolf, surrounded by ghostly, translucent figures which are frozen mid-attack, their hands buried in his fur. Dozens more circle him in a dense cloud, but none break away toward me or toward the maze.

Then, a massive dark sphere envelops all of them—wolf included. Must be his darkness ball, and he cast it directly on himself. A heartbeat later, it explodes.

The image in my mind is of a massive fireball hurled by a mage, detonating in the heart of his enemies, scattering flaming shards everywhere. Only this is pure darkness—and it spreads like it has weight. In its wake, every specter touching the wolf bursts like overinflated balloons, dead on the spot. The others survive, still intangible… but I know the wolf will not let them get away.

I think for a moment about that darkness ball—how it exploded, how wide it spread. If that thing went off in the middle of a city, the casualties would be horrific. In fact, even the lake's ice itself seems to have vanished beneath him, leaving a crater where the divine beast once stood.

I shudder.

The Crown has no idea of the destructive power I now wield.

In any case, I do not have the luxury of resting on my laurels—five specters seem to have noticed my connection to the wolf and are coming straight for me.

I take up a defensive stance, sword held in front of me. In the few seconds it takes them to reach me, I catch a glimpse of the wolf. He's cloaked his claws in shadows and darts from one target to the next, tearing apart any who dare become tangible to strike him. There are many—but numbers mean nothing against him.

Out of the five wraiths coming for me, two try to flank me from behind. The flaming quiver wards them off, forcing them back. I slash at the three in front of me, but since they're still incorporeal, my blade simply passes through them. Same thing happens with the fire blast from the salamander—nothing. Then Ronan steps in, casting his mana drain on one of them. Surprisingly, it works. The other two immediately shift focus to him, turning tangible to attack. That's my chance—I plunge my flaming sword into their forms. Easy. Taking out spectral creatures is simple once they've become tangible. I feel bad for Ronan, but if he's draining life and mana, I doubt they're hurting him much.

The two behind me lunge for my legs—unprotected. Instantly, I feel the pain and the cold. The salamander slithers down my body, from waist to thigh, and unleashes a fiery blast. The creatures scream. A pair of Ronan's small golems, standing guard nearby, fire their ice shards point-blank. Thankfully, the specters—still corporeal—block most of the frozen fragments, and only a few stray pieces hit my legs. I barely feel them—like mosquito bites. Doubt they even cost me a single hit point.

I stay still, even though it takes effort. Swinging blindly backward with a sword is a great way to slice open your own legs. Moments later, the battlefield is clear. I hear the telltale sound of bursting specters. Carefully, I press the flat of my sword against the chilled area on my legs to drive out the magical numbness. Again, I'm thankful that they haven't actually frozen me. I doubt recovering my legs would have been easy.

"Thanks," I whisper to Ronan, since he's right there.

The guy looks fine. I, on the other hand, lost four hit points just now from those freezing touches, bringing me down to three. Not as bad as it sounds—I still have the major protection necklace, which once a week prevents fatal damage by holding me at 5 HP if I would otherwise drop to zero.

Unlike Ronan, I didn't bring any healing potions. I figured I wouldn't need them, what with the healing licks and meditation.

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As for the wolf, I hear another dull explosion of darkness in the distance. I look up just in time to see the last of the wraiths fade into nothing.

The battle must be over—because a system notification appears before my eyes.

Congratulations. You have leveled up. You are now Level 9 and have one free stat point to allocate.

A new level? But I still had over seven hundred points to go… How much does each wraith give?

That's something I'll need to figure out later, when I get a moment to myself. For now, with a smile that makes Ronan glance at me curiously, I focus back on the present.

First things first: I stop maintaining the seed evolution spell. I've only spent two mana points. Meaning… it hasn't even been two minutes. The wolf, still towering in his full size, takes advantage of the moment to start digging into the ice.

"My lady, let us go," Ronan says as he starts walking across the lake. "You seem quite pleased. Have you gained a new ability or spell?"

"Oh, better. I leveled up. And since we're on the topic… that spell you used, the one that drains them—what exactly does it do?" I ask, curious, following close behind.

"It is a life drain. I also have an area-of-effect drain. And congratulations on the level."

"Thanks. But… life? You don't drain mana too? I thought I saw both energy flows being pulled."

He stops and turns to look at me.

"You can see energy flows?"

"Of course. Can't you?" I ask, surprised—especially by how intensely he's now studying me.

"Only darkness mana flows. And those of light. Nothing more."

"Oh. So… you don't see the flames around my arrows when I channel fire? Or the glow in my walls when I reinforce them with earth?"

"No. And, my lady, my drain is only of life. But you are right—it is odd that I did not feel depleted, as I should have if those wraiths had drained my mana. I believe it is possible my spell leveled up. Especially if you can see the flows and distinguish between them."

"Well, the colors were different," I reply, though now I'm starting to second-guess it myself.

Do others really not see auras the way I do? Ronan, at least—they must see him. Otherwise, I do not understand how so many students at the academy are so afraid of him.

I hear a bark. I think the wolf is calling us.

Although it was far too soft—lacking that avalanche-of-stones-in-a-mountain-throat kind of rumble—to be the shadow wolf's bark. I look ahead. It's the pup.

"I'm coming!" I shout in response, and immediately realize: What am I doing yelling in the middle of a dungeon?

Then again, with the chaos the wolf just unleashed, if there were any enemies still alive in the area, they probably ran for it.

I break into a run toward the pup, all the while thinking that people here can only see the energy flows of the element they're attuned to—and its opposite—and only depending on how high that affinity is.

The wolf pup is inside a hole several meters deep. It's vaguely circular in shape, maybe two meters in radius. At first, I look at the little wolf, who keeps jumping and barking nonstop. Then I look at the ice—or rather, what can now clearly be seen underneath it.

A dragon.

A goddamn bone dragon.

"Holy crap," I blurt out, eyes wide open.

The pup presses up against my legs and rears up on its hind legs to lean on me. Absentmindedly, I scoop him into my arms. He's in his normal size, so he's a bit heavy. He licks my cheek and stops barking.

I don't even notice. I'm too focused on the bones lying in that icy tomb. There's no flesh, no scales—just bones.

The skeleton isn't as massive as one might expect. It's taller than me, certainly, surpassing me by at least a full head. But it's not one of those enormous beasts from video games that darken the sky when they fly over a city. Yet I'm beholding something I only ever heard about in fairy tales as a little girl: a creature of immense power, imbued with magic and wisdom, and perhaps, malice. Or at least, that's how I always imagined them.

The elongated jaw with dagger-sharp teeth, the empty sockets where ancient eyes once gleamed, the curved claws still threatening despite the passage of time... all seem to whisper secrets to me from another age.

Ronan comes up beside me—I don't even turn to look. I hear his quiet footsteps stop. I hear him hold his breath… and then let it out all at once. I'd bet anything his face right now is something worth seeing. But I do not look. The dragon still holds all my attention.

"My lady, the divine beast wishes to gift me a dragon," he says, his voice tinged with awe and reverence.

I pull myself back into this world, back into what I know. In the otome game, there were no dragons. In class, they told us that during the wars against the demon lords, yes—dragons did exist. They were powerful and terrifying, both for their magic and their physical strength. But they only reproduced once or twice in their long centuries of life, each female laying one to three eggs. No one knows if they went extinct, left, or were banished. Similar creatures still remain—wyverns, various kinds of lizards—but not dragons.

That's why I can't stop staring.

"You treat the pup as if his will were that of his master," I finally say to Ronan.

I avoid using the word "god". All this taboo and prohibition—it's starting to rub off on me.

"My lady, it cannot be any other way. Would you mind if I call its soul back to this world and raise it?"

"Go ahead."

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