Chapter 7 – Contract
the sun was already sinking, its orange glow slanting through the temple windows. The living quarters were quieter than the courtyard, its corridors lined with sliding doors, each marked with a carved sun symbol.
Ranmaru strolled ahead, pipe between his lips, looking entirely too relaxed for someone guiding three rookies. "Alright. This wing is where you'll be staying. No fighting, no smoking indoors—" He cut a glance at Gran, "—and absolutely no screaming past midnight. The walls are thinner than your excuses."
He stopped at a row of rooms. "Gran, this one's yours. Next door, Aven. And beside that—Priscilla."
Aven froze mid-step, eyes widening. "…Wait. You're telling me I have to live sandwiched between Death-Boy and Miss Ice Queen?"
Priscilla's brow twitched. "Don't call me that."
Gran exhaled a puff of smoke, deadpan. "Relax. I don't bite."
"Yeah, but you reek," Aven shot back, pinching his nose dramatically. "If secondhand smoke kills me in my sleep, I'll sue your corpse."
Gran smirked. "If I'm dead, you'll be too. Save yourself the paperwork."
Priscilla sighed, muttering under her breath. "Why me, of all people…"
Meanwhile, Alya peeked at the room assigned to her—right beside Priscilla's. She smiled, though her tone carried a teasing lilt. "Well, at least I'm safe on this side. I'll let you two handle the circus between you."
Aven spun toward her. "Hey! You think I'm the problem here? He's the walking ashtray!"
Gran blew a smoke ring in his face without comment.
Aven coughed and staggered back. "See?! Assault! Witnesses, please!"
Priscilla pinched the bridge of her nose. "I can't believe this is my new life…"
Ranmaru chuckled, finally breaking the bickering with a clap of his hands. "Good, good. You're bonding already." His grin widened mischievously. "Perfect timing to tell you the last detail: you four are officially one team."
The hall went silent.
"…What?" Priscilla's voice dropped dangerously low. "Absolutely not. I am a senior member. I refuse to be chained to these—these children."
Gran shrugged. "Fine by me. Less work if she does everything."
Aven's jaw dropped. "Oi, don't volunteer her! I'm not babysitting you smoke-addicts either!"
Alya only sighed, resigned. "Figures. This Society has a twisted sense of humor."
Ranmaru puffed his pipe, clearly enjoying the chaos. "Orders from the top. You're stuck with each other, whether you like it or not."
All four voices rose at once, echoing down the hall:
"NOOOOO!!!"
Night had fallen over the temple grounds, and silence seeped into every corridor like mist curling through ancient stone. Aven's room was modest, but not without its charm. A futon mattress sat low against the wooden floor, its sheets slightly crumpled as though he had already tossed about in frustration. A single lantern swayed gently on a hook near the window, painting the walls in gold and shadow. A desk cluttered with ink, half-burnt candles, and scraps of parchment stood to the side, while a rack by the door held a plain robe and boots.
And in the center of the room, propped upright like an uninvited guest, stood the battered sword—Sephiroth. Its dull, wrapped blade reflected no light, no warmth, only a cold indifference that seemed to mock him.
Aven sat cross-legged on the bed, glaring daggers at the weapon. His hands were balled into fists, his face twisted between irritation and exhaustion.
"Hey, you stupid sword," he snapped, voice cracking like a whip. "Why didn't you help me during the cup fight? Huh? Why didn't you use that shockwave thing?! What's the point of carrying you if you just sit there like—like—like a rusty walking stick?! Answer me, damn it!"
His voice climbed higher with each word until he was practically screaming. "Why?! WHY?! You useless piece of junk!!"
He kicked the floor, nearly toppling the lantern.
In the room next door, Priscilla lay sprawled elegantly on her bed, her long hair fanned like a black veil across the pillow. She pressed a hand to her forehead, face blank with resignation.
"…I knew it," she muttered flatly, shoving a pillow against her ears. "The idiot's going to keep me up all night."
Meanwhile, Gran's room was a battlefield of its own—his ashtray overflowing, faint smoke curling against the ceiling. He rubbed his temples, eyes twitching from the noise next door.
"What the hell is wrong with that bastard now?" he growled, exhaling in annoyance. "If he's not screaming, he's snoring like a damn bull.
Alya, in contrast, was perched by her desk, legs folded on the chair as she leaned over a thick, leather-bound book. A pair of headphones cushioned her ears, and yet—Aven's shouting still leaked through the walls like an unwanted radio broadcast. She sighed, pulling one side of the headphone off.
"…What was that noise?" she whispered, blinking. Then she shrugged, slipped the earpiece back on, and hugged the book closer. "Forget it. My book loves me more than he does."
Back in Aven's room.
The air shifted.
The sword gave a low hum, deep as thunder crawling over the horizon.
Finally, Sephiroth spoke. Its voice was heavy, ancient, vibrating in Aven's chest like the echo of a cathedral bell.
"kid," it rumbled, "do you think my power comes freely? No. To wield me, you must form a contract. And the terms… are not so easily borne by a brat like you."
Aven's eyes lit with defiance. He jabbed a finger at the sword. "Fine! Then let's do it. Faster's better, right? I'm ready."
The blade's voice darkened, like iron grinding against stone.
"Arrogant boy… To bind with me is to swear your existence to a greater task. You must dedicate your life to sealing the Seven Sins. And once you do, every Bounder from both realms will hunt you down without end. Tell me… Are you willing to take that risk??"
The words cut through Aven's bravado. For a moment, he was silent. A flicker of memory passed—his father's silhouette, tall and unyielding, standing against shadows. That familiar back he had always chased but never reached.
His fists trembled. Then, slowly, he slid off the bed and knelt before the sword, bowing until his forehead touched the floor.
"I'm ready," Aven said softly, his voice steady this time. "I'll take it. Whatever the price, I'll carry it."
The sword vibrated, then rose into the air. Its bindings unraveled like serpents slipping away, revealing a faint, sinister glow beneath. The air turned sharp, drawing in his breath, his blood.
From his scalp, his palms, his chest, his very feet—thin streams of crimson light were pulled into the weapon.
Aven screamed, his body convulsing. "AAARGH!"
A shockwave exploded outward. Lantern glass shattered. The futon was shredded. Smoke filled the room, curling into the hallway.
Gran burst through the door with a loud crack, eyes wide. "Aven! What the hell—?!"
Priscilla trailed behind, her usual composure rattled. She covered her nose and squinted through the haze. "What… what is happening in here?"
The smoke began to settle.
And there, standing in the middle of the wreckage, was Aven. His clothes were torn, ash smeared across his skin, but in his hand gleamed a weapon no longer broken, no longer pitiful.
Sephiroth had transformed into a monstrous greatsword, its blade thick and curved like a fang carved from night itself. Dark flames seemed to pulse through the engraved veins of its metal. The guard twisted into the snarling visage of a dragon, ruby eyes glowing with menace. White bandages trailed loosely from the hilt like ghostly banners.
Aven turned, grinning wildly despite the blood still dripping from his nose.
"Finally!" he shouted, throwing both fists in the air. "I've done it! I've made the contract! YES SIRRRR!"
Priscilla's jaw dropped. "W-wait—That's Sephiroth… the legendary blade?!"
"Of course it is." Aven puffed his chest out, waving the sword dangerously close to Gran's head. "And I'm its chosen master now! The one and only!"
Gran narrowed his eyes. "So it's true. Mr. Allain really left behind this cursed thing… Hmph. Honestly, I thought he'd tossed it in a river."
Elsewhere in the temple, the elders felt the ripple of power.
Ranmaru puffed from his long pipe, smirking through the haze. "So that broken toy really was Sephiroth, eh? Hah! I thought it was a training stick."
Kazuki's lips curved faintly. "The kid… He might just be the future of the Order."
Matteo Volta's expression hardened, cold as steel. "I underestimated him."
Xie Yufan only smiled quietly, eyes glimmering with pride.
And in her room, Alya turned a page, her face serene as ever.
"…Figures," she murmured, unmoved. "Screaming again."
She leaned back, burying her nose in her book as though nothing in the world had changed.