Burnice woke up and started putting on her school uniform like usual. Today was going to be a big day. Most people at Aethercrest Academy called her by a different name: Burnice de Zero. It wasn't a title of respect—it was more like an insult. Unlike the other students, she couldn't use any of the four elemental magics. And every time she tried, it ended in disaster—huge explosions, every single time.
Aethercrest wasn't just any school. It was a school for nobles and commoners. In this world, there were only two types of people: aristocrats and plebeians.
The aristocrats were the elite. They wore the best clothes, ate the finest food, and used expensive things for even the simplest tasks. Their families held power, status, and influence—and they made the rules for everyone else. The plebeians? They were the servants, the ones who lived beneath them. At the very top of the system sat a small group of families so powerful that no one dared challenge them. They were known as The Zenith Order.
For Burnice, today mattered more than anything else. She couldn't afford to screw this up—not for her family, not for her pride, not for herself.
Today was the day all second-year students would summon their familiars—magical creatures that would become their lifelong partners and guardians. For nobles, this ritual was more than tradition. It was proof of status, talent, and potential. Some summoned fierce beasts. Others gained elegant creatures made of light or shadow. Everyone wanted a powerful familiar.
And Burnice? She wanted the strongest one of all.
The other students had already finished their summons. Some stood proudly next to their familiars. Others looked on with worry as Burnice stepped into the circle. Most of them took a step back—not out of respect, but out of caution. After all, when she tried to use magic, something always exploded.
One girl stood especially close: Elira, Burnice's classmate and rival. Elira never missed a chance to mock her.
"Try not to blow up the entire courtyard, Burnice de Zero," she said, smirking.
Burnice didn't respond. She simply raised her staff and focused.
The professor, Mr. Dren Halvik, stood at the side with the rest of the class. Everyone watched as Burnice began the summoning. A soft light appeared in the center of the ritual circle, and slowly, the portal started to open.
Then something strange happened.
A red light burst from the circle—deep, dark crimson. It shimmered, then turned black. The colors kept switching, red to black, then red again, like a heartbeat made of fire and shadow. The magic felt hot and cold at the same time. People couldn't tell whether to feel relief or terror. Whatever was coming... it didn't feel normal. It felt like it could save the world—or destroy it.
Then, with a single flash, a massive explosion lit up the courtyard.
In the forgotten depths of the Shadow Volcano, where magma pulsed like the blood of ancient beasts and the sky hung in a permanent twilight haze, a single crimson egg lay hidden among jagged obsidian rock. This was no ordinary egg—it throbbed with dark power, its surface streaked with glowing veins of shadow that pulsed like molten fire beneath a crust of dragon-scale.
Ancient runes, lost to time and man, shimmered faintly across the surface as magic stirred in the air.
A summoning had begun.
The earth rumbled. The sky split with a blood-red bolt. A vortex of fire and darkness spiraled down into the chamber, crashing upon the egg like fate itself had come calling. The shell cracked—then again. A metallic cry rang out, sharper than any bird, louder than any beast.
Then—boom—the egg exploded in a burst of ruby shards and black smoke.
From the haze crawled a dragon.
But not just any dragon.
A hatchling of shadow, plated in black steel-like scales, emerged. It was small, compact—but undeniably powerful. Glowing crimson eyes pierced the gloom with a predator's glare. With every breath, sparks leaked from its mouth. Its claws, tipped in silver, dug into the rock, and its stubby wings flared as if testing the weight of gravity.
Even as a newborn, the heat around it shimmered like the air above lava. This creature was born for fire, for battle—for greatness.
But it wouldn't stay small for long.
Drawn by the pull of its summoner's will—her desire, her frustration, her pride—the dragonling shrieked. A cyclone of black fire and shadow curled around its body. It lifted into the air, wrapped in a cocoon of living flame. Its shape twisted. Grew. Shifted.
The fire peeled away like old skin.
And when the inferno cleared, something new hovered in its place.
The dragon was still young, but no longer helpless. Its body had lengthened, sleeker and sharper, with ridges of obsidian running along its back like blades. Its wings had grown wide and bat-like, traced with crimson lightning veins. Its red eyes glowed brighter now—not with wonder, but with awareness.
This was no longer just a hatchling.
This was a predator in the making.
Its tail lashed behind it, a whip of smoke and flame. It opened its jaws and let out a low growl that rumbled like thunder beneath the earth. A jet of dark fire burst from its mouth—not ordinary flame, but shadow-touched embers that danced like cursed spirits, flames that clung to the air as if alive.
It had answered the call.
And its bond to Burnice was now sealed.
Back in the courtyard, silence had taken over.
Smoke curled from the massive scorch mark where the summoning circle used to be. A few students were flat on their backs, hair frizzed out like they had just stuck their fingers into a lightning socket. One kid was face-down in a bush, groaning softly.
Mr. Dren Halvik, the professor, stood perfectly still—eyebrow twitching, glasses cracked, one sleeve burned halfway up his arm.
"…Well," he coughed, "that was... unexpected."
From the center of the crater floated the dragon. It hovered with ease, wings flared, tail swaying lazily like it knew it was being watched. Its glowing red eyes scanned the crowd of stunned nobles like it was judging the menu at a buffet.
And then it did the unthinkable.
It snorted at them. Disrespectfully. Arrogantly. Like they were peasants in its presence.
A beat of silence passed, and then...
"WHAT IS THAT THING?!" one student shrieked, hiding behind her familiar, which immediately turned and tried to hide behind her.
"IS IT SUPPOSED TO LOOK LIKE THAT?!" yelled another, pointing at the dragon's glowing obsidian ridges and smoke-wrapped tail. "MY FAMILIAR IS A RABBIT WITH ANTLERS!!"
Elira, Burnice's longtime rival, stood frozen with her mouth hanging open. She stared at the dragon, then at Burnice, then at the crater, then at the dragon again.
"…Nope. Nope nope nope," she muttered. "That's cheating. She cheated. She summoned an end boss."
Burnice, still a little dazed herself, stood in the middle of it all with her staff in hand, hair gently swaying from the explosion shockwave. Her eyes slowly moved from the crater to her floating dragon, then to the rest of the crowd.
"…Is that mine?" she asked out loud, blinking.
The dragon turned to look at her. For a moment, the whole courtyard held its breath.
Then the creature let out a low, rumbling purr, gently floated toward her, and booped its snout against her forehead like a cat greeting its human.
Everyone screamed.
One boy in the back fainted. Mr. Halvik sighed and reached for a health potion from his coat, only to realize it had been incinerated in the blast. "Of course."
Elira pointed, her face red with frustration. "This isn't fair! She always blows things up! Why does she get the cool one?!"
Burnice looked at her dragon, then back at Elira.
"…Maybe it likes explosions."
The dragon roared once—not a scary roar, more of a "yeah, that tracks" kind of roar—and the class nearly lost it again.
From that moment on, one thing was clear: Burnice de Zero had just flipped the academy's social ladder upside down.
And her familiar? Well, it wasn't a rabbit with antlers.
It was a flying, armor-plated, shadow-breathing problem.
Despite the flaming crater, the stunned silence, and the literal black dragon hovering over the courtyard like a final boss waiting for a cutscene to end…
Some students just couldn't accept what they were seeing. "This has to be a joke," muttered one noble boy near the back. "Burnice? Burnice de Zero? The girl who blew up the library trying to light a candle?"
"I heard she once tried to heat her tea with magic and melted the table."
"She failed her elemental theory exam by setting her scroll on fire with her tears!"
Elira—still fuming—crossed her arms and scoffed. "There's no way she summoned that thing. She probably triggered a pre-existing rupture in the dimensional grid or something. There's got to be some error. That is NOT her familiar."
The black dragon slowly turned its head.
Its crimson eyes locked on Elira. And a soft crackling noise followed.
Sparks danced along its wings. Purple lightning.
"Oh no," someone whispered.
The dragon opened its jaws. A low hum filled the air, the kind of hum that usually happens right before something explodes in a magical disaster movie. Then—FWOOOSH!—a jet of purple fire launched out, arcing high before landing near Elira's feet.
It didn't burn like a normal fire. It stuck. It hissed. The ground sizzled and turned dark. The smell of toasted pride filled the air.
Elira shrieked and leapt back behind a stone pillar.
"HE JUST TRIED TO FLAME-BROIL ME!!"
"Holy crap, it's intelligent!!" someone yelled.
Another student blinked. "I think it understood sarcasm!"
Professor Halvik rubbed his temples. "I need a vacation."
Burnice stood awkwardly, watching her new familiar twitch its wings and flick its tail like a smug little storm cloud. The purple lightning danced harmlessly around her, almost like the dragon was... protecting her.
A noble girl in the crowd finally broke the tension. "...Okay, what if—hear me out—what if she's not actually a Zero?"
That idea dropped like a thunderclap.
The rest of the class looked around at each other. Some mouths hung open. Some nobles turned pale.
One boy near the front fell to his knees.
"All hail the Flame Queen…"
"Don't start with that," Burnice mumbled, waving him off, but she was already sweating.
She hadn't meant to summon this thing. She didn't even know how she did it. But now she had a magical dragon with purple fire and mood lightning glaring down at the aristocrats like they owed him money.
And for the first time in her life, no one was laughing at her.
Not out loud, anyway.
As the last of the purple flames fizzled out, the dragon slowly floated down beside Burnice. Sparks of black lightning still danced across his obsidian scales, and the air shimmered with static heat. His glowing red eyes met hers.
Suddenly—PING!
A golden ripple flashed in the air before Burnice. A status screen materialized, shining like a floating crystal panel in front of her.
Her eyes narrowed.
"...What the hell is this?"
Lines of glowing text scrolled down.
Students leaned in. Elira crept out from behind the scorched pillar.
—[Familiar Binding: COMPLETE]—
—[Initiating Familiar Synchronization: SUCCESSFUL]—
And then…
Familiar Name: YAMIREL
Species: Black Dragon (Mythic-Class)
Rank: ??? → Potential: DRAGON GOD
Bloodline: DIVINE BLOOD
Technique: Mythical Beast Amber (Locked)
-STAR RAGE (Locked)
Telepathic Sync: ACTIVE
Stage: Toddler [Growth Potential: ∞]
Burnice blinked. "...Wait. WHAT?!"
The screen flickered once more before Yamirel's voice echoed inside her head, smooth and calm like thunder wrapped in velvet.
"So… you're the one who called me."
Her jaw dropped slightly. "Did… did you just talk inside my brain?!"
Yamirel's glowing eyes pulsed slightly. "Yes. We are bound. And your head is very loud, by the way. You should organize your thoughts better."
"YEAH, WELL, EXCUSE ME, I JUST BLEW UP THE GROUND SUMMONING A WALKING DEATH LASER."
Some students backed up again. Mr. Halvik fainted this time.
Elira stood behind her fairy queen—who floated politely in the air like an elegant garden lamp—and stared, mouth open. "A-A Dragon God...? H-H-He's supposed to be a legend! That's not fair! I summoned the Fairy Queen of the Verdant Glade! She has a crown and everything!"
The fairy queen gently twirled in the air, waved, and whispered, "Blessings be upon you…"
Yamirel stared at her. His eyes glowed brighter.
Then—BOOM—his wings flexed wide, sending a thunderclap across the courtyard. Purple lightning snapped between his horns.
"CUTE," he said with absolutely no expression. "DOES SHE BREATHE PLASMA?"
Elira's eye twitched. "...She... She can photosynthesize."
Burnice couldn't help it. She snorted. Hard. And then burst out laughing.
"HAH—Oh my GOD. I summoned a Dragon God with a death stare and Wi-Fi, and you got a flower girl."
"SHE'S A QUEEN!!"
Burnice wiped a tear from her eye and glanced back at the status screen.
"...Dragon God... Yamirel… huh. So you're not even at full power yet?"
Yamirel's voice returned to her mind, low and amused.
"Not even close. I was born a god... but that doesn't mean I get to skip the work."
"Same goes for you, doesn't it?"
Her face went still for a moment.
Then, she gave a grin—a slow, dangerous, Burnice-style grin.
"...You've got a hell of a mouth for a toddler."
"You've got a hell of a mana circuit for a human."
They stood there, staring at each other—dragon and summoner—until Yamirel huffed, the smoke trailing out in lazy spirals of lightning and heat.
"We'll train. We'll grow. And we'll tear this system apart."
Burnice turned back to the stunned students, her hair slightly frizzed, clothes charred at the edges, and a literal god-tier dragon floating beside her.
She cracked her knuckles.
"Alright. Who's next?"
Headmaster's Office — Aethercrest Academy
The walls of the Headmaster's Office were lined with glowing tomes, enchanted plaques, and ancient portraits that watched everything with disapproving frowns. The air smelled faintly of burning incense, singed paper, and… was that ozone?
Headmaster Veris Faulkorn, a tall, silver-robed man with a beard braided in gold rings, sat behind a massive desk carved from enchanted driftwood. His hands were folded neatly in front of him. His expression was calm.
A little too calm.
Across from him sat Mr. Dren Halvik, looking... less composed.
His coat was tattered, half of his mustache had been burnt off, and he was still brushing ash out of his sleeves. A small puff of smoke came out every time he moved.
He coughed once.
The headmaster finally spoke. "Mr. Halvik… would you care to explain why there is a Dragon God hatchling roosting on the second-year dorm roof?"
Dren slowly pinched the bridge of his nose. "…I would very much like to know that myself."
"I was told it began as a familiar summoning."
"Yes. Technically, it did."
"By a student labeled as magically unstable."
"Yes again."
"Who has a record of property damage, exploding chalk, and once turned the potions lab into a soup kitchen by accident."
"She thought the catalyst powder was onion mix."
Faulkorn leaned back in his chair. "So let me confirm. Burnice de Zero—who, until this morning, could barely cast a basic heating spell without rupturing a ceiling—summoned Yamirel, a mythic-class Black Dragon carrying the bloodline of the Dragon Gods, capable of telepathic speech, elemental destruction, and hypothetical apocalyptic growth?"
Mr. Halvik raised a trembling finger. "Sir, not only did she summon him—he likes her. He literally spat purple fire at a noble student for talking trash."
Faulkorn's eyes narrowed.
"…Elira?"
"She's fine. Singed. Dramatic. Her fairy queen is currently giving her emotional support and tea."
The headmaster closed his eyes for a moment. The magical portraits behind him muttered among themselves. One of them—a cranky-looking elf—said, "Burn her! It's the only way to be sure."
Another shushed him.
After a long pause, Faulkorn finally opened a drawer and pulled out a dusty binder labeled "Extreme Magical Anomalies – Do Not Touch (Seriously)".
He flipped it open. The pages glowed ominously.
"Well," he muttered. "It seems we have a situation."
Mr. Halvik raised an eyebrow. "Should we… quarantine the dragon? Call the Zenith Order? Run?"
Faulkorn shook his head slowly.
"No, Mr. Halvik. That girl didn't just summon a dragon—she bonded with it. And that bond goes both ways. Removing him would destabilize her mana permanently. And based on preliminary resonance scans…" He tapped a glowing orb on the desk. It showed a swirling pulse between Burnice and Yamirel, glowing bright red.
"…their magical signatures are already syncing. Perfect compatibility."
Dren groaned and slumped in his seat. "…So we're keeping the Dragon God?"
Faulkorn closed the binder.
"We're watching him. And her. Very carefully."
Mr. Halvik rubbed his temples. "And if something goes wrong?"
The headmaster leaned forward, fingers steepled.
"Then we pray Yamirel never learns how to roar properly… and that Burnice doesn't ever get curious about what happens if she teaches him to cook."
A loud, echoing BOOM sounded outside the window.
Smoke rose from the dorm tower.
Mr. Halvik didn't move. "...Was that an explosion?"
The headmaster didn't blink. "That was the kitchen. And yes."
Mr. Halvik slowly stood.
"…I'm going on medical leave."
Faulkorn gave him a polite nod. "Approved."
The kitchen was already a war zone.
Pots were clattering, oil was hissing, and the fire alarm had been magically disabled—again—after it tried to vaporize itself in self-defense.
Burnice stood proudly in front of the stove, wearing an apron that read "DON'T TALK TO ME, I'M IN A COMBAT ZONE". Her black-and-red skirt swayed as she moved with purpose, a wooden spoon in one hand, and a suspiciously bubbling red sauce in the other.
Her red scarf fluttered behind her like a cape of determination.
Yamirel hovered just outside the danger zone, his obsidian tail coiled around a chair leg. His eyes glowed faintly.
"You're burning it again."
"I'm simmering it."
"It smells like rage and regret."
Burnice narrowed her red eyes behind her bold, angular sunglasses, which sat low on her nose as she squinted into the pot. Her black-and-red ponytail twitched like it wanted to slap something.
"I followed the recipe this time, okay? This is Grandma's Explosive Stew. It's supposed to look like lava."
Yamirel floated closer, wings flaring. He poked the sauce with his claw.
It hissed. The spoon dissolved.
"…Hmm."
"That was Steelwood."
"Yeah, I might've misread a rune or two."
He sighed through his nostrils, which released twin streams of smoke. His body flickered with golden static as he hovered over the counter. He stared at the ingredients. Then, without a word…
He started cooking.
And not just cooking. He transcended it.
His claws moved with precise grace. A bolt of electricity sliced a tomato in half. A magnetic pulse pulled the spices into perfect alignment. He superheated a pan with a soft exhale and flash-seared diced meat with zero smoke.
Even his tail stirred the soup pot at the exact rotational speed.
Burnice stood there, stunned, sunglasses sliding slowly down her nose.
"…What the hell are you doing?"
"Correcting fate."
"I didn't know you could cook!"
"I didn't either. But I analyzed your taste memory when we linked. You like red bean beef stew with soft potatoes and a hint of sweet spice. So I'm making that."
Her mouth parted slightly.
"...That's freaky. And kind of awesome."
"Thank you. I require a chef's hat now."
He placed the bowl on the table gently—like a sacred artifact—and garnished it with a sprig of shimmering crimson herb, cut by lightning.
Burnice stared at it. Then at him. Then back at the stew.
Slowly, she sat.
Took a bite.
Eyes widened. And she froze.
"…Oh. My. GOD."
"Too spicy?"
"NO, IT'S PERFECT! IT'S—IT'S LIKE A HUG FROM MY CHILDHOOD BUT IN FLAVOR FORM."
Yamirel raised an eyebrow.
"I also fried you dessert. It's a honey-cherry stuffed rice cake."
"YOU'RE A GODDAMN DRAGON-GOD MICHELIN CHEF."
"That's a strange title. I'll accept it."
She kept eating, tears literally forming in the corner of her eyes from joy. She wiped them quickly and muttered under her breath.
"…I'm never letting anyone else cook for me ever again."
Just outside the kitchen, two other students watched in horror and awe through a cracked door.
"...Did he cook with lightning?"
"She was gonna explode the stove, and he made cuisine that heals trauma."
Inside, Yamirel turned to Burnice.
"So... tomorrow we try pastries?"
"HECK YEAH. But I'm mixing the batter."
"I will stand by with the extinguisher."
Burnice took another bite of the stew, eyes glazed in bliss.
"This is so stupidly good," she mumbled through a full mouth. "I feel like I could cry, fight a war, and fall in love simultaneously."
Yamirel floated beside her, tail coiled neatly around the chair leg, calmly watching her eat like a restaurant critic. His obsidian scales flickered softly with content amber pulses.
Then—
—PING!—
A golden light shimmered in front of Burnice's face. Her spoon froze halfway to her mouth.
"…Huh?"
A familiar status screen appeared, glowing like a floating crystal tablet, dripping with arcane text and slight sass.
[Bond Progress: Stable]
[Emotional Resonance Detected: Domestic Harmony]
[Nutritional Fulfillment: MAXIMUM]
— NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED —
Yamirel has gained: [TELEKINESIS]
"Because sometimes, a dragon god deserves to stir the pot without moving."
Burnice blinked behind her sunglasses.
"…Did he just level up because I fed him?"
Yamirel's red eyes flickered as he stared at the screen, unbothered.
"Technically, I fed you."
"I was emotionally fulfilled, okay?!"
She jabbed her chopsticks in the air at the screen. "And domestic harmony? What does that even—?!"
Yamirel calmly lifted a nearby teacup with his mind, levitating it in a soft swirl of amber lightning.
Burnice stopped mid-rant.
"...Okay, that's hot."
"It's also telekinesis. I can now manipulate objects, energy currents, magnetic fields, and apparently... your plate."
He lazily floated her bowl closer just as she reached for it.
She squinted suspiciously. "You're gonna mess with me so much now, huh?"
"Absolutely."
Just then, her spoon lifted gently from her hand and began spinning slowly in the soup.
She deadpanned.
"Stop that."
"I'm training my control."
"You're showing off."
"Same thing."
She looked back at the glowing status screen, mouth still full of five-star dragon stew, and muttered under her breath.
"…I swear, if you unlock wine pairing knowledge next, I'm quitting magic and opening a restaurant."
The screen gently flickered once more:
[Potential Culinary Path Detected]
[Unlock Requirement: 3 More Bonded Meals]
She slammed her forehead against the table.
"OH NO."
Outside the door, the two spying students stared blankly.
"...He's evolving through snacks."
"And emotional support."
Just as Burnice was still trying to process the fact that the Yamiel cooking unlocked the psychic powers of this smug bastard
Yamirel's eyes slowly drifted toward the door.
He paused. His expression flattened.
Burnice noticed the change immediately."…What?"
His tail stopped flicking. The air chilled.
"We are being watched."
From the crack in the dorm door, two silhouettes were barely visible—students who clearly had the brilliant idea to spy on a girl eating dinner with her ancient magic dragon partner.
Big mistake.
Yamirel's pupils narrowed to vertical slits, like daggers made of crimson frost.
The air shifted.
A low rumble echoed—deep and ancient, like something stirring beneath a mountain. His aura flared, rippling like wildfire before hardening into something much colder.
A phantom illusion shimmered behind him—a three-headed dragon, blacker than night, eyes glowing like dying stars, wings stretched out and curling along the dorm walls, claws scraping through the air like razors against bone.
The three heads growled in unison—one snarling, one hissing, one grinning with a mouth full of fangs.
The spies froze.
One, a red-haired guy who thought this would be "hilarious," immediately pissed himself.
The other, a tall girl with a faux-noble attitude, clamped both hands over her mouth to keep from screaming.
Yamirel stared directly at them. Not a word. Just that look.That "You have three seconds before you're ash" look.
They bolted.
No hesitation.Sprinting.One of them tripped and fell. Got up and kept going. The door wasn't even fully open—it broke off the hinges as they ran screaming down the hallway.
Burnice blinked slowly, spoon still in her mouth.
"…Did you just manifest a three-headed terror dragon spirit because someone was eavesdropping?"
"I don't appreciate being watched during meal bonding time."
"…You just gave a freshman trauma-induced bowel failure."
"He's lucky I'm merciful."
She casually sipped her soup again. "You're totally the worst best friend ever."
"Thank you."
The door creaked sadly on its broken hinge as magical silence settled in again.
The Next Morning – Familiar Bonding Class
The academy's marble halls were far too polished for how muddy Burnice's thoughts felt. She walked stiffly, boots echoing across the enchanted floor tiles as crystal chandeliers floated lazily above her. It was supposed to be a new day—a fresh start.
Instead, her dorm door was still barely hanging on its hinges thanks to last night's eavesdropping incident.
Three-headed dragon spirit terror, she thought, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Merciful my ass.
Yamirel had slithered into her shadow after dinner—literally melted into it like ink—murmuring something about rest and digestion. His voice was calm, almost smug, before he disappeared: 'Wake me when the lesser beings get interesting again.'
He's one day old. ONE.
Now, trudging through the ornate double doors into her Magic Familiar Bonding class, Burnice braced herself.
A blizzard of sound greeted her. Laughter, spell sparks, gossip, magical beasts barking, growling, or shrieking—typical. Her classmates, nobles all, were either sitting pretty or parading their flashy familiars like runway accessories.
At the front of the room stood Professor Amaranth—tall, severe, her silver hair tied in a brutal twist that could cut through steel, long violet robes whispering with magical enchantments. Her sharp amethyst eyes flicked toward Burnice for a split second—softening ever so slightly—before returning to the lesson board covered in floating sigils.
Burnice kept her head down and made for the back of the class, dodging a flirty fire elemental, a flirtier air spirit, and someone's literal swarm of pixies.
She dropped into her usual seat.
And here they come.
Elira, the self-declared princess of posture and perfume, tossed her curls over her shoulder as she breezed past. She barely spared Burnice a glance."Didn't know they let the help attend class."
Burnice gave her a slow blink.
Elira's familiar—a glowing Fairy Queen with dragonfly wings and a judgmental pout—hovered behind her like an aura of smug. The fairy was currently braiding her own hair with glittering vines.
Next came the entourage:
Himiko, Elira's cousin, with crimson lips and a neckline low enough to cause nosebleeds. Her familiar was a shimmering serpent that curled around her wrist like jewelry, eyes always searching for the next unfortunate male victim. She sneered. "You smell like last night's failure."
Tilly, the caffeinated chaos gremlin, nearly tackled Burnice by accident, chasing her squeaking mini-dragon, who was roughly the size of a loaf of bread and had the lungs of a trumpet."Sorry!! Sorry!! He saw a bug that might've been a ghost that might've been a dust mote, BUT WHO KNOWS?!"
Arlo, the self-proclaimed ladies' man, waggled his eyebrows at Himiko and winked at Professor Amaranth—who ignored him so hard the air itself turned cold.
The popular couple, Cece and Lyndon, were already posing mid-spell for the floating class mirror, feeding each other magical fruit that glowed in their hearts.
The goth tomboy, Kuroka, sauntered in last—black tunic, combat boots, and eyes lined with magical eyeliner. She bumped fists with Burnice as she plopped into the seat beside her."You look like shit."Burnice shrugged. "Didn't sleep. Dragon in my shadow."Kuroka grinned. "Hell yeah. You're living the dream."
The class president, Elias, was already arguing with Professor Amaranth over spell regulation protocols, as his familiar—a literal clockwork owl—screamed "Rules are order!" every ten seconds.
Professor Amaranth finally raised her hand, and the noise cut like a knife. She stepped forward.
"Today," she said, voice calm yet absolute, "you will strengthen your bond with your familiars. Magic is not just strength—it is intimacy. Understanding. Resonance."
She turned, and with a flick of her fingers, summoned glowing orbs that floated to each student.
"Place your hand on the orb. Your familiar will emerge if your bond is true."
Oh boy.
Burnice touched hers.
Nothing happened for a full second.
Then—
The floor beneath her darkened.
A deep black mass began to bubble up from the stone, crawling outward like spilled ink, defying gravity. The temperature dropped sharply, the hairs on everyone's arms rising in instinctual terror. The light in the room dimmed—not from the windows or the lanterns, but as if something ancient was swallowing the radiance itself.
The shadow rose—formless at first, swirling violently, then solidifying into a crouched figure of shadow and aura. Its outline shimmered with purple, otherworldly energy, coiling and twisting like living smoke. Glowing red eyes blinked into existence—too many of them—embedded within the flowing mass of Yamiel's semi-corporeal form. His body stretched unnaturally as his wings unfolded slowly, dragging darkness behind them. His slit pupils blinked once. Twice.
Silence.
All familiars in the room turned toward him. Then, as if commanded by instinct, they backed away.
Even the fairy queen hissed and vanished into Elira's hair.
Yamirel simply sat beside Burnice's desk, tail curling protectively around her chair. His claws clicked once against the stone.
"Continue," he said coolly.
Burnice blinked. "That wasn't dramatic at all."
Kuroka's jaw dropped. "Holy shit."
Elira looked furious.
Professor Amaranth adjusted her collar, entirely unfazed."Miss Burnice, I expect your report on high-tier familiar evolution by next week."
"…He's a day old."
"Yes. So you'll have plenty to write about."
The students stared—some in awe, others in outright fear.
Elira leaned back in her chair, a smug smile playing on her lips. Her fairy queen hovered just above her shoulder, fluttering its delicate wings with an air of superiority.
"So, the infamous Burnice de Zero finally revealed her so-called familiar," Elira said quietly, her tone dripping with condescension. "A black dragon, no less. Figures she'd have something extraordinary after all."
She let out a faint, sarcastic chuckle, her red eyes flashing.
"I was there when she made that… disaster of a summoning. The whole courtyard nearly burned down. Honestly, I expected a magma monster or a lava golem — not some shiny death machine with an attitude problem."
Behind her, Himiko scoffed, her serpent familiar coiling possessively around her wrist.
"Must be nice to have an overpowered pet while the rest of us settle for fairies and pixies."
Not everyone shared their disbelief.
Kuroka, Burnice's best friend, leaned forward with wide eyes, clearly impressed.
"Damn. That thing's no joke. And it's loyal to you. That counts for something."
Some classmates who hadn't been in the courtyard during the summoning whispered among themselves.
"Wait, Burnice actually summoned a dragon?" one murmured nervously.
"Yeah, and not just any dragon," another replied, voice hushed. "A Black Dragon. That's like legendary bloodline stuff."
Tilly, still buzzing with energy from her mini-dragon's constant squeaks, bounced in her seat.
"Is it scary? Does it breathe fire? Can it do magic? I wanna see it shoot lightning bolts!"
Burnice kept her gaze steady on Yamirel, who flicked his tail lazily.
"He's a work in progress," she said quietly. "Just like me."
Elira rolled her eyes dramatically.
"Work in progress? Please. Everyone here knows Burnice's reputation. If she can't even control basic mana without blowing up half the academy, what chance does she have with a 'legendary' familiar?"
A few students shifted uncomfortably, sensing the tension.
Professor Amaranth cleared her throat sharply, breaking the murmurs.
"This class is about growth, both in magic and in spirit. Remember, your bond with your familiar reflects your own strength and resolve."
She fixed Burnice with a pointed look.
"Miss de Zero, I expect you to channel that strength well. This familiar may be your greatest asset—or your biggest challenge."
Yamirel's eyes flickered toward the professor briefly, then back to Burnice, as if agreeing.
Elira scoffed one last time before turning her attention back to her own familiar.
"Just try not to burn down the school, alright?"
Burnice shot her a sharp glare but said nothing.
From the back of the room, Kuroka whispered,
"Don't listen to her. You've got something no one else does."
Burnice's lips twitched into a faint, determined smile.
Maybe today wasn't so bad after all.
As Burnice sat at her desk, she still felt the weight of every pair of eyes in the room. Yamiel coiled his tail around the leg of her chair, curling in the shadows beneath her seat like a living pool of black steel and crimson embers.
Suddenly, her head gave the faintest jolt.
'Burnice.'
Her eyes flicked down to the floor, lips tightening. Oh no…
'Burnice, answer me.'
She pressed a hand against her temple. You don't have to yell inside my head.
'I'm not yelling, I'm projecting with dominance.'
You sound like you're shouting in a cave full of tin pots.
Yamiel's glowing crimson eyes peered up at her from under the desk, his gaze as sharp as ever—yet in her mind, his voice had that oddly petulant tone of a hatchling trying to sound regal.
'That elf girl with the wings? She keeps looking at me like I'm "dinner". Should I eat her first?'
No! Burnice's fingers clenched around her quill. You're not eating anyone in the classroom!
'Fine. The squeaky one then? The one that turns red every time she looks at me. She smells like sugar and chaos.'
Tilly?! She's harmless—don't even think about it!
There was a pause. Then, faintly, 'But she called me 'cute.' I am not cute. I am terror incarnate.'
Burnice glanced toward him, barely holding back a smirk. You're also one day old.
'Yes, but my egg was older than your entire family line.'
Her quill slipped and blotted the parchment as she stifled a laugh. Kuroka noticed, leaning over with a curious look.
"You okay?"
Burnice coughed, covering her mouth. "Fine. Totally fine."
Under the desk, Yamiel's tail thumped once against the floor. 'I demand meat after class.'
'You're getting cafeteria stew.'
'That is not meat. That is an insult in a bowl.' Burnice bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to snort in the middle of Professor Amaranth's lecture.
Burnice had been fighting to keep her eyes open through Professor Amaranth's monotone lecture on mana flow theory, her quill scratching half-hearted doodles of exploding teapots in the margins of her notes. The classroom smelled faintly of chalk and burnt incense—a lingering reminder of last week's magical mishap, which she may or may not have caused.
Professor Amaranth paused mid-sentence, pushing her spectacles higher up her nose before suddenly declaring,
"Change of plans, class. We're going dungeon diving."
The room went dead silent for half a heartbeat before exploding into chatter.
"Whoever retrieves the rarest item," the professor added, "will receive the highest possible grade for the entire month."
Gasps, cheers, and even one overdramatic swoon filled the air. For the nobles in class, this was a chance to flaunt expensive gear and family-trained skill. For Burnice, it was… well, an opportunity to blow something up in a cave instead of the classroom.
"Dungeon diving?" she muttered under her breath, a grin creeping onto her face. Yamirel, the dragon spirit bound to her, stirred in the back of her mind.
"Finally, something worth my attention," the dragon rumbled. "Don't hold back this time."
Burnice tapped her quill against the desk, already picturing herself wading through some dark, ancient ruin. Of course, she wasn't naive—dangerous creatures, unpredictable magic, and possible student sabotage were practically guaranteed. But the idea of finding a rare item, outshining the stuck-up nobles, and maybe earning a month of good grades? That was too tempting to pass up.
The professor clapped her hands sharply.
"Gear up. We leave in an hour."
Burnice's grin widened. "Well," she whispered, "time to make history… or at least an impressive crater."
Burnice fumbled with the straps on her leather satchel, muttering under her breath as she stuffed in a spare mana potion. "Why is it that every time we go somewhere, I feel like we're either going to get killed or arrested?"
Kuroka snorted, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. She wore her dark armor jacket half-zipped, a chipped black pendant bouncing against her collarbone. "Because with you, both are always possible." Her smirk widened. "And honestly, I'm kind of looking forward to it."
"Glad you are," Burnice muttered, giving up on buckling the last strap. "I just hope this dungeon doesn't blow up… again."
Kuroka pushed off the wall and adjusted the scabbard at her hip. "Relax, Burny. This time, you've got me. If anything explodes, I'll make sure it happens to the other team first."
The rest of their classmates were already heading toward the looming stone archway at the edge of campus, where Professor Amaranth stood beside a swirling portal shimmering in shades of gold and green. Her voice carried over the chatter.
"Remember, students: rare items equal higher grades. Safety is secondary—knowledge is priority!"
Burnice whispered to Kuroka, "Did she just say safety is secondary?"
"Yup," Kuroka replied without missing a beat, stepping through the portal first. "Come on, scaredy-dragon."
The instant Burnice followed, the world shifted—air heavy and damp, the scent of moss and stone surrounding them. Dim blue crystals glowed faintly from the walls, illuminating the long hallway stretching into the shadows ahead. The distant sound of dripping water echoed like a heartbeat.
Burnice tightened her grip on her staff. "Well," she said softly, "first steps into the dungeon."
Kuroka grinned over her shoulder, eyes glinting in the faint light. "Let's make them count."
end chapter