Atem breathed once, slow and steady. The dragon filled the cavern like a mountain of living thunder; the seal at Veldora's core thrummed in time with its breath. For a moment he tasted the weight of possibility—dangerous, bright, and wild.
He turned his face up toward the invisible thread that connected his mind to the Oracle. Quietly, with the calm of someone setting a hand on a chessboard, he said in his head, "Oracle of Eternity—prepare. I will attempt to collect Veldora's essence into my Spirit Deck. I will not free him now in body, only gather him into the Deck. Ready the process and tell me what I must do."
There was a pause — not of silence but of calculation — then the Oracle's voice slid into him, clear and plain. Her tone was steady, focused, and entirely without flourish.
<
For a long, quiet moment he and Veldora simply watched each other—the dragon coiled enormous and patient, the human small and steady.
There was a pause while the Oracle ran through a thousand calculations in a fraction of a second. When she answered, her voice came calm and plain inside his head, as she always did.
<
"Veldora," Atem said, steady and slow, "I may have a way to free you. I can gather your essence into my Deck, then—once we've weakened the seal enough—I can break it from the inside. It will take time and care. It will be dangerous. I won't do it without your consent. What do you say?"
For a heartbeat the dragon was utterly still. Then the cave shook with a laugh so big it rattled the crystals.
"You can do that?!" Veldora bellowed, eyes widening until they looked like little suns. Excitement bubbled up in his voice. "You really are special, little Pharaoh! Hahahaha—of course I agree! Do it, do it now! Put me in the box and take me for a walk!"
Atem kept his face calm. He had rehearsed nothing of what he would say; this was not training or a test—it was a decision. "I will not take you whole at once," he answered plainly. "I will absorb your spirit in stages, store it, and then work from the inside of the seal. You must understand: the transfers will drain me, and the seal may flare during the process. I need your promise that you'll consent to each step and that you'll not force me to rush."
Veldora's expression shifted from giddy to unexpectedly careful. He leaned his head down until his eye filled half the hollow, thoughtful and absurdly solemn for a moment.
"A promise," he repeated, almost tasting the word. "Yes. Promise. I'll not make you rush. I'll sing and keep you amused while you work. But—" He snapped his great jaw shut in mock-offense and then grinned. "Before you stuff me in your pocket, I should give you a gift. You saved me time and attention, little Pharaoh. It seems right."
Atem blinked. He was not surprised—Veldora had a generous, blunt sort of pride—but he let the dragon speak. Veldora's mind wandered a moment as if rummaging through treasure: thunderbolts, gusts, roars, scales. Then the idea that mattered arrived, bright and simple.
"I know what I'll give you," Veldora said at last, his voice shifting to something proud and almost gentle. "Since you already have a name—and I like the sound of it—when you absorb me I'll grant you full use of my essence. Not just a scrap or a memory, but permission to call upon the core of a true dragon. Use it as you need. Take it, grow with it, and when the time comes I'll roar with you."
Atem felt the words catch in his chest—both an offer and an oath. The cave seemed to hush, waiting.
A small voice, precise and calm, spoke in his mind then—the Oracle of Eternity, who had been his quiet partner since he arrived.
<
Atem let the Oracle's suggestion echo through him. The voice was succinct, practical, and not extravagant—exactly what he needed. He looked at Veldora: the way the dragon's chest rose and fell, the tiny sparks of lightning that crawled along his scales, the earnest tilt of a creature that had not known a friend in centuries.
He felt the weight of the choice: power gained by taking into himself a living storm, and the responsibility that came with holding that storm safe.
"A gift like that is not given lightly," Atem said at last, voice low. He allowed a small, sincere smile. "Very well, friend. I accept."
Veldora's reaction was immediate—a sound somewhere between a roar and a delighted bark. He thumped his tail so hard the hollow hummed. "Yes! Yes! I knew you were right! Hah—excellent! You won't regret it, little Pharaoh. I'll be the best boost anyone could ask for!"
Atem took a breath, feeling the Oracle already shifting gears inside his mind—calculations beginning. The promise Veldora offered would change the work ahead: the transfers would not only be about saving a storm but about folding that storm into Atem himself in a usable, coherent way.
"Tell me," Atem said quietly, grounding the moment in practical terms, "how do you grant it? What does it mean for me to have 'full usage' of your essence while you are…contained?"
Veldora's eyes softened with a dragon's kind of warmth. "It means I give you my blessing," he said simply. "When bits of me are in your Deck, you may call on the thunder in them—short bursts, long roars, heat of storm-blood. It will sing with your will. But remember—don't blow through it like a firework. Use it like a tool. You have to learn its voice. Promise you'll learn it."
Atem inclined his head, the gesture both answer and vow. "I will learn. I will not waste it."
Veldora barked a laugh and then, impulsively, breathed a small puff of warm wind across the floor—like a dragon's kiss of approval. "Good. Then we're agreed. Take me in stages, tell me what you feel, and share stories when you're tired. If you accept my essence, I accept your name. That is a pact."
Atem felt the Oracle's quiet satisfaction. <