The basket with the collar lay on Kaelan floor like a time ticking bomb.
Kaelan slamm the door shut.the sound rattling the cheap plaster, he stood rigid, of course he bring that in his room using his feet, staring at the offerings. His entire body was buzzing with combinations of sheer , white hot fury and the deep, unsettling thrill , that had shot through him when ignis had come so close . That annoyed him to the point of a physical ache.
" tsk! My pet!" Kaelan whispered to no one , the word dripping with absolute contempt. He shoved hand through his hair and felt his cat ears pinned so flat against his skull they look painful.
The audacity of the gesture was what truly incensed him. Not only was ignis acknowledged as a magical abomination , who curse Kaelan, and now ignis was romanticizing it.
Kaelan marched over the basket , his large tail swishing violently under his baggy sweatpants, he gave the collar an aggressive and disgusted glare , it was simply beautiful but the worse thing he'd ever seen .
He take a chair and sit down looking at the collar suspiciously then get up again.
He hated the collar. He hated Ignis. He hated his fluffy tail. He hated the way his damn ears kept twitching at every small noise outside the apartment, alerting him to the fact that his predator was right across the hall.
He stood there for a full two minutes, vibrating with pure enraged energy, before reaching down and snatching the collar out of the basket. He examined the small, crimson scale that had been woven into the leather band. It was the same one he'd found in the library, now cleaned and gleaming with an unnatural, jewel-like depth.
"A reminder of your keeper," Kaelan muttered, repeating Ignis's arrogant words in a mocking falsetto.
He knew he should throw the entire thing into the large bin immediately. He knew the scale was part of the problem. But something—an intensely stubborn fascination mixed with a deep, resentful need to understand his enemy—made him pause.
He carefully worked the polished crimson scale free from the collar, sliding it into the small, secret watch pocket of his jeans. It was just a clue, he told himself. A magical identifier, perhaps. Nothing more.
Then, with a final, cathartic grunt of livid disgust, he crumpled the leather collar in his fist and hurled it into the bin, burying it beneath a pile of old exam notes. He would find a way to break the curse using the scale. He had to.
A few hours later, Kaelan was huddled in the corner of his stained couch, staring blankly at the wall, the tension leaving him exhausted and weary.
Soon Marcus and tamsin arrived at his apartment/dorm . After their math class. Hue has passed.
Tamsin and Marcus were still there. Tamsin was pacing the small room, her silver-tipped fox tail lashing in a nervous, analytical rhythm. Marcus was leaning against the wall, watching her with the kind of intense, patient observation that often characterized their strange dynamic.
"He's a dragon," Tamsin finally stated, resting her hand on her hip. "The scale, the heat, the gold eyes, the ego—it's all textbook, ancient-blood magic. A king, likely. No Shifter could do this."
Kaelan pulled his knees tighter to his chest. "So I'm being tormented by a mythical lizard with a god complex. Fantastic. It's still a spell. We need to find the counter-spell."
"We can look through the archives," Marcus offered, pushing off the wall. "I know a few private collectors who deal in rare occult texts—they won't ask questions if cash is involved."
Marcus took a step toward Tamsin, intending to reassure her. As a Shifter, Tamsin's traits—her fox ears and tail—were real, but her personality was complicated. She was usually aggressive, fiercely independent, and, like Kaelan, had a deep, guarded aversion to physical touch, especially when she was stressed.
"Don't worry, Tam," Marcus said, reaching out to give her arm a quick, friendly squeeze.
Tamsin instantly flinched, pulling her arm back as if burned. Her fox ears flattened against her head, and her eyes narrowed, reflecting her immediate discomfort and indignant anger at the uninvited contact.
"Don't," she snapped, her voice sharp. "I said don't touch me, Marcus."
Marcus sighed, letting his hand drop. He was used to this. Tamsin's aversion wasn't a preference; it was a deeply ingrained, almost feral reaction.
"Sorry," he said, though a childish, aggravating grin touched his lips. He knew exactly how to wind her up. Instead of apologizing further, he did the opposite: he quickly, and deliberately, tapped the tip of her silver tail.
Tamsin shot him a look that promised a quick and brutal death. Her tail lashed violently.
"Marcus, you absolute infuriating child!" she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. "I swear, I will claw your eyes out."
"Yeah, yeah, the claws," Marcus replied dismissively, completely unflustered by the threat. "But seriously, calm down, Tamsin. I know you're stressed. It's just a tap." He knew she wouldn't hurt him—but he also knew that challenging her boundaries was his strange way of keeping her close, of proving he wasn't intimidated by her prickly nature.
Kaelan looked up from his misery, momentarily distracted by the familiar, strained dynamic of his friends.
"Could you two take your deeply complicated, borderline psychopathic flirting out of my room?" Kaelan asked, his voice dead flat with weariness. "I'm cursed. And I'm getting an outraged cat-tail response every time that psychopath across the hall breathes. I can't deal with your sexual tension right now."
Tamsin and Marcus both flushed, turning their mutual vexation on Kaelan.
"It's not flirting, it's a lack of respect for personal space!" Tamsin argued, her fox tail twitching in exasperation.
"She knows I'm kidding," Marcus shrugged, though he moved to lean on the opposite wall, giving Tamsin a generous five feet of distance.
Kaelan simply sighed, pulling his hood tighter. He was embarrassed and uneasy about the magic. Tamsin was annoyed about touch. Marcus was childish. And a Dragon King was playing a terrifying game of neighborly warfare across the hall.
He just wanted his normal, quiet, cynical life back ( is that too much to ask for?) . He ran his hand over the pocket containing the stolen crimson scale. It felt warm, radiating a faint, promising heat that contrasted sharply with the cold dread in his stomach.