The attendant held the scroll out again. "You need only place your blood on the top sigil. The scroll will do the rest."
Michael didn’t move immediately. His eyes lingered on the elf.
Then he asked, "What’s her name?"
The attendant hesitated. "Her original name was Lyra."
Michael gave a slow nod.
Then, without a word, he took a pin from his sleeve, pricked his thumb, and let a drop of blood fall onto the top sigil of the scroll.
The effect was immediate.
The scroll pulsed. The rune patterns surged to life, crawling like vines across its surface. A second set of runes—the ones below—flared next.
Lyra hissed softly as a sharp pain hit her chest. A faint glow appeared beneath her tattered top, centered just above her heart—a mark forming.
The contract had taken hold.
Michael felt a strange warmth at the edge of his soul, like something had clicked into place.
It wasn’t deep. It wasn’t mutual.
"It’s done," the attendant said, rolling up the now-silent scroll and handing it to Michael. "The contract is now active. She is yours."
Just as Michael tucked the contract scroll away, the staff member from earlier returned with a folded sheet and a courteous smile.
"Sir Mic Nor," she said, stepping forward. "Your total comes to 141,900 gold coins."
Michael nodded and handed over the bundle he’d readied—one hundred and forty-two golden papers, each worth a thousand gold coins.
"Balance is correct," she confirmed after a quick count. "Would you like your change returned, or should we mark it as a donation to the Auction Guild?"
A hundred gold coins. Not much by the scale of tonight’s bidding, but still...
"Also...sir....if you’re interested, we have a list of high-value items that didn’t make it to tonight’s stage. They’re available for private purchase. Would you like to take a look?"
Michael raised a brow.
Beside him, Arianne chuckled. "They always save a few things for those who still have some coin to burn."
Michael tapped his fingers on the armrest, then shrugged. "Sure. Let’s see what the backroom has to offer."
The staff froze for a moment at Michael’s words.
The one holding the remaining scroll hesitated. "Sir... by protocol, the restraints must remain until she is escorted out of the premises under your supervision. For safety."
Michael gave a calm nod, then gestured toward the magic chains. "They’re unnecessary now. She’s bound to me."
"She’s not a threat," Michael continued, his voice steady. "If anything goes wrong, the contract will handle it. And if she doesn’t, I will. Remove the bindings."
The staff shared a quick, silent look. One of them stepped forward, fingers brushing the glowing runes on the chain. With a swift series of gestures, the chains flickered... then unraveled with a soft hiss of fading magic.
The dark elf—Lyra—staggered slightly as the weight vanished. She straightened after a heartbeat, rolling her shoulders stiffly, her crimson eyes never leaving Michael’s face.
Michael’s eyes narrowed faintly. It was subtle—barely noticeable to an ordinary observer—but he felt it. The moment the chains fell, something in her shifted. Her presence grew denser. The way mana clung to her skin changed. Slightly sharper. Slightly stronger. Like a blade that had just tasted air again after too long in its sheath.
She wasn’t back to full strength.
But she was already recovering.
The staffer gave a small bow. "As you wish, sir. The restraints have been removed. She will follow your commands by contract now."
"Good," Michael said, waving his hand. "Now go fetch that list."
With a final nod, the staff exited—quiet and efficient.
The door closed once more, leaving the three of them in the softly lit private room.
Arianne leaned her chin on her palm. "You didn’t have to do that."
"I know," Michael replied. "But I wanted to."
Just as Arianne opened her mouth to respond, another knock came at the door.
Michael’s eyes flicked toward Lyra.
The dark elf blinked, seemingly surprised by the sudden command—but her body moved before her thoughts could catch up. The contract compelled obedience, but not with pain—yet.
She stepped forward, still barefoot, her lithe form quiet as a shadow as she pulled the door open.
Michael didn’t focus on the doorway immediately.
Instead, he closed his eyes and turned his senses inward.
The change was subtle... but real.
A thread of warmth pulsed gently at the edge of his soul. Like a thin, invisible tether that reached outward—connected to her.
His eyes snapped open, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
So it really was soul-linked.
It wasn’t a full bond—nothing like a pact of equals—but he could feel her existence now.
This means... that might be possible.
Michael’s heart skipped once. He tried to suppress the thought—but excitement flickered anyway.
Michael turned to face the open door.
Standing there was a man in servant robes, the crest of House Evermoon stitched in gold on his chest.
He bowed deeply. "Apologies for the intrusion. I come bearing a message from His Grace, Duke Evermoon, to Sir Mic Nor."
Michael’s brows rose slightly. "For me?"
The servant nodded. "Yes, Sir Mic Nor."
Arianne sat up straighter. "Father sent you?"
The servant said nothing more. Instead, he reached into his robes and withdrew an envelope.
Michael accepted it slowly.
He glanced once at Arianne, then broke the seal and unfolded the letter.
Just one line, written in the Duke’s steady, elegant hand.
"Get out. Take my daughter with you. Immediately."
No explanation. No signature.
Michael blinked once. Then again.
Arianne leaned closer. "What does it say?"
Michael didn’t answer right away.
Because the moment he finished reading—he felt it.
The warmth in the air cooled just slightly. Like a breeze slipping under a door before a storm.
His instincts screamed in warning.
Lyra stiffened. Her crimson eyes narrowed.
Arianne noticed too—though she didn’t yet understand. "Sir Mic?"
He folded the letter and stood up in one smooth motion.
"Time to go," he said calmly.