Still, the books offered distractions.
He managed to wade through a few texts, his hands moving from page to page with practiced precision. Because when else would he have access to this kind of forbidden collection?
If anything, this was likely the closest anyone in their faculty had ever come to freely handling the texts of the dragon clan. Not that he’d be able to tell anyone about this, nor possibly invite someone over when there were such guardians around. In fact, maybe he’d dissuade the others from attempting to go in.
But despite learning other interesting things that would’ve made him coo any other day, the research for sigils wasn’t exactly going as well as expected.
There were countless types, which were interesting in themselves, but the methods were baffling.
Did dragons just come up with random designs, slap them on someone, and hope for results? The lack of consistency was both impressive and terrifying. And he wondered what kind of experiment they had done to see if any of them would work.
However, it wasn’t like he didn’t get to confirm anything.
If nothing else, one fact stood out: he was unusual.
An outlier.
Most accounts spoke of ceremonies, rituals, grand occasions where blood was given sparingly, carefully, with much fanfare. Dragons guarded their blood like treasure. Hardly any would risk it on mortals, and certainly not on someone like him, a human—weakest of the weak, mana-wise.
And yet, not only was it used on him, but he’d survived. Worse, he’d slept it off like a nap after a long day, while entire texts described near-death ordeals.
The contrast gnawed at him. When Kael inscribed that sigil, there had been no ritual, no grand ceremony. Just a few curt lines, as if the dragon lord had given him a receipt rather than a warning.
If anything, he’d been confused because Kael had used more words than usual. Which, honestly, was saying something. And stupidly, he’d thought that was enough.
But it wasn’t.
Still, the deeper he read, the clearer it became that Kael hadn’t lied. His explanations had matched these accounts almost word for word—except for the glaring omission. The one about how a human might not make it through.
Yeah. Annoying. Maddening even. But what could he do about it now? Complaints wouldn’t change his situation, given that it was already carved on his body.
He exhaled sharply, rubbing at his temple before dragging his eyes back to the pages. And that was when he noticed it. Something strange about the sigils.
Well, a different kind of strange.
Flipping through the next pile of books, a strange detail caught his eye. Sigils weren’t just sigils. In one of the books, he saw something called... rites?
"My Lord, why is it like this?" He raised two volumes in the air like damning evidence, only for the dragon lord to ignore him entirely.
"Kael, why is it like this?" he tried again, this time leaning harder against him as if proximity would force an answer when it was likely him making a fuss about honorifics again.
Golden eyes finally lowered from his own reading. The great lizard had, at last, deigned to address a mortal’s question. "The descriptions are the same. But here, they are called sigils. And there, they are called rites. They are essentially the same."
He blinked at him, unimpressed. "Then what’s the difference?"
"The recipients," Kael replied without hesitation. "Sigils are used to bind dragons to other races. Rites are for dragonkind alone."
"Oh. That’s... oddly neat." He squinted at one of the books in the pile.
"The inside is written in ancient draconic script, so there is really no need to waste your time on that one," Kael said simply.
Well, that explained it. They had references to work with. No wonder dragons could make up absurd sigils. But his eye caught on something far more alarming.
"Oh, wait. This other book alluded to it. Dissolution rites. If there’s something like that, then there should be similar methods for sigils, right?"
"Sure," Kael answered, tone so casual it almost felt like a prank. "It is mostly death."
His jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"
"It is because the body would lose the benefits suddenly. Like an illness that strikes all at once."
He stared, dumbfounded, trying to figure out if Kael was joking or dead serious. By the look on the golden menace’s face, unfortunately, it was the latter.
"There are temporary ones," Kael continued calmly. "Like conditional oaths. Those may be dissolved once conditions are met. But the rest... until death."
He gritted his teeth. "The rest? Like what?"
"Allegiance. Proofs. Mating rites."
It was as if the air stilled.
Their eyes locked, neither backing down. His throat dried as the weight of those words sank in. Mating rites. The golden lizard didn’t even flinch.
Kael, perhaps sensing the unspoken question hovering between them, leaned in ever so slightly. "It is only for those who performed the rites."
That knocked the air right out of him. His thoughts scrambled. For those who performed it?
Then... is he saying he never performed the actual rite? That’s why he’s still alive? So was there some sort of a situationship for dragons as well?
His expression must have betrayed too much because Kael’s lips pressed thin, his voice low. "Keep reading. We do not have time."
It should have ended there, but his eyes lingered a heartbeat too long, caught between disbelief and... something else. Something that made his pulse skip, his chest tighten, before he quickly snapped the book open again to hide it.
If only he had attempted to read that other book.
Entry: On the Rite of True Bonding
In elder days, when fire first clothed the world and wings darkened the heavens, it was told that two dragons, of one accord, might join in the Rite of Blood and Flame. In this exchange, life becometh shared life, strength shared strength, soul shared soul. To cleave thus is no passing vow, but a tether wrought eternal.
Marks of the Bond
Concord of Senses: What is felt by one may stir within the other—pain, delight, hunger, and rest alike.
Concord of Heart: Emotion floweth as a river between them, swift and unhidden. To rejoice, both rejoice. To grieve, both grieve.
Concord of Power: In extremity, one may grant unto the other a portion of their flame, so that two fight as one.
The closed pages glowed faintly, runes curling like living fire. If he had only seen it, maybe he would have realized just how deeply he was already tangled.
But then again, if it were just entanglements, there were those in much worse situations.