The Game's Extra: Azhriel Odyssey

As both Raymond and Samuel finally formed their contracts, the overwhelming pressure that had been gripping the air slowly faded.

The golden and purple domes dissolved into particles of light, vanishing like mist under morning sun.

The clearing that had once held its breath—

Breathed again.

The students, some wide-eyed and others pale from the sheer tension, finally relaxed. Many of them hadn't even realized they'd been holding their breath until now.

The teachers, who had instinctively prepared for battle just moments ago, finally lowered their guards.

Zankeil released the grip on his staff and muttered, "Finally…"

Beside him, Neila let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. "Chaos, always chaos when these chosen ones gather."

Professor Luther wiped the sweat off his brow. "I thought we were going to have to fight two divine beasts at once…"

"Don't jinx it," Illiana warned with a small sigh, though her lips curved into a faint smile. "It's over now."

The thick weight of tension lifted from the air, and the forest clearing was quiet again—aside from the whisper of wind and the distant rustle of familiars still roaming.

The sky above returned to its usual warm golden hue, sunlight filtering down in soft rays through the branches of the colossal tree.

Raymond walked back slowly, Velkarth padding beside him, head held high.

On the other side, Samuel followed, the dark-furred wolf Enkarth calmly walking at his heel like a silent shadow.

The students parted for them as they passed, whispering with awe and disbelief.

"Did you see that?"

"They summoned those?!"

"They looked really powerful…"

"Well, what use of it now. When they form a contract their ranks are lowered to match that of their partners." A student said.

" Still, that doesn't mean, they also can't share their power."

Even the seniors, who had initially watched with smugness or quiet curiosity, now looked stunned. These first year's are not to mess with.

That was the thought the flowed in their minds.

Raymond gave a sheepish wave as he passed the other students who watched Velkarth with their eyes shining.

While Samuel just yawned. Enkarth also didn't showed much reaction unlike a certain wolf, who golden wolf who grinning like a mad dog, from the attention.

And from the side, Illiana glanced at her list and smiled faintly.

"One left," Illiana said, her voice clear but not harsh, eyes flicking to the boy who stood at the edge of the gathering.

Azhriel.

His name echoed lightly through the air, drawing quick and quiet attention from the students and professors alike. The last summoning was about to begin.

He stood calmly, not a twitch in his frame. Both his gloved hands were still tucked neatly into the pockets of his long coat. Yes, it wasn't mandatory to wear the academy uniform for the summoning grounds.

His face, as usual, remained unreadable—cool, distant, as if none of what happened today concerned him.

"Finally," Azhriel muttered under his breath, the word leaving his lips like a sigh.

To most watching, it sounded like a tired exhale—boredom, perhaps, or just impatience from waiting so long.

But for him, it was something else.

It was to calm the stir in his chest. Not fear. Not excitement. Just the quiet pressure of knowing what he was about to do… was far from normal.

With slow, steady steps, Azhriel walked toward the sacred circle.

Each step echoed faintly in the hushed clearing. The murmurs stopped. Even the birds seemed to pause their songs.

No one spoke. No one laughed. Not after what happened with Raymond and Samuel.

He stopped right at the edge of the glowing summoning circle.

The runes carved into the earth shimmered in anticipation, sensing his presence. They reacted—not violently, not brightly—but with a strange stillness. Like the air before a storm.

Azhriel took a quiet breath, his gloved fingers twitching once.

'This has to be done cleanly,' he thought. 'Precise and Controlled. If I mess up here…'

He didn't finish the thought. He simply raised his hand. The glove slid down, revealing his wrist as he placed his palm into the center of the circle.

A thread of ice-blue mana began to flow out from his palm. That's what looked like to everyone. However, the mana doesn't simply flowed from his hand.

No, it traced the symbol, that was etched in his palm, as the mana made it's way through that.

The magic circle responded instantly.

But not like the others.

No flames burst out. No winds swirled. No holy glow or dark mist filled the space.

Instead…

Silence.

Utter silence.

The runes didn't swirl or spark—they fractured.

Just slightly. Just for a second.

As if something too ancient, too heavy for this world was touching them.

A chill rolled over the field.

A real spine shivering one.

Like a devil had just whispered through the middle of spring.

Illiana's eyes widened. Zankeil's hand paused halfway through scratching his beard. Neila's smile faded.

And yet Azhriel remained still.

Unbothered or rather totally blank.

******

[Nullification Activated]

The world twisted.

For Azhriel, everything had shifted.

The realm around him warped into a blank canvas of white—an empty void where even sound seemed to be swallowed whole.

His feet stood on nothing, yet he remained grounded. The air was still.

Silent.

Then, with a pulse of unseen power, the whiteness dimmed into a pale blackish red. Something took shape before him.

A throne.

Vast. Towering.

Its presence sent chills crawling across his skin, not from fear—but from how powerful it felt. The throne wasn't made of stone, metal, or even magic.

It felt more like it was woven from bones and memory, flickering and shifting between states—sometimes molten, sometimes smoke, sometimes solid.

Upon it, a figure sat.

He could not see her face.

He could not see her body.

She was glitching—as though her very presence could not be rendered by this world.

Every time his eyes tried to focus on her, she changed—too many forms in one, too many truths overlapping.

And yet, even in her distorted shape, he felt the weight of her gaze.

"Human child… who are you?"

Her voice echoed through the realm like a song sung at the end of time.

Soft, curious, but layered. As if multiple versions of her were speaking at once, some gentle, others ancient, some hostile.

Azhriel didn't flinch. He stood upright, silent for a moment, his azure eyes meeting the blur that should have been her face.

"Well, no one of that much importantance," he replied calmly. "Just someone who is trying to find a loyal companion. "

The figure on the throne tilted her head. Her hair—if it could be called that—dripped like strands of reddish mist across her shoulders.

"You summoned me. That is not something just anyone could do," the Queen said, her voice calm yet curious. "Tell me… who are you?"

Azhriel looked up, unfazed. "Are you sure we have time for that? I'm pretty sure that guy up there will be annoyed just because of your presence here."

He casually pointed upward.

The Queen fell silent.

'He even knows about the Administrator… How curious,' she thought quietly to herself.

After a pause, she spoke again. "I suppose you're right, boy. Then tell me—why have you summoned me?"

"As I said before," Azhriel replied, voice steady, "I'm here to find a loyal companion."

The Queen studied him for a moment.

"You have the strongest potential I've ever seen in a human," she said slowly, "but even so… I cannot form a bond with you."

Azhriel's expression remained calm, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

"Is it because… @%&$@# was captured?"

The moment those words left his mouth—everything stilled.

Not just silence… but a heavy, cold stillness. Like the air itself froze.

The silence that followed his words was deep.

Not just quiet—but absolute. Even the soft pulse of mana around the space, the flickering static of the Queen's presence—all of it froze, like the very world held its breath.

Azhriel's voice lingered in the air, the name he spoke distorted, muffled by the world itself, like reality itself rejected it.

The Queen did not move. She did not speak.

But the atmosphere shifted.

The throne behind her cracked—just slightly.

The white void dimmed into a pale shadow of itself.

And a low hum, barely audible, began to spread through the realm like a distant warning siren.

Azhriel stood still, eyes locked on the Queen's flickering form. He knew he had said too much, but it had been necessary.

Finally, the Queen moved.

'I am sorry Cynthia, there's a chance I Amy have to kill him.'

The queen thought.

Her head lowered. Her hands clenched at her side—no longer glitching but stabilizing. She was using her own power to enter the world.

"You know about that?" Her voice was no longer light or curious.

It was sharp.

Heavy.

Dangerous.

Azhriel didn't flinch. "I wouldn't say I know everything. But I just know some good old little gossips. Right? Beasts Prophet Cynthia." Azhriel said turning his head towards the right.