The Game's Extra: Azhriel Odyssey

What makes an animal special?

Is it the lion, king of the land, with its deafening roar and dominating presence?

Or perhaps it's the shark, the silent nightmare of the deep sea—gliding through water like a ghost, bringing terror with a single flick of its tail?

No matter how you see it, every beast, every creature in the wild carries something unique.

Their size.

Their teeth.

Their claws.

Their eyes.

Even their fur, their scales, or feathers—each trait gives them strength.

But beyond all that—beyond muscle and bone—there was something that tied them all together.

Instinct.

Pure, unfiltered instinct.

It was this inner sense that kept them alive, that told them when to flee and when to fight. And the beasts of Noarsis, no matter how magical or rare, were no exception.

In fact, their instincts were even sharper—honed by mana and ancient bloodlines.

These instincts didn't rely on reason. They didn't need logic. They simply whispered one truth: survive.

So when that instinct suddenly screamed

"Danger."

"Don't even move."

"Bow."

There was no room for pride or doubt.

Because it wasn't just a warning.

It was a verdict.

Cross the line, and you'll die.

Every summoned creature around the summoning grounds felt it. A deep, primal fear—so heavy and so suffocating that their knees gave out and their heads dipped without command.

To them, it was as if a great predator had just arrived. Something not born of forest or sky or flame—but something higher.

Not just a dragon.

A natural ruler.

A being of dominion.

Even the legendary familiars—the rarest of bonds—weren't unaffected.

Velkarth's ears twitched.

A small shiver ran down his back as he snapped out of his frozen state.

'Damn…' the golden wolf muttered in his mind.

'I—The Great Velkarth—felt fea—' He paused, tail twitching.

'…nervous just now?'

He turned to his brother, Enkarth. The dark wolf didn't say a word, but his silence spoke plenty. He too had felt it.

That creeping cold crawling down their spine. The kind of chill that came not from the air—but from being stared at by something you shouldn't challenge.

Zephyriah, nestled in Azhriel's arms, yawned softly.

A baby.

Yet every beast around her saw the truth that lay beneath those sleepy, innocent eyes.

She wasn't born to follow.

She was born to rule.

******

The sun had long dipped below the horizon by the time they returned to the academy. Night draped its dark blanket across the sky, stars peeking through in quiet approval.

The long day had finally ended—one filled with legends, rare beasts, and more than a few surprises.

Inside his dorm room, Azhriel sat on the edge of his bed, the lamp beside him casting a soft glow across the quiet room.

Zephyriah lay curled on his lap, her tiny body rising and falling with slow, peaceful breaths. Her snowy-white wings shimmered faintly, twitching every now and then as if she were dreaming.

Tiny sparks of wind and frost pulsed gently from her body—harmless now, but there was no doubt in Azhriel's mind that someday, it would be different.

In his hand, he held a strand of his own mana—icy blue in color, pure and steady.

Like a thread of silk, it extended from his palm and gently flowed into Zephyriah's head, where it was quietly absorbed.

This was a baby dragon.

No, something even more ancient than that. She needed mana to grow, to stabilize. And for now, she was completely dependent on him.

"Haha, you're quiet an heavy eater eh," he murmured, though his voice lacked any real annoyance. "I've never seen someone eat mana this fast."

"Kyuu," Zephyriah responded sleepily, shifting and nuzzling into his coat.

Azhriel sighed and leaned back slightly, resting against the wall behind his bed. His eyes wandered to the ceiling.

So much had happened in a single day. The event. The summoning. The wolves. The egg. Her.

And now this.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting his breathing settle. Feeding her didn't hurt—he had more than enough mana to spare. But it was mentally taxing after bonding today.

Still, he didn't complain.

Because Zephyriah, despite all her frightening potential, had been quiet… calm.

She hadn't made a single unreasonable demand, hadn't cried or snapped or thrown tantrums like most freshly bonded beasts.

She simply curled up close to him, eyes fluttering closed, trusting him entirely.

Even if Azhriel didn't say it out loud… that simple trust meant something.

He opened his eyes again and looked down at her, his hand gently resting on her small head.

Her scales were soft like snow.

"Zephyriah," he whispered the name again, letting it settle in his mind. It felt right.

The only response he got was a soft yawn.

Another breeze of frost and wind swept gently across the room—his mana reacting naturally with hers. It was like two notes harmonizing in perfect tune.

From beyond the dorm window, moonlight filtered in, casting silver patterns on the floor.

Azhriel narrowed his eyes, staring into the night.

That strange feeling he had during the bonding ceremony—when every beast had bowed and the air had frozen—still lingered somewhere in his mind. It hadn't been because of him.

It had been her.

Zephyriah.

She was still so young, yet everything in him screamed that this little creature in his arms was far more than anyone had ever imagined.

'How distinct.'

He blinked slowly, eyes returning to her sleeping face.

"…Don't worry," he murmured under his breath, as the flow of mana continued between them. "I won't let anyone harm you."

Outside, the wind howled faintly through the trees, but within his room, it remained warm and still—save for the soft pulse of two matching heartbeats.

And slowly, like a distant storm waiting far off the horizon, the future moved one step closer.

Carrying a danger even the Lord wasn't ready for.

*******

In a small, cold room hidden far away from the world, silence pressed down like a heavy blanket.

The only sound that filled the space was the soft, steady drip of water falling from a pipe above. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Suddenly, a pair of platinum-blonde eyes stirred awake.

A boy—no older than ten—woke with a jolt.

His head was still foggy from the effects of some kind of drug, but as his vision cleared, he quickly realized something was very wrong.

He tried to move, but his body wouldn't budge.

Strong ropes held him tightly against a wooden chair, wrapped so securely he couldn't even shift his arms or legs. Panic rose in his chest as he struggled.

'Where… am I?'

His heart pounded in his chest, the sound almost deafening in the stillness.

He let out a muffled sound, "Mmmfh!"—his mouth was gagged by a cloth, only letting through small whimpers of fear.

Eyes darting around the room, he tried to make sense of where he was, but the place was pitch black save for a dim, flickering light bulb above him.

Shadows danced on the damp walls, making everything feel more twisted, more terrifying.

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to think. He was smart. He couldn't break the ropes, fine—then he'd use mana.

Closing his eyes, he reached inward, searching for that familiar warmth, that power that always answered him.

But nothing came.

His eyes snapped open in shock. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

He looked down at the shackles around his ankles and wrists. They were dull and metallic, but unlike anything he'd seen before. His instincts screamed what they were.

Mana-sealing cuffs.

'No… I can't even use magic…?'

A wave of despair crashed over him. He had been kidnapped. That much was clear now. But by who? And when?

He tried to shift, to reach for the small necklace hanging around his neck—his emergency token, the one thing that might still help him—but the ropes were too tight.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't reach it.

Just then—

Bang!

The heavy metal door to the room burst open, slamming against the wall with a deafening noise.

The boy froze.

Heavy footsteps thudded against the floor, echoing through the dark room as two figures entered.

The first was a tall man with a strong build. His eyes were strange—pure black, without any white or iris, just endless darkness.

A long, jagged scar ran down one side of his face, starting from just above his eye and cutting all the way down to his jaw.

He looked cruel and calm, like someone who had seen too much and cared too little.

His hands were clasped together, fingers interlocked like he was praying, though the soft clinking of a black-beaded necklace suggested something darker.

As he walked, the beads shifted slowly, one rolling over another through his fingers.

"Szz##…" he whispered something under his breath, so quiet the tied-up boy couldn't make out the words.

But it wasn't the man that made the boy's eyes go wide with fear.

It was the thing behind him.

Something moved through the air like smoke, drifting slowly above the ground.

Its body wasn't solid—it was shaped like a person, but loose and ever-shifting, made of pure black mist.

It had no face, only glowing red eyes and a sharp presence that sent chills down the boy's spine.

This wasn't just some monster.

It was a Black Spirit.

The boy's heart skipped a beat. Even bound and gagged, he knew what that meant.

These beings—creatures of pure dark and hate—were known across the world.

Sworn enemies of Vampires and Elves.

And now one stood just a few feet away from him. Watching. Waiting.

The boy sat frozen, his body trembling—not just from fear, but from the chilling realization.

This wasn't an ordinary kidnapping.

Something far worse was happening.