The Duke’s study was a cavernous room lined with towering bookshelves and heavy velvet drapes that blocked out the morning sun.
Duke Artois sat behind a massive desk of dark mahogany, his hands steepled in front of him. He possessed the same silver hair and sharp features as Elara, but his eyes were a cold, calculating silver, devoid of the manic obsession that burned in his daughter's.
"Take a seat," the Duke commanded.
Asher sat in one of the high-backed leather chairs opposite the desk. Elara immediately took the seat beside him. Without a word of hesitation, she reached across the armrest and intertwined her fingers with his.
To the Duke, this was the necessary physical contact required for their "mana resonance." To Asher, it was a shackle. He could feel her pulse beating against his, a constant, sickening reminder of the thousands of lives she had snuffed out to force her way into this timeline.
"The Imperial Magic Academy has finalized the paperwork," the Duke began, sliding a thick parchment across the desk. "Elara will enroll early, given her exceptional talent. And you, boy, will accompany her as her stabilizing proxy."
Asher looked down at the parchment. The words were written in standard imperial ink, but the edges of the paper faintly glowed with a golden magical hue. It was a Binding Contract.
"As a proxy, you will be granted the status of an honorary noble within the Academy walls," the Duke continued coldly. "Your tuition, your boarding, and all your expenses will be covered by the Duchy of Artois. In exchange, your life belongs to my daughter. You will not leave her side. You will not engage in any activities that jeopardize your ability to stabilize her mana overflow."
The Duke leaned forward, his silver eyes piercing Asher. "If you fail in this duty, or if you attempt to use the Artois name for your own greedy ambitions... the contract will shatter your mana core. Do you understand?"
Asher stared at the glowing parchment.
With the knowledge of a Grand Mage, he subtly extended his senses, analyzing the magical formula woven into the paper. It was a standard, high-tier subjugation spell. It was designed to punish betrayal.
But as Asher probed deeper, he noticed something else.
Beneath the standard golden magic of the Duke's contract, there was a faint, nearly invisible thread of crimson mana creeping through the parchment. It was Elara’s magic.
‘She tampered with the Duke’s contract,’ Asher realized, a chill running down his spine.
She hadn't just added a punishment for betrayal. She had altered the terms. The crimson thread was a soul-tether. If he signed this, he wouldn't just be bound to the Duchy of Artois; his life force would be directly linked to Elara's emotional state. If she felt he was slipping away, the contract would forcibly paralyze him.
He glanced at Elara out of the corner of his eye. She was watching him read, her violet eyes wide and innocent, but her thumb was drawing slow, mocking circles on the back of his hand.
Go ahead, her gaze seemed to say. Refuse it. Tell my father I tampered with his magic. Let us see who he believes.
She had him cornered perfectly. If he exposed her, she would drop the innocent act and likely slaughter everyone in the room to keep him. If he signed it, he was locking himself into her cage.
But Elara didn't know one crucial detail.
She didn't know that Asher had retained his Grand Mage knowledge. A physical contract, no matter how brilliantly forged, was still bound by the physical laws of the world. It was nothing compared to the absolute, cosmic laws of the Void. He could sign this piece of paper, pretend to be trapped, and secretly unravel the spell from the inside out once he gained access to the Academy's restricted archives.
"I understand, Your Grace," Asher said softly.
He reached out and picked up the enchanted quill. Without a single tremble in his hand, he signed his name at the bottom of the parchment: Asher.
The moment the ink dried, the golden and crimson magic flared, sinking into his skin and wrapping around his unformed mana core like a tight, warm chain.
Elara let out a soft, barely audible sigh of pure ecstasy. Her grip on his hand tightened so much it almost hurt.
"Excellent," the Duke nodded, pulling the contract back and sealing it with the Artois crest. "You depart for the Imperial Academy tomorrow morning. Do not disappoint me, boy."
"I will not, Father," Elara answered for him, her voice chiming with a sweet, daughterly devotion. "Asher is very loyal. He would never dream of leaving me."
As they stood up to leave the study, Elara tugged slightly on Asher's hand, forcing him to walk a half-step behind her—the exact, proper position for a proxy.
Asher stared at the back of her silver hair. The chain around his core pulsed with her heartbeat.
‘I will play the loyal dog,’ Asher promised himself, his gray eyes darkening into a cold, endless abyss. ‘I will let you drag me to the Academy. I will let you show me off. Because the moment you let me into that library, Elara... I will find the spell to cut your soul from mine. And then, I will watch you burn.’
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