The morning sunlight felt heavy, oppressive somehow, as Nathan made his way through the stone-lined corridors of the administrative wing. He’d barely slept, haunted by fragments of whispered warnings and silver reflections that melted into restless dreams. He tried to focus on his surroundings instead: the gentle buzz of conversation drifting from classrooms, the distant rustle of parchment and hushed whispers, and the cool air tinged with subtle hints of stone and ink.

  Ahead of him stood the grand oak doors leading to the professors’ private chamber—a place students were only summoned to under serious circumstances. Nathan hesitated briefly, steadying himself before pushing them open gently.

  Inside, the professors sat waiting around a crescent-shaped table, quietly watching as he entered. Professor Caelinn sat at the center, her expression welcoming yet serious. Professor Varis watched closely, his fingers folded neatly, eyes bright with interest. Professor Brannock, as always, wore a stern, critical expression, clearly skeptical.

  “Nathan,” Professor Caelinn greeted him kindly, gesturing to the single chair facing them. “Please sit.”

  Nathan obeyed quietly, his stomach knotting tighter with each passing second. He knew exactly why he’d been summoned. The Celestial Dragon had followed him persistently around the campus, visible proof of something extraordinary—and dangerous—about him. Its shimmering form, woven from stars and mystery, had become an undeniable presence, a silent companion that refused to leave his side.

  “Do you know why we called you here?” Caelinn asked softly, studying him with gentle concern.

  Nathan nodded hesitantly. “The dragon.”

  Brannock leaned forward sharply. “Precisely. You summoned a creature that does not exist in any of our archives. We’ve searched thoroughly, and no records match its description. What exactly have you done?”

  Nathan shook his head quickly, frustration bubbling up. “I don’t know! It just appeared. I didn’t mean to summon it. I didn’t cast any spell intentionally.”

  Varis raised his hand gently, calming the tension. “Nathan, we’re not accusing you. We’re simply seeking to understand. The creature seems deeply bonded to you—yet it refuses any attempt at communication with us. Have you heard it speak or received any communication?”

  Nathan hesitated, remembering the gentle presence he sometimes felt from it—a quiet pressure of companionship and understanding. “Not exactly speaking. But sometimes I feel like it understands me. It feels… protective.”

  Brannock frowned skeptically. “Feelings are unreliable. A creature of such power doesn’t simply choose a companion without reason. There must be something more you’re not telling us.”

  Nathan clenched his fists beneath the table, frustration tightening his voice. “I’m telling you everything. I don’t even know what it is or why it chose me. All I know is it hasn’t harmed anyone, and it seems to want to help me.”

  Caelinn studied him gently. “We believe you, Nathan. But this creature’s nature must be understood clearly. For everyone’s safety—including yours.”

  Varis leaned forward, voice calm and reassuring. “For now, you’ll need to remain closely supervised. The dragon is permitted to remain at your side—but under our observation. Should anything unusual happen, report it immediately. Understood?”

  Nathan nodded slowly, swallowing his frustration. “Yes.”

  Caelinn stood, gently dismissing him. “You may go. Be careful, Nathan. We want only your safety.”

  Nathan rose stiffly, bowing slightly before turning away, feeling the weight of their gazes as he exited.

  Outside the hall, Nathan found Lissandre waiting anxiously, her expression instantly sympathetic. “How’d it go?”

  He shrugged helplessly. “They still don’t understand what it is. Neither do I, honestly.”

  Lissandre gave him a supportive squeeze on the arm. “They’re just scared because they’ve never seen anything like it. Give it time.”

  Nathan smiled faintly, grateful for her calm support. But his attention was drawn upward to the gentle ripples of the dragon shifting subtly on the walls. The dragon perched silently above them, curled gracefully around one of the high arches, its golden eyes quietly watching Nathan, full of gentle awareness.

  “It really likes you,” Lissandre said softly, gazing up in awe. “No one else has a companion like this. You’re special.”

  Nathan shook his head slightly. “I don’t feel special. I just feel… confused.”

  Lissandre gently nudged him forward. “Come on. Krit is waiting outside. Let’s go.”

  Outside, the courtyard was filled with students lingering in clusters, clearly curious about Nathan’s unusual companion. Whispers and subtle glances followed him closely, some filled with awe, others wary, uncertain.

  Krit stood quietly beneath a tree, eyes carefully watching Nathan’s approach, their gaze calm but wary. They looked upward briefly toward the dragon, then back at Nathan, thoughtful.

  “Still no name?” Krit asked quietly, nodding upward.

  Nathan shook his head softly. “Nothing yet. It hasn’t spoken—just watched.”

  Krit’s expression softened slightly. “Perhaps it has nothing to say yet. Silence is not always emptiness.”

  Nathan smiled faintly, comforted by Krit’s quiet certainty. “Thanks, Krit.”

  Krit nodded once, gently. “You’re welcome.”

  That evening, as Nathan sat quietly in his room, the Celestial Dragon rested silently on the balcony, stars shimmering faintly along its elegant form. Nathan watched it carefully, studying each intricate thread of shimmering silver, trying desperately to understand.

  “Do you have a name?” Nathan whispered softly, uncertain.

  The dragon lifted its head slightly, golden eyes meeting Nathan’s with gentle patience. It didn’t speak or communicate clearly, but Nathan felt a quiet awareness brush gently against his mind—a feeling of reassurance, companionship, and gentle strength.

  He exhaled softly, feeling some tension release. “I wish you could explain who you are. Or why you chose me.”

  The dragon shifted slightly, lowering its head onto its shimmering paws, eyes still quietly focused on Nathan, patient and serene.

  Nathan leaned back against his pillow, letting the quiet comfort wash gently through him. He still didn’t understand—not yet—but he felt instinctively he was safe, that the creature meant no harm, that perhaps it was as uncertain as he was, quietly waiting for clarity.

  For now, that had to be enough.

  Deep within sleep that night, Nathan drifted gently into dreams filled with soft Noctisolar and peaceful quiet. But slowly, the quiet began shifting subtly, threads of something else weaving gently through the silence—a feeling, not clear yet, but unmistakably meaningful.

  He stood silently within the dream, staring upward into an endless, star-filled sky. Beside him, the dragon stood quietly, its form glowing softly, ethereal threads dancing gently around them.

  “What are you?” Nathan asked again, softly.

  This time, something gentle brushed his mind—not words exactly, but emotions that resonated deeply:

  Warmth.

  Trust.

  Patience.

  And something else—softer, subtler, yet clear:

  A warning.

  Nathan’s heart quickened slightly. “A warning? Of what?”

  The dragon looked upward again, shifting quietly. And within the dream, a single, distant echo whispered softly, familiar yet unsettlingly new:

  “You are not ready. But soon, you must be.”

  Nathan woke abruptly, pulse racing, chest tight.

  Outside, the dragon still rested calmly beneath the stars, its gentle eyes watching patiently, silently.

  Nathan took a deep breath, feeling the lingering echo of the warning settle softly within him.

  He still didn’t fully understand, but he knew one thing with certainty now: Whatever lay ahead, the dragon had chosen him for a reason.

  And soon, he’d discover why.

  Nathan awoke early, the soft hues of dawn filtering gently through the curtains. He sat up slowly, his thoughts immediately drawn to the balcony where the Celestial Dragon remained curled silently, scales shimmering faintly with a fading glow. It watched him steadily, eyes calm and unwavering, as if it had waited patiently for him to wake.

  “You didn’t move all night,” Nathan murmured quietly, stepping carefully onto the balcony, the cool morning air prickling against his skin. “Do you even sleep?”

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  The dragon tilted its head slightly, the golden gaze steady and thoughtful, though it made no sound. Yet Nathan felt the soft weight of understanding pressing gently between them—no words, but a sense of patient observation, warmth, and subtle reassurance.

  From behind him, a gentle rustle sounded. Nathan turned to find Lissandre leaning against the doorframe, wrapped snugly in a blanket, eyes half-closed and sleepy. She smiled faintly, gazing at the dragon in quiet awe.

  “You two look cozy,” she teased gently, stepping forward. “Had any deep conversations yet?”

  Nathan shook his head, smiling weakly. “It doesn’t talk. At least, not with words.”

  Lissandre reached out carefully, brushing fingertips softly against the dragon’s shimmering scales. It allowed her touch, watching calmly, completely at ease.

  “Maybe words are overrated,” Lissandre murmured softly, drawing back slowly. “It clearly understands you.”

  Nathan exhaled gently. “I wish I understood it.”

  She squeezed his shoulder gently, voice reassuring. “You will. Some things take time.”

  The dragon shifted quietly, rising smoothly to its feet, wings stretching gracefully as it rippled softly across its elegant body. It leapt gently onto the balcony railing, glancing back expectantly at Nathan.

  Nathan’s pulse quickened slightly. “I think it wants me to follow.”

  Lissandre grinned warmly. “Then go. I’ll see you later.”

  Nathan nodded, taking a deep breath before stepping closer to the dragon. It lowered itself slightly, allowing him to climb carefully onto its back, warmth radiating gently through his fingertips where they touched its scales. Before he could reconsider, it spread its wings wide, leaping effortlessly into the morning sky.

  The flight was quiet and breathtaking. Beneath them, the academy stretched wide, its towers rising gracefully into the morning mist. Nathan clung tightly at first, heart racing—but soon relaxed, feeling secure on the dragon’s warm, shimmering back. Wind brushed gently past, carrying with it the faint scent of morning dew and distant gardens.

  The dragon descended gently into the central courtyard, landing smoothly on the smooth stone. Around them, students paused mid-step, expressions flickering between awe and apprehension. Nathan climbed off slowly, pulse still racing, keenly aware of the attention focused on him.

  From across the courtyard, Professor Varis approached swiftly, eyes bright with fascination and cautious interest. He stopped at a respectful distance, studying the dragon intently before glancing toward Nathan.

  “Fascinating,” Varis murmured softly. “It seems entirely peaceful—but its magic signature remains unfamiliar. Has it communicated with you yet?”

  Nathan hesitated. “Not exactly. It’s more like feelings.”

  Varis nodded thoughtfully, stepping cautiously closer. “Empathic communication isn’t unheard of among powerful companions, though usually more limited. That yours is entirely silent yet clearly intelligent… it’s remarkable.”

  Around them, whispers rose quietly, students murmuring nervously amongst themselves. Nathan caught glimpses of Krit and Lissandre standing nearby, quietly observing, expressions gentle and supportive. Roremand watched carefully from a distance, his expression inscrutable but deeply thoughtful.

  Varis raised his voice clearly, addressing the gathered students. “Let me make something clear. Nathan’s companion is unusual, but it has given us no cause for alarm. You are to treat it respectfully, and above all, give Nathan space as he explores this connection. Understood?”

  Students nodded silently, exchanging wary but intrigued glances. The whispers faded gradually into quiet respect, curiosity tempered by authority.

  Satisfied, Varis turned gently back to Nathan. “Keep exploring this bond carefully, Nathan. It may yet reveal itself in surprising ways.”

  Nathan nodded, grateful yet still uncertain. “Thank you, Professor.”

  Varis gave a slight nod, then withdrew slowly, leaving Nathan alone once again beneath the gentle morning sun, the dragon patiently at his side.

  As the courtyard slowly emptied, Krit and Lissandre approached cautiously, both studying the dragon with quiet awe.

  “I think it likes the attention,” Krit observed softly, a faint smile tugging at their lips.

  Nathan smiled weakly. “It’s not exactly subtle.”

  Lissandre laughed quietly, eyes bright with gentle amusement. “Neither are you lately. You two suit each other.”

  Nathan rolled his eyes gently but smiled warmly, the tension in his chest easing slightly. He glanced again toward Roremand, still lingering quietly at the courtyard’s edge. Their eyes met briefly, something subtle passing silently between them—curiosity, perhaps, mixed with cautious respect. Roremand inclined his head slightly before turning away, leaving Nathan thoughtful.

  Later that evening, after another day filled with subtle glances, whispered rumors, and careful attempts at normalcy, Nathan sat quietly on a bench at the edge of the gardens, the dragon curled gently beside him. The sky was growing dark, stars emerging slowly from the velvet darkness above, their faint light reflecting gently off the dragon’s scales.

  “I still don’t know what to call you,” Nathan murmured softly, gazing thoughtfully at the calm creature. “It feels strange not having a name for something this important.”

  The dragon turned its gentle gaze toward him, silently studying his face as though considering carefully. Then, slowly, it lifted its head upward, gazing quietly at the stars above, a soft rumble echoing gently from deep within its chest—not words, not exactly, but a feeling, an emotion resonating clearly through Nathan’s chest:

  Noctisolar.

  Nathan exhaled softly, feeling the quiet certainty within him. “Noctisolar,” he repeated softly. “That suits you perfectly.”

  The dragon—Noctisolar—turned its head toward him again, eyes warm and calm, the gentle hum of contentment resonating softly around them both.

  Nathan smiled faintly, feeling a quiet peace settle gently through him. For the first time since the creature appeared, he felt certainty—not that he fully understood, not yet—but that whatever lay ahead, they would face it together.

  And beneath that quiet certainty, he felt something else—subtle yet unmistakable:

  The echo of a warning remained, quietly woven through the calmness. He still wasn’t ready. But with Noctisolar beside him, patient and protective, he felt he might soon understand exactly why.

  Days flowed gently into weeks, and Nathan slowly became accustomed to the presence of Noctisolar. The Celestial Dragon was a constant, comforting shadow—ever-present, ever-patient. Though it never communicated through words, Nathan quickly grew familiar with the subtle nuances of its presence: the gentle shifts of Noctisolar rippling through its scales when pleased, the quiet rustle of its wings when restless, the soft hum that resonated through the air when Nathan’s emotions were heightened.

  They quickly developed a quiet routine. Each morning, Nathan woke early, spending quiet moments with Noctisolar on the balcony, sharing silence and contemplation before classes began. The dragon followed him throughout the day, sometimes soaring gently above, sometimes simply walking alongside him. Students grew gradually used to their presence—though whispers and curious glances never fully disappeared.

  Nathan felt increasingly comfortable at the academy, yet a lingering sense of uncertainty remained. Professor Varis’s private lessons continued daily, carefully guiding Nathan to greater discipline over his magic, yet his affinity still reacted powerfully and unpredictably, especially in moments of heightened emotion. Varis often watched the dragon thoughtfully, clearly aware of the deepening bond between Nathan and the mysterious creature, though he rarely pressed Nathan for details.

  One afternoon, after class, Nathan sat quietly beneath a sprawling oak tree at the edge of the training grounds, sketching runes in the soft dirt with his finger. He found himself increasingly drawn to solitude—not because he disliked the company of his friends, but because he found it easier to process his thoughts alone, away from curious eyes and quiet whispers.

  The dragon lay curled gently beside him, eyes half-closed in quiet contentment. Occasionally, its tail would twitch softly, brushing gently against Nathan’s hand, offering quiet reassurance.

  A soft rustle nearby made Nathan look up sharply. Roremand stood quietly several steps away, watching with cautious curiosity. Nathan sat up straighter, instinctively wary.

  Roremand’s gaze flicked briefly to the dragon, then back to Nathan, expression unreadable. “Am I interrupting?”

  Nathan shook his head, voice quiet. “Not really. Just thinking.”

  Roremand hesitated, then carefully stepped closer. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a creature so loyal. Even standard companions aren’t usually this attached.”

  Nathan glanced at Noctisolar, who watched Roremand calmly, eyes quietly thoughtful. “We bonded instantly, somehow. It just felt natural.”

  Roremand studied Nathan carefully, clearly choosing his words. “You’re lucky. Most students struggle to connect deeply with their companions, especially at first. Yours seems entirely devoted.”

  Nathan hesitated, considering the quiet seriousness in Roremand’s voice. “I don’t know why it chose me. Sometimes I wonder if it was a mistake.”

  Roremand shook his head slowly, eyes steady. “Creatures this powerful don’t make mistakes. They choose carefully. It clearly sees something in you, Nathan.”

  Nathan’s throat tightened slightly, uncertain how to respond. “I just wish I understood what.”

  Roremand’s expression softened subtly, eyes gentle yet guarded. “Maybe it’s less about understanding, and more about trust. Perhaps it’s here because you need it—even if you don’t know why yet.”

  Nathan exhaled softly, feeling a quiet comfort in Roremand’s calm certainty. “Maybe.”

  Roremand lingered quietly, watching Nathan carefully. Finally, he spoke quietly again, voice gentle but firm. “Listen, Nathan—be careful. Not everyone sees your bond as reassuring. Some students fear your dragon. Others envy it. Either way, that makes you a target.”

  Nathan’s chest tightened slightly. “I don’t want to be feared.”

  Roremand nodded slowly. “Then show them you’re more than the magic you wield. Be careful—but don’t hide. Show them your bond is a strength, not a threat.”

  Nathan’s gaze lifted slowly, meeting Roremand’s eyes, pulse quickening softly. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Roremand paused, clearly uncomfortable, his voice carefully controlled. “Because I know what it’s like to be judged solely by your potential. It isolates you. Don’t let it isolate you completely, Nathan.”

  Nathan felt something subtle shift between them—a quiet understanding, perhaps even the faintest hint of friendship. He managed a small, genuine smile. “Thank you.”

  Roremand nodded once, stepping back carefully. “Anytime.”

  Nathan watched quietly as Roremand turned away, disappearing back toward the academy buildings. Beside him, Noctisolar hummed softly, gentle warmth radiating reassuringly from its scales, clearly sensing Nathan’s quiet gratitude.

  That evening, Nathan found himself wandering toward the companion stables, a peaceful enclosure filled with creatures bonded to students: elegant firebirds perched gracefully on glowing branches, small earthen wolves curled in cozy dens, and delicate air sprites drifting gently through the air. Most creatures slept quietly, content and calm beneath the soft evening glow.

  Noctisolar followed silently at Nathan’s side, its presence immediately causing curious whispers and watchful glances from stable attendants. Nathan carefully ignored the quiet attention, focusing instead on the gentle beauty around him.

  He paused beside a wide enclosure housing a magnificent metal-winged falcon, shimmering softly beneath torchlight, feathers metallic and polished to a mirror-like sheen. The falcon regarded him quietly, intelligent eyes carefully watching.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

  Nathan turned sharply. Krit stood quietly behind him, gaze calm and thoughtful, eyes fixed gently on the falcon.

  “Who does she belong to?” Nathan asked softly, quietly admiring the elegant creature.

  Krit’s expression softened slightly. “She belongs to Roremand. Her name is Valeria. She’s fiercely protective of him, though she rarely leaves the stables.”

  Nathan’s eyes widened slightly, surprised. “I had no idea.”

  Krit nodded gently. “Most people don’t. Roremand doesn’t speak openly about himself—especially not things he deeply cares for.”

  Nathan studied Valeria quietly, watching the gentle strength in her elegant form, feeling a quiet sense of understanding toward Roremand.

  Krit spoke quietly again, voice carefully gentle. “Your dragon is just as protective, Nathan. It doesn’t matter what others say. Your bond is real—and clearly powerful.”

  Nathan turned slowly toward Krit, pulse quickening softly. “But what if the professors decide otherwise? What if they see Noctisolar as a threat?”

  Krit’s eyes softened gently, calm and reassuring. “Then we prove them wrong. I’ll help you, Nathan. You’re not alone.”

  Nathan exhaled softly, chest tight with gratitude. “Thanks, Krit.”

  Krit smiled faintly, stepping closer, voice quiet. “You’re welcome.”

  Nathan looked up again at Noctisolar, its form shimmering softly beneath gentle torchlight, golden eyes calm and patient. He felt certainty again—deep, reassuring, undeniable:

  Whatever others thought, whatever lay ahead, the bond between him and Noctisolar was real and unshakable.

  For now, that was enough.