A long silence followed Lady Ysmera's words.
Mark of the Dragon.
It could only mean one of two things.
In all of known history, every account of a dragon's mark fell into one of two terrifyingly divergent paths.
The first—was a death sentence.
Those branded by a dragon as enemies were destined to die. Once the mark was etched, no corner of the world would keep them safe. Not from dragonkind. Not from the wrath that crossed bloodlines and generations. Some of the greatest dragon slayers ever recorded had died gruesome deaths, hunted relentlessly, their names carved in history as both heroes and cursed prey.
The second—was a miracle.
Far rarer than the first, this version of the mark was given as a token of acceptance. An offering of alliance. Friendship. In one legendary case, the Dragonmark became the foundation of a kingdom—the tale of a man who rode a dragon into battle and ruled for decades. A Dragon-Riding King. But when he passed, his dragon companion vanished without a word, refusing to serve his descendants. Not once did it return.
A mark of death… or a bond of kinship.
Nothing in between.
Which one did Soren Noctis fall under?
Each of the seven members of the Core Council sank into their thoughts, their minds spinning with the implications.
No one dared question Lady Ysmera Luneval's words. Not even Vexen.
Because her credibility was beyond contest.
After the Headmaster himself, she was the most revered figure in the chamber—perhaps in the entire Academy. Ysmera did not involve herself in petty academy trials or internal matters. Her presence alone meant no minor issue. And if she said Soren bore a dragon's mark, then it was fact.
"Mark of the dragon…" Caelin Draven murmured, the words barely audible as he struggled to absorb the revelation. He glanced toward Eryndor, still seated at the head of the chamber.
Even the Headmaster looked pensive—his expression unreadable, deep in thought.
I didn't see it. As expected of Lady Ysmera… Eryndor mused silently.
"Proceed with questioning," he said at last, his voice calm, measured.
Caelin gave a nod and turned back toward the center.
"Soren Noctis," he said, his voice firmer now, "Lady Ysmera has already spoken. Answer this clearly—do you truly bear the mark of a dragon? And if so… how did it happen?"
Soren's mouth was dry. But he nodded.
"I encountered a dragon," he said plainly. "Before my battle with the Crimson Apostle. It was already engaged with the adventurer group Howlspire. I… assisted them."
He paused.
"The dragon then marked me. And flew off."
He didn't elaborate.
Of course, he couldn't tell them the whole truth—that Greed had devoured the dragon's deadly breath in that instant, and the Eye of Ruin had resonated. That whatever that dragon was, it had recognized something in him—and branded him before departing.
Again, the entire chamber fell into quiet disarray. Not one voice rose to interrupt, but all were thinking the same thing:
Just how powerful is this young man?
If he had the strength to confront a dragon and live…
What else was he hiding?
Why, then, did he lose an arm against the Crimson Apostle?
Was the Apostle… truly stronger than the dragon?
Or was there something else—something unspoken—about Soren's situation?
"If that's true," Caelin continued slowly, "we can verify it through the adventuring party Howlspire, can we not?"
"Yes," Soren said. "They were there. They saw it."
"Very well."
Then, Lady Ysmera's voice rose again—serene, curious.
"Can you describe the dragon?"
Soren hesitated, then answered, "Its body was black… tinged with red. It had a deep voice... I may be wrong, but it sounded almost… like a man."
Ysmera's eyes sharpened with recognition.
"Black and red… and a man's voice…"
She tilted her head slightly, looking upward—as if reaching into some far corner of memory—and for the first time, an expression of fascination crossed her usually composed face.
"Was it… Trynos…?"
The name wasn't spoken audibly.
Just that single letter.
"Try— what?" Caelin asked carefully, glancing toward her. "Lady Ysmera, do you recognized the dragon?"
But Ysmera simply shook her head, her expression already neutral again.
"It's nothing," she said softly.
Yet everyone could tell she had recognized something. But she had no intention of sharing it just yet.
The person in question not only defeated the Crimson Apostle, but was marked by a dragon. That makes this situation more sensitive than any of them previously understood.
And it did.
It changed everything.
They could no longer treat Soren Noctis as just another normal young instructor, or even just another political anomaly.
He was something else now.
Even Elder Vexen—who had been so aggressively trying to defame him—fell quiet. His aged face twitched faintly, lips tightening.
Vellian… really picked the wrong target. And Vexen, who had mentored him, now had to reevaluate everything.
This boy is dangerous.
He feels the need to hold back his sense of malice in caution, not until he sure.
He had survived the Crimson Apostle, receiving mark of a dragon, gain favor and fought alongside one of Black Vow's agents.
Even Vexen knew he had to tread carefully from now on.
Because no one in that chamber could say with confidence…
What exactly is Soren Noctis becoming?
"But still," Vexen snapped, his voice cutting through the chamber like a blade, "he aided a fugitive. Someone who murdered a fellow instructor of Astralis Academy."
He stood now, hand resting firmly on his cane, his eyes glaring down at Soren.
"That was Vellian. Even if the man committed grave misdeeds, he should have been trialed—not executed without due process."
He let the words hang, as if daring anyone to refute him.
"I say we strip him of his position and expel him from the Academy immediately."
His words rang clear across the chamber.
But in truth, Vexen's motives were far from just. He believed that if Soren were expelled, he'd be easier to target—no longer protected by the Academy's laws and oversight. After all, Vexen had no intention of letting the boy walk free after Vellian's death. He wasn't the forgiving type.
Vellian had been one of his most useful political tools—a cunning player, a manipulator, someone who had already begun drawing younger instructors and students into Vexen's orbit.
Now, that was gone.
And Soren was the reason.
Yet before Vexen could continue, another voice cut in—calmer, more deliberate.
"Soren defended a man who killed someone attempting to abduct his sister. In context, that still seems… reasonable."
It was Mirelle Thalrune.
She adjusted her glasses, her tone cool but firm. "Though, I still find disobeying direct orders distasteful."
Soren sat motionless, but despite his closed eyes, he immediately recognized her voice. He turned his head subtly in her direction, a quiet acknowledgment.
She fought me with everything she had, and still… she speaks in fairness.
The lady is more honorable than most.
In the council seats above, Lady Senora Veyne remained quiet, but her thoughts ran deep.
She didn't know what to make of Soren Noctis.
Elara was still missing, but judging from everything presented, this man didn't strike her as evil. On the contrary—he had risked everything to protect his sister.
And the Academy owed him much. He was the one who had slain the Crimson Apostle, a traitor of terrifying caliber.
Elara had clearly trusted him enough to stand at his side through all of this.
Senora clenched her hands together, then released them slowly. If he lied about Elara… if she wasn't truly safe—Then I'll make him pay for it myself. But if not—if he spoke the truth—Then I will help him. For Elara.
She finally spoke, her voice steady.
"I agree. With his achievements and merit—especially bringing down the Crimson Apostle—I believe we can offer leniency regarding this particular act of insubordination."
She turned her eyes to Soren. "He made his decision based on a reason I can accept."
Vexen was caught off guard.
He hadn't expected Senora to defend the boy—especially not while Elara's status remained uncertain.
But then again… it made sense.
If anyone had reason to loathe Vellian and his underlings, it would be the woman who had once mentored Elara.
And now she knew Vellian had tried to kill her.
That changed everything.
"But we can't just let it slide," a calm voice rose from the dais—a voice that hadn't spoken until now. "He needs to face some form of punishment. Not out of spite, but so he may reflect on his actions, and understand the gravity of what he defied."
It came from Elder Haden, one of the Core Seven.
A man known throughout Astralis as the embodiment of fairness and wisdom. With silver hair, a lined face marked by time and clarity, and a kind gaze that often reminded students of a gentle grandfather, Haden also rarely involved himself in political agendas.
The room stilled at his words.
Punishment… the old schemer Malchior Vexen echoed inwardly.His mind raced—searching, twisting through memories and precedent.
Then his eyes narrowed.
An idea sparked.
Something perfect. To push Soren into danger.
An expedition. To subjugate the Demon Race that now in motion.
Vexen's smile widened.