Sirens arrived before silence did.
By the time Cyron pushed himself up from the shattered arena floor, the outside world was already closing in—distant alarms, flashing red lights cutting through broken walls, the low hum of containment drones sweeping the perimeter.
The Global Binding Federation didn't hesitate.
It never did.
"Unregistered surge detected—possible high-tier anomaly."
"Seal the zone!"
"Deploy suppression units!"
Voices echoed through the ruins.
Cyron's chest tightened.
They're coming for me.
His arm burned.
He looked down.
The mark had changed completely—no longer faint or unstable. It pulsed with deep crimson light, intricate and shifting, like something alive beneath his skin.
A God-tier mark.
Even without understanding everything, he knew one thing for sure:
If they confirmed what he had…
he wouldn't be treated like a student.
He'd be treated like a weapon.
Or worse.
"Correct."
The voice.
Still there.
Calm. Watching.
Cyron clenched his fist. "Stay quiet."
"You think you can hide me?"
"I have to."
Bootsteps approached from the far end of the arena. Armored personnel flooded in, scanning, weapons raised—not guns, but suppression rigs designed to disrupt summoned entities.
One of them pointed at Cyron.
"Target located! Possible Binder—approach with caution!"
Cyron's mind raced.
Fight? Impossible.
Run? Surrounded.
Think.
Then—
"I—I didn't mean to!" he shouted, forcing panic into his voice. "My card malfunctioned! I couldn't control it!"
The squad hesitated.
That was enough.
A medic rushed forward, scanning his arm. The device flickered, struggling to stabilize a reading.
"Energy's… dissipating," she said. "Signature unstable. Might've been a corrupted Warrior-tier surge."
Cyron kept his breathing uneven, forcing himself to look weak.
Not hard.
"…Take him in for evaluation," the squad leader ordered. "We'll file it as an irregular awakening."
Irregular.
Not catastrophic.
Not God-tier.
Cyron swallowed.
It worked.
For now.
Three Days Later
The world moved fast.
Faster than Cyron expected.
The arena incident had already been buried—labeled a "localized anomaly." Damage reports minimized. Witness statements restricted. Anyone who spoke too loudly found their words… corrected.
That was the GBF's power.
Control the narrative.
Control the fear.
And control people like him.
Cyron stood at the gates of Ebonreach Central Academy, staring up at towering black steel structures lined with glowing circuits. The academy wasn't just a school.
It was a filter.
A place where Binders were trained, ranked, and—if necessary—contained.
Students passed through here on their way to D-Rank and beyond.
Or disappeared trying.
"You're late."
Cyron turned.
A woman in a dark uniform stood beside him, tablet in hand. Her eyes were sharp, scanning—not just his face, but his posture, his breathing, everything.
"Instructor Kaelis," she said. "You're the transfer from the incident zone."
Cyron nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
Her gaze dropped to his forearm.
The mark.
For a split second—
It pulsed.
Too strong.
Too alive.
Cyron's heart skipped.
But Kaelis only frowned slightly.
"…Your file says your bond is unstable," she said. "Warrior-tier potential at best. You'll be placed in E-Class for now."
E-Class.
The lowest.
Cyron nodded quickly. "Understood."
Inside his mind—
A quiet laugh.
"How degrading."
"Shut up," Cyron muttered under his breath.
Kaelis raised an eyebrow. "Something you want to share?"
"No, ma'am."
She didn't look convinced.
"Follow me."
E-Class Training Hall
The room was wide, reinforced, and filled with students already sparring. Monsters flickered in and out of existence—wolves, armored knights, elemental constructs—nothing beyond Warrior-tier.
Controlled.
Predictable.
Safe.
Exactly what Cyron needed.
"This is your class," Kaelis said. "You'll train, duel, and be evaluated weekly. Rankings determine advancement."
She paused.
"And one more thing."
Her eyes locked onto his.
"No uncontrolled summons. No exceptions."
Cyron nodded.
Too quickly.
"…Good."
She turned and left.
Cyron exhaled.
"You're going to fail that rule immediately."
He closed his eyes.
"Not helping."
"You can barely contain me while standing still."
"…Then stay contained."
No response.
That was worse.
"Hey. New guy."
Cyron opened his eyes.
A boy about his age stood in front of him, arms crossed. His forearm glowed faintly—a stable Warrior mark.
"Name's Riven," he said. "You're the one from that busted arena, right?"
Cyron hesitated. "…Yeah."
Riven grinned. "Heard you almost got yourself killed. Respect."
"Not exactly how I'd describe it."
"Same thing here."
Riven jerked his thumb toward the training floor. "Come on. Let's see what you've got."
Cyron froze.
"I—uh—my bond isn't stable yet."
Riven shrugged. "Then don't summon fully. Partial manifestation. Everyone does it."
Cyron's stomach tightened.
Partial summon?
If Bygon Blood even slipped through—
"No," the voice said immediately.
Cyron blinked.
"…What?"
"Do not attempt it."
For once—
It sounded serious.
Cold.
Dangerously certain.
Cyron swallowed. "I'll pass."
Riven frowned. "Scared?"
"…Cautious."
Riven smirked. "Same thing."
Before Cyron could respond—
The lights flickered.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
A ripple of crimson passed through his mark—quick, almost invisible.
Almost.
At the far end of the room—
Instructor Kaelis stopped walking.
Slowly—
She turned.
Her eyes locked onto Cyron.
Not confused.
Not curious.
Sharp.
Knowing.
Cyron's heart dropped.
Inside his mind—
Bygon Blood whispered.
"…Ah."
A pause.
Then—
"It seems we've been noticed."