The sheer, overwhelming outrage from the nightmare and the forced shift left Kaelan functioning on pure spite. He managed to pull on clothes the same shapeless hoodie and jeans, a necessary prison for his fluffy black tail and fled his apartment, skipping breakfast. He was livid, ashamed, and desperately needed the neutral, regulated environment of the university to restore some semblance of reality.
As he walked across the quad, his internal voice was a constant, screaming loop of curses aimed at Ignis: You disgusting, scaly, ego driven, nose bleeding abomination! You will regret the day you used your magic on me! I will find your heart scale and turn you into a glorified keychain!
He ignored the casual array of Shifters around him, focusing solely on the heavy, resentful weight of the crimson scale he had re-secured in his pocket.
Kaelan's first class was Advanced Microeconomics, held in a large lecture hall. He arrived early, claiming his usual seat in the back corner a position of maximum isolation. He pulled out his notes, desperately trying to anchor himself in the logic of supply and demand, anything to counter the sheer, magical chaos of his life.The door opened, and the air immediately thickened with the familiar, heavy scent of ozone and cherrywood.
Ignis entered. But this was not the casual student or the tailored dandy. Ignis was wearing flowing dark robes trimmed with heavy crimson and gold thread undeniably royal attire that made him look less like a student and more like a mythical figure who had misplaced his crown. His presence was a physical weight, drawing every eye in the room.
Kaelan's ears still hidden beneath his hoodie snapped back in visceral distress. He felt the tell-tale rush of adrenaline and livid fury.
Ignis didn't acknowledge Kaelan. He simply walked to the front of the lecture hall, bypassing the podium, and sat down in the professor's chair. A moment later, the usual Microeconomics Professor, a small, nervous woman named Dr. Evans, scurried in, looking pale and utterly flustered. She walked up to Ignis, her hands clasped nervously.
"Your... Your Majesty," Dr. Evans stammered, her voice shaking. "We weren't expecting the immediate transfer of accreditation. I assure you, your credentials from the Aetheria Grand University are perfectly in order. We've updated the roster. You're listed as a visiting faculty associate."
Ignis gave a curt nod, his golden eyes radiating arrogant authority. "Dispense with the titles in this classroom, Doctor. I am merely here to audit the learning environment."
He then looked out over the stunned classroom, his gaze pausing briefly, pointedly, on the single student shrinking in the back corner.
Kaelan's internal screams reached a fever pitch: He's teaching! He's auditing! He's taken over my class! The self important, narcissistic monster!
The realization hit Kaelan with staggering force: Ignis hadn't just moved across the hall; he was meticulously dismantling every single one of Kaelan's sanctuaries. His reality was being restructured to revolve entirely around the Dragon King's possessive desires.
Kaelan felt his carefully constructed cynicism cracking under the pure, unadulterated reality of the Dragon King's omnipotence. He was exhausted, stressed, and profoundly uneasy.
Meanwhile, far away in the Dragon Realm, Vorlag, Ignis's ancient Draconic attendant and Vizier, was wrestling with the King's recent, highly unusual behavior. Vorlag was a creature of meticulous order, and the King's obsession with a single human was unsettling.
Vorlag was a massive being of obsidian scales, currently attempting to decipher the King's latest communication, which had been less of a directive and more of a fevered poetic rant.
The King's last decree to the Council of Elders: "All trade negotiations may proceed without my direct oversight. My current objective is the integration of a highly volatile, yet exquisitely rare, feline asset whose defiance requires my full, singular attention. This task supersedes all governance. Should the human attempt to 'burn my kingdom down,' as he so melodiously promised, I shall be available for a brief moment of appreciation."
Vorlag adjusted the monocle over his large, golden eye. This was bizarre. The Dragon King had always prioritized the stability of the realm above all else. This "feline asset" a human college student, according to the tracking spells had completely derailed centuries of tradition.
The King's expenditures were also deeply mysterious. A large, powerful ward was placed over a dilapidated human apartment complex (excessive). And then there was the order for a "bespoke, magically reinforced cat tree built for a Panther Shifter's full form, to be installed in a standard three-bedroom apartment."
"A cat tree," Vorlag muttered, his voice a dry, rasping rumble. "The King of Dragons is building a cat tree for a human he has arbitrarily given cat traits. This is beyond unusual; it borders on madness."
Vorlag looked at the security reports. Ignis was not seeking conquest, political alliance, or even magic artifacts. He was seeking a specific, highly volatile emotional response from a single, terrified human.
The attendant sighed, the sound like grinding stones. The King is descending further into his strange fascination. His behavior is becoming erratic, focused only on this small, irate creature. This is not the measured, calculating ruler of old.
Vorlag had seen monarchs fall for weaker temptations. This human, Kaelan, posed no threat, yet he commanded the King's total focus. Vorlag decided he needed to watch this situation closely. The King's sanity, and the stability of the Dragon Realm, might well depend on the cynical human and the status of his fluffy tail.
Back in the lecture hall, Kaelan was trying, and failing, to focus on the marginal utility curve. Ignis was perched in the professor's chair, observing the class but primarily observing Kaelan with a gaze of unnerving, possessive calm.
Kaelan felt his ears twitching frantically beneath the hood. He had to resist. He had to show no weaknesses. He reached into his pocket, his fingers closing around the crimson scale. He stared at his notes, channeling all his furious energy into one last act of defiance. He pushed the hoodie back just enough for his black ears to stand up straight, a deliberate, aggressive show of his cursed trait.
He leaned forward, picked up his pen, and began to write a note, his hand shaking slightly with rage.
He finished the note, crumpled it up, and threw it not at the bin, but with pinpoint accuracy, directly onto Ignis's desk.
Ignis unfolded the crumpled paper with languid ease. He read the neatly printed, furious message:
YOU ARE A WALKING, BREATHING, SCALY EMBARRASSMENT. YOUR 'ROYAL ROBES' SMELL LIKE BAD POTPOURRI, AND YOUR EGO IS LARGER THAN YOUR BRAIN. I WILL NOT SUBMIT. CURSE YOU.FUCK YOU, SCREW YOU!
A slow, satisfied smile spread across Ignis's face. He looked directly at Kaelan, his eyes shining with triumphant desire. He tapped the note with a perfectly manicured finger, silently acknowledging the communication.
Then, Ignis reached into the professor's drawer, pulled out a small, heavy silver bell, and placed it on the desk. He looked back at Kaelan, his smile deepening, his message clear:
"I am waiting for you to ring."
Kaelan looked at the bell, the sheer arrogance of the gesture a bell for a pet sending a fresh wave of livid humiliation through him. His short temper warred violently with his paralyzing fear. He had lost his sanctuary, and the King was simply making himself comfortable in the ruins.