The Contractor's Conquest

Chapter 15: "The Price of a Promise"

The days after the battle were somber but steady. Sylas lay in bed, his body slowly recuperating from the immense stress it had endured. His muscles ached, his mana felt drained, and every movement reminded him of the toll the fight had taken. Despite the pain, his mind was sharp, racing with thoughts about what had transpired.

Mark stayed close by, tending to his son while carefully avoiding the subject of Elyra's departure. Every time Sylas brought it up, Mark would only say, "She protected us, and there's nothing we can do. Focus on healing."

Sylas didn't press further, though the void left by his mother's absence weighed heavily on him. Instead of despair, however, he felt a growing resolve. He had seen what strength could achieve, and he knew he had the potential to surpass it all.

---

Conversation in the Void

Back when Sylas was unconscious, drifting in the cold, dark waters of his mind, a golden halo had appeared before him. It wasn't the first time he had felt its presence, but this time, it spoke.

"Thy desperation hath awakened me," the voice began, its tone resonant and commanding.

Sylas, still dazed, struggled to form coherent thoughts. "Who… are you?"

"I am the Ring of Contracts, the arbiter of pacts, the bearer of bonds."

Sylas blinked, confusion overwhelming him. "What do you want?"

"Not what I want, but what thou hath demanded," the ring replied. "During thy battle, thy heart pleaded for power, and a contract was formed—between thee and me."

The words hung in the air, incomprehensible at first. Sylas frowned, shaking his head. "What contract? I didn't agree to anything!"

"Not consciously," the ring explained. "But in the throes of thy struggle, when death loomed near, thy heart screamed for one chance. Thou desired strength, and in return, I required sustenance."

"What… sustenance?"

"Negative human emotions," the ring said simply. "Despair, shame, humiliation—emotions so potent they can fuel worlds. The deal was struck: if thou emerged victorious, I would awaken and grant thee the strength thou craved. In exchange, I would claim the anguish of thy defeated foe."

Sylas's mind reeled. "You… feed on emotions?"

"Indeed. Such is my nature," the ring said. "But there is more. The terms of the contract were breached."

"Breached? How?"

"Thy victory was not thine alone," the ring replied coldly. "Thou received aid, thus violating the purity of our agreement. Therefore, I remain dormant."

Sylas felt anger flare within him. "That's not fair! I didn't ask for help!"

"Fairness is irrelevant in the realm of contracts," the ring retorted. "Yet, I am not without mercy. For thy courage and resolve, I bestow upon thee a token—a fragment of my power."

The golden light intensified, and Sylas's consciousness was flooded with images of the battle, the moments when he fought against all odds. The ring's voice grew softer.

"To awaken me fully, thou shalt require a catalyst. Until then, use this wisely."

A radiant object appeared in Sylas's hand—a small, blue pearl glowing faintly.

---

Sylas woke up the next morning with the pearl still clutched in his hand. He sat up in his bed, his fingers brushing over its smooth surface. It was warm to the touch, and faint traces of mana pulsed within it.

Mark noticed Sylas's distraction during breakfast. "What's that?" he asked, nodding toward the pearl.

Sylas hesitated. "I… don't know. I just found it after I woke up."

Mark's eyes narrowed, but he didn't press further. Instead, he changed the subject. "Focus on recovering. You've been through a lot."

Sylas nodded absentmindedly, his attention still on the pearl.

---

That night, Sylas sat by his window, the pearl glowing softly in the moonlight. His father's words echoed in his mind: "She protected us, and there's nothing we can do."

But Sylas didn't believe that. He refused to be powerless.

Clutching the pearl tightly, he made a silent vow. Whatever secrets the ring held, whatever strength it could grant him, he would find a way to unlock it.

He would become strong enough to protect those he cared about—and strong enough to bring his family back together.

As the moon hung high in the sky, the pearl's glow seemed to grow brighter, as if acknowledging his resolve.

The faint glow of the blue pearl illuminated Sylas's dimly lit room as he sat on the edge of his bed, turning the mysterious object over in his hands. He studied it intently, his brows furrowed in frustration. The smooth surface radiated a soft hum of mana, yet it revealed no secrets.

"What are you?" he muttered to himself, his voice heavy with irritation.

The pearl gave no answer, no sign of its purpose or significance. With a weary sigh, Sylas stood, intending to set the object aside and clear his mind.

But as he moved, his fingers fumbled, and the pearl slipped from his grasp.

The sharp sound of it hitting the floor echoed in the room. A fine crack appeared on its surface, a faint light seeping through the fracture.

Before Sylas could react, an excruciating pain tore through his head, as though his skull was being ripped apart. His legs buckled, and he collapsed onto the floor, his body convulsing uncontrollably. He wanted to scream, but the pain was so overwhelming that all he could do was spasm.

Images began flooding his mind—a replay of his battle, vivid and raw. Every strike, every moment of desperation, every thought and feeling was brought back to the forefront of his consciousness. The golden halo appeared once more in his vision, its ethereal light shimmering ominously.

A deep, resonating voice echoed in his mind, its tone sharp and unyielding.

"This is what you get for using a dormant me," the voice declared. "You will survive this time, but heed my warning: if you do not find the catalyst, you will remain unable to wield me—or die trying."

Sylas writhed in agony as the voice faded, leaving a burning sensation on his left hand. He glanced down through blurred vision to see his Ring tattoo glowing fiercely. The violet hue began to shift and change, spreading across half the ring as the inscriptions morphed into intricate new patterns.

The transformation felt endless, but when it finally ceased, Sylas's body went limp. The room was silent once more as he lay unconscious on the floor, the fractured pearl a faint reminder of the event.

The golden halo's words lingered like a shadow over him: Find the catalyst—or die trying.