Frost coated the stone floor of the grand arena.
Shivering in his thin training robes, Isaac gripped his wooden focus. His knuckles turned white under the strain, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. This evaluation was supposed to be his ticket to a quiet school year, but everything was spiraling out of control.
Whispers drifted down from the spectator stands like falling leaves. Everyone was watching him, the friendless outcast who barely scraped by in class. They expected him to fail, to break under the pressure of the academy's elite instructors.
Professor Vance stood in the center of the dusty ring, his posture impossibly straight. His usual warm, scholarly demeanor was gone, replaced by a cold, predatory elegance that made Isaac's skin crawl. The physical vessel of the academy's beloved professor was no longer his own.
Looking into the professor's eyes, Isaac saw a flash of ancient, gold fire behind the familiar blue irises. Alistair was pulling the strings, occupying the teacher's handsome body with a terrifying ease. The dead king smiled, a micro-expression meant only for his summoner.
"Everyone watch closely," Vance announced to the class, his voice echoing off the stone walls. It was smooth, deep, and carried a commanding resonance that made several students shiver in excitement.
Isaac swallowed hard, his throat dry. He hated how vulnerable he felt under that gaze, hated how the magical wedding mark on his collarbone throbbed in silent response.
Runes etched along the perimeter of the ring glowed a faint, warning red, activating the defensive wards for the duel.
Standing across from his possessed instructor, Isaac tried to steady his breathing. He had to play along, to act as if this were a normal combat evaluation, or risk exposing his illegal necromancy to the entire faculty.
Alistair's presence inside Vance was heavy, distorting the professor's natural aura into something suffocatingly dark and powerful.
"Defend yourself, Isaac," Vance said, taking a slow, measured step forward, the mockery in his tone was clear.
Raising his focus, Isaac forced the air around him to spin. He focused on his breathing, channeling his mana into the familiar patterns of defensive wind magic.
Howling currents rose from the floor, kicking up dust and debris. The wind whipped around his robes, a pale green light reflecting in his dark eyes.
A dome of pressurized air solidified around Isaac, forming a barrier that looked decent but was far from impenetrable.
Vance smiled, a terrifyingly beautiful expression on his handsome face. He raised his left hand, his fingers flexing as if adjusting to the physical constraints of the flesh.
Gathering a ball of crackling, violent lightning in his palm, the possessed professor prepared to strike. The raw power radiating from the spell was enough to make the air hum.
Spectators leaned forward, holding their breath. Most of them expected the wind barrier to shatter instantly under Vance's legendary lightning magic.
Everyone knew Isaac was a mediocre student, someone destined to fail this combat evaluation and remain at the bottom of the academy's hierarchy.
"Let us see how much pressure your shield can take," Vance murmured, his voice laced with double meaning.
Without warning, Vance unleashed the lightning.
A blinding beam of blue-white energy slammed against Isaac's wind barrier, illuminating the entire arena in a flash of brilliant light.
Isaac braced his legs, preparing for the crushing impact that would send him flying across the stone floor.
Instead of resisting, the lightning seemed to slide harmlessly off the barrier, redirected by an unseen force that Isaac hadn't even channeled. Alistair was manipulating the magic from his end.
Vance gasped, a highly dramatic, exaggerated sound that echoed through the quiet arena.
Suddenly, the professor stumbled back, his boots dragging against the stone floor as if he had been struck by a massive counterforce.
He let out a sharp cry of defeat as his own magic backfired, dissolving into harmless sparks that floated to the ground.
Falling to one knee, Vance clutched his chest, panting heavily as if he had just endured a devastating blow.
"Unbelievable..." Vance gasped out, making sure his voice carried to the highest stands.
"My magic is utterly neutralized. This boy's barrier is impenetrable."
Isaac stood frozen, his jaw dropping as he stared at his teacher. His focus lowered slightly, the wind dome flickering but remaining intact.
It was a complete farce.
Alistair had deliberately thrown the match, using his immense spiritual control to make Isaac look like a magical prodigy while making himself look defeated.
"Evaluation complete!" the head examiner shouted, his voice echoing in the stunned silence of the arena.
"Isaac passes with an optimal rating!"
Whispers broke out, a torrent of shocked murmurs and suspicious glances from the upper stands. No one could believe the academy's outcast had defeated Professor Vance.
Isaac lowered his focus entirely, his face burning with hot embarrassment and rising anger. He could feel the eyes of his peers burning into his back.
He could see the smug amusement dancing in Vance's eyes as the professor slowly stood up, brushing off his trousers with practiced elegance.
Knowing Alistair, this favor was going to cost him everything, and the price would be demanded in private.
---
Escaping the arena as quickly as possible, Isaac hurried down the stone corridors of the academy.
He needed to reach his room before anyone could question him, before the examiners tried to analyze his supposedly god-like wind barrier.
Footsteps did not follow him immediately, allowing him to slip inside his private dormitory and bolt the door shut.
Leaning his back against the thick wood, Isaac let out a long, shaky breath, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor.
His heart was still hammering, a wild tempo that refused to slow down despite the quiet safety of his room.
Suddenly, the heavy brass lock on his door clicked.
Isaac jumped back, scrambling to his feet as the door swung open, revealing the tall, imposing figure of Professor Vance.
Closing the door behind him, Alistair locked it once more, the sound final and absolute in the small room.
"What are you doing here?" Isaac demanded, backing away toward his bed as his chest heaved.
"Giving you your reward, my sweet," Alistair purred, his posture shifting instantly from the respectable professor to the predatory ancient king.
Vance's blue eyes flared with that unmistakable, golden fire, his gaze locked onto Keith's trembling form.
"You embarrassed me out there," Isaac spat, his fists clenching at his sides as his defensive anger flared. "Everyone is going to ask questions!"
"Let them ask," Alistair said, stepping closer until he was standing right in Isaac's personal space, his shadow swallowing the younger man.
"Fools, all of them," Alistair murmured, his fingers reaching out to touch Isaac's burning cheek. "They see only what I allow them to see."
Isaac's eyes went wide as Alistair stepped closer, cornering him against the mattress. "Get away from me, Alistair. I didn't agree to this."
"You did the moment you summoned me," the king whispered, his voice dropping to a dangerous, seductive pitch.
"Your magic belongs to me. Your body belongs to me. And right now, I need to anchor myself."
Alistair's hands shot forward, gripping Isaac's wrists and pinning them to the soft mattress.
Isaac gasped at the sudden restriction, his defensive walls crumbling under the sheer weight of the king's possessive aura.
"Look at me," Alistair commanded, leaning down until his lips were brushing Isaac's ear.
"Tell me you do not want this."
"I... I don't," Isaac lied, his voice cracking as his breath hitched.
Alistair chuckled, a low vibration that Isaac felt deep in his bones.
"Your heart is racing, Isaac. Your skin is burning."
"It is because I hate you," Isaac hissed, trying to ignore the delicious shiver running down his spine.
"Then show me how much you hate me," Alistair whispered.
Alistair captured his lips, cutting off any further protests.
It was a harsh, demanding kiss, filled with the raw, volatile power of a tyrant who refused to be denied.
Isaac fought it for a second, his body tensing against the mattress, but the magic of the wedding brand on his collarbone flared, sending a wave of liquid heat through his veins.
Desire, forbidden and overwhelming, washed over him, drowning his anger.
He let out a soft whimpering sound, his mouth opening to Alistair's touch as his resistance dissolved.
Sensing his submission, Alistair released Isaac's wrists, his hands immediately sliding under the loose robes to grip Isaac's bare hips.
Isaac's hands flew to Vance's shoulders, his fingers digging into the expensive fabric of the professor's coat.
He pulled the possessed man closer, craving the cold, grounding energy of the dead king to soothe the burning heat inside him.
"Good boy," Alistair muttered against his lips, his touch becoming more urgent, more demanding.
Reality faded away, leaving only the dark room, the pale moonlight, and the intense, overwhelming connection between them.
Alistair stripped away the obstacles between them with supernatural speed, his hands mapping every inch of Isaac's trembling body.
Isaac let himself fall, giving up the illusion of control that he had fought so hard to maintain.
Every touch was a paradox of freezing shadow magic and white-hot passion, filling the empty, lonely void in Isaac's soul.
He let the king claim him, the physical act sealing the magical contract between them as their energies merged.
Hours passed in a blur of gasps, whispered promises, and the quiet creak of the bed.
Isaac yielded completely, his body moving in perfect, desperate harmony with the ancient tyrant.
By the time Alistair finally let him go, Isaac was utterly spent, his energy drained to the absolute limit.
An unbearable wave of exhaustion washed over him, his eyelids growing too heavy to keep open.
Isaac fell unconscious right after the whole ordeal and sleeps peacefully on his bed.