The chamber was still, save for the faint hiss of cooling stone. Smoke coiled upward in thin streams, carrying with it the acrid stench of scorched flesh. The crimson wyvern's corpse sprawled across the floor, a mountain of charred scales and broken wings.

Ethan stood with his blade still buried in the ground, chest heaving, sweat dripping freely from his brow. Lirael and Sylvie approached slowly, cautious of the suffocating heat that lingered in the air. Nyxfang padded forward, silent but watchful, while Seloria's eyes glowed faintly in the darkness behind.

For a heartbeat, silence reigned.

Then Xarion moved.

The draconian strode to the wyvern's chest, claws flexing, his body still wreathed in flickers of flame. He knelt without hesitation, his sharp talons biting into scale and bone. With a guttural growl, he plunged his entire clawed hand deep into the beast's ribcage.

A wet crack echoed through the chamber. Blood spilled over his arm, steam rising where the heat of his body clashed against the cooling corpse. Xarion's expression twisted into something primal, more beast than man, as he dug deeper. Then, with a violent jerk, he pulled free.

In his grip burned the wyvern's core.

It pulsed like molten crystal, a sphere of condensed crimson light, veins of fire streaking across its surface. Even from a distance, Ethan could feel its raw power — an overwhelming presence that radiated like the heart of a dying star.

Without a word, Xarion raised it to his jaws and bit down. The core shattered between his teeth, fragments dissolving into blazing energy as he devoured it whole.

The effect was instant.

Fire burst outward from his body, a wave of heat so fierce Ethan had to shield his eyes. Xarion staggered, his muscles seizing, scales along his arms glowing as if they had been set alight. The air around him warped, shimmering from the sheer intensity of the power forcing its way through his veins.

Sylvie gasped. "He's—he's burning from the inside—!"

Indeed, Xarion's flesh cracked like overheated stone, light spilling from the lines between his scales. His claws clenched into fists, fangs bared in a grimace as if every bone inside him threatened to splinter under the strain.

But still, he did not fall.

Snarling through gritted teeth, Xarion turned back to the wyvern's corpse. He slammed his jaws into its torn hide, biting deep into the wound Ethan and he had carved moments before. Blood gushed out in a thick, steaming torrent, and Xarion drank greedily.

The sight froze Ethan's soldiers in place. Even they, soulless and bound, hesitated at the primal brutality of it. Lirael stiffened, her bow half-raised in reflex before she forced it down. Sylvie covered her mouth, pale and trembling, unable to look away.

Xarion drank until the chamber stank of copper and fire. His body shook, but slowly, the cracks in his flesh began to seal. The glow that had threatened to rip him apart steadied, threading into the blood that poured into him.

Heat radiated heavier and heavier until it felt like standing beside a forge in full blaze. Ethan narrowed his eyes, watching in silence as the draconian straightened at last.

Xarion's wings unfurled to their full span, larger than before, fire dripping from their edges like molten chains. His chest broadened, scales thickening into a deeper, more vivid red that gleamed like polished steel. His horns lengthened, curling back in sharper arcs.

And then, with a low, guttural growl, a tail lashed outward from his spine.

The chamber shook as it struck the stone floor, scales ridged and glowing faintly at the tip. Not yet the tail of a true dragon, but unmistakably another step closer to that ancient form.

Xarion exhaled, smoke trailing from his nostrils, his body still trembling under the weight of new strength. His eyes burned brighter than before, molten gold flecked with crimson flame.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

The party stood in uneasy silence, the only sound the drip of wyvern blood pooling across the floor. Even Nyxfang lowered his head, a low rumble in his throat as though recognizing the dangerous aura radiating from Xarion's frame.

Sylvie whispered, barely audible. "He's… changing."

Ethan didn't answer. His grip on his blade tightened, eyes fixed on the draconian. There was no denying the truth. Xarion had grown stronger — far stronger than he had been before the fight. And the way he had claimed that strength… it was something both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

Xarion finally lifted his head. His gaze swept across Ethan and his party, unreadable, his body wreathed in faint embers. He said nothing — not a word of thanks, not a word of threat. Only a long, steady look that carried the weight of fire barely held in check.

Then he turned his back to them, wings folding tight, tail dragging behind as he stepped away from the wyvern's corpse.

The silence he left behind felt heavier than the beast they had slain.

Xarion's new tail scraped against stone as he turned. His gaze, burning with firelight, fixed squarely on Ethan. The silence stretched for a long breath, only the hiss of cooling blood filling the cavern.

Then, at last, he spoke. His voice was deeper than before, edged with a raw, guttural weight that hadn't been there earlier.

"Now it's yours," he said, nodding toward the wyvern's carcass. "As agreed. The corpse is yours. The core and blood were mine."

The words carried no warmth, no camaraderie, but neither did they drip with hostility. It was the tone of one who had made a pact and honored it.

Ethan studied him for a moment, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. He gave a short nod. "Right. A deal's a deal."

For a flicker of a moment, it almost seemed like Xarion might say more. But instead, his wings flared open, scattering embers across the chamber. The heat from his body surged again, like a furnace roaring to life.

Without warning, he launched upward.

The force of his takeoff cracked stone beneath him, the shockwave throwing dust and ash in every direction. In a blink, his silhouette vanished into the dark shaft leading back to the surface, leaving only the faint echo of his wingbeats fading into silence.

Ethan let out a quiet breath, tension slipping from his shoulders. "As fast as a damned arrow…" he muttered, shaking his head. The draconian's growth was no small matter.

He stepped toward the wyvern's massive corpse, its scales still faintly steaming. The monster that had ruled the tenth floor lay still and broken, the faint glow in its dimmed eyes gone for good.

Ethan placed his hand on the blood-soaked scales, summoned his will, and with a shimmer of mana, the enormous body vanished into his inventory. A heavy weight lifted with it, though he knew the true burden was only just beginning. The corpse of a crimson wyvern was no ordinary spoil — its value was beyond imagining.

When he turned back, Lirael and Sylvie were watching him, their faces lit by the faint glow of lingering embers. Lirael had finally lowered her bow completely, though her eyes still darted to where Xarion had disappeared. Sylvie clutched her staff tightly, her knuckles white, as if the draconian's aura still lingered in the air.

Ethan grinned faintly at the both of them, breaking the heavy silence. "Looks like our work is done."

Sylvie blinked, startled by the shift in his tone. "Done?"

"Yeah," Ethan said, sliding his blade back into its sheath. "We've got the wyvern's corpse. That alone will make us richer than most adventurers dream. And after the blood and fire we just walked through, I say we've earned it."

Lirael exhaled, the corner of her lips twitching upward despite herself. "Rich, huh? It'll be strange to walk into the guild carrying that news."

Ethan chuckled, a deep, tired sound. "Strange? They'll be green with envy. Imagine their faces when they hear we cleared the tenth floor and brought back a wyvern." He spread his arms in mock exaggeration. "We'll be swimming in gold."

Sylvie finally laughed — a soft, shaky laugh that carried the edge of relief more than humor. The suffocating tension of the chamber eased just a little, enough for them to breathe again.

Ethan glanced back toward the smoke-filled chamber one last time, eyes narrowing. The heat still clung to the air, the faint marks of Xarion's transformation burned into his memory.

Yes, they had won. Yes, they were leaving richer than ever.

But in the back of his mind, he couldn't shake the image of the draconian drinking blood like a beast, scales growing sharper, a tail lashing into being.

That was a power too dangerous to ignore.

He pushed the thought aside for now. There would be time later to deal with that.

Turning back to his party, he forced a grin. "Let's head back to the surface," he said. "And become rich."

The words carried the promise of gold, but also of rest, of escape from the firestorm they had just endured.

Together, they made for the staircase, leaving behind the corpse's bloodstains and the lingering smell of ash.

The tenth floor, for now, was silent.

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