Chapter 429 Beast Taming [5]

Michael watched, studying each precise motion.

Arianne’s brush glided on, completing the first ring, then spiraling outward into nested loops and branching glyphs. Every few seconds, she paused to refresh the brush in the bowl, then resumed without breaking her rhythm.

Minutes slipped past in near silence, the only sounds the quiet rasp of bristles and the flame lion’s labored breathing.

When at last she set the brush aside, the finished circle glowed faintly in the grass—an intricate, spiraling lattice of signs that seemed almost alive.

Arianne stood, brushing her gloves clean. She exhaled once, a slow breath of composure returning.

"And that," she said, turning back to Michael, "is the second step."

Arianne didn’t wait for comment. She lifted her chin and gestured to Captain Varris.

"Bring it," she said simply.

Captain Varria then gestured to the two handlers.

None objected.

"Yes, my lady."

Two of them stepped forward with cautious deliberation.

Together, they guided it forward.

Its paws dragged slightly in the grass, claws scoring faint grooves in the soil as they coaxed it into the center of the circle. The closer it drew, the more the runes reacted—subtle motes of bluish light drifting up.

When at last the handlers eased it into place, Arianne raised a hand.

Her gaze swept over them.

"Release it. Then step back."

"My lady," one handler began nervously, "if it recovers—"

"It won’t," she interrupted gently, but with no room for debate. "The binding will start the moment it stands alone."

Michael felt the air grow a fraction heavier.

The handlers exchanged a look. Then, as one, they let go and backed quickly to the edge of the warded grass.

The chains clinked as they fell slack around the lion’s broad shoulders.

For a moment, nothing moved.

Arianne lifted her right hand, palm open over the circle.

Michael felt the subtle shift before he saw it—like the garden itself taking a long, measured breath.

Then her mana flowed.

It was almost invisible: a gentle ripple in the air, a hush that pressed against the skin. The lines of the circle brightened, igniting in smooth, steady pulses of pale blue-white. The glyphs flared in sequence, each ring catching light and passing it on to the next in a widening cascade.

The flame lion stirred weakly, its head lifting a few inches as though sensing the sudden tension in the space around it. But the beast was too far gone to do more.

Arianne’s expression never wavered.

With her hand still outstretched, she closed her eyes and exhaled.

"The last step," she murmured so softly that Michael almost didn’t catch it, "is to call it to you."

Arianne let her mana pour steadily into it.

Nothing else seemed to happen at first.

Then Michael felt it.

A pressure, delicate but insistent, brushing the edges of his senses. A quiet pulling sensation, tugging on something that wasn’t flesh.

Perhaps it was the Spirit. Soul. Whatever one chose to call it.

The flame lion shuddered where it lay. Its broad shoulders flexed once, twice, and its molten gaze turned sluggishly toward Arianne. Even half-drugged and barely conscious, something in it recognized the pull.

Michael watched, keenly aware of how still everything else had become. Not a single guard shifted. Not one of the handlers so much as breathed too loudly.

The circle’s light brightened another shade, soft blue washing up over the lion’s fur in rippling waves. Tiny sparks slipped free of the glyphs, drifting in the air before dissolving into the creature’s hide.

Arianne lowered her hand a fraction. Her eyes opened, calm and steady.

"If it accepts," she said quietly, though she did not look away from the beast, "this will bind us. If it resists, the circle will suppress it until it exhausts itself. Now it depends on who last longer. With the magic ritual I have an advantage but if the creature you want to tame is far stronger than you even if for some reason you reached this step, if it resists, everything fails."

Minutes passed.

The flame lion trembled again. Its nostrils flared on a labored breath. For a moment, Michael thought it might try to rise and break the circle with raw instinct.

But then, slowly, its great head sank to the grass.

The blue glow of the circle steadied, no longer pulsing.

Arianne let out a long, unguarded breath.

The luminous patterns in the grass began to fade, leaving behind only damp, dark lines where the mixture had soaked into the blades.

And then—

Arianne smiled..

Her eyes lifted from the flame lion to Michael, and for a moment, all the quiet composure that usually wrapped around her fell away, replaced by something simple and glad.

"It accepted," she said cheerfully.

The handlers let out a collective breath of relief. Michael heard the faint clink of armor as some of them shifted their weight. Even Captain Varris’s stern mouth eased by a fraction.

Arianne glanced back at the lion, her expression warm, almost tender.

"I was worried," she admitted in a lower voice, "that it would fight me to the end. They usually do."

She took another slow breath, as if savoring the fact that it was truly done.

Then she straightened, and that bright, unguarded smile softened into something steadier but no less pleased.

Her gaze returned to Michael.

"I’ve wanted one of these ever since finding out about its existence from father," she confessed with a little laugh.

Michael inclined his head, a small smile on his face.

"You made it look effortless," he said quietly.

Arianne’s smile turned rueful. She lifted her gloved hand, studying the faint smudges of drying blood and ink across her palm.

"It never is," she murmured.

But there was no mistaking the light in her eyes. For all her composure, she looked...happy.

Utterly, honestly happy.

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A/N: We’re back to three Chapters. Thank you for reading today’s Chapter—I hope you enjoyed it. Don’t forget to support by voting and sharing your thoughts in the comments!