A Contract Written in Blood

Then, softer— "And we're not letting that happen."

Mia nodded beside her, a quiet but firm agreement.

Even the others shifted subtly, their silence speaking louder than any words.

Leon looked at them again.

Not as a group this time—but as individuals.

People who had chosen to stand there.

With him.

Against him.

For him.

His hand twitched slightly at his side, like he wanted to say something more—but nothing came.

Or maybe… nothing he was willing to say.

A faint breath escaped Johny.

"…At least they're honest."

Leon nodded slowly. Not in agreement alone—but in acknowledgment, like he had already weighed something far heavier than their words.

"Yes."

The word came quiet. Certain.

A pause followed, stretching just long enough to make a few of them shift where they stood.

"And that's exactly why…"

He didn't finish immediately.

His gaze drifted across the room instead—lingering, measuring. One by one. Rias met his eyes, her expression tightening just slightly. Black's posture stiffened, instinct already whispering caution into his bones. Even the others, though they didn't speak, felt it… that subtle shift in the air, like the calm before something irreversible.

Then—

He raised his hand.

Not fast. Not dramatic.

Deliberate.

Snap.

The sound echoed sharply through the throne hall.

It didn't just sound loud—it felt loud. Like it struck something deeper than their ears.

And suddenly—

Something changed.

The air grew heavier. Not suffocating, but… present. A pressure that hadn't been there a moment ago.

A faint pull.

A slight sting.

Like something inside them had just been noticed.

No—claimed.

A pull inside, much like a string drawn tight.

A hush fell. Each one there noticed something shift. Not a word was spoken, yet everyone sensed it just the same.

A few gasped out loud. Some stood still, unable to move.

A soft gasp slipped out as Rias blinked fast, fingers drifting toward her collarbone. Her breath caught just before the palm settled low on her sternum.

"…What was that?"

A whisper, steady at first - yet a sharpness slipped through without warning. That tension just showed itself, quiet but clear.

"I felt that as well," someone else said quietly, forehead creasing. Not quite a sound, more like a shift -

"Moved," Black finished quietly, his voice tighter than usual.

Before anyone could react—

Small droplets of blood appeared.

From each of them.

Not violently. Not painfully.

Just… there.

A single drop from fingertips. From the wrist. From nowhere they could immediately trace.

Floating.

Suspended in the air.

Rias stared at it, her breath catching just slightly. "…That's… mine?"

The droplet hovered inches from her, trembling faintly like it was alive.

Black's hand moved instantly toward his sword—

A reflex honed by years.

But he stopped.

Not because he forced himself to.

Because something told him—this wasn't something a blade could answer.

"There's no attack…" he muttered, eyes narrowing as he scanned the room, then snapped back to Leon. "Then what the hell is this?"

No one else moved.

No one dared to.

The droplets remained suspended, each one perfectly still, as if waiting for a command that hadn't been spoken yet.

And at the center of it all—

Leon stood there.

Unshaken.

Unhurried.

His hand still slightly raised, fingers relaxed now, as though the action had already been completed the moment he decided it would be.

For a brief second, nothing happened.

Then—

Something shifted.

Not in the room.

In him.

His gaze didn't waver.

Didn't flicker.

It held them.

All of them.

Not with force.

Not with threat.

Just—

Control.

The kind that didn't need to be proven.

The kind that simply was.

A faint ripple moved through the air, almost too subtle to notice—like heat bending light. And then the blood responded.

It gathered.

Slow at first… then faster.

Drawn from nowhere and everywhere at once, thin streams forming in the space before them. It coiled, twisted, folding into itself like something alive—like it knew what it was meant to become.

Johny let out a quiet breath. "...You're seeing this too, right?"

No one answered him.

Because they were.

Every single one of them.

The blood shifted.

Twisted tighter.

Refined itself.

And then—

Flattened.

The transformation was smooth. Too smooth.

What had been fluid moments ago now held shape, edges forming clean and precise, the surface smoothing out until—

It became parchment.

Dark crimson lines pulsed faintly across each sheet, like veins still remembering what they once were.

One for each of them.

They didn't fall.

They hovered.

Floating gently before their eyes, close enough to touch… but none of them moved to do it.

Silence fell again.

But this time—

It wasn't calm.

It pressed in.

Sharp.

Uncertain.

Heavy with everything no one was saying.

Ronan's brows furrowed deeply, his eyes locked onto the parchment in front of him like it might suddenly turn into something else.

"…My king…" His voice came slower this time, careful. "This isn't… a symbolic gesture, is it?"

Leon didn't answer.

Johny reached out—then hesitated just before his fingers could touch the surface. He frowned, pulling his hand back slightly.

"…That's not normal," he muttered, almost to himself. "Not even close."

"Of course it's not," someone whispered under their breath.

Black hadn't moved at all.

Not a step. Not a shift.

But something in him had changed.

His presence dropped—subtle, but heavy enough to be felt.

"…Explain."

The word landed flat.

Not a question.

A demand.

The women exchanged brief glances before looking back at the parchments.

Aria stepped forward just slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studied the surface, her expression tightening with recognition rather than confusion.

"…Blood contracts?" she said, her tone quiet—but certain.

Her gaze lifted to Leon, searching, measuring.

"…You're binding us."

Cynthia didn't move.

But her eyes sharpened.

Not with fear.

With understanding.

"…Not simple ones."

The air in the room shifted—subtle, but heavy. Like something unseen had just settled over their shoulders.

Rias didn't touch hers.

She just looked at him.

"…What are you doing, Leon?"

No accusation. No panic.

Just a question that carried weight.

For a brief moment, no one else spoke.

Aria's fingers hovered near the edge of the parchment in front of her, but she didn't pick it up. Her eyes flicked between Leon and the contract, calculating.

Kyra exhaled softly through her nose. "This isn't just loyalty paperwork…" she muttered under her breath, almost to herself. "There's something layered in this."

Syra tilted her head, watching Leon carefully, her usual playfulness gone. "You don't call something like this 'usual' unless you're hiding the real teeth behind it."

Mia stayed silent—but her hands tightened slightly in her lap.

Leon leaned back slightly in the throne.

Calm.

Unbothered.

As if this was expected.

As if their reactions were exactly what he had planned for.

A faint smile touched his lips.

"This…"

He gestured lightly toward the floating parchments.

"…is a usual blood contract."

The parchments drifted just a little closer to each of them, as if responding to his words—ink faintly shimmering across their surfaces.

No one reached out.

A pause.

Long enough for the tension to stretch.

Cynthia's gaze didn't leave him. "…You're not wrong," she said quietly. "But you're not being honest either."

Rias took a small step forward now, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Leon… don't play with words." Her voice softened at the end—not weaker, just more personal. "What exactly are you tying us to?"

Leon didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he let the silence sit.

Let them feel it.

Then, almost lazily, his fingers tapped once against the armrest of the throne.

"You all know what that is so why asked?"