Re-Awakened :I Ascend as an SSS-Ranked Dragon Summoner - Chapter 515

Chapter 515: Pressure makes Pithons
“So.” Kelvin’s voice cut through the oppressive quiet, and the wry smile on his face looked like it belonged to a stranger. “Are you going to hand over what I came for, or should I schedule a follow-up appointment?”

The question hung in the air, casual words wrapped around something jagged and bleeding.

Webb stared at his son like he was seeing him for the first time. His hand had dropped from his mouth, hanging uselessly at his side. When he spoke, his voice came out rough, scraped raw.

“Get out of my house.”

Kelvin’s smile widened, brittle as glass. “Sure thing, Dad.”

“Someone will deliver the alloy to your transport before you leave the property.” Webb turned away, facing the wall of technical schematics like they held answers to questions he didn’t want to ask. “Go.”

Noah moved first, his hand finding Kelvin’s elbow, guiding him toward the door. His friend didn’t resist, didn’t look back, just let himself be led out of the study like a puppet with cut strings.

The walk through Pithon Estate happened in reverse—past the conference room where investors were still debating weapons specifications, through corridors where holographic displays showed projects that would never matter as much as the conversation they’d just witnessed, out into daylight that felt like mockery.

A staff member was waiting at the landing pad with a sealed container roughly the size of a briefcase. She handed it to Kelvin without comment, professional neutrality suggesting she’d been briefed to ask no questions. He took it mechanically, tucking it under one arm as they boarded Seraleth’s ship.

The boarding ramp sealed behind them. The ship lifted off, guidance systems handling departure sequences while Noah and Kelvin sat in the passenger compartment surrounded by silence so complete it felt sentient.

Noah kept glancing at his friend, looking for something to say, some words that would bridge the chasm that had opened in that study. But Kelvin’s face had gone somewhere else entirely. Not the manic energy Noah had learned to navigate, not the humor that deflected serious moments—just absence. Like someone had reached inside and turned off whatever made Kelvin Pithon fundamentally himself.

The flight back took two hours. Kelvin didn’t speak once. Didn’t crack jokes about turbulence, didn’t point out interesting landscape features, didn’t even pull out his tablet to obsessively check KROME’s systems. He just sat there, staring at nothing, the container of experimental alloy balanced on his knees like it weighed more than physics allowed.

Noah had never heard Kelvin this quiet. Even during their worst moments—facing Kruel, losing Lucas, nearly dying on Sirius Primr—Kelvin had found words. Jokes, observations, nervous rambling that filled space because silence meant thinking and thinking meant feeling and feeling meant breaking.

But now there was just quiet.

The kind that made Noah’s chest tight and his hands restless because he didn’t know how to fix this. Didn’t know if this COULD be fixed.

They landed at Eclipse headquarters as dawn was breaking, the eastern sky bleeding red and gold across the industrial district. The faction building looked the same as when they’d left it, solid, permanent, a symbol of everything they’d built together.

Kelvin moved like someone underwater. Down the boarding ramp, across the landing pad, through the building’s main entrance. His usual bouncing energy was gone, replaced by mechanical forward motion that suggested he was navigating on autopilot rather than conscious thought.

Noah followed him to the workshop, watching as Kelvin set the container on his primary workbench with the kind of care usually reserved for explosives. His cybernetic fingers opened the seal, revealing metallic sheets that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The alloy looked wrong somehow, like reality wasn’t quite sure how to process its existence.

“Kelvin,” Noah tried.

His friend didn’t respond. He was already pulling up schematics, hands moving across holographic displays with that unconscious precision that came from years of practice. The fusion reactor design materialized in the air between them, three-dimensional and complex.

Noah watched him work. Measuring the alloy sheets with instruments that gave readings in decimals too precise for human perception. Cutting them with tools that hummed at frequencies that made his teeth ache. Assembling the containment chamber with movements that were too perfect, too controlled, like Kelvin was afraid that if he stopped moving, he’d have to start thinking.

An hour passed. Then two. Noah tried to help where he could, holding components in place while Kelvin secured them, retrieving tools before being asked. But mostly he just witnessed, present in case his friend needed him but unable to bridge the distance that trauma had carved between them.

The fusion chamber took shape piece by piece. Two opposing containment sections, one designed to receive extreme heat, the other extreme cold. Between them, a lattice structure that would hold hydrogen fuel in crystalline suspension. Connection ports for integration into KROME’s power core. Safety systems that would theoretically prevent catastrophic failure.

Theoretically.

The sun was climbing slowly when Kelvin finally stepped back, surveying his completed work with eyes that held no satisfaction. Just assessment. Mechanical evaluation of whether the engineering met specifications.

“It’s done,” he said. His voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.

Noah had dozed off at some point, his head resting on folded arms against a secondary workbench. He jerked awake at Kelvin’s words, disorientation giving way to awareness as he registered where they were and what they’d been doing.

“Yeah?” Noah rubbed his eyes. “It works?”

“Won’t know until we test it.” Kelvin gestured at the fusion chamber, now a cohesive unit rather than scattered components. “Need to charge it. See if the dragons can actually initiate fusion or if I’ve built an expensive paperweight.”

Noah stood, stretching muscles that protested sitting in an awkward position for however long he’d been out. “Your call?”

“Your domain,” Kelvin corrected. “Dragons are already there. Just need to bring this—” he hefted the chamber, “—and me.”

Right. Domain travel. Noah had gotten better at it over the months, no longer needing physical contact to bring people along. Just proximity and intention, folding space around targets and depositing them in his personal void pocket.

He activated the skill and immediately they were pulled, wrapped in void energy around himself, Kelvin, and the fusion chamber.

The workshop dissolved.

His domain materialized around them in that disorienting instant of transition. Grassland stretched in every direction, impossibly green under a sky that held no sun but somehow generated perfect daylight. Scattered trees provided shade near the cabin Noah had manifested months ago when he’d realized having a physical structure in his domain made visits feel less surreal. In the distance, three massive dens marked where his dragons typically rested between summons.

Storm noticed them first.

The wyvern burst from his den with a screech of pure joy, black scales gleaming with blue frost patterns as he launched himself across the grassland. He hit Noah at full speed, nearly bowling him over despite his enhanced physiology, nuzzling against his chest with affection that would have been adorable if Storm wasn’t the size of a small aircraft.

“Hey, buddy,” Noah laughed, scratching under the wyvern’s jaw. “Miss me?”

Storm chirped—an absurd sound from something capable of flash-freezing city blocks—and then he noticed Kelvin. His eyes, pale blue and intelligent, lit up with recognition. The wyvern abandoned Noah immediately, bounding toward Kelvin with puppy-like enthusiasm that completely ignored the laws of physics governing creatures his size.

“Storm, wait—” Kelvin barely got the words out before the wyvern tackled him, sending them both tumbling across the grass in a tangle of limbs and wings. Ice crystals formed where Storm’s scales contacted the ground, electrical discharge crackling between them in harmless arcs.

Ivy emerged next, moving with the grace she possessed. The Thorn Assault Dragon was smaller than her brothers but carried herself with regal bearing that made size irrelevant. Her emerald scales caught the light as she approached, vine-like appendages trailing behind her like a living dress. She came to Noah gently, pressing her head against his shoulder in greeting that held genuine warmth.

“Missed you too,” Noah murmured, running his hand along her scaled neck.

Nyx was last. The Red Death Dragon rose from his den like a small mountain deciding to walk, red scales absorbing and reflecting light in ways that hurt to look at directly. His golden eyes found Noah across the distance, holding his gaze with weight that suggested intelligence operating on different wavelengths than human thought.

They locked eyes for several heartbeats, some communication passing between them that transcended language. Then Nyx moved forward with deliberate steps. When he reached Noah, he lowered his massive head, allowing his summoner to press a palm against his hide.

Heat radiated from the contact—not burning, but present. Reminding Noah exactly what kind of power Nyx contained within that draconic frame.

Meanwhile, Kelvin was losing a battle with Storm’s enthusiastic affection. The wyvern had him pinned, alternating between nuzzling his face and releasing small bursts of electricity that made Kelvin’s hair stand on end. Frost formed across his thermal suit, melting and reforming as Storm’s excitement created localized weather phenomena.

“Little help?” Kelvin called out, laughing despite everything. The sound was rusty, unpracticed, but genuine.

“Storm, ease up,” Noah said, injecting just enough command to make it register. “Let him breathe.”

The wyvern backed off reluctantly, settling into a crouch that still kept him within touching distance of Kelvin. His tail swished back and forth, sending up small clouds of frozen grass particles.

“Okay, buddies,” Noah addressed all three dragons, pulling the fusion chamber from where it had landed during Storm’s assault. “We need your help building something.”

He held up the device, showing it to Nyx first. The dragon’s eyes focused on the metallic construction, intelligence evident in how he studied it.

“So this is going to… uh…” Noah paused, realizing the absurdity of what he was about to do. “It’s not like you understand engineering.”

Nyx rumbled, a sound that vibrated through Noah’s chest. Whether it was agreement, disagreement, or just acknowledgment was impossible to determine.

Storm bounded over, immediately trying to grab the chamber in his jaws.

“No!” Noah jerked it back. “Not a toy!”

Nyx growled at Storm in a low, authoritative manner that carried unmistakable command. Storm froze mid-lunge, settling back with what might have been a sulk if wyverns could sulk. But he obeyed, intelligent eyes tracking the chamber with clear interest.

Ivy had moved closer, watching the device with her characteristic attentiveness. Her emerald gaze flicked between the chamber, Noah, and Kelvin, processing information in whatever way her mind operated.

“Alright,” Noah said, deciding simple was better. “This device needs to be charged. One side needs to be really hot—” he gestured at Nyx, “—and the other side needs to be really cold.” He pointed at Storm. “Can you do that?”

Nyx’s rumble suggested affirmation. Storm chirped excitedly, frost already forming around his scales in anticipation.

“Ivy,” Noah turned to the third dragon, “I need you to hold this steady while they work. Can you create roots that’ll keep it positioned properly?”

The Thorn Assault Dragon tilted her head, considering. Then her body shifted, vine-like appendages extending downward into the grass. The ground rippled as her botanical manipulation took hold, roots emerging from earth that existed only in Noah’s domain. They wove together with organic precision, forming a cradle that positioned the fusion chamber at chest height.

“Perfect,” Kelvin said, finally recovered enough to contribute. He approached the suspended device, checking that the orientation was correct. “Nyx, you’re on this side—” he tapped the left chamber, “—and Storm, you’re on this side.” The right chamber. “Just… breathe into it. Or near it. However you normally do the heat and cold thing.”

Both dragons moved into position, flanking the chamber. Nyx’s Molten Core activated without visible effort, his scales brightening as internal temperature rose to levels that made the air shimmer. Storm’s Arctic Shroud manifested as frost spreading outward from his body in crystalline patterns, temperature plummeting until condensation formed and froze mid-air.

“Now,” Kelvin said.

Nyx exhaled first. Not a full breath attack—just exhalation that carried superheated air directly into the left chamber. The alloy began glowing dull red within seconds, temperature climbing faster than any conventional material should handle.

Storm followed suit, breathing into the right chamber. The temperature inside dropped precipitously, frost forming in layers so thick they became visible through the containment ports.

“How long?” Noah asked.

“Maybe thirty minutes to reach full charge,” Kelvin replied, stepping back as the dragons settled into a rhythm. “The thermal mass needs time to saturate completely.”

Noah glanced at his friend, seeing the opportunity. “So… Cora. What’s up with that?”

Kelvin’s expression flickered—surprise, then recognition of what Noah was attempting. “You’re terrible at this.”

“At what?”

“Socializing. Small talk. Acting like you’re not dying to ask about what my dad said back there.” Kelvin’s smile was small but present. “You suck at pretending everything’s normal.”

Noah had the grace to look embarrassed. “That obvious?”

“Painfully.” Kelvin watched the dragons work for a moment longer, then sighed. “Alright. You want to know what that was about? The whole ‘you killed your mother’ thing?”

“Only if you want to talk about it.”

“I don’t.” Kelvin started walking, heading toward Noah’s cabin. “But we’re going into battle in a few hours. Need my head clear. Can’t do that if I’m carrying this around.”

They walked in silence until they reached the cabin, a simple structure that existed because Noah had imagined it into being. Inside, basic furniture manifested from void energy provided seating that was more concept than actual material comfort.

They sat.

Kelvin stared at his hands for a long moment before speaking.

“This is the first time I’ve talked about this with anyone,” he said quietly. “Haven’t revisited it in… years. But battle’s coming. Need to deal with this or it’ll get me killed.”

Noah waited, giving him space.

“My parents had me. Just me. Only child, which in retrospect was probably smart because one Kelvin Pithon is about all the universe can handle.” His smile was brief, automatic. “I was born with every advantage money could provide. Diamond spoon doesn’t cover it—diamond everything. Whatever I wanted, I got. Whatever I needed, appeared.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Sounds isolating.” Kelvin’s voice carried old pain. “Dad was already a genius inventor by the time I came along. The Webb Pithon, creator of technologies that saved humanity during the Harbinger War. And Mom…” He paused. “Mom was a healer. Actual healing abilities. She could cure injuries, reverse disease progression, extend lives. Between the two of them, I was supposed to be… exceptional.”

He laughed, the sound hollow.

“Pressure started early. Dad never asked if I wanted to learn. He’d just drop the worksheets on my desk before heading back to the lab. Theories instead of toys. He’d say there was a chance I wouldn’t awaken abilities at all, let alone inherit his technopathy. So I needed to be prepared. Armed with knowledge in case biology failed me.”

Noah remembered his own childhood—abandoned at barracks, raised by people who saw potential but never quite saw him. Different trauma, similar weight.

“I studied,” Kelvin continued. “God, did I study. Forced myself through material that should’ve been years beyond my comprehension. And I got it. Not just understood it—mastered it. I was brilliant. Genuinely, frighteningly brilliant. By high school I could solve problems that stumped adults with doctorates.”

“But?”

“But I became a freak.” Kelvin’s hands clenched. “Social pariah. The kid who knew everything about quantum mechanics and nothing about how to talk to people. Girls wanted boys who were fun. I wasn’t fun. All I knew was pi to a thousand digits and how to calculate orbital decay.”

He stood, pacing the small cabin.

“So I rebelled. Stopped doing Dad’s homework assignments—because that’s what they were, blueprints and engineering problems instead of actual father-son bonding. Became deliberately difficult. Acted out in ways that would embarrass him. When I stopped doing the assignments, he didn’t ask why. He assumed I’d get over it and kept leaving new ones”

“Looking back now, I feel stupid,” Kelvin said, voice cracking slightly. “Because Dad was right. He is… he’s…”

The words stuck in his throat. Noah watched his friend struggle, watched him choke on whatever he was trying to say.

“Anyway,” Kelvin continued, forcing himself forward. “One night I went to a party. Cool kids, popular crowd, all the people who wouldn’t normally let me within twenty feet of their social circle. I was trying so hard to fit in. To be normal instead of the genius freak. Dad was in the lab that night. Always in the lab. Projects, deadlines, world-saving stuff. Mom handled everything else.”

His pacing stopped.

“There was a Harbinger attack that night. Not at the party—few blocks away. I recall they were two horns tearing through the district. EDF responded, but you know how those engagements go. Chaos. Destruction. People dying while soldiers try to contain the threat.”

Noah’s chest tightened, seeing where this was going.

“I left the party early. Girl spilled a drink on me, embarrassed me in front of everyone. So I went home, angry and humiliated and feeling sorry for myself.” Kelvin’s voice had gone flat. “But Mom didn’t know I’d left. She’d bugged me—put a tracker in my jacket. The same jacket that had the drink spilled on it. The same jacket I had tossed away behind because I could afford thousands of it,”

He turned to face Noah, and there were tears streaming down his face now.

“She thought I was still there. In the attack zone. So she went to save me. Rushed into active combat to protect her son.” His voice broke. “There was a second wave. Mom got caught in the middle. Medical reports say… fist through the torso. She was dead before any healer could reach her.”

“Kelvin—” Noah stood, reaching for him.

“No!” Kelvin jerked back. “You don’t get to tell me it’s not my fault! You don’t get to say it was just war, just casualties! Because it WASN’T! She died because I was at a party I shouldn’t have been at, wearing a jacket with a tracker, and she thought her son needed saving!”

He was sobbing now, years of held grief pouring out.

“If I’d stayed home. If I’d just done the fucking math equation Dad left me that day. If I’d been the son they deserved instead of the disappointment I became—she’d still be alive! The Harbingers wouldn’t have gotten to her! But I couldn’t even do that right!”

Noah grabbed him then, pulling him into a hug that Kelvin tried to fight for exactly two seconds before he collapsed into it.

“I killed my mom,” Kelvin whispered against Noah’s shoulder. “Can’t amount to shit. Not half the man—not even half the shitty man Dad is. And he knows it. We both know it. That’s why he said what he said. Because it’s TRUE.”

They stood there while Kelvin cried, Noah holding his best friend while grief that had been compressed for years finally found release. No words would fix this. No platitudes would make it better. So Noah just held him, present in the way Kelvin needed someone to be present.

Eventually, the sobs subsided. Kelvin pulled back, wiping his face with his cybernetic hand, the gesture somehow making him look younger than he was.

“KROME should be charged by now,” he said, voice raw but steadier.

They walked back to where the dragons waited. True to Kelvin’s prediction, both chambers glowed with stored thermal energy—one radiating waves of heat that distorted the air, the other so cold that frost formed on the ground beneath it despite being suspended.

Kelvin approached the device, running diagnostics that confirmed what his eyes already told him. “Fully charged. Temperature differential is twenty-four hundred ninety-six degrees Celsius. That’s… that’s enough.”

He looked at Noah, and something old and broken showed in his eyes alongside something new and determined.

“I can’t bring her back. That’s wishful thinking. Dead is dead and time doesn’t reverse itself.” He placed his hand on the fusion chamber, feeling the heat and cold contained within. “But I can make sure every single Harbinger left in the universe pays for what they took from me. From everyone.”

“Now we are talking,” Noah said.

“This machine better work,” Kelvin said, his voice carrying that manic edge Noah recognized. “Because I’m going to kill them all. Every last one.”