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

“Their cores.”
Kelvin’s entire body went still, like someone had hit pause on his manic energy. Then his face split into a grin so wide it looked physically painful.
“YES!” He spun back to his displays, pulling up data with frantic movements. “Dragon cores! Noah, that’s it! That’s the missing piece!”
“I don’t follow,” Noah admitted, moving closer to examine the holographic projections Kelvin was throwing up faster than he could track.
“Okay okay okay, let me back up.” Kelvin took a breath that did absolutely nothing to calm him down. “Beast cores are batteries, right? Organic tissue that stores massive amounts of energy. A Category Two core might hold enough power to run a combat exoskeleton for an hour. Category Three, maybe two hours. Category Five—the absolute best we can acquire—gives you sustained output for thirty, maybe forty-five minutes before it’s completely depleted.”
He pulled up power consumption graphs, curves that dropped toward zero with depressing inevitability.
“Once they’re empty, they’re DONE. Dead tissue. Shit is Inert. You throw them away and find new ones. That’s why KROME has been failing—I’m trying to sustain Category Five power output with what’s essentially a really expensive battery that dies after half an hour of use or less.”
Noah nodded, following the logic. The depletion problem had been Kelvin’s main frustration for weeks.
“But your dragons,” Kelvin continued, his voice taking on that manic edge again, “they don’t work that way. At all. Nyx breathes fire for HOURS if you need him to. Storm generates ice and lightning without stopping. They heal from damage. They maintain their environmental effects indefinitely. That’s not battery behavior—that’s something else entirely.”
He pulled up thermal imaging from previous battles. Noah recognized footage from the Darius fight—Nyx in full Molten Core activation, the air shimmering with heat that extended meters beyond his physical form. Temperature readings scrolled past showing numbers that made Noah wince.
“Three hundred degrees Celsius in a twenty-meter radius,” Kelvin said, pointing at the data. “And look—this is AFTER the fight ended. The ambient temperature stayed elevated for another fifteen minutes. That’s not stored heat being released. That’s active, continuous generation.”
More displays appeared—Storm’s environmental impact during the beast horde defense. Frost patterns spreading across surfaces, temperature readings diving into negative ranges that should have killed organic tissue instantly.
“Negative seventy degrees where he hovers,” Kelvin continued. “Sustained for the entire engagement with no apparent drain. And the electrical output—” he pulled up another graph, this one showing power spikes that climbed into ranges Noah had only seen during industrial accidents, “—ten million volts, multiple discharges, zero degradation in capability.”
Noah studied the data, seeing his dragons’ capabilities rendered in cold numbers for the first time. “So what’s the difference? Why don’t dragon cores deplete like beast cores?”
“Because they’re not STORING energy!” Kelvin slammed his hand on the workbench, the sound sharp in the enclosed space. “They’re GENERATING it! Actively! Continuously! From some source I can’t identify but that clearly exists!”
He was pacing now, movements jerky with barely contained excitement.
“A Category Five beast core is impressive—ten megawatts of stored energy in organic tissue that weighs maybe two kilograms. That’s incredible energy density. But it’s FINITE. Once you drain it, it’s gone. But Nyx?” Kelvin gestured at the thermal readings. “Just his ambient heat output—the waste energy bleeding off that serves no combat purpose—suggests he’s generating fifty megawatts CONTINUOUSLY. And that’s WASTE! That’s not even counting the energy he’s using for flight, breath attacks, regeneration, all his other capabilities!”
The implications were starting to sink in. “So dragon cores are generators, not batteries.”
“Exactly! Power plants! Miniature suns running on principles I don’t understand but that clearly work!” Kelvin pulled up more data, energy output estimations that climbed into ranges that seemed impossible for biological systems. “And the best part? They never stop. As long as the dragon exists, it’s generating power. No depletion. No recharge time. Just continuous output forever.”
“Which doesn’t help KROME unless you’re planning to surgically extract their cores,” Noah said carefully, already knowing where that suggestion would go.
“Hell no!” Kelvin actually recoiled. “First, that’s barbaric. Second, Nyx would eat me before I got within arm’s reach. Third, Storm would probably freeze me solid just for thinking about it. Your dragons are terrifying and I value my internal organs staying internal.”
Despite the tension, Noah felt his mouth twitch toward a smile. That was definitely Kelvin’s actual reasoning process.
“But it got me thinking about HOW dragon cores power their bodies,” Kelvin continued, moving back to his displays with renewed energy. “There has to be distribution happening, right? The core generates power, but that power needs to reach muscles, breath organs, regenerative systems, flight mechanisms. Energy has to FLOW from the core throughout the entire body.”
“Through their biology,” Noah supplied. “Like blood vessels distribute oxygen.”
“Exactly! Energy distribution network integrated into their physiology!” Kelvin was pulling up anatomical diagrams now, theoretical models based on observed behavior he’d done rather than actual scans. “And that energy doesn’t all stay contained within the dragon’s body. We FEEL it. Nyx radiates heat. Storm creates cold. Those are byproducts—waste energy bleeding off into the environment.”
He highlighted specific sections of the thermal imaging, areas where energy dispersal was most visible.
“This waste serves no purpose for the dragons. It’s just excess generation capacity bleeding away. But what if—” Kelvin’s grin took on that manic quality again, “—what if we could capture that waste? Use it as fuel for something else?”
Noah was starting to see the direction this was heading. “Use the dragons’ waste energy as a power source.”
“Better than that!” Kelvin spun around, moving to a different workstation where new schematics were displayed. “Use it as a CATALYST! Noah, you know what stars are? How they actually work at the fundamental level?”
“Fusion reactors,” Noah replied, his physics education clicking into gear. “Hydrogen atoms compressed by gravity until they fuse together, releasing massive energy in the process.”
“And that energy creates MORE heat!” Kelvin was drawing diagrams now, hands moving faster than conscious thought. “Which compresses MORE hydrogen, which causes MORE fusion, which generates MORE energy! Self-perpetuating cycle! That’s why stars last billions of years—they don’t deplete because they’re not running on stored fuel. They’re running on a reaction that sustains itself!”
The connection hit Noah with physical force. “You want to create a fusion reactor.”
“I want to create a fusion reactor powered by DRAGONS!” Kelvin’s voice had climbed toward shouting. “Human fusion reactors fail because we can’t replicate stellar conditions! We can’t maintain the temperature and pressure needed for sustained fusion! But what if there’s another way? Another catalyst that doesn’t require crushing atoms with gravity?”
He pulled up more physics—thermodynamic principles, quantum mechanics, material science that made Noah’s head hurt just looking at the equations.
“Thermal shock,” Kelvin said, his words coming rapid-fire now. “When you create an EXTREME temperature differential—something impossibly hot meeting something impossibly cold—you generate massive pressure waves! Quantum fluctuations in the space between them! Lattice vibrations in any material caught in the gradient! Under the right conditions, with the right setup, that shock can trigger low-energy nuclear reactions!”
“Cold fusion,” Noah said slowly, theoretical physics he’d studied before the academy surfacing in his memory. “Lattice-confinement fusion. Using crystalline structures and rapid thermal cycling to achieve fusion at lower temperatures than conventional reactors require.”
“YES!” Kelvin grabbed Noah’s shoulders, shaking him slightly. “It’s been theoretical for DECADES because we couldn’t create the conditions needed! But Noah—” his grip tightened, “—your dragons ARE those conditions! Nyx generates heat that vaporizes steel! Storm generates cold that makes liquid nitrogen look warm! If I can create a chamber where their breath creates a sustained thermal differential—”
“The shock could trigger fusion reactions,” Noah finished, the physics falling into place like puzzle pieces. “In hydrogen fuel suspended between the temperature extremes.”
“EXACTLY!” Kelvin released him, spinning back to his schematics. “The dragons initiate the reaction! They provide that first massive thermal shock that starts the fusion process! And then—this is the beautiful part—the fusion generates its own heat! Which maintains the temperature gradient! Which sustains MORE fusion! Self-perpetuating cycle just like a star!”
He pulled up power projections, and the numbers made Noah’s breath catch.
“Category Five beast core,” Kelvin said, pointing at a depressing curve that dropped to zero after barely an hour. “Ten megawatts sustained output for thirty to forty-five minutes. Then it’s dead. Useless. But THIS—” he tapped the fusion reactor projection, a line that stayed flat and high indefinitely, “—one hundred megawatts. CONTINUOUS. For as long as the containment holds and fuel remains!”
Noah stared at the comparison. Ten times the power output. Effectively infinite duration. “That’s not an incremental improvement. That’s—”
“A complete paradigm shift!” Kelvin’s laugh had a slightly unhinged quality. “KROME becomes fully operational! Not just for one mission—for EVERY mission! I can engage Category Five threats directly! I can provide sustained fire support for hours! I can fly at maximum velocity without worrying about power drain! I can actually CONTRIBUTE in fights that matter instead of watching from the goddamn sidelines while everyone else risks their lives!”
The raw emotion in that last statement made Noah pause. Kelvin’s usual humor was completely absent, replaced by something desperate and determined.
“This solves everything,” Kelvin continued, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “The power problem. The operational duration problem. The strategic limitation of being support-only. With this reactor, KROME becomes what it was always supposed to be—a combat platform that can stand alongside you instead of behind you.”
Noah looked at the schematics, at the power projections, at the fusion principles rendered in holographic detail. The concept was sound. The physics checked out. Kelvin had genuinely solved the impossible problem.
But his analytical mind had already identified the critical flaw.
“Containment,” Noah said quietly. “You need a material that can handle both temperature extremes simultaneously without failing.”
Kelvin’s manic energy evaporated like someone had pulled his power supply. His shoulders dropped, and he slumped against his workbench with an expression of utter defeat.
“Yeah,” he said, the single word carrying weeks of frustration. “That’s the problem. That’s the impossible, unsolvable, absolute deal-breaker of a problem.”
He pulled up material specifications, failure analysis that painted a grim picture.
“Nyx’s breath reaches temperatures around twenty-five hundred degrees Celsius. That’s hot enough to vaporize most alloys. To melt steel. To turn titanium into liquid. Storm’s breath generates cold down to negative two hundred degrees. That’s below liquid nitrogen temperatures. Cold enough to shatter crystalline structures through thermal stress.”
Kelvin gestured at the analysis with clear frustration.
“I need a material that can handle BOTH extremes. Simultaneously. Without degrading. Without cracking. Without failing catastrophically and turning my fusion reactor into a bomb that kills everyone within a hundred-meter radius.” He laughed, bitter and tired. “And nothing I have access to can do that. Nothing in standard materials catalogs. Nothing I can fabricate with available equipment. The perfect material for this application doesn’t exist in my inventory.”
Noah thought for a moment, running through possibilities. “What about experimental materials? Military research projects? Your father’s company does defense contracting—they might have access to things that aren’t commercially available.”
Kelvin’s head came up slowly, something shifting in his expression.
“Wait,” he said, his voice taking on a different quality. Not manic excitement this time, but careful consideration. “There WAS a project. Years ago. Before I joined the EDF and everything went sideways with Dad.”
He pulled up files from what looked like archived corporate databases, digging through layers of security with the casual ease of someone who’d grown up with access to these systems.
“Pithon Industries had a military contract for Category Five threat response equipment. The EDF wanted armor that could handle direct engagement with the highest-level beasts. Something that wouldn’t fail under extreme kinetic and thermal loads.”
“Did they succeed?” Noah asked.
“I don’t know. I left for the academy before testing concluded.” Kelvin pulled up project summaries, technical specifications that were heavily redacted. “But the research direction was promising. Something about composite alloys with layered crystalline structures. Void-reactive materials integrated into the matrix for enhanced durability. Theoretical capability to handle temperature ranges from near-absolute-zero to several thousand degrees.”
He looked at Noah, conflict clear in his expression.
“If that alloy exists—if they actually succeeded in creating what the specifications promised—it’s exactly what I need. The only material that could possibly contain a dragon fusion reactor without failing.”
“So contact your father,” Noah said. “Explain what you’re building. Request access to the experimental materials.”
“It’s not that simple.” Kelvin’s laugh was bitter. “You don’t know Dad. He’s not someone you just call up and ask for favors. Especially not favors that involve experimental military-grade materials worth more than most people’s houses.”
“When did you last talk to him?”
“Inter-academy tournament. Few months back.” Kelvin set down his tablet, staring at his hands. “We exchanged maybe ten words. He asked when I was coming home to join the family business. I told him never. He said I was wasting my potential. I walked away. That was the extent of our father-son bonding.”
Noah considered this. Webb Pithon was legendary in certain circles—a genius inventor who’d built a weapons manufacturing empire through a combination of natural talent and awakened abilities that made him a walking computer. But he was also known for being difficult, demanding, and having very specific expectations for his son’s future.
“But you need that alloy,” Noah pointed out.
“But I need that alloy,” Kelvin agreed. He pulled up his communication device, staring at his father’s contact information like it might bite him. “This should be a fun conversation.”
He made the call.