"The magistrate calls for evacuation!" someone shouted from the streets. "A worldly dragon has been sighted! A worldly dragon—above the southern ridge!"
Shutters slammed open, lights flared in windows. People spilled into the roads clutching bags, children, chickens — anything they could carry. The air thickened with fear and smoke.
Renmei didn't stop to think. Her instincts took over. She turned from the door and began frantically grabbing every pouch of dried herbs and every bottle of tincture she could reach, sweeping them into a satchel.
She'd lived through blizzards and bandit raids; she knew what survival meant. Even if her heart thundered with panic, her hands moved quick and sure.
"Yarrow… wolfroot… gods, where's the burn salve—" she muttered, half to herself. The room was chaos, shelves rattling as she packed.
From inside her head, the voice sighed, almost indulgently amused.
"You don't have to worry, you know," it said softly. "You will not be killed tonight."
"Oh, that's comforting," Renmei hissed, shoving packets of powdered sage into her bag. "Tell that to the rest of the village!"
The voice only chuckled.
"So materialistic," the voice teased. "I didn't think a few jars of weeds would be a greater concern than your life."
Renmei paused in mid-pack, the jar balanced precariously between thumb and forefinger. "I'd rather not lose the herbs," she snapped aloud, more breath than anger. "They were a favor — they were a consolation after last night. Do you know what it's like to have a dragon tackle you to the ground? I'd like to keep what little good came of it!"
That earned a low, playful hum.
"Ah, so you were scared of me after all."
But Renmei wasn't listening. Her hands were shaking as she tied off her satchel. The hut quivered again as another distant roar rumbled through the air — closer this time, carrying the force of a storm behind it. Outside, Baosheng's voice barked orders, telling people to move toward the southern road.
The sky split open with another roar — a streak of cyan fire spiraling through the clouds as the dragon descended. Snow and wind billowed around it, and the smell of ozone and scorched frost filled the air. Renmei stumbled out into the street, shielding her eyes from the glare of its wings.
The roar came again—louder this time, closer—and the ground itself trembled beneath Renmei's bare feet. Roof tiles clattered from the eaves, chickens burst from coops, and the distant trees swayed violently as the shadow above descended through the storm of snow and wind. Renmei shielded her eyes from the debris as the silhouette took form—a dragon, sleek and gleaming, wings wide enough to cast half the village in shade.
It wasn't quite what she'd imagined.
The creature that emerged through the clouds was… smaller. Not tiny by any means, but less of the mountain-sized terror from the old tales. Perhaps four, maybe five meters tall at most—compact, lithe, its scales shimmering between shades of cyan and silver. Its serpentine body rippled with energy, its long mane flickering like wind-tossed flames of blue. It was beautiful, yes, but not the colossal beast of ruin she'd feared.
"…That's it?" Renmei muttered under her breath before she could stop herself.
It wasn't that big, she realized. Maybe three houses long, four at best. Not the mountain-sized monsters from old legends, but large enough that the air itself bent around it. Its scales glistened like hammered turquoise, each one refracting the moonlight into shards of blue-green fire.
The voice in her head laughed, warm and smug. "I'd keep that thought to yourself if I were you. He's got quite the ego about his looks — preens more than a peacock when complimented, and sulks for days if not."
Renmei scoffed as she threw her satchel over her shoulder and made for the door. "If that's the case, then someone should tell him his scales look like fish skin from here."
The village square was chaos — children crying, villagers shouting, soldiers forming lines with spears glowing faintly with enchantment.
She spotted Old Man Ruoyu first, bent and white-haired but swift as a striking crane, inscribing shimmering sigils in the air. The glyphs hovered briefly before attaching themselves to strips of parchment that villagers clutched like lifelines. "Take these and keep them close!" he ordered. "They'll repel heat and shield against the dragon's aura!"
Sir Baosheng was at the far end, shouting orders as he directed the guards and shepherded the children toward the wagons. His blade gleamed at his side, and his usually stern face was set with grim focus.
The cyan dragon hovered above the rooftops, its luminous eyes sweeping over the crowd like twin stars. The faintest trace of disdain curled through its features. It looked down upon them like one might upon ants.
"Well," Renmei muttered to the voice in her head, unable to help herself, "if that's his idea of impressive, I've seen better-looking river serpents."
"You truly don't value your life, do you?" the voice said, now clearly entertained. "Still… I can't say I disagree."
The creature beat its vast wings once, the gust nearly knocking her off her feet, and she saw it dip lower — too low — the wind pressure cracking roof tiles and scattering snow in blinding clouds. It was heading straight toward the main square, where Ruoyu and Baosheng stood.
Renmei didn't think; she moved.
The warmth in her chest burst outward, her mana roaring through her veins like wildfire. Her hands trembled as she raised them, calling to it— and for the first time, she felt it answer.
Before she could think twice, she stretched out her hands. Mana — bright, cobalt-blue — erupted from her palms, spiraling into the cold night air. Fire gathered, dancing and coiling into a whirling shape that burned far hotter than it should have for someone with her limited reserves.
Renmei's chest throbbed in time with the flames. "Focus on me!" she whispered aloud, hoping the dragon could sense the intent behind the fire. Her pulse raced; the wind whipped through her hair and rattled the trees, but she held her ground, refusing to flee.
The cyan dragon wasn't interested in the others anymore. Its eyes locked on Renmei — furious, blazing with both recognition and disbelief.
"Ah," the voice in her mind murmured softly, almost fondly. "Brother."
The dragon dove again, not with the intent to kill — but with purpose.
"Oh no, no no—wait, not like that!" she gasped, realizing the terrible mistake just as the dragon's attention zeroed in on her completely.
It moved with terrifying grace, folding its wings and diving straight down. The wind screamed as it descended. Before Renmei could react, a massive claw hooked under the hood of her cloak and lifted her clean off her feet. She screamed, the ground dropping away as the dragon beat its wings and surged upward.
"Renmei!" Baosheng's voice echoed below.
Old Man Ruoyu raised his staff, slamming it into the earth. A torrent of golden energy spiraled upward, striking the dragon's side. The blast cracked through the air like lightning, searing its scales. But the creature didn't so much as flinch.
It turned its gaze toward the old mage, eyes gleaming with quiet disdain, and then beat its wings once — twice — rising higher, dragging Renmei helplessly with it. The wind stung her eyes as the village shrank below, torches flickering like stars scattered across snow.
The air shimmered, and a bolt of pure golden light tore through the night sky, hitting the dragon squarely in the wing.
The explosion lit the entire village like dawn. Renmei cried out as the dragon's grip tightened reflexively. The smell of scorched ozone filled the air. When she dared to look up, she saw a jagged tear ripping through one of its wings, bright cyan blood sizzling where the light had struck.
The dragon screamed, a terrible sound that seemed to shake the stars themselves. Its flight faltered, veering dangerously close to the rooftops before it beat its wings with renewed fury, launching itself higher. When it finally gained enough altitude to be a silhouette again, it angled and gave one last great bellow: a sound that rolled through the valley and fractured into the bones of the listeners. It flung itself into the night, wing hanging ragged and half-folded, and rode the high air currents away. The roar receded into the distance, a diminishing drumbeat that left the sky oddly hollow.
"PUT ME DOWN!" she screamed, kicking against its scales.
The voice inside her mind sighed in what sounded almost like fond exasperation.
"Ah. Well. This is going to be an awkward family reunion."
"WHAT—WHAT FAMILY REUNION?!" she shouted, but her words were lost to the freezing wind.
The dragon's injured wing dripped glowing blood as it carried her eastward, its great body slicing through the clouds like a streak of living lightning.
Far below, the village lay quiet again—save for the distant cry of Old Man Ruoyu, calling her name into the night.
Ruoyu sagged to his knees when the beast had gone. He dropped his staff and put both hands to his temples, breathing in gasps as if the effort had been something physical and monstrous. The smoke of his sigils curled and went out like blown candles. Men rushed to brace him, to support the old healer who had thrown himself between the village and calamity.
Baosheng scrambled up onto the wagon and, face a mask of white with fury and worry, shouted commands for watchmen to take the tracks. "Follow!" he bellowed. "If the magistrate will spare us riders, send them westward! We find where it lands, we make sure it does not circle back!"
The world blurred into streaks of white and silver before the dragon's wings folded and it dove through a canopy of pines, the wind screaming in Renmei's ears. The descent ended with a violent rush of air and a thunderous thud that rippled through the earth. Trees bowed beneath the dragon's weight, branches shaking loose their load of snow in shimmering cascades.
They had landed in a dense thicket—an ancient wood at the edge of the highlands, where the frost never melted and mist clung to the roots. The cyan dragon's long tail swept aside the undergrowth, clearing a space as its wings folded neatly against its sides. A deep, resonant hum filled the grove as it breathed, the faint glow from its scales reflecting across the frozen ground in waves of cold light.
"Are you injured? Did the transfer take hold properly?"
The girl stirred. Her breathing slowed, steadied, then stilled altogether. When she lifted her head, her expression was not her own. Gone was the timid, bewildered village girl who had been plucked from the snow; her gaze, now steady and knowing, shone with the burn of an inner flame. Her irises glowed with a deep, unearthly cobalt—alive, swirling faintly like molten light.
She—no, he—smiled faintly, the curve of his lips unfamiliar on her face.
"You worry too much, brother. Though I see you've gotten yourself injured again. How many times must I tell you, arrogance makes you predictable."
The cyan dragon's nostrils flared; surprise, quickly chased by a proud little snap of amusement, set its crest trembling. "Custodian of Cobalt Flames," it said, formally, the title tasting of reverence even at the edges of reproach. "You are occupying a female form. Why —of all hosts— would you choose such an inconvenient vessel?"
The vessel—Renmei's body—rose slowly to its feet, movements no longer tentative but deliberate, precise, as if every muscle remembered a rhythm older than human life. He brushed a hand down the front of her cloak, inspecting the human form as one might regard an ill-fitting robe.
"This vessel is… adequate," he said finally, the words faintly echoing as though two voices spoke in tandem. "Fragile, yes, but it will suffice until my strength returns. And she is not without merit. I was only able to inhabit her in the first place because she was the sole human in the vicinity willing."
For the first time the cyan dragon's expression cracked into something softer, though the softness was thinly overlaid with pride. "I care for no human custom," it said. "I care for the line. You are the last that breathes from the same coiling blood as I. I would have you state your reasons plainly instead of dancing."
The Custodian's mouth quirked. "Very well. I chose her because she can be unseen when needed. Because pity and kindness make a cloak as stout as iron when applied. Because she will be listened to in ways you are not, and because—" His voice dropped, and a different current slipped beneath it, quick as flame. "Because I can fit myself to her smallness until we are not found, and because this girl's fear makes her pliable. There are advantages to being a voice and not a battering ram."
The cyan dragon bristled at that last word but there was no true anger in the flare of its scales; instead, a begrudging respect, as from an elder sibling to a younger one who had always preferred tricks to force. "You compromised, then," the cyan dragon snapped, masking the fear beneath with a spike of irritation. "You bound yourself to a human whose bones will wane with frost and disease. Do you not feel the indignity?" His eyes narrowed until they were slits of gold in the cobalt light. "She cannot walk without rest for three days straight without complaint. What use will that be across the burnlands?"
The Custodian's voice softened but not submissively. "She is not a child to be pitied," it said. "True, she is human, small and flattened by a winter of want. But she is stubborn and has held a life together with her hands. There is strength in such holding."
"Strength, perhaps," the cyan dragon conceded, "but not the sort you need. We must travel to the Eastern Pyre. The liveliness of her form will draw old eyes, and old eyes tell stories to magistrates and scholars who tangle travel in red tape. We will be hindered."
"Then we will move faster," the voice replied simply. "Faster than your patience, if need be."
The dragon's snort was a little storm of wind. "You make light of this, younger one. Pride will not carry a man's saddle nor a woman's cloak if a governor confers the wrong notice upon us— on her." He touched one of Renmei's shoulders with the gentlest of caresses — a foreclaw's pad of scalded moss where scales gave way to a softer skin. "Tell me truthfully: when you reached for that warmth in her chest, did you choose her to be your companion or vessel?"
"Perhaps both," the Custodian said. The answer fell like a stone into still water, and the ripples were slow and wide. "You worry for me as I would worry for you. We have few left. I will not falter."
For all the scorn it wore, the cyan dragon's attention softened. He lowered his head until their faces were inches apart — the distance where dragons smelled the salt on one another's breath and measured kinship in the heat of a muzzle. "You know I cannot bear foolishness when there are eyes searching for us," he said, and the line of his voice broke, small and sudden, with an emotion that was both old and private. "You are my last of kin." The admission slid out like a stone dropped into a pool, tiny waves of something near vulnerability rippling the surface.
The Custodian's—Renmei's—lips quirked in what would have been a human smile. "And you are my prudent, overbearing guardian," he said, amusement woven beneath the civility. The way the words sat inside her chest felt foreign and intimate all at once; memory-flash images not her own flickered behind her eyes: scale-sheen under distant suns, a hollow cave echoing with two small growls of laughter, the smell of ash and metal. They were a heritage she had never remembered but which now translated through her like muscle obeying command.
"You placed yourself in a female vessel without consulting reason," the cyan dragon grumbled. He flexed his wounded wing, a sound like cloth tearing between his ribs. "If we move unnoticed, if we travel quickly, it would have been wiser to take something less conspicuous. A man's form perhaps—stronger jaw, broader shoulder. You will be an annoyance among men," he said finally, tone equal parts exasperation and fondness. "They will look for reasons to blame a woman. They will clasp around her and guard — or they will covet. We must be careful. Keep to the shadow and do not rouse their pity into praise. Pride eats more than hunger when it is misfed."
"I will not be idle," the Custodian replied, voice easing into something like concession. "But do not make me crawl back to the pyre by way of etiquette. We move at first light. Your patience for my choices will be of more use than your scorn."
The cyan dragon snorted, air scattering like a small avalanche. Then, abruptly, where haughtiness had been a wall, tenderness seeped in and softened his next words. "You are a fool I will not abandon," he said in a rougher whisper. "Hurry. I can sense the stirrings — others will come. Let the woman sleep. We will leave before the sun is high and before prying cart-wheels scuff the roads."
The dragon rumbled a sound that could have been a chuckle or a reluctant agreement, and, with cautious, careful movements, gathered itself among the trees. The wound at its wing bled a dark, glittering line that stained the snow, but the beast's pride stayed intact; it rose with a measured breath, and the two of them — one enormous and ancient, the other caged in a small human skin with eyes like burning cobalt — settled into the thicket as if into an old strategy.