The moment Kiyomono placed the old photo frame in their hands, Ren and Kai felt something tug inside their chests—like an invisible thread pulling taut. The shrine lamps flickered. The wind outside went quiet. And before either of them could react, their eyelids became unbearably heavy. As if drenched by a soft, ancient lullaby, they fell asleep right there on the tatami.
When darkness lifted, they were no longer themselves.
A pair of trembling breaths echoed in a stone chamber.
Kai blinked. No—someone blinked through his eyes. Ren felt the same: his heartbeat was not his own. The dream wasn't a dream. It was memory, sinking into them like ink bleeding through paper.
A faint lantern swayed from a rusted hook. It illuminated the pale figure of a boy, curled against a wall of freezing iron. Thin wrists. Too-thin neck. Shoulders sharp like broken wings.
A prince.
A prisoner.
A child was kneeling alone in a cold stone chamber.
Auren.
A name once spoken with pride, now left to rot in silence.
---
The room allotted to him had no windows—only a narrow slit in the wall where daylight barely slipped through. Dust fluttered in that thin light like drifting ash. The air smelled of rusted chains and old iron. Heavy shackles clattered whenever the enormous creature at the far end exhaled.
The Ancient Dragon.
Its scales, once bright, were dulled by years of captivity. Even its breath felt like a tired sigh that could crack stone.
But for two years, neither dragon nor boy spoke.
Auren—frail, thin, barely more than bones—sat quietly beside the wall. The enemy kingdom delivered two trays of food a day, never more, never less. Food that was meant for the dragon, not him. Food that never reached the dragon.
Because Auren had a secret.
A small silver ring on his finger—his only possession—held a hidden space filled with rations. With this, he survived. And in the stillness of that chamber, days blurred into months, and months into years.
No footsteps came for him.
No voice called his name.
No one asked if he was alive.
His own kingdom had traded him away like a broken object.
Auren stopped expecting anything.
His name… slowly became a wound too deep to touch.
---
When his twelfth birthday arrived—an event only he remembered—Auren sat quietly in the cold, listening to the dragon's breathing. The silence between them had grown familiar, almost comforting.
But that day, something within him stirred.
Not bravery. Not hope. Just a small ache of loneliness that had grown too large to ignore.
He stood, walked toward the dragon, and in a voice unused for years, whispered:
"…Why are you here?"
The dragon's enormous golden eye opened.
For the first time, it looked at him—truly looked at him.
"You speak," the dragon said softly, its voice echoing like an ancient bell.
Auren flinched. He hadn't spoken to anyone for so long that the sound of another voice almost hurt.
The dragon studied the tiny ring on his finger, the barely noticeable movements he made when hiding food, the quiet way he breathed.
"You have a space treasure," the dragon murmured. "That is how you're still alive."
Auren lowered his head, unsure if this confession would anger the creature.
But the dragon only chuckled—weak, brittle, yet warm.
"For two years, you never touched my food. Even though you could've eaten all of it."
The chain around its neck rattled softly.
"You're a strange child."
Auren's lips trembled. He had never been called anything before. Not strange. Not kind. Not even by name.
The dragon continued, "I am Itsuhiko. The Guardian of this nation… or I once was."
Auren slowly lifted his head. "Guardian…?"
"Yes. A Future-Teller Dragon. I could see the future. But when I lost my power fighting the Evil Dragon, this kingdom feared me. They sealed me here, betrayed me… abandoned me."
Abandoned.
The word struck Auren like a blade.
Something inside his chest twisted painfully.
Itsuhiko noticed.
"You understand the feeling, don't you?"
Auren's breath caught.
He nodded once.
---
Itsuhiko's voice grew faint. "I have someone I must protect… but I can no longer do so."
His gaze drifted toward a small pedestal—upon it lay a golden egg that shimmered faintly in the dim light.
"My child," the dragon whispered. "Unhatched for a thousand years. His mother… my mate… passed protecting him."
His claws trembled. "But the egg needs a guardian. Someone who will not abandon him. Someone fated to meet him."
The dragon's eyes sharpened—filled with a strange certainty.
"When I look at you, I see a future. A bond. A thread from a life long before this one."
Auren froze.
He had no idea what the dragon meant. But the sorrow in Itsuhiko's eyes felt familiar—too familiar.
The dragon lowered his head, offering the egg.
"Take him. Protect him. That is my final wish."
Auren's fingers shook as he reached out. The egg was warm—unexpectedly warm. Almost alive.
Auren whispered, "Why… why me?"
"Because," Itsuhiko said softly, "you will never abandon him. And he will never abandon you."
The moment Auren lifted the egg into his arms, a faint crackling sound filled the air.
A tiny fracture split across the shell.
Auren's breath halted.
A drop of blood—his blood—from a scratch on his fingertip fell onto the golden surface.
Light burst out.
Itsuhiko exhaled in relief. "So… he has chosen."
The shell cracked again.
And again.
Auren stared, wide-eyed, his empty world suddenly filled with warmth—warmth he wasn't sure he deserved.
Itsuhiko smiled for the first time in centuries.
"Little one… your name?"
Auren opened his mouth.
Silence.
No sound came out.
It had been so long since anyone called him by name. The syllables felt lost, buried, rejected. A name once thrown away by those who should have protected him.
Auren clenched his fists around the egg.
"…I don't remember."
He whispered the truth that hurt the most.
"My name… no one calls it anymore."
The egg glowed softly against his chest, as if answering his pain.
Auren held it tighter, tears he didn't know he still carried finally falling.
In that moment, the egg cracked open—
—and everything he once lost began to return.