"You said it was your moon," he said quietly. "I just tried to make it pretty… enough to match."
She tilted her head slightly, a quiet pause settling between them before she spoke again, "Want me to give the next topic?"
He shrugged, eyes still on her. "Anything."
Astra tapped her fingers together thoughtfully, "Alright then… your eyes." Kriya blinked, clearly not expecting that. For a moment, he said nothing then gave a small nod, gaze lowering as he thought.
"They speak in silences, not meant to be heard. like twilight holding back the sun's last word. Too calm for storms, too deep for disguise, ashen and still, yet pulling dreams deep. They never learned how to lie…. when staring at the one they'd live to die."
"They all call them cursed," he said softly. "But these eyes… they've only ever waited— To be seen as more than silver and sorrow. To be called beautiful, even if all they carry is a curse."
"Who called them cursed?" Astra murmured, her voice barely louder than the wind. "All I see is a pair of beautiful eyes."
Kriya let out a soft chuckle, scratching the back of his head. "Beauty's a curse too, isn't it?"
Astra didn't answer. Her fingers curled slightly into the grass, and the silence that followed wasn't empty—but full of something unsaid. This time, it felt heavier.
After a while, Kriya glanced at her and quietly asked, "…You're remembering last night."
She didn't deny it. Just exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the shadows between the trees. "It's strange. Everything's quiet now. But it still feels like I'm stuck in it. Like I never really got out."
He shifted slightly closer, his voice steady and low. "You will. Just rest for now. When you're fully recovered, we'll go back… to that place. And I'll help you find your family."
Her eyes turned to him, tired but searching. "Will you?"
"I will," he said without hesitation.
She watched him for a moment longer, then nodded faintly, her lashes sinking shut at last. The quiet returned, broken only by the soft rhythm of her breath.
Kriya smiled, a quiet flicker of something warm crossing his face. But as he looked at her, that smile slowly faded. And in the hush of the night, with only the wind moving through the trees, he rose silently to his feet.
He reached out his hand, tracing a subtle arc through the air. A soft shimmer bloomed faint light settling like mist, forming a quiet barrier around her, delicate as breath yet strong enough to hold the dark at bay.
She didn't stir.
Kriya stood there for a moment, his eyes lingering on her sleeping form soft breaths, curled fingers, the faint furrow still resting between her brows.
"Don't wake up until I return…"
And with one last glance, he turned and stepped into the trees his figure swallowed by the silence.
———————
The river was still, the moonlight slicing across its surface like polished silver. Mist clung low to the banks, curling around stones and reeds in breathless anticipation.
The Crown Prince stood at the water's edge, unmoving. His robes, pale as starlight, stirred faintly in the wind. His expression was—calm, yet carrying an intensity that pressed against the air like a held breath.
He stepped forward into the river.
The water lapped around his ankles, then his knees, then his waist, as he walked without pause. When he stopped at the center, the surface fell eerily flat, reflecting his silhouette with perfect stillness.
Then he raised a single hand.
And softly yet with a resonance that shook the quiet he spoke,
"Come out."
Silence.
Then—a tremor.
The water rippled outward in widening circles. The air shifted, thickened. A distant, thrumming vibration stirred the mist. Suddenly, the river's surface twisted in on itself, spinning into a vast whirlpool that glowed faintly with ethereal light.
The sky dimmed as clouds churned above. The trees bent with an unseen wind. A low, ancient hum filled the valley, deep enough to be felt in bone rather than heard.
Then it rose.
From the heart of the whirlpool, something surged upward in a gleaming arc.
A serpentine form surged upward from the deep—colossal and fluid, its body coiled in shadows laced with golden cracks that pulsed like veins of molten fire. Its scales shimmered, each one etched with patterns that flickered like ancient script. Its mane billowed with threads of pale blue, trailing like riverlight.
The creature circled the prince with smooth, terrifying grace, its form stretching endlessly into the dark. Long whiskers danced in the windless air, and its eyes—deep, burning, ageless, settled on him.
It did not roar.
It bowed its head slowly, silently—until its eyes met his.
The prince's gaze remained steady. And then, softly, with no tremor in his voice, he spoke,
The dragon stilled.
In that instant, the valley knew, The First Roar of Creation had answered—not with noise, but by rising to the call of the one it recognized.
Not summoned, but Claimed.
The prince stepped forward slowly, reaching out his hand. Fingers brushed against the dragon's lowered head, and a low, resonant hum pulsed through the valley like the echo of a heartbeat—ancient, steady, and vast.
Which made the prince wince. "Shhh…" he murmured, placing a palm gently to the dragon's scaled brow. "Don't make noise. Not tonight."
Ryuzan's hum faded into stillness, the mist settling once again.
A breath passed between them.
The prince let out a quiet sigh. "Ryuzan," he said, voice softer now, "I'm sorry for waking you. But I need something of you."
The dragon's gaze didn't waver, but it gave a slow, expectant nod.
He hesitated. "Can you return to the heavens?"
A pause.
Then, Ryuzan shook its head—firmly, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
"I thought so…" the prince said under his breath. "I knew you wouldn't agree. But it's necessary this time."
The dragon didn't move. Refusal settled in the air like weight.
"…Ryuzan," he said again, quieter. "I need her help."
Still, the dragon remained unmoved.
"I know why you're resisting," the prince said, gaze fixed on Ryuzan's glowing eyes. "But I promise—this time, Goddess Yunmei won't ask much of you."
The dragon's eyes narrowed, suspicious.
"She's… changed. Slightly," he added, with a faint cough. He paused, then continued, almost to himself, "They used to call her the Flame Princess after all—the first to ever ascend as the Goddess of Wrath and Desire. That title alone was enough to get her hurled back down by the heavens… forty-three times."
Ryuzan huffed, smoke curling from his nostrils.
"Yet…," the prince sighed, grinning. "She kept ascending for the next thousand years—every time as something worse for the heavens to handle. Goddess of Endless Grudge. Goddess of Merciless Judgment. Goddess of Blood Oaths and Eternal Dues. Goddess of Lawful Retribution. Goddess of Vengeful Justice. At one point… she even made it as Goddess of Revenge and Punishment."
He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. "That one really scared the heavens. They say stars went dim for a week when she got that title." Ryuzan blinked slowly, unimpressed.
"They finally settled her as Goddess of Beauty and Vengeance," the prince continued, tone dry, "probably hoping the 'beauty' part would mellow her out. It didn't. Not even slightly."
Ryuzan let out a low, disgruntled rumble, a puff of steam escaping from his nostrils.
"I know—you're already familiar with all of this," the prince said, chuckling and patting the dragon's massive head. "I'm just praying she doesn't ask you to guard her tortoise again."
The dragon made a noise that could only be described as suffering.
The prince grinned. "I still remember how heartbroken you looked when that little tortoise bit your tail—and she blamed you for it."
Ryuzan turned his massive head away, the weight of eternal shame settling like mist over his scales.
"Don't worry," the prince said, barely suppressing a laugh. "She won't ask you to do that again."
"And even if she does…" he shrugged, the grin returning, "you know how she is. She never demands anything unless she's pleased first. That's how she is."
His voice dropped then, softer. "But I need her, Ryuzan. I need her help… for what's coming."
A long silence stretched between them. Then, with a breath that stirred no wind, he asked one final time.
"…Will you not help me?"
The dragon's tail curled slightly behind it. Its eyes softened—not in surrender, but in understanding. The prince stepped forward, resting a hand gently on Ryuzan's head, the scales warm beneath his palm.
"Thank you," he murmured. "For understanding." His gaze lifted to the mist-covered sky. "Because this time… only she can help me."