The bedroom was silent.
Yuuta sat on the edge of the bed, his body trembling with fever and exhaustion, his wet clothes clinging to his skin. Erza stood before him, towel in hand, her face a battlefield of emotions she couldn't name and didn't want to examine.
They were alone.
Miss Kano had taken Elena to the kitchen, something about making soup, about not trusting Erza with anything involving human care, about giving them space. The sounds of pots clanking and Elena's cheerful chatter drifted through the closed door, muffled and distant.
But here, in this room, there was only silence.
And awkwardness.
So much awkwardness.
Yuuta looked up at her.
At the queen who had tried to freeze him to death.
At the woman who had saved his life more times than he could count.
At the mother of his child who was now holding a towel and looking like she'd rather face an army of demons than do what came next.
"My queen," he said softly, his voice hoarse from coughing, "you don't have to force yourself. I can wipe myself. Really. I can manage."
He tried to smile.
Coughed instead.
His face flushed red, from fever, from embarrassment, from the sheer impossibility of this situation.
Erza's heart ached.
She didn't understand it.
Didn't want to understand it.
But it ached.
"You can't even stand," she said, her voice sharp to hide the softness. "How can you wipe yourself when you can barely breathe?"
Yuuta sighed.
"I know I'm troubling you. I'm sorry."
"Of course you're troubling me." She crossed her arms, the towel dangling from her hand. "Forcing the Queen of Atlantis to do something so... so shameless. It's horrible. Degrading. Absolutely beneath me."
Yuuta laughed.
Nervously.
Weakly.
But genuinely.
She's actually going to do it, he realized. She's actually going to help me.
Somewhere in the past few days, something had shifted between them. She still called him names. Still threatened him. Still acted like he was beneath her notice.
But she was still here.
Still helping.
Still caring.
"Alright, Your Highness," he said softly, his tone respectful and careful. "I will remove my shirt… if you would kindly turn away for a moment."
Erza turned.
Faced the wall.
Her heart pounded.
This is ridiculous. I've killed beings ten times his size without flinching. I've bathed in the blood of my enemies. I've
Behind her, she heard the soft sounds of buttons being undone.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Each movement clearly costing him strength he didn't have.
"I'm ready," Yuuta said quietly, keeping his tone respectful. "You may… go ahead now."
Erza turned.
And her world stopped.
She had seen battlefields.
Had walked through carnage that would drive humans mad.
Had witnessed the aftermath of wars that spanned continents.
But nothing, nothing, had prepared her for this.
Yuuta's back was turned to her.
His upper body was fully exposed.
And it was covered.
Not in the way normal bodies were covered. Not in freckles or birthmarks or the ordinary scars of an ordinary life. This was different. This was wrong.
Scars.
Hundreds of them.
Thousands.
They covered his back like a map of pain, some thin and white, ancient and faded; others thick and puckered, raised lines that spoke of deeper wounds poorly healed. They ran in every direction, crossed and overlapped, told stories she couldn't bear to read.
The smallest were maybe two centimeters.
The largest stretched seventeen centimeters across his shoulder blade.
And there, there, low on his back, near his spine
A hole.
Not a scar. Not a mark. A hole. Round and deep and wrong, like someone had tried to drive a stake through his body and only stopped because they'd gotten bored.
Erza's breath caught.
Her heart, her ancient, frozen, untouchable heart, shattered.
Not metaphorically.
Not poetically.
It broke.
Into a million pieces.
Each piece a question.
Each question a wound.
Each wound a scream for justice that had never come.
"What..." Her voice came out strangled. She didn't recognize it. "What is this?"
Yuuta glanced back at her.
Saw her expression.
Saw the horror in her eyes.
And suddenly remembered.
The scars.
He'd forgotten.
Forgotten that his body was a map of mysteries he couldn't solve.
"Oh, that." He tried to sound casual. "It's just, well, you see"
Erza's hand shot out.
Grabbed his face.
Turned him to look at her.
"What," she said again, her voice trembling with something he'd never heard before, "is this, Yuuta?"
Yuuta's eyes widened.
She said my name.
Just my name.
No mortal. No idiot. No disgusting human.
Just... Yuuta.
And her eyes
Her eyes were begging for an answer.
"I... I don't know." The words came out before he could stop them. "I really don't know. I've had them as long as I can remember. I was born with them."
Erza's grip tightened.
"Do you expect me to believe that?" Her voice cracked. "Look at yourself! These scars, they're not birthmarks! They're TORTURE marks! Every single one of them tells a story of pain!"
"I know what they look like!" Yuuta's voice rose, then fell, weakened by fever. "But I'm telling you the truth. I don't know how I got them. I've never known."
He met her eyes.
Let her see the truth there.
"I grew up in an orphanage. Sister Mary raised me from a baby. I never left. I never met anyone who could have done this to me." He swallowed. "These scars have been on my body since before I can remember. That's all I know."
Erza stared at him.
Searching.
Looking.
For a lie.
For deception.
For anything that would make this make sense.
She found nothing.
Only truth.
Only pain.
Only a mystery that might never be solved.
Her hand left his face.
Moved to his back.
Touched the largest scar, the seventeen-centimeter monster that crossed his shoulder.
Gentle.
So gentle.
Her finger traced its length.
Felt the raised edges.
The texture of healed flesh.
The story of agony frozen in time.
"Who did this to you?" she whispered.
"I don't know."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"How did you survive?"
"I don't know."
She traced another scar.
And another.
And another.
Each one a question without answer.
Each one a wound that had never truly healed.
Each one a reason for the rage building in her chest, not at him, never at him, but at whoever had done this. Whoever had hurt what was hers. Whoever had marked this man like property and thrown him away.
Erza wiped his body with the towel.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Each movement deliberate, almost reverent. Her fingers traced the landscape of his scars as she dried his skin, feeling the raised edges, the smooth patches, the places where flesh had healed wrong. She had touched countless surfaces in her centuries of existence, scales of enemies, treasures of kingdoms, artifacts of power beyond human comprehension.
But this
This was different.
This was him.
And with each scar she touched, each mark of pain she traced, something shifted inside her. New emotions bloomed like flowers in a desert she hadn't known existed. Anger at whoever had done this. Empathy for the child who had suffered. Pride that he had survived. Sorrow that she hadn't been there to protect him.
She hadn't known these feelings existed.
Hadn't known she was capable of them.
Hadn't known that a single human could unlock doors she'd kept sealed for centuries.
But here they were.
Here she was.
Changed.
Because of him.
Yuuta lay on the bed once she finished, wrapped in blankets, his feverish face finally relaxing into something approaching peace. The warmth of proper cover, the relief of being dry, the simple comfort of not being on ice, it was working. His breathing had eased. His color was less terrifying.
Erza pulled back.
Watched him.
Her eyes drifted to the corner of the room, to the same chair where Yuuta had sat that first night, watching over her and Elena while they slept. The same chair where he'd chosen discomfort so they could have comfort.
Now she understood that choice better.
Now she understood him better.
But not enough.
Not nearly enough.
Who did this to him?
The question burned in her mind.
What is his origin? Why can he absorb mana without guidance? Why do he have power he don't understand?
She needed answers.
And she had a way to get them.
Erza closed her eyes.
Her magic reached out, gentle at first, probing, searching. Memory reading was a delicate art, one she had mastered centuries ago. It allowed her to see the past of any being, to walk through their memories like walking through a garden.
She found Yuuta's mind.
Reached deeper.
And hit a wall.
Not a physical barrier.
Not a mental defense.
Something else.
Darkness.
Absolute.
Complete.
Impenetrable.
It stretched before her like an endless void, swallowing everything she tried to see. No memories. No past. No origin. Just... nothing. A blackness so deep it seemed to resist her.
Erza's eyes snapped open.
She was breathing heavily.
"What... what was that?"
She had never encountered anything like it. In all her centuries, in all her battles, against all the enemies she had faced, nothing had ever blocked her magic. Nothing had ever dared.
Dragons were equal to gods.
Their power was absolute.
And yet
This human.
This ordinary, pathetic, impossible human.
Had stopped her Spell.
"No," she muttered. "I'm getting weaker. That's the only explanation. This world's low mana is affecting me."
It had to be that.
There was no other possibility.
No way a mere human could resist a Dragon Queen.
She reached out again.
Ready to try once more.
Ready to break through whatever stood in her way.
Then she saw Yuuta.
His face had twisted. His body had tensed. His breath came in short, pained gasps, not from fever, but from something else. Something inside.
Erza's eyes widened.
The memory spell.
It's hurting him.
She knew this effect. Had seen it in enemies she'd interrogated. When a dragon forced their way into a mind not built to hold them, the pressure built until
Until the head exploded.
She had killed beings that way.
Extracted information and left corpses behind.
And she had almost done it to him.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
Horror flooded through her.
I almost killed him again.
Trying to find answers.
Not even thinking about what it would cost him.
Not even caring.
Until now.
She stared at her hands.
At the hands that had healed him.
At the hands that had almost destroyed him.
At the hands that didn't know what they wanted anymore.
"Why do I care?" she whispered to the empty room. "Sooner or later, he'll die by my hand. That's the plan. That's always been the plan."
She pressed her palm to her chest.
Where her heart beat too fast.
Where guilt lived now.
Where something new was growing.
"So why do I feel guilty? Why do I care if he suffers? Why do I"
She couldn't finish.
Didn't know how.
Didn't know what these feelings meant.
Didn't know who she was becoming.
All she knew was that when she looked at Yuuta, at his sleeping face, at his scars, at his impossible existence
_________________
HOUR PASSED
The soup was ready.
Miss Kano ladled it carefully into a deep bowl, watching the steam rise in fragrant curls. It was simple, chicken broth with vegetables, soft rice, gentle seasonings. Perfect for someone with no strength and no appetite. Perfect for someone who needed to recover.
She had made it with care.
The way she had made soup for sick children at the orphanage for decades.
The way she had made soup for a young Yuuta, so many years ago.
In the living room, Erza watched.
From the sofa.
Pretending not to watch.
But her eyes, those violet eyes that missed nothing, followed every movement. Every chop of vegetable. Every stir of the pot. Every moment of care that Miss Kano poured into the broth.
Her learning ability, curse that it was, absorbed it all.
Chicken. Vegetables. Broth. Heat. Time. Care.
She didn't want to learn this.
Didn't want to understand human sickness or human recovery or human weakness.
But her mind recorded everything anyway.
Miss Kano arranged the tray.
Bowl of soup. Glass of water. Small cloth for spills. Spoon.
Perfect.
She carried it toward the bedroom.
Erza stood.
"Wait." Her voice came out sharper than she intended. "What are you doing?"
Miss Kano turned.
"I'm going to feed that poor boy you nearly killed." Her tone was matter-of-fact, neither accusatory nor gentle. "He must be starving. He needs to eat."
Erza's jaw tightened.
"You don't need to mention that incident again. And you can simply place the soup on the table. He will come and eat by himself."
Miss Kano stared at her.
Longer than was comfortable.
This woman, she thought. So proud. So ignorant. So completely clueless about how to treat a husband. About how to treat any being, really.
"I can't explain this to you in a way you'll understand," Miss Kano said slowly. "But you saw his condition. You saw him collapse. You saw him barely breathing."
Erza said nothing.
But her eyes flickered toward the bedroom door.
Miss Kano continued.
"If he had the strength to walk, he would have made breakfast for you this morning. That's who he is. That's who Yuuta has always been. He gives and gives until he has nothing left."
Erza's heart did that thing again.
That aching thing.
He would have made breakfast. For us. Even like this.
"In my hometown," she said quietly, "even weak men endure their suffering on their own. They would never accept help"
"He's not from your hometown."
Miss Kano's voice was firm, though not unkind.
"And I don't know what kind of place that is," she continued, her gaze steady. "But Yuuta isn't from there. If you truly knew his past… you would never say something like that."
Erza was silent.
Processing.
Struggling.
Need each other.
Be strong for the weak.
This is... this is what family means?
Miss Kano shifted the tray in her hands.
"Look," she said. "If you want to feed him, just say so. It's not complicated."
Erza's face went red.
"What do you mean, 'feed him'?! I never said, I wasn't suggesting"
"Then I'll do it." Miss Kano turned back toward the bedroom. "He has no strength. He needs someone to help him eat with a spoon. Since you're not going to"
"I will do it."
The words came out before Erza could stop them.
Miss Kano paused.
Turned back.
Raised an eyebrow.
"You will?"
Erza's face burned.
Her heart raced.
Her hands trembled slightly.
"I... yes. I will feed him."
Miss Kano studied her for a moment.
Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face.
"Very well." She held out the tray. "Here. All the best, Miss Konuari."
Erza took the tray.
Her hands were steady now.
Her face was composed.
Her heart was screaming.
She walked toward the bedroom.
Toward Yuuta.
Toward something she didn't understand but couldn't avoid.
Behind her, Miss Kano watched.
And smiled.
_____________
Yuuta woke to sunlight.
It streamed through the window in golden ribbons, painting warm stripes across the blanket, across his hands, across the simple reality of being alive. His body still ached. His head still throbbed. His throat still felt like sandpaper with every swallow.
But he was awake.
And the world was beautiful.
He turned his head slowly, carefully, toward the window. Outside, birds darted between buildings. Crows cawed at each other in their eternal argument. A single pigeon perched on the ledge, preening its feathers without a care in the world.
Normal things.
Ordinary things.
Things he had seen a thousand times without really seeing.
Today, they felt different.
Today, they felt like life.
He didn't hear the door open.
Didn't hear her footsteps.
Didn't know he was being watched until her voice cut through the silence.
"You mortal."
Yuuta turned.
Erza stood in the doorway, a tray in her hands, her silver hair catching the light like spun moonlight. The soup on the tray sent up fragrant curls of steam. Her face was its usual mask of cold indifference.
But for a moment
Just a moment
She had stopped.
Because the sunlight had hit him just right.
His skin glowed warm. His red eyes, those strange, hidden eyes, caught the light and reflected it like gems. His features, usually tired and worn, looked almost... handsome.
Erza's heart stuttered.
What is this?
This is the same idiot who burns rice and talks to cars.
Why does he look like that?
She hit her chest.
Hard.
Composed herself.
Summoned the ice queen she had always been.
"Here." She walked to the bed, placed the tray on the nightstand, and stepped back quickly. "Your soup. Eat it before I feel Werid by looking at you."
Yuuta looked at the soup.
Then at her.
Then back at the soup.
"Did you make this for me?"
His voice was low.
Soft.
Almost tender.
Erza's heart stopped.
For a full second, she couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but stare at the man who had just spoken to her like she was something precious.
"D-don't use that voice!" She stepped back, her voice shaking. "Are you casting a spell on me again?! It won't work! I'm still going to kill you! This pathetic act won't save you! You'll die by my hand someday!"
Yuuta smiled.
Small.
Warm.
Knowing.
He had heard these threats a hundred times now. Had learned to read the spaces between them. Could tell, somehow, which ones were real and which were just... walls.
He didn't say anything.
Just turned back to the window.
"You know, my queen," he said quietly, "when I got sick before, I was always alone."
Erza's retort died in her throat.
"I would lie in my apartment," he continued, his voice soft and distant. "Completely alone. No one to make me food. No one to check on me. No one to care if I lived or died."
The sunlight caught his face.
Highlighted the shadows beneath his eyes.
The loneliness etched into his features.
"I was so scared," he admitted. "I thought I would die. I didn't even have the strength to make myself anything to eat. So I would just... wait. Starve. Hope my body would heal on its own."
Erza said nothing.
Could say nothing.
Had never heard anything like this.
Had never wanted to hear anything like this.
But now
Now her heart demanded more.
"Thank you, Erza."
His voice cracked slightly.
His eyes glistened.
"Thank you for helping me. For making me not feel so lonely."
Ba-DUMP.
Erza's heart exploded.
Ba-DUMP. Ba-DUMP. Ba-DUMP.
It pounded against her ribs like a caged animal trying to escape.
"I, I didn't save you for, for sentimental reasons!" She crossed her arms, looked away, did everything possible to hide the chaos inside. "I just, if you die now, my revenge is incomplete! That's the only reason! The ONLY reason!"
Yuuta shook his head slowly.
"Of course," he said softly. "I know."
He looked at the soup.
At the steam rising.
At the proof that someone had cared enough to bring him food.
"But I still felt like I belonged," he whispered. "And that's why... I really love it. Please take care of me in the future."
Erza couldn't bear it.
Couldn't bear another word.
Couldn't bear another heartbeat.
Couldn't bear another moment of feeling things she had no right to feel.
She stepped forward.
Hit his head.
Not hard.
Just enough.
"You idiot mortal!" Her voice was sharp, but her hand was gentle. "Just get healthy so I can kill you properly!"
She crossed her arms.
Turned away.
Refused to let him see her face.
But Yuuta saw anyway.
Saw the pink tips of her ears.
Saw the tension in her shoulders.
Saw the truth she couldn't speak.
And smiled.
The bedroom door creaked open.
Elena slipped through like a tiny ghost, her silver hair a mess, her dinosaur stickers still plastered across her cheeks. She climbed onto the bed with the determination of a mountain climber conquering Everest, her small hands finding purchase in the blankets, her feet kicking until she was settled beside her father.
"Papa." Her voice was serious. Much too serious for a four-year-old. "Elena wants to feed you."
Yuuta smiled weakly.
"That's sweet, sweetheart. But Papa can feed himself."
Elena's face transformed.
Her eyes grew wide.
Her lower lip trembled.
Her tiny eyebrows curved upward in an expression of such profound, heartbreaking cuteness that it could have melted the heart of the coldest demon in hell.
Yuuta's resistance crumbled.
"Okay, okay," he surrendered. "Papa will let Elena feed him."
Elena's face lit up like the sun.
She grabbed the spoon.
Dipped it into the soup.
Brought it to Yuuta's mouth with the concentration of a surgeon performing a delicate operation.
Yuuta opened.
Took the soup.
"OW" His eyes watered. "Hot, hot, it's hot"
Elena's face fell.
"Papa?! Is it bad?! Did Elena do something wrong?!"
"No, no, it's good, just hot" Yuuta waved his hands, trying to reassure her. "It's really good, sweetheart."
Elena's smile returned.
"Papa!" She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Elena added something special!"
"Oh? What did you add?"
"Magical love!" She demonstrated with her tiny hands, making swirling gestures over the bowl like she'd seen in her cartoons. "Elena put love in the soup! That's why it's good!"
Yuuta laughed.
Actually laughed.
The sound was weak and rough, but it was real.
"Then it's the best soup in the world," he said.
Elena beamed.
In the doorway, Erza watched.
Her arms were crossed. Her face was cold. Her posture was perfect.
But her eyes
Her eyes were soft.
She watched her daughter feed her husband. Watched his patience, his warmth, his endless capacity for love. Watched the way Elena's face glowed with joy at being able to help.
Something moved in her chest.
Something warm.
Something terrifying.
She stepped forward.
Her hand reached out.
Pressed against Yuuta's forehead.
Still hot.
Still burning.
Still wrong.
"This isn't working," she said flatly. "Doesn't this world have healers? Magic? Spells?"
Yuuta looked up at her.
"We have doctors," he said gently. "They give medicine. But I don't think I need"
"Where can I find one?"
He blinked.
"Erza, I'm fine. I just need rest. Really."
"Whatever." She pulled her hand back, crossed her arms again. "I only asked because I find it hard to see you so weak. If you don't want help, I don't care."
She turned.
Walked toward the door.
Paused.
Didn't look back.
"Don't die," she said quietly. "That's an order."
Then she was gone.
Yuuta stared at the empty doorway.
His heart, feverish and weak though it was, beat a little stronger.
It's been so long, he thought. So long since I felt like I belonged somewhere.
He looked at Elena, still holding the spoon, still ready to feed him more soup.
Looked at the doorway where Erza had stood.
Felt the warmth of family surrounding him.
"Papa?" Elena tugged his sleeve. "More soup?"
"Yeah, sweetheart." He smiled. "More soup."
And for the first time in his life
Yuuta felt truly at home.
Erza sat in the hallway, a book open in her lap, her eyes staring at pages she wasn't reading.
Her mind was elsewhere, trapped in a maze of feelings she didn't understand and couldn't name. The words on the page blurred together, meaningless symbols that couldn't compete with the thoughts racing through her head.
Why do I feel this way?
The question circled endlessly, a bird unable to land.
When did this start?
She tried to trace it back, tried to find the exact moment when everything had shifted between them.
The first day, she had been cold. Ruthless. Focused only on her mission. Yuuta was a means to an end, a target to be eliminated, a mistake to be corrected. Nothing more. Nothing less.
But then
Then came the zoo.
The way he had held her hand, warm and steady, not afraid of her despite everything. The way he had protected Elena with his own body, willing to die for a daughter he'd only just met. The way he had stood between her and a lion, facing certain death without hesitation.
Then came the clothes.
The way he had spent his meager savings on dresses for her, outfits for Elena, things they needed without ever being asked. The way he had described her taste perfectly to Mrs. Kin, the fabrics, the colors, the styles she loved.
Then came the ramen.
The hours of work, the careful preparation, the way he had looked at her when she took the first bite, hoping she would like it, hoping she would be happy.
Envy.
She had felt envy watching Miss Kano touch him, dry his skin, care for him in ways she didn't know how to.
Pride.
She had felt pride watching him stand against the lion, watching him refuse to abandon Elena even when death stared him in the face.
Worry.
She had felt worry watching him collapse in the kitchen, watching his face twist with pain, watching his breath grow shallow.
Love.
She didn't finish that thought. Couldn't finish that thought. Wouldn't allow herself to finish that thought.
"These are weaknesses," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible in the empty hallway. "Nothing but weaknesses."
But they didn't feel weak.
They felt like something else entirely. Something terrifying. Something that made her ancient heart beat faster and her carefully constructed walls begin to crack.
Why do I care about him?
The question came again, sharper this time.
He ruined my reputation. He made my life harder. He's the reason I'm stuck on this miserable planet, surrounded by these pathetic humans and their strange ways.
And yet
And yet, he had also given her things she'd never had before.
A family that felt like more than duty. A home that felt like more than a palace. A feeling of belonging that no throne, no kingdom, no amount of power had ever provided.
She slapped her own face.
Hard.
The sound echoed in the quiet hallway.
"Stop it," she commanded herself, her voice cold and firm. "Stop these distractions. I am here to kill him. I WILL kill him. No matter what."
She forced a smile onto her face. Cold. Cruel. The smile of the Dragon Queen, the smile that had made armies tremble and enemies flee.
"I will see the day when he lies in a pool of his own blood. When his eyes beg for forgiveness. When he finally understands what he took from me."
Her voice grew stronger as she spoke, feeding on the words, building them into a wall against the feelings she didn't want.
"That day, I will stand over him and say: 'You were nothing. A weak, idiot mortal who ruined my life.' "
The smile widened.
"Yes. That will be satisfying."
She nodded to herself, convinced, determined.
"For now, I must keep him alive. He can't die before my revenge."
But how?
How did humans recover from sickness?
She had no idea. Had never needed to know. In her world, beings didn't get sick. They fought. They healed. They died in battle or lived forever. There was no in-between.
Then
A memory.
Faint at first, like sunlight through fog. Then stronger, clearer, pulling her back across centuries to a time when she was small and the world was full of wonder.
She was very small. So small that her feet didn't reach the floor when she sat on the throne. Her mother's arms were wrapped around her, warm and safe, the crystal lights of Atlantis reflecting off the ice walls around them.
"Mama," little Erza had asked, her voice high and curious, "what are dragon special traits?"
Her mother had smiled, that warm, gentle smile she reserved only for her daughter, the smile that made little Erza feel like the most loved child in all the worlds.
"Well, my little one," her mother had said, brushing silver hair from her daughter's face, "when dragons marry and take a mate, special powers awaken between them. Powers that exist nowhere else in all of creation."
Little Erza's eyes had gone wide as saucers.
"Like what?! Tell me, Mama! Tell me everything!"
"Like healing." Her mother's voice was soft, almost dreamy. "When a mate is hurt or sick, the other can heal them with..."
She had paused.
Smiled mysteriously.
"With a kiss."
Little Erza had gasped so dramatically that her mother laughed.
"A KISS?! Like in the stories?! Like the princesses and princes?!"
"Like in the stories," her mother confirmed.
"But Mama!" Little Erza had bounced on her mother's lap, unable to contain her excitement. "Papa is the strong dragon! He never gets hurt! This is just a myth, right?! Just a fairy tale?!"
Her mother had laughed, that beautiful, musical laugh that echoed through the throne room and made the crystal lights sparkle brighter.
"Perhaps," she had admitted. "The royal family is nearly invincible, it's true. We don't get sick. We don't get hurt. We don't need healing like lesser beings."
She had hugged her daughter closer.
"But the teachings of our ancestors exist for a reason, my little one. They knew things we have forgotten. And who knows? Perhaps one day, you will have a chance to try."
Little Erza had frowned.
"Try what Mama?"
"Try the kiss," her mother had said, her gaze calm, carrying quiet certainty. "If the one bound to you truly needs you, you will know it without doubt. And if your heart is genuinely tied to his… the power will answer."
"like a Love kiss?" Little Erza had wrinkled her nose. "That's silly, Mama. Dragons don't need love."
Her mother had laughed again, but softer this time.
"Every being needs love, my daughter. Even dragons. Especially dragons."
The memory faded.
Erza sat in the hallway, her face burning crimson, her hands pressed to her cheeks.
"What... what the hell was that?!" She stood abruptly, pacing the small space. "Why am I remembering THAT of all things?!"
She had been looking for practical solutions. Medical knowledge. Human healing methods. Something sensible and logical that would help her keep Yuuta alive until she could kill him herself.
Instead, her traitorous mind had dredged up ancient dragon lore about kissing sick mates.
"This is ridiculous." She paced faster, her silver hair swinging behind her. "Completely, utterly ridiculous. I don't love him. I don't even LIKE him. He's a means to an end. A target. A"
She stopped.
Pressed a hand to her chest.
Where her heart beat too fast.
Where the memory of her mother's words echoed like a bell.
Where a tiny, treacherous part of her whispered:
But what if it works?
"No." She shook her head violently, as if she could physically dislodge the thought. "Absolutely not. I am the Dragon Queen. I do not kiss pathetic mortals. I do NOT"
She couldn't finish.
Couldn't think.
Couldn't do anything but stand there, red-faced and confused, caught between centuries of dragon tradition and the reality of her own traitorous heart.
To be continued...