Dawn came like diluted honey through the pines, the light soft and hesitant as if embarrassed to wake the sleeping world. Renmei blinked against it and found herself wrapped in a heavy fur that smelled faintly of smoke and the pine resin she'd used to keep the roasted meat from sticking. Ruihua's gift — a thick hide she'd pressed into the girl's hands the night they'd left the village — cocooned her shoulders and tucked under her chin. It was impossibly warm, and for a moment Renmei just luxuriated in the small, honest comfort of being held by something that conformed to her shape.
She blinked her eyes open and frowned at brightness—then relaxed into it, because the brightness belonged to something she didn't resent. Caius lay across the narrow breadth of the tent as if he owned even the cramped space; his long legs bent at the knee, one arm tucked beneath his head. For once the usual armor of hauteur was down. His face was calm and unguarded: high, straight nose, lashes that lay like inked shadows on his cheeks, lips set in the soft line of sleep. The crude bandage at his shoulder showed where his wing had once been—a pale, crisscrossed strip that made him look both less beastly and, strangely, more human.
She had expected to be unsettled by him. He had been lordly and exacting and impossibly careless with how his pride hooded others. But now, watching the sweep of his jaw slack as he slept, she felt an unexpected thing: the sight was tolerable. Better than tolerable, perhaps—surprising in its gentleness. There was a faint scar that caught the light beneath his ear, a pale crescent that made his profile slightly less severe.
Renmei found her gaze lingering. It was an absurd thing to do—rude even—but there it was: she was watching him watch the dream she could not see. In the soft half-light he looked… tolerable. Unfairly attractive. The line of his jaw softened; the faint rise and fall of his chest had a steady, unhurried rhythm, and a single bruise of sleep at the corner of his mouth made him look younger than his scales suggested.
Her mouth twitched into a helpless, sheepish grin.
Again? Seth's thought slid through her head as naturally as breath, warm and amused. She stares as if he were a particularly shiny beetle.
She nearly dropped the fur in reflex. "Seth—" she mouthed, embarrassment prickling through her cheeks. She didn't have to move her lips for him to hear; the Custodian lived in her bones and read the stream of her mind as readily as she read the slope of a hill.
"You look like you're trying to memorize the shape of his cheekbones," he continued, not unkind, just teasing. "It's rather sweet."
Renmei's face flamed. She pressed the heel of her hand over her mouth to hide a stupid, guilty smile. She would have denied it out loud if she weren't already betraying herself in the only place he could hear—her own head.
"Stop that," she scolded inwardly. "He's... he's my captor's elder brother. He's proud and infuriating and—"
"And handsome when sleeping. Noted," Seth finished for her, the faintest curl of laughter in the thought. He was not condescending; his voice in her mind had a camaraderie that made it feel like being teased by a close friend rather than mocked by a stranger.
Caius shifted then—just a fraction. His brows drew slightly together, and for a heartbeat Renmei froze, thinking he might have woken. But his breathing evened again, unbroken, serene.
Renmei exhaled in quiet relief, staring once more at his sleeping face.
A voice rose inside her head before she had time to scold herself, low and amused and utterly present. Seth's thought slipped in like warm smoke: "You stare too much. He will grow accustomed to being admired, and I will be forced to endure pomp I do not need."
Renmei's eyes flew to the canvas as if she could catch him mid-thought. She felt soundless embarrassment flare behind her ribs. "I am not staring," she thought back, equally silent. "I'm… observing for—practical reasons. How a sentinel sleeps, how he breathes— It could be useful."
"Practical," Seth echoed, with the softest edge of mockery. "Yes, very practical, cataloging his cheekbones."
She snapped her eyes back down, trying to be dignified with a muffled cough. "I am not fond of his cheekbones," she insisted. "I am noting the way he breathes— that could mean he's on the verge of waking easily." Which, she realized, sounded like a poor set of excuses even in her head.
Seth's chuckle pressed against her thoughts like a hand in the dark. "You like him," he sighed; not cruelly, but like someone naming the obvious about an old friend. "We will make a fine trio: anxious vessel, elegant sentinel, and I'll be the one to smooth the wrinkles out after the arguments."
At that, Renmei's blush deepened. She could feel the warmth at her chest — the ember that had been the Custodian's presence since the night she became his vessel — pulsing faintly, a tiny answering beat to the arrow of emotion. It was ridiculous that a dragon living in her head could tease her about another dragon sleeping beside her.
"You're doing it again," Seth sighed, this time sounding far too pleased.
She muffled a groan into the fur. "You're worse than a conscience," she muttered silently under her breath.
"I am a conscience," Seth replied cheerfully inside her thoughts. "A very handsome, well-voiced, and vastly underappreciated one."
Renmei shut her eyes, determined to ignore him, but her lips curved despite herself. The warmth of the morning light slipped into the tent, painting everything gold—the fur, the canvas walls, Caius's pale hair. For a quiet, fleeting moment, Renmei allowed herself to relax—nestled in warmth, tangled between her companions, one in flesh and the other in spirit.
Even if one teased and the other scowled, she thought sleepily, this strange journey west didn't feel quite so lonely anymore.
"You know," Seth began, his voice curling through her thoughts like smoke, drowsy but edged with a reluctant tone, "if you keep staring at him like that, you'll end up liking him."
Renmei didn't answer. Her fingers toyed absently with the corner of the fur, eyes still fixed on the rise and fall of Caius's chest.
A quiet pause stretched before Seth sighed. "If you come to like my brother…" His voice grew quieter, as though he were half-scolding himself for even saying it. "Then perhaps you should stay even after you free me."
That drew her eyes wide open. "Stay?" she echoed under her breath.
"Yes," Seth replied, his tone sharper now, tinged with something that could almost be resentment—or fear. "You could live among us. You would not have to return to that fragile city of men."
Renmei gave a small snort and leaned back on her palms. "I'm not giving up my plans because of a dragon's whim. Once you're free, I'm going back to Yujing. The Academy will take me back in once I've stabilized my core—and with how much your presence has expanded it, I might even skip a year or two."
Seth made a low, almost petulant sound in the back of her head. "You would trade the bond of dragons for textbooks and mortals who live only to die?"
"Yes," she said simply. Her gaze wandered toward the faint outline of morning mist outside the tent, where dew glimmered on the grass. "Because my life belongs to that world. To the people who need healing, not to those who have centuries to spare."
The silence that followed was long. Then Seth's tone dropped, his earlier teasing gone. "You speak as though time is mercy. You realize your lifespan would barely be a breath to us?"
"I do." She smiled faintly, and the expression was both tender and sad. "That's why I can't afford to waste it pretending it'll last."
Her words seemed to weigh in the space between them. She could feel him thinking—an odd sensation, like the slow grind of thunder behind her ribs.
Finally, he muttered, "You speak like someone who's already halfway dead."
Renmei laughed softly, unoffended. "No. Just someone realistic."
For a heartbeat, Seth said nothing. Then, almost too low for her to notice: "There are stories, you know."
She arched a brow. "Of what?"
"Of vessels and dragons who remain linked even after parting. When the bond is strong enough—when the magic and the will are entwined—it doesn't fade, even after the dragon returns to their true form." His tone was quiet, but it carried something strange beneath it: hesitation, almost dread. "They say when one dreams, the other can feel it."
She shrugged, drawing the fur tighter around her shoulders. "Even if they're true, that won't be us. Once you're free, you'll go your way and I'll go mine."
Renmei felt the hairs on her arms rise. She pressed a palm to her sternum where she now felt the Custodian as something more than rumor—a warmth that had threaded itself into her marrow. "I know what you're offering," she replied, slower now. "But I'm not giving up my life. The orphanage, Ruoyu, the sisters who run the place—Yujing's healers. My dream isn't just my own; it's for them too. Staying with you forever? That would be cheating them out of the help I could be."
The silence that followed felt heavier this time—like a shadow drawn over the quiet morning light. She could feel Seth's discontent simmering faintly in the back of her mind, his pride chafing at her certainty, his restraint the only thing keeping him from arguing further.
Renmei had barely settled back into the warmth of the fur when Seth's thoughts shifted sharply, like a stone tossed into still water. The placid hum in her head stiffened slightly. "Wait a moment," he muttered, the words brushing her mind like a leaf scraping along skin. "I'm the one you're supposed to be feeling attached to, not my brother."
Renmei froze mid-stretch, staring at the fur-lined tent ceiling. One moment Seth had been half-grudgingly tolerating her independence, using Caius as some kind of… emotional bait to coax her into staying after the journey. And now? Now he was asserting—bluntly—that she should be attached to him instead. She blinked, utterly flabbergasted.
"Wait," she thought slowly, "aren't you the one who kept waving your brother in my face like bait?"
The ripple in her consciousness twitched. "Yeah, well, that was before you started actually considering it."
Renmei, still lying on her side, pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered under her breath—well, in her thoughts anyway—Do dragons even… get hormonal periods or something?
Seth made a sound—not a human sound, not even quite verbal. More like an abrupt, outraged crackle of mana directly against her spine.
"EXCUSE YOU," he snapped, actually snapped, the most emotion she had ever heard out of him. "What is wrong with you? Why would you—why would you even think that?"
"Because you're acting weird!" Renmei hissed internally. "You do a whole emotional turnabout in two minutes and start getting—possessive! I had to guess something!"
It's not— He cut himself off, flustered sparks of heat ricocheting inside her ribcage. "I'm not hormonal. Dragons don't—no. Just—no. Stop thinking that."
His embarrassment seeped into her like warm tea poured into cloth—slow, saturating, impossible to ignore.
She tried to stop thinking about it; which of course made her think about it more.
A burst of indignation, hot enough to prickle across her ribs, shot through her. "I would very much like to remind you that I am a dragon, a male dragon, with the intellectual capacity to be offended by your absurd human assumptions!"
A beat. "Renmei, stop thinking that."
"I'm not thinking about anything!"
"You absolutely are. Very loudly." Seth groaned directly into her soul. "I hate this," he muttered. "I hate sharing a mind with you sometimes."
"Well, I didn't ask for company in my skull either!" Renmei hissed. "You used my body to kill a griffon," she snapped back inwardly, because speaking aloud felt ridiculous. "You don't get to make attachment rules!"
It is not about rules, he answered, as if she had misread the weather. "It's rules about truth! We are bound while you carry me." The single word landed like a quiet thing, and with it came a faint, private swell of feeling — a softness — that she recognized as a request, not a demand.
Renmei groaned inwardly, curling tighter in the fur. "Of course," she muttered, "because apparently sharing a body with a dragon means every single heartbeat, every flinch, every little thing I think about counts as evidence against me."
The mental echo of that statement left her both amused and slightly unnerved. Sharing her body with Seth meant feeling him, always, but now more than ever she was realizing that it meant living inside a quiet, restrained intensity that had the potential to erupt when she least expected it. The placid tone of his words belied the tiny tremor of his attachment, and Renmei, for all her cleverness and stubbornness, could not ignore the faint pulse of it threading through her chest.
She straightened, gathering the furs and supplies once more, mentally shaking off the embarrassment. "Fine. You win," she thought, brushing down the folds. "But I still intend to finish my journey as a healer, and I'm not moving mountains just because you're sulking in my chest."
"Don't think you can trivialize me," Seth continued, his voice calmer now but still vibrating with the residual stiffness of offense. "I have been patient. Placid. Civil. I have allowed your mortal whims to guide your thoughts for long enough."
Renmei's lips twitched despite herself. Sharing a body with someone who could feel every shift of emotion she had been both amusing and unnerving up to now—but this was something else entirely. She could feel the tension roll along her spine, the low coil of restrained power, the placid exterior overlaying a core that might, given the right—or wrong—provocation, snap into sudden intensity.
There was a pause, a soft settling of something within her chest, as though the sudden burst of Seth's displeasure had released a pressure she hadn't realized had been building. A faint amusement edged his thoughts, and she felt it ripple gently against the friction of the morning.
"You know," she said internally, unable to resist teasing, "I still think your brother is annoyingly handsome when he sleeps."
"Renmei!" Seth's voice in her mind practically flared in response, but it was tempered by the placid restraint he usually held. Even so, she felt the flush of his mild outrage thread through her, sharp and warming against her skin. "Do not encourage such thoughts!"
Renmei stifled a laugh and shook her head, curling a bit tighter into the fur around her shoulders. She opened her mouth to retort—but then she felt something shift inside him. His embarrassment receded. The jealousy dulled into something else: a hesitant, almost sly thought brushing the edge of her awareness.
"…You know," Seth said slowly, "if you really stay… I could actually teach you things."
Renmei blinked. "…What does that mean?"
"It means I can teach you to wield my mana, enough to protect yourself when we're split later on."
Everything inside her stilled. It wasn't a casual offer. It wasn't even an expected one. Dragons guarded their mana fiercely; offering instruction was akin to offering a limb. Renmei felt his power stir inside her—ancient, patient, waiting. The pulse of it rolled through her lungs like a tide.
"You—you mean actually using it?" she whispered. Renmei steadied herself on the tent pole, pulse jumping once in excitement, once in disbelief. "But that's—dragons don't teach their vessels that. That's—"
"Uncommon," Seth allowed. "But not forbidden. And you've been handling mana fluctuations without collapsing. That is rare enough."
She felt him settle again, pride smoothing the irritation into something calmer—something steadier.
"…If you can really teach me," she swallowed, "then I might—"
"Good," Seth interrupted quickly, voice brightening, "then stop staring at Caius while he's asleep. It's weird; And rude."
Renmei threw her hands up. "There it is again!"
"What?! I'm just saying!" Seth insisted.
She sighed so deeply her ribs ached. Being a vessel, she decided, was going to shorten her life through sheer exasperation before any magical risks ever could.
"So, about your previous offer," Her brows rose. "You can really teach me that?"
"Yeah." A pause. "Probably."
"…Probably?"
"I mean, I'm not a specialist or anything," he admitted, "but I can show you the basics, enough to keep you alive and not embarrassing."
Despite herself, Renmei felt excitement spark up her spine. The thought of wielding Seth's mana—even in the simplest forms—was thrilling. Dangerous too, but that never stopped her.
"You know," a low voice said behind her, "it's extremely rude to leave the tent while someone else is asleep."
Renmei yelped—actually yelped—and spun around.
Caius stood there, hair tousled, expression caught somewhere between irritation and groggy superiority. The early dawn caught the pale blue of his eyes, and he crossed his arms like she'd committed a personal crime.
Seth went silent in her head. Completely silent.
Renmei froze, one foot halfway out. "I—I wasn't leaving-leaving. Just going out for a moment."
Caius pushed himself up onto an elbow, regal annoyance radiating from him like it was a natural bodily function. "The proper thing to do is inform your traveling companion. Tending to the horses? Stretching? Answering nature's call? It is discourteous to vanish without a word."
Seth, unhelpfully gleeful, whispered in her mind: See? This is what you like? My brother being bossy the moment he wakes up? Unbelievable.
Renmei shut her eyes in mortification.
Caius sighed, sitting up with the air of a man who had awakened to foolishness too early in the morning. His hair was a mess, falling in loose strands that somehow made him look even more unreasonably handsome. "What are you doing?"
Renmei opened her mouth, floundered, and finally managed, "Magic practice."
Caius blinked slowly.
"With… whom," he asked, voice flattening further, "exactly?"
Renmei refused to make eye contact. "Um, Seth?"
Seth groaned inside her head. Wow. Smooth. Great job.
"You two are incapable of practicing magic alone when you set an entire thicket ablaze a fortnight ago, which is precisely why you both should have waited until I woke." Caius' eyes narrowed further, in the way only someone absurdly proud and easily miffed could be. "It would be discourteous to your guardian to wake up to roasted forest."
Renmei's face went hot. "T-That wasn't me."
Seth, inside her mind, squeaked, Hey—HEY—don't you dare—
Renmei pointed at her own chest. "It was Seth! He hijacked my body while I was asleep!"
Traitor! Seth wailed silently.
Caius exhaled like someone who had dealt with this all before. "I know the difference between your clumsy bursts of fire and his incineration-level idiocy."
Seth, offended, snapped internally, "Well excuse me for sending a useful signal!"
But Caius wasn't done. "And you, girl, aren't absolved either."
Renmei stiffened. "Why me?!"
Caius raised two fingers, ticking points off in the air. "One: you allowed yourself to be possessed so deeply you lost awareness—irresponsible."
Renmei sputtered. "I was tired!"
"Two," Caius continued mercilessly, "you attempted to attack me the following morning with fireballs that were so weak they could barely cook an egg."
Renmei's shoulders sagged. "I—was panicking."
Caius ignored her plea entirely. "You scorched my shoulder with the enthusiasm of a frightened squirrel throwing acorns."
Inside her head Seth muttered, quieter now, "To be fair, they were pretty tiny."
Renmei's outrage doubled. "You're supposed to be on my side!"
Seth muttered proudly, "At least you aimed well."
"No, she did not aim well," Caius said immediately. "I am simply a large target in my glorious form."
Renmei blinked. "Whoa—wait—can you hear Seth too??"
Caius scowled. "Of course not. But judging from your expression and his previous behavior, I can infer the nonsense he is likely saying."
Rude, Seth whispered indignantly into her mind.
Caius took a step closer, exasperation radiating off him like heat from a forge. "If you two intend to practice magic, you will do so properly. No more forests burned to ash. No more feeble projectiles. No more reckless impulses while half-asleep or half-trained."
Renmei muttered, "We were just going to try something small."
"'Small' for you may be 'catastrophic' for the countryside." Caius pinched the bridge of his nose. "And 'small' for him is clearly an inferno."
Seth grumbled, "That forest had dry leaves and bad attitude. It practically wanted to burn."
Renmei choked. Caius narrowed his eyes. "He is making excuses, isn't he?"
She weakly nodded.
Caius sighed, long and heavy, like he had aged ten mortal years in the last sixty seconds. "Of course he is."
Seth huffed like a sulky child. "He's so dramatic."
"You are both dramatic," Renmei groused aloud. "Since I'm so weak like that, you don't have to supervise everything. Seth was just going to teach me some basic—"
"Absolutely not," Caius said. "My brother teaching you magic is like handing a volatile spellbook to a child and hoping for the best."
Seth hissed internally. "Wow, okay. Rude."
Caius, oblivious, lifted a brow at Renmei. "I can sense from your expression that Seth is whining."
Renmei's cheeks puffed. "…Maybe."
"Good," Caius replied, turning away with regal finality. "He deserves it."
Seth seethed inside her, his indignation swirling through her nerves. "Unbelievable. I save both our lives once and suddenly I'm some kind of walking disaster. I swear he's got a superiority complex that's taller than his dragon form—" he then perked up indignantly. "For the record, he muttered, my fire was at least effective. Overkill, but effective. Hers just poked your scales like—like a toddler flicking pebbles at a mountain."
Renmei nearly choked. "Stop comparing me to a toddler!"
Caius blinked. "I said nothing of the sort."
"Oh—no—that was—never mind."
Caius stared at her for a long, assessing moment. "Is he making commentary?"
Renmei considered lying. Seth immediately panicked. Don't tell him I said that, oh my god—
"…Maybe."
Caius exhaled a slow, pained breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Of course he is."
Seth grumbled. "You know he can't hear me. Why are you outing me twice in one morning?"
"Because you're part of the problem!" she whispered under her breath.
"I heard that," Caius said pointedly.
"I wasn't talking to you!"
"Then stop muttering when I am directly in front of you."
She groaned loudly and threw her hands up. "Look! Just—tell us what you want us to do so we don't burn anything down again."
Caius's gaze never wavered. "Your lack of foresight endangers more than yourselves. You, dragon or human vessel, cannot separate consequences from action. I will not hear excuses. Both of you," his voice dropped, almost a growl now, "will exercise control. Seth, contain your power, and Renmei—learn to wield it responsibly, or you will not survive the journey ahead. The Pyre of Dragons does not forgive foolishness."
Renmei felt the heat in her chest thrum like a drumbeat of guilt and anxiety, Seth's presence pressing firmly into her, trying to reassure her even as he fumed. She's not helpless, he murmured, almost petulantly. I had to take over because she wasn't ready yet! And now he's scolding both of us?
"I understand," she said aloud, her voice firming despite the tremor she felt inside. "I… we'll be careful."
Caius tilted his head, scrutinizing her. "See that you do, because the next mistake will not be dismissed. Not by me, not by the laws of the Pyre, and certainly not by the dragons who wait in the west. Neither of you," he added, a hard glint in his cyan eyes, "are invulnerable, regardless of how clever or powerful you think you are."
Seth muttered internally, sulky. He's acting like we blew up a kingdom.
Renmei rolled her eyes. "You burned down a forest, Seth."
"One forest."
"One large forest."
"Trees grow back!"
But her retort was cut off when Caius stepped closer, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve like he was preparing to inspect a soldier.
He pointed at Renmei.
"First lesson," he declared, "will be determining whether either of you can produce a flame without causing catastrophic property damage—or embarrassing yourselves."
Renmei flushed with offended pride.
Seth groaned with offended dignity.
And Caius stood there, looking down at them both with the exhausted omniscience of an older sibling who already knew this was going to be a long, long day.