Afternoon light washed the plains as they rode, the horses' breaths puffing in soft white clouds. The grassland stretched endlessly in every direction, and though the path beneath the hooves was beaten enough to be called a trail, it still felt to Renmei like they were riding through a land without borders. She rode a little behind Caius at first, watching the way his posture never slackened, how even in human form he carried himself like something carved out of arrogance and old stone. He hadn't spoken since his curt order to keep pace.
She lasted all of one hour before the silence began to itch.
"So," she began, voice carefully casual, "do dragons ever… get bored?"
No response.
Caius did not even blink.
Renmei frowned. Maybe he hadn't heard her. She tried again, louder. "I mean, I assume immortality gets kind of repetitive eventually."
Still nothing.
"Right. Of course. Because… centuries of existing and all that." She gestured vaguely with one hand. "Still, though. Riding all day can't be that exciting, even for you."
Silence.
She glanced at his profile. He hadn't even blinked.
Seth stirred faintly in her chest, radiating a quiet, sympathetic cringe. You're doing great, he offered, in the tone of someone very obviously lying.
Renmei shot back internally, I am not. I'm talking to a wall. A very tall, judgmental wall.
Out loud, she tried again. "So. The west. Is it always this… flat? Or did you choose this route because you like wide open spaces?"
Caius finally spoke, voice smooth and cool. "I chose this route because it is efficient."
Renmei brightened slightly. "Oh! So you do plan routes. That's… interesting. Strategic."
"I am a sentinel," he replied. "Strategy is assumed."
There it was again. That subtle air of why are you even asking this?
Renmei's smile wobbled. She pressed on anyway, stubborn as a mule. "Right. Still. You've probably seen a lot, right? Different lands. Cities. Cultures. Humans, even."
Caius exhaled slowly through his nose. "I have seen enough."
"That's not really an answer," she muttered.
Renmei ground her teeth and urged her horse forward until she was riding almost level with Caius's shoulder. He did not look at her. His gaze remained locked on the horizon, as if the path itself were personally offensive and needed to be watched closely.
She huffed and pressed her heels lightly into her mare's sides, urging her forward until she rode just beside him. Caius noticed that. His eyes shifted, not to her face, but to the space ahead of her horse, as if acknowledging the presence of an obstacle rather than a person.
"What," he said coolly, "is it now."
Renmei forced a smile that he did not look at. "I was just trying to talk."
"There is no need."
"Well, I need it," she snapped before she could stop herself, then winced. She took a breath. "We're traveling together. For a long time. I thought maybe we could… get along."
Caius's jaw tightened by the barest fraction. "We already are."
"No, we're not," Renmei said. "We're just… moving in the same direction."
That earned her a glance at last. Sharp. Assessing. Brief. Then his eyes returned to the road. "That is sufficient."
Renmei groaned and let her head fall back dramatically. "You're impossible."
"I am efficient."
"Efficient at what? Being unpleasant?"
Seth sighed loudly in her mind, the mental equivalent of rubbing his temples. "You're poking him on purpose now."
"Someone has to," she replied.
She tried a different approach. "Do you… like anything?"
Caius's brow furrowed. "Elaborate."
"I don't know! Food? Music? Places?" She gestured vaguely. "Flying? Besides glaring at people?"
"I like outcomes," he said flatly. "And silence."
Renmei stared at him. "Wow. You must be great at parties."
"I do not attend parties."
"That tracks."
Renmei ground her teeth. Seth, of course, was no help. She could feel his amusement— a faint, traitorous hum in her chest.
"Don't," she warned him silently.
"I'm not saying anything," Seth replied, far too innocent. "Nothing at all here."
Renmei tried again. "So. You've been to the Ancestral Pyre before, right?"
Caius's eyes flicked briefly to the horizon. "Once."
"Oh." She perked up. "What was it like?"
"It was fire," he said. "Ancient. Sacred."
"And…?"
"And it was fire," he repeated, with a finality that slammed the door shut.
Renmei slumped a little in her saddle. Stars above, he's impossible.
Despite it all, she tried again. New angle, she thought. People like talking about themselves.
She rode up again. "So… how long have you been alive?"
Caius's eyes flicked sideways, sharp as drawn steel. "Longer than is polite to ask."
"Right. Sorry. I just—" Renmei waved a hand vaguely. "I mean, I'm trying to understand dragon… culture? History? Stuff like that?"
"Understanding is not required," Caius said. "Compliance is."
Renmei bit back a groan. Seth sighed loudly in her mind, the emotional equivalent of slumping against a wall.
Finally, she gave in to desperation. If direct conversation wouldn't work, perhaps subtle manipulation might. "You know," she began cautiously, speaking just loud enough for him to hear but careful to keep her tone casual, "Seth… well, he's the one who dislikes the silence, not me. He wants to talk to his dear big brother. You've just been quiet, so… he's justtrying to encourage conversation."
The effect was immediate and frankly astonishing.
Caius reined in his horse so abruptly that Renmei nearly overshot him. He turned, really turned this time, eyes sharp and searching her face. His sharp gaze turned from the distant scrub to her with… something that resembled intrigue. Then, his lips curved ever so slightly, a shift subtle enough that a lesser observer would have missed it entirely. "Seth," he murmured, almost to himself. "He feels… uneasy?"
The words came out softer than anything she had heard from him before.
Renmei nodded solemnly, committing fully to the fabrication. "Won't stop fussing about it," she added.
"Well," he said finally, his voice smooth but noticeably warmer than before, "if my younger brother is unsettled, then I suppose it is my duty to entertain him." His tone carried amusement now, not arrogance. The icy barrier around him softened, revealing a trace of the man behind the dragon's title. "You, child," he added, glancing at Renmei with what might have been the merest edge of fondness, "will allow him to speak freely then."
Renmei kept a small, smug smile, resisting the urge to laugh outright. Seth, inside her, sputtered in her mind, not at all part of the plan. "I… I didn't say that! What did you—" he began, but she quickly shushed him mentally. She could feel his surprise, his thoughts scattered, but he didn't argue aloud.
Caius, of course, interpreted her lie perfectly, thinking that Seth was adjusting to being in a foreign body and navigating all the chaos of their sudden journey west. The effect on him was remarkable. His conversation, once clipped and pointed, now held a slightly more amiable tone. He even allowed himself to remark on the scenery as they rode—the curve of the distant hills, the strange pattern of sunlight catching a nearby brook, the way the horses' hooves sank softly into the forest floor. He wasn't garrulous by any stretch, but his sentences flowed more naturally, with a few rare pauses where he actually looked to see if she was listening.
Renmei, for her part, carefully let the lie continue to hold, smiling inwardly at the cleverness of it. Seth, begrudgingly amused in her head, shook himself. "Fine. You win this round." he admitted. And Renmei, riding alongside the dignified, ever-commanding dragon, finally felt that tiny spark of connection she had been chasing all morning.
Renmei shifted in her saddle, letting the steady rhythm of her mare's gait steady her thoughts. Once Caius was far enough ahead that he couldn't hear her muttering to herself, she spoke inwardly.
"Okay," she murmured in her mind, "so… what's the plan here, exactly? Where are we even going? How do we know we're riding in the right direction to this so-called Ancestral Pyre? And—actually, what even is the pyre? And can we make stopovers? Because I'm not traveling days on end without bathing, Seth, I refuse."
The dragon inside her made a soft noise, halfway between a sigh and a reluctant hum.
"I mean… theoretically," Seth began, tone slow, thoughtful, "every dragon should naturally know the way. It's just… something we feel. A pull. Like instinct. The Pyre calls to us, so we follow it."
Renmei blinked, staring at the back of Caius's head. "So you should feel it, then."
Seth hesitated.
"And since you're inside me—"
More hesitation.
"—I should feel it too, right?"
Silence.
A very, very guilty silence.
Then Seth mumbled, "…I don't actually know how to attune myself to the Pyre."
Renmei almost yelped out loud. She gripped the reins tighter to keep from slipping off her horse. "You WHAT? Seth, that's the ONE thing you needed to know!"
"I know," he groaned defensively, "shrinking like a cat caught knocking something off a table. But nobody taught me how! It's not like it's written in a book. Dragons don't exactly… explain things most of the time. And I've been on my own for as long as I can remember. I only met my brother—" He paused, then corrected himself with a small measure of awe: "—The Dignified Eternal Guardian and Unyielding Sentinel of the Cyan Inferno—"
Renmei rolled her eyes so hard she felt it in her skull. "Caius. You can just say Caius."
"Anyway," Seth continued, ignoring her grumbling, "I only met him almost ten years ago. And that's… nothing, for dragons. Like a couple years for humans. We barely covered the basics, and attunement is something elder dragons teach once you… y'know… prove you're not going to explode."
Renmei pinched the bridge of her nose. "What do you mean explode?"
"Don't worry about that!" Seth said immediately, in the exact tone someone only used when there was absolutely something to worry about.
Renmei inhaled sharply. "So let me get this straight—you don't know how to attune to the Pyre, and Caius thinks we're following it, but you don't feel anything?"
"I mean… he knows where it is," Seth said quickly. "So technically, he feels it. I'm just… tagging along."
Renmei groaned into her palms. "So we're relying completely on that arrogant—"
Caius shifted slightly in his saddle ahead of them, as if he sensed the back-of-head-insult, but didn't turn around.
"—that arrogantly handsome dragon who probably thinks the Pyre should come to him instead of the other way around."
Seth snorted a laugh. "Well… you're not wrong."
Renmei slumped in her saddle. "Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable."
There was a soft, sheepish ripple through her chest—Seth's emotions bleeding faintly into her own. It felt apologetic, a little embarrassed, and lonely in a way Renmei hadn't expected.
"If I'd known how to do this on my own," he murmured, quieter, "I would have. But… yeah. I've only really had Caius to teach me anything dragon-related. And he's been… busy. And also really bad at explaining things that don't involve biting something."
Renmei snorted, unable to help the small smile tugging at her lips.
"But," Seth added firmly, determination pulsing through their shared heartbeat, "I'll figure it out. I'm not useless. We'll get to the Pyre. Even if I have to learn it the hard way."
Renmei straightened slightly, touched by the flicker of determination warming her ribs.
"Then we're learning it together," she said.
Renmei felt her pulse quicken in Seth's quiet surprise. "…Together?"
"Obviously,' Renmei said. "You're stuck in my head. The least we can do is not wander westward guessing like idiots."
She didn't need to hear him laugh to know he did—she felt it ripple warm and bright through the inside of her chest.
Ahead of them, Caius finally deigned to speak, voice ringing like a bell of frost. "Pick up your pace. If we fall behind, I'm not carrying either of you."
Renmei glared at his back.
Seth sighed fondly.
And their horses trudged westward under the widening sky.
Renmei adjusted her grip on the reins, letting the morning sun warm her back as their horses trotted steadily westward. She stole a glance at Seth, feeling the familiar hum of his presence press lightly against the edges of her mind.
Seth, she asked, the words unspoken yet crystal clear in her head, "do you at least know what this Ancestral Pyre thing is?"
There was a faint pause before he replied, his tone thoughtful, casual but tinged with that quiet undercurrent of amusement she had come to recognize. "Well… sort of. It's the sacred place where dragons originate from. Where the first of our kind supposedly… you know, came to be. There's a legend, something my brother once told me. But if you really want the whole story… probably best to ask him yourself."
Renmei internally groaned, picturing Caius's sharp cyan gaze and the way his jaw tensed like he might actually bite off a person's head if they dared utter a foolish question. "Of course," she muttered silently, "because I so want to get chewed out just for asking a question."
Seth let out a soft, amused noise in her mind, a little snort that pressed against her chest. "Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. He likes to talk. At length. Sometimes even rambling. You might actually get your answer."
Renmei tilted her head, eyes narrowing as her thoughts spiraled. "Or… maybe he only likes to talk to you because you're his brother. Meanwhile, I'm just the body that happens to be hosting him, and that he apparently doesn't approve of in the slightest."
"…You're not wrong," Seth admitted, his presence curling around her thoughts like a warm thread. "He's… not exactly thrilled about the whole 'me in your head' situation. I can hear the gears turning every time you guys get close. But honestly? He's probably more annoyed at me than at you."
Renmei let out a small, sarcastic sigh. "Fantastic. So I get to be the vessel and the unwitting target of a thousand mental glares. Sounds like fun."
Seth's hum of quiet amusement reverberated against the edges of her mind. "Look at it this way—you get to be useful, and I get to explain stuff to you. Win-win."
Renmei huffed. "Sure, if by "useful" you mean walking around pretending to be the host for your dragon-y self while trying not to annoy the hell out of your brother."
Seth murmured, almost teasingly. "Honestly? He'd probably talk your ear off if he thought you were even remotely interested. But right now… you're the vessel. He can't just gush about it to you. That's my job."
Renmei let out a quiet, exasperated laugh, shaking her head. "Right, your job. The vessel's mind is apparently a broadcasting station for the Custodian of Cobalt Flames. Wonderful."
Seth hummed in agreement, though faintly sheepish. "Well, at least I don't bite heads off. I leave that to him."
Renmei glanced ahead at Caius, who was scoping the horizon like a sentinel carved from cyan-hued steel. She could feel the barely restrained impatience radiating from him, even without hearing a word. I'll bet he's thinking I'm completely useless right now, she thought.
Seth snorted in her mind at that, a soft vibration against her ribs.
"Useless?" he teased. "No, you're just… not officially sanctioned as competent by his highness. That's different."
Renmei rolled her eyes and nudged her horse forward, muttering under her breath, "This is going to be a very long trip."
Seth's laughter was quiet but present, threading through her thoughts. "You have no idea."
"Neither do you!"
Ahead of them, Caius's tall figure cut a precise line through the sunlit trail, oblivious to the mental murmurs weaving invisibly between the two of them. Renmei couldn't help but feel a little thrill of dread—he might like to talk to Seth, but he certainly wasn't planning to make her part of that conversation.
Renmei let out a quiet, resigned sigh, leaning back in her saddle as she decided to let her curiosity about the Pyre stew for the time being. There was no point pressing it now, not while Caius was so alert and taut in the saddle ahead of her. She could feel the subtle tension radiating from him, the way every muscle in his body seemed tuned to the land around them, and she realized it wasn't just haughtiness or pride—it was vigilance.
She kept her gaze on him, noticing the way he held himself, perfectly balanced on his horse, one hand lightly brushing the reins while the other hovered almost instinctively near where his blade would be. His eyes scanned the horizon in slow, methodical sweeps, darting to any irregularities in the grass, the brush, the movement of distant shadows. Even the way his jaw tightened when he spotted a distant shape suggested a mind always calculating, always anticipating.
For the first time in days, Renmei felt something akin to reassurance. She had worried about traveling through unfamiliar lands, about what kinds of beasts or bandits they might encounter, and about her own ability to contribute beyond hosting Seth's presence. But watching Caius like this, she realized that for all his cold, imperious exterior, there was a method to his attention—a sentinel's instinct. He was scanning for threats not only to himself but, she knew instinctively, to her as well.
It was strange—Caius, so distant and untouchable, could give her a sense of security just by existing in that moment, perched on his horse like an unmovable guardian. He didn't have to speak, didn't have to instruct or command; the careful sweep of his eyes, the tension in his posture, was enough to make her feel shielded.
She adjusted her own horse slightly, easing the reins and letting her steed fall into a steady, measured pace. The wind brushed against her cheeks, carrying the faint scent of grass and the lingering warmth of morning sun, and for once, she allowed herself to simply observe—to take in the world, Caius, and the steady rhythm of their journey.
The road had settled into a dull rhythm: hoofbeats, the creak of leather, the soft slap of packs against flanks. The sky had drawn high and thin above them, an honest blue that made the grasses glint like glass. Renmei kept her gaze on the trail, letting the mare's steady step soothe the churning coil of questions in her chest. It was easy, for the moment, to pretend the world could be handled in small measures—one stretched furlong at a time.
Then, without warning, another voice slipped through the steady thrum of her own thoughts. It wasn't spoken, not deliberately; it was the sudden, intimate impression of someone else moving in the same head—Seth, thinking in that smooth, private way he had. She hadn't realised she'd been reading him so freely until the thought struck her: his shoulders ache. No, not his—her—lower back from the long ride.
Ugh… lower back… stiff… Seth mused, not speaking aloud but merely letting his consciousness drift over the area that, technically, was Renmei's own body. This… is unpleasant.
She almost laughed out loud at the candidness. Seth's complaint was small and boyish, the kind of trivial discomfort a friend might voice while tucking their hands into their sleeves.
…Maybe if I just focus on the wind, that'll help, the thought continued, and she felt the mental equivalent of a shrug. It feels… nice, really, against the mane. Long hair in the wind… maybe that's why my brother keeps his mane long. Or maybe he just… doesn't feel like cutting it.
Renmei raised an eyebrow in mental retort. "His hair isn't even that long," she interjected, speaking directly into the thought stream. "It barely reaches his chest when it's not tied back."
For a beat there was startled silence—a bright, hot sort of stunned pause that landed like a dropped stone in the stillness of her head. Seth's mental voice tripped up, then stumbled into real speech, not meant to be heard. "You can… hear that?" he cried, surprised, a flush of honest astonishment and a little wounded pride threaded through it.
Renmei's amusement sharpened. She let the thought slide from her like a small, teasing gust. You intrude on my thoughts all the time, she answered back, equally impulsive. "So you can't complain if I peek. Fair's fair."
That produced a sound in Seth that was close to a sputter—more bewilderment than outrage. "I don't always intrude!" he protested, indignation bubbling like a kettle. "Okay, I do. But only because I worry about you. You're inside my head; I need to be… attentive. It's important!"
Seth muttered to himself, his mental composure visibly deflating in a way she could feel. My soul… it's probably almost fully acclimated to her now. She'll probably be able to hear more of my private thoughts… Not happy about that.
Renmei snorted quietly, feeling a small thrill at the shift in dynamics. "I can still hear you," she replied, letting the words sink into the unspoken space between them. She could feel the deflation, the slight weight of pride dissipating in his awareness.
Damn it… Seth grumbled under his breath, though no sound escaped beyond her mind. "Why do you have to notice that?"
"Because you do it all the time," Renmei countered slyly, enjoying the little victory. "Now we're even."
Seth's consciousness seemed to curl in slightly, a soft mental flinch that made Renmei almost giggle. Despite his usual placid demeanor, it was clear he had not expected to be caught off guard like this. She shifted again in the saddle, feeling the stiff muscles in her own back complain as the wind tugged at her cloak, and for a brief, almost human moment, both of them simply existed in the quiet hum of shared thought and shared body, the road west stretching endlessly ahead of them.
His response was immediate, a mental groan that only she could perceive. "…I hate you so much right now."
Renmei grinned, letting the words swirl in her head like a small victory. The wind brushed past her, the sun catching the faint cobalt glimmer in her eyes, and somewhere behind her, Caius' sharp gaze cut across the horizon, unaware of the quiet, playful battle of minds taking place in the rider he barely tolerated beside him.
The path narrowed and wound westward, and the low, brittle music of hooves and wind stitched the evening into a long, patient promise: they had far to ride, the world was wide, and whatever came, it would not be dull.
The road rolled on. Larks rose from a tuft of grass as they passed; an inn's bell clanged faintly in the distance. Dust spattered the packhorse's flanks. Conversation dwindled into companionable silence, punctuated by the sounds of animal breath and the creak of leather. Renmei's fingers traced the worn stitching of the saddle, thinking of home, of the hut's lamp and Ruoyu's lined face — of Baosheng's frown, and the way the villagers had stood watching them go.
She had not chosen this life; it had chosen her. For now, she would ride, keep the herbs safe, and try not to think too much about flying again.
Caius's voice cut through the quiet between hoofbeats like a knife drawn from silk. "Make the horses pick up their pace. If we want to reach the village before dusk, we cannot lollygag on the road."
Renmei blinked, pulse kicking with sudden, bright hope. "Are you joking?" she called, half-laughing, half-asking—already imagining the warmth of a proper hearth, baked bread, and a chance to stretch her legs in a real town.
She didn't wait for an answer. Her mare felt the change in her hands and surged forward obediently, hooves sending up a thin powder of dust.
Seth's voice chimed in her head like a delighted whisper. "Finally," he thought, almost giddy. "You move! I almost thought you'd never stop staring at my brother's dramatic silhouette."
Caius's expression didn't change—his face a carved mask—but his fingers tightened on the reins as Renmei urged the horses down the trail. He sat back, reins firm in a single, controlled hand, the other arm cradling his injured wing close. The stallion answered with the kind of precision that spoke of long discipline rather than mere training, gaining speed without losing composure. As they ran, the landscape blurred at the edges; the scent of crushed sage and wet earth filled the air.
True to his words, the village came into view before long, rising up from the plain where the road dipped.