Rain had always made Yura feel small.
Not the gentle kind—the soft drizzle that kissed rooftops and made streets shine like glass. She could tolerate that. Even like it, sometimes.
But this rain—
This was the heavy kind.
The kind that fell hard and fast, drumming against concrete and metal with a relentless tat-tat-tat, like fingers knocking on a door that would never open.
She stood under the narrow awning behind the convenience store, plastic bag clutching in her hand, watching the rain blur the world into streaks of silver and grey.
Her shift had ended ten minutes ago.
She hadn't moved.
The streetlights flickered once.
Then again.
Buzz
Yura's shoulders tensed.
"It's just rain," she whispered to herself.
Her voice sounded thin. Fragile. Like it might snap if she pushed it any louder.
She took a step forward—and froze.
The smell hit her first.
Wet asphalt.
Cold metal.
Gasoline.
Her chest tightened.
The world tilted, just slightly, like the ground beneath her feet had decided it was done pretending to be solid.
Breathe, she told herself. Just breathe.
In.
Out
Her fingers curled unconsciously into her palm.
The scar there—smooth, crescent-shaped—began to itch.
Not painfully.
Just... Insistently again.
Like someone tapping from the inside.
Yura pressure her thumb against it.
The itch softened.
Her heartbeat, which had begun to race, slowed by a fraction.
Thump-Thump
"...Weird," she murmured.
She pulled her jacket tighter around herself and stepped out into the rain.
—
The walk home was only fifteen minutes.
Tonight, it felt longer.
Rain plastered her hair to her cheeks, soaking through her worn sneakers. Water splashed up with the every step, cold seeping into her socks.
A car sped past too close.
WHOOSH
Yura flinched hard, stumbling back.
Her breath caught in her throat, sharp and sudden, like she'd been struck.
Her vision tunneled.
For half a second—
Just half—
She wasn't twenty-one.
She was eight.
Upside down.
Metal screaming.
Something hot and sharp in her lungs.
Her knees buckled.
"No—" she gasped, fingers clawing at the air.
Before she could hit the ground, the rain changed.
It didn't stop.
But the sound shifted.
The violent slam of it softened into a steady hush, like wind moving through leaves.
Warmth brushed her spine.
Not a hand.
Not a pressure.
Just... presence.
Like standing too close to someone you trusted.
Yura sucked in a shaky breath.
The panic receded, slow and reluctant, like a tide pulling back.
Her scar pulsed once.
Warm.
Steady
"...I'm okay," she whispered, though she wasn't sure who she was convincing.
She straightened, rain dripping from her lashes, and continued walking.
She didn't notice the way the streetlights steadied behind her.
She didn't see the faint shimmer in the air, high above the buildings—gone as quickly as it appeared.
She didn't hear the voice, low and strained, carried on the rain itself.
Not yet.
—
Sleep did not come gently.
It never did.
Yura lay curled on the thin mattress in her aunt's spare room, rain tapping against the rusted window grille in uneven rhythms.
Tap
Tap-tap
Taaaap
The room smelled faintly of detergent and damp fabric. Her muscles ached in familiar way—work-deep, bone-tiree—but her mind refused to rest.
She stared at the ceiling, tracing cracks she'd memorized years ago.
That one looked like a bird.
That one like a broken branch.
Her scar itched again.
She pressed her palm against her chest this time, fingers curling over the thin fabric of her shirt.
"...Please," she whispered, not knowing what she was asking for.
Sleep took her anyway.
She was standing barefoot on a cool earth.
No—not standing.
Being held.
Not in arms.
Not tightly.
But surrounded.
The air was thick with the scent of line and rain-wet leaves. Soft light filtered through towering shapes above her—trees, she realized, ancient and immense, their trunks glowing faintly as if moonlight lived inside their bark.
A forest.
Not one she had ever seen.
Not one she should know.
Yet her chest loosened the moment she breathed it in.
"It's okay," a voice murmured.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't even clear.
But it wrapped around her ribs like a second heartbeat.
Yura turned.
She couldn't see his face.
Only the outline of a tall figure, standing just beyond reach, framed by silver light and drifting motes that shimmered like fireflies.
Her feet moved without her telling them to.
Each step felt heavy, like walking through water.
"Wait," she said.
Her voice echoed strangely, as if the forest itself were listening.
The figure stilled.
For a moment, she thought he might vanish.
Then—
"I'm here," he said.
Closer now.
Too close.
She could feel him without touching him—warmth at her back, steady and anchoring.
Her breath hitched.
Something inside her chest ached.
Not pain.
Longing.
A memory without shape.
"I—" her voice trembled. "Do I know you?"
Silence.
Then, softer than before—
"You will."
The forest darkened suddenly.
Ground trembled.
Rain began to fall—not from the sky, but from everywhere at once, silver drops sliding through the air like tears pulled free from the world itself.
Yura's chest tightened.
The smell changed.
Gasoline.
Metal.
Blood.
"No," she whispered, panic surging. "Please—don't—"
Strong arms wrapped around her from behind.
Solid.
Real.
She gasped, fingers clutching instinctively at the fabric beneath her hands.
A heartbeat thundered against her ear.
Thump-thump-thump
Too fast.
Too powerful.
"Breathe," the voice said, strained now, like it was holding itself back. "Stay with me."
Her scar burned.
Not painfully.
Protectively.
The rain slammed harder.
Forest blurred.
And just before she woke—
She felt lips brush the crown of her head.
Reverent.
Devastatingly gentle.
—
Yura woke with a sharp inhale.
Room was dark.
Her body was slick with cold sweat.
Her heart pounded like it was trying to escape her chest.
Thump-thump-thump
She curled onto her side, knees drawn tight, arms wrapped around herself.
Rain outside had intensified.
It hammered against the window, loud enough to drown out the distant city noise.
Her palm burned.
She held it up, squinting in the dim light.
The crescent scar glowed faintly.
Just for a second.
Then it faded.
"...I'm losing it," she whispered hoarsely.
She pressed her forehead to her knees, breathing shallowly until the panic ebbed.
But the warmth lingered.
So did the scent.
Forest.
Rain.
Something alive.
She didn't cry.
She hadn't cried in years—not properly.
But her chest felt hollow in a way she couldn't explain.
Like someone had been there—
And left.
—
Next morning, the bruises on her arm were gone.
Yura stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, fingers hovering over smooth skin where yellow-purple marks should have been.
Her breath caught.
"No way...,x
She rolled her sleeve up higher.
Nothing.
Not even tenderness.
Her stomach twisted.
Ron's shouting from the kitchen snapped her attention away.
She quickly dressed, heart pounding, questions buzzing in her skull.
At campus, whispers followed her as usual.
Someone laughed behind her.
A shoulder bumped into hers in the hallway.
She stumbled—
But didn't fall.
A hand caught her elbow.
Warm.
Steady.
She froze.
The hand was gone when she looked.
Only the scent remained.
Pine.
Rain.
Her scar pulsed once.
Yura swallowed hard.
"... Someone is there," she whispered.
High above Eldoria City, where the Veil thinned beneath storm-heavy skies, Elyndor knelt on one knee, blood dripping between clenched fingers.
His illusion flickered violently.
His breath shook.
Rain answered him.
"I waited," he rasped, emerald eyes burning. "I waited centuries."
Lightning split the sky.
"But I will not let her break."
His claws dug into the store beneath him.
"Not again."
—
Rain stopped at exactly 7:42 a.m.
Not gradually.
Not softly.
It simply... ended.
Yura noticed because silence rushed it too fast, pressing against her ears like a held breath finally released.
She stood at the edge of Eldoria University's main courtyard, backpack hanging loosely from one shoulder, staring at the wet stone paths that still glistened under the pale morning light.
Cherry blossom petals clung to the ground, heavy and darkened by rain.
Her scar pulsed once.
Then settled.
"...That's strange," she murmured.
She stepped forward.
The air felt different today.
Not lighter.
Just... watched.
The New History Faculty building rose ahead of her—tall, old, and quietly imposng. Ivy crept along its outer walls like fingers reclaiming something forgotten. The structure had always unsettled her, though she couldn't say why.
Every time she passed it, the same sensation crawled up her spine.
A pressure between her shoulders.
A tug in her chest.
As if—
Someone was standing just behind her.
Yura slowed.
Her heart began to beat faster.
Thump
She told herself not to look.
Looking was how panic started.
Looking was how memories tried to surface.
She adjusted her grip on her bag strap and kept walking.
The doors of the building loomed closer.
Her scar warmed.
Not a burn.
A warning.
She stopped.
Her breath fogged faintly in the cool air.
"Okay," she whispered, forcing a shaky laugh. "Okay. You're just tire. That's all."
She took another step.
The world tilted.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Sounds around her dulled—the chatter of students, footsteps, distant laughter—all fading into a muffled hum.
And then—
Warmth.
It settled around her like a cloak draped over her shoulders.
Invisible.
Heavy.
Protective.
Her knees weakened.
Yura grabbed the cold stone wall beside her, fingers digging into the rough surface.
"I'm not—" her voice trembled. "I'm not imagining this."
A presence pressed close to her back.
So near that if she leaned even an inch—
She would touch him.
Her breath stuttered.
She could smell it now.
Forest.
Rain-wet leaves.
Something deeper beneath it—smoke and spice and heat.
Her pulse raced.
Every instinct screamed at her to turn around.
Every instinct screamed don't.
Behind the Veil, Elyndor stood rigid, illusion stretched to its limit, hands curled into fists at his sides.
She was closer than ever.
Too close.
His dragon blood roared, hot and furious, urging him to claim—to shield—to pull her into his arms and never let go.
His chest burned.
His heart pounded so violently it hurt.
Thump—thump—thump
Mine...
He swallowed the word like poison.
Not yet.
Yura squeezed her eyes shut.
Tears burned at the corners, unbidden.
"I'm tired," she whispered again, voice breaking. "I don't know what's wrong with me lately."
Warmth tightened.
A hand hovered just shy of her shoulder.
Never touching.
Never crossing the line.
But close enough that her skin tangled.
"I just want... one day," she said softly. "Just one day where I don't feel scared."
Her scar flared—bright and warm.
Elyndor exhaled sharply.
Pain lanced through his chest.
I am here.
He didn't speak.
He couldn't.
But the Veil thinned just enough for his intent to bleed through.
Pressure eased.
Warmth softened.
Air steadied.
Yura's breathing slowed.
Her shoulders relaxed.
She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand, embarrassed even though no one was there to see it.
"...Thank you," she whispered, not knowing why.
When she turned around—
There was no one.
Only damp stone.
Only drifting petals.
Only the whisper of something that had been real a second ago.
Her heart ached.
She stood there for a long moment, then straightened.
Classes wouldn't wait.
Life never did.
But as she walked away, she didn't notice the way sunlight broke through the clouds for the first time that morning.
High above the campus, unseen and unacknowledged, Elyndor finally allowed himself to kneel.
His hands shook.
His breath came ragged.
The rain did not return.
Not yet..
He lifted his gaze toward the human world, emerald eyes softening with a devotion that had waited thirteen centuries to breathe.
"Soon," he promised the wind, the forest, the girl who carried his mark. "But not until you are ready."
~🫶