Chapter Text
The clouds caress his body like fine silk as he winds through them with ease, the wind filling his wings, stretching them and lifting him even higher up, where the moisture condenses on his scales and little pearls of water cool his burning face.
If Yuuri were in human form, he would be blushing furiously, mortification still thrumming through his body, as he flies higher and higher, until his serpentine, dark body can no longer be made out from the ground, his family's eyes can no longer follow him.
An air current picks him up and he lets himself be swept away, angling his body perfectly to let the wind dictate his path.
He does not care where he’ll wind up, he just wants to get away. Not even his parent's assurances and Mari's good natured teasing had been enough to deter him from leaving after such an disaster.
What a fool he had made of himself, what an utter and complete fool. He can feel the shame welling up inside him, sneaking around his throat and squeezing it, making it hard to breath.
He shakes his head furiously to banish any thought of that stupid meeting.
Why had he not noticed that the sake was so strong? It had flowed so easily through his mouth and throat, like water almost, it should not have had such an effect on him. But he had been so, so nervous. He just could not stop himself. His parents had masked the little gathering as birthday celebrations, but Yuuri had known the true reason. Court-Offerings. So many Omegas had been present, throwing themselves at him, burning his nose with their overbearing scents.
A growl rips itself out of his throat when he thinks about the shame he brought onto himself, and in front of the great Ryujin-sama [1], too! It was bad enough that he had gotten so drunk, but had it to be in the presence of the king?!
A swipe of his wings brings him even higher up, where the wind was colder and stronger, propelling him further and further across the ocean.
He would wander around for a very long time, maybe a few hundred years, until everyone forgot about him existing! Until Ryujin-sama was no longer interested in finding Yuuri a match. Until nobody remembered how rude he was to all those omegas.
His face burns even hotter and the crisp wind is a nice distraction.
He looks down and sees the smoky clouds pass by rapidly, his body still wet from his passing through them. He shakes his head to get rid of the water in his fur, his scales covered by a thin sheen of frost were the moisture had crystallized.
Yuuri takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment, enjoying the silence of the night, only the wind passing over his ears and the rhythmic beating of his wings to be heard. He can feel the wind changing and flicks his tail, adjusting his path.
Yuuri loves flying. It’s one of the few things that brings him calm, that makes not only his body, but his heart soar and that silences the voices inside his head. Like now. He lets his thoughts go, lets them slip by like the clouds under him, until nothing but the wind and the sky exist.
Inhaling the moisture in the air, he exhales a bit of steam to cover his body, to caress his skin like a gentle embrace, covering him in even more frost to protect him from the freezing winds higher up.
Only then does he swing his wings down hard and launches himself high up, higher and higher, until the strong, cold winds take him northwest, barely making him wobble. He is good at flying. Good at bracing even the strongest winds. He’ll have no problems passing the higher mountains where nature is at its harshest.
Yuuri can barely make out the coastline as he passes it some hour later, but he can feel the grand body of water vanishing underneath him, can feel his connection to the ocean shrink, getting smaller the farther away he flies. A part of him wants to turn around, wants to get back to the safety of his home. To his mother's katsudon and their hot springs, wants to soak in them until his scales fall off and his worries with them.
But then he remembers the faces of the other dragons when he offended one of the higher-ranking omegas and quickly propels himself further. No way he was going back!
He lets mountains pass under him, rides the harsh and unforgiving winds before the mainland stretches out before him. He feels lakes and rivers go by, lets himself be let by them to find his path, never straying too far from water.
He flies deeper and deeper inland, lets the stars vanish from above him and the sun rise over his back. He can make out forests and villages now, can see them all blanketed by snow in the dawn.
It must be past noon for him when his wings grow tired, the sun above him not as high as he is accustomed, chasing him and stretching the day. He seldom flies so far to feel the suns influence on the daytime, but he’s been too immersed in his thoughts to notice his fatigue and the growing distance.
He should rest soon, give himself a little break. He has been flying for far longer than he had planned, but the winds had been so strong and soothing, his mind silent for a change. With a deep and weary sigh, he scans the surrounding landscape.
His whiskers twitch as he senses a river nearby. He angles his body downwards, lets himself fall through several layers of clouds before he begins sailing again, beating his wings more rapidly now due to the lack of stronger winds to hold him up.
Huffing with fatigue he spots a little clearing in the woods where he can land. He sweeps down, breaking his fall sharply, wings holding him up until he touches down with his hind legs first, followed slowly by the rest of his long body.
He lets out a deep and satisfied growl as he stretches himself, relaxing his stiff muscles and shaking off the loose frost covering him, melting the more solid parts with puffs of hot steam from his mouth. He rubs a clawed hand over his snout, horns and whiskers and rolls himself in the snow to break the bigger sheets of ice that had formed on his body.
It always feels so refreshing breaking the layers off, like shedding a weight. He only wishes he could do it with his memories, too.
Once satisfied, he yawns loudly and melts the snow under him, before he curls up, tucks his tail with the tuft of fur over his face to block out the sun and prepares himself for a long and nice nap.
Yuuri’s sleep was filled with his mother’s katsudon and the warmth of her nest, when his twitching ear picks up the sound of steps, alerting him to something nearby. His head feels heavy from sleep and he barely manages to open his eyes, the last of his dreams still clinging to him, filling his nostrils with the smell of his favorite dish.
Yawning loudly, he raises his head from his claws and peers through the trees. He can just barely make out a group of humans father away and he lets out a weary sigh. He must have passed a village while landing and they must have seen him. Those were surely worshippers coming to offer him food, why else would they seek him out?
Yuuri sighs again, louder this time. He only hopes they do not expect him to show off his powers, he’s still far too tired for that. But what can he do, after all that means food brought to him willingly, right? Who would say no to that? At least he can travel on without having to hunt first and nap with a full belly.
A sudden, sharp pain in his left leg rips him out of his thoughts and his loud howl echoes through the woods, as an arrow embeds itself in his flesh, piercing his scales. Confused and hurt, he hurries to stand up and growls at the humans as more arrows come flying.
Why?! Why are they doing this?! He doesn't understand! They should bring him gifts and food, not arrows and pain!!
He ducks under an arrow and his heart squeezes inside his chest, constricts his breathing as he realizes that they are hunting him! Instinct overtakes him.
Ice floods his veins and with a sharp turn he makes a run for it, the position to open to stretch his wings for a takeoff, an easy target. He hears the hunters yell just behind him, ducks another arrow as it whizzes by his head.
His heart is pounding rapidly, pulsing harshly like the wound in his leg that flares up with every leap he takes. Another arrow manages to pierce his scales and he cries out in pain.
He needs to fly away! NOW!
With trembling limbs, he jumps onto the next tree he sees.
He scrambles to sink his claws into the trunk and hefts himself up. Branches snap under his claws and big parts of the bark get torn out as he climbs higher, trying not to slip, the whole tree groaning under his weight. Arrows pierce his side and arm almost at the same time and he nearly loses his grip on the tree as the pain assaults his senses.
With all his power he beats his wings hard enough to catapult himself into the sky, wailing when an arrow shoots through the sensitive membrane of his left wing, making him wobble in the air.
He dodges to the side to avoid more incoming projectiles and grits his teeth when pain flares up in his wing and side. With heavy pants he maneuvers himself higher into the clouds, his mind foggy with pain as every stroke of his wing jostles the arrows in his body and the wound in the membrane.
He feels the blood flowing slickly over his body and his tears blur his sight. Harsh pants tear themselves from his lungs as he tries to stay steady, to fly as far away as he could, so that the hunters will not catch up to him.
He catches an upward current and lets himself be swept away by the winds.
He feels his whole body tremble, his leg and arm hanging limply at his side, putting off his balance. He tries to balance it out but the strain in his wing makes the pain nearly unbearable. With a weak cry he lets the wind decide what to do with him, trying to aim for the mountains, where he is sure less people will live.
His thoughts swirl through his head, clouded with dizzying pain. How could they?! How could they hunt him?! Hurt him?! He’s never encountered humans so hostile! He does not understand!
His thoughts are cut short as a hard wind hauls him up, setting his hurt wing ablaze with fiery pain. He tries to maneuver against it, but the current has him tight in its grip and hurls him higher and higher, jostles him through the sky for what feels like hours but can only be minutes.
The winds break at the foot of the mountain and nearly drop him out of the sky when he reaches an air pocket. With all his strength left he adjusts his wings and sails down, trying to break his fall, but stopping immediately when the force of it sends a fire through him so fiercely, he thinks his injured wing will rip apart.
He barely prepares himself for the crash when he already collides with the trees, branches and twigs snapping, trees splintering under his weight as he falls from the sky, only his scales protecting him from being scratched up even more badly, the arrow in his arm getting ripped out when he collides with another tree, the one in his side burying itself deeper into his body.
With a force that knocks the breath out of his lungs he lands on the ground, the snow barely cushioning his fall.
Pain flares through his whole body as he pants heavily, a low, pain filled whine echoing through the little clearing at the foot of a waterfall.
He stays lying on the side, his whole body protesting when he tries to shift. Tears flow unhindered over his snout as he tries to regain his breath, his whole body shivering.
It hurts so much. His wailing intensifies and his thoughts attack him without mercy.
Why did he leave from home?! He was a coward and impulsively fled, without plan or preparation. It’s his own fault he’s lying here, wounded and shot down from the heavens, unable to get up and fly away or find a save little cave to hide in. He has no herbs or bandages, no food and shelter and no means to get some.
His breathing gets faster, rasping through his throat as he tries to get more air into his lungs, feeling his airways constricting, cutting him off of the much-needed oxygen. His wailing tampers off into soft crying until the black spots in his vision overcome him completely and consciousness slips from his grasp.
“What new books do you have for me, Yura?” The thin, grumpy teen rolls his eyes and it sparks amusement in Viktor. Always trying to look like Viktor was the most bothersome customer he had, even though both of them knew Viktor is the main income of this little village store.
“You come by every week, old man, I only get like, two books each month. They are still the same as last week.” Still, Yura takes out the three volumes he has behind his small counter and deposits them in front of Viktor, who immediately shifts through the first pages of each.
“Oh, is this a continuation to the one I bought three weeks ago?” Viktor looks up and looks straight into the scowling face of the young man in front of him.
“How should I know? I don’t keep track of the books you buy, you know?” Viktor's lips twitch at the corner as he tries to hide his smile. He doesn’t even get to coo over Yuri’s obvious lie as the teen already goes on. “But if you mean that crappy romance with the prince and the mermaid, then yes.”
Viktor's smile is sparkling as he grabs the book and holds it to his chest. “Well, then this will be my book for the week.” The blond just huffs and packs away the other two novels. “Anything else? Or can I finally take your money and shove you out of here?”
The laugh breaks out of Viktor unbidden and Yuri glares at him even harder. “Aw, Yura, you love me having here! How are you and Otabek, by the way? Is he still trying to woo you?” Seeing Yuri’s cheeks redden is a very rare event and Viktor revels in being the one to draw it out, smirking at Yuri’s spluttering. “He is not wooing me! He is just a friend! Don’t get stupid ideas…” The ranting breaks off into mumbled swearing as he counts together everything Viktor owes him.
Viktor lets him be and looks around in the quaint little shop. It contained everything Viktor needed that he could not get himself. Clothes, linen, pots, vegetables and the oddest little trinkets. He had helped Nikolai build up the shop when Viktor got here and the death of his friend still pains him.
He glances at Yuri from the corner of his eye and withholds a sigh. Poor boy, orphaned at a young age and now left alone with the shop after that horrid cough stripped Nikolai away. Maybe that’s why he holds such a soft spot for the fierce young man, having known him for years, having seen the little kitten grow into a… well, slightly larger kitten. He does not even try to hide the grin that breaks out on his face.
Of course it catches Yuri’s eye. “What are you grinning about, you weird man?” He eyes Viktor suspiciously and packs away his weekly purchases while he waits for an answer. “Oh”, Viktor replies breezily, his grin turning sly, “only thinking back to a time where you’d still demand of me to read to you.”
Yuri's indignant spluttering is music to his ears and he laughs lowly under his breath. The bag with his belongings is shoved roughly into his arms and Viktor only barely manages to catch it. “You owe me 10 silver coins! Make that 11, because you are so annoying!
Viktor's laugh softens into a smile and he digs out two gold coins, letting them fall onto the counter. “Here, buy yourself something nice or take Otabek out for a snack at the market. I’ve heard someone making sweets is coming this week.”
Yuri doesn’t reply and Viktor can see him grit his teeth, the look in his eyes thankful, even as he tries to hide it behind his long, golden hair. “I still hate you…”, he says softly as Viktor already turned around and Viktor throws a look behind him, his smile sweet. “I know, Yura, I know. I see you next week, maybe I come by a bit sooner, have a nice day.”
He exits the store without awaiting a response, his chest filling with warmth for the brisk young man.
After the illness swept through the village and almost halved its inhabitants, the shop fell on very hard times. With everyone weighed down by grieve and short on workers on the field, the money was scarce and nobody could afford to buy new clothes or trinkets.
Yuri would never admit it, much less so to Viktor, but he was desperate. Viktor could see it in his hunched shoulders and thin frame, could smell the stench of anger and anxiety perpetually clinging to the blond.
He sighs deeply and walks through the village towards the path that leads into the woods, trying to think of ways to help his friend. He nods a greeting towards Otabek as he passes the dark haired boy working at the blacksmith’s furnace, getting a nod in return.
Giving Yuri a bag of gold would not help him, it would only fuel hatred into the hearts of the village’s people. They could refuse to sell Yuri the things he needed, so that’s not an option.
His musings are stopped short when he overhears two women talking in his vicinity.
“They spotted the White Demon in a village nearby! They said its shadow blocked out the sun and its body sparkled red from the blood of its victims! Hunters went out to fell the beast, but they came back empty handed!”
Viktor stops his steps, his curiosity piqued. He lingers in the vicinity and tries not to garner their suspicion as he listens in. The blond woman, the one listening, gasps loudly. “Again? But did it not just plunder the city for its riches? And the village nearby! Pray tell, when was this!”
Viktor's brows furrow.
“Just a few hours ago! My sister lives in the village and send me a raven as soon as the hunters came back. She says they managed to wound the foul beast!”
The blond woman's eyes sparkle as she hears that and grabs the hand of the raven haired one. “They did? And nobody got hurt? I heard that monster can freeze someone's soul with only its piercing gaze! And that it is as big as a house! With teeth as long as a grown man’s arm! And that it can control your mind if you touched its scales!”
Viktor scoffs. The stories get more and more ridiculous the more dragons are sighted.
The women’s heads turn to him at the sound and their eyes narrow suspiciously as soon as they spot him loitering nearby, obviously overhearing their talk. They tuck their heads together and march on, lowering their voices, but Viktor still manages to hear a sentence. “My heart always stops when that herbalist looks at me. His eyes are so strange.”
Viktor quickly looks away and hurries on, not wanting to draw even more attention to himself. He grips the fur tighter around his shoulders, even if he does not feel the bite and chill of the winter wind, but the collar hides his face from view and lets him blend in with the other village people.
He maintains his gait until he is surrounded by trees and the silence of the woods. Only then does he take a deep and freeing breath, freed from the hateful stares of the villagers. He lets himself be swallowed by the forest as he wanders on his path, unknown to everyone but him.
It gets more and more dangerous to fly around the area, to stretch his wings without worry and just feel the frozen world under him fly past. Not with all the hunters out in the woods, trying to earn glory and gold by slaying a dragon.
He sighs deeply as he climbs the perpetually rising path to his cave at the foot of the mountains, the way long and tedious. But he does not dare to change in fear of alerting hunters. If there was a group large enough to wound a dragon out in the woods only hours ago, he should refrain from showing his true form in the sky.
The sun wanders over the blue expanse above him while he takes the climb and he is already thinking of taking a nice long bath in his bathing cavern when the stops abruptly. The path before him is torn, trees uprooted and cracked, splinters, twigs and branches littering the snow, forcing a path through the woods.
With his heart beating up to his throat, he takes careful steps along the destroyed greenery, spotting splashes of blood a rusty red on the once pristine snow. A glittering black scale catches his eye as he passes it and he bends down to pick it up. It’s smooth and cold and about the size of his palm. The scale of a limb, he is sure, as small as it is.
He hastens his steps, already dreading the sight that will await him, his heart squeezing with sorrow for the poor dragon that fell out of the sky, undoubtedly wounded by the hunters of the nearby village.
And wounded severely if all the blood was an indication. He is almost running, his breath harsh and condensing before his mouth when he reaches the clearing with the entrance of his cave. With his waterfall and river and cliff and lake on top. And the black dragon lying motionlessly in the snow.
His limbs freeze with sorrow, his heart weeping at the sight. The dragon, about as long as a tree, bleeds out of several wounds, the midnight black scales shimmering with blood and staining the snow he lies in. The air smells thickly of copper, cloying his senses and making him shiver.
Viktor has never seen a dragon like him, a body like a serpent, long and sleek, tampering off into a tail with a tuft of deep blue fur. It follows the line of his back up to his head, getting longer like a mane just between two long and sleek black horns, gently curved up. The two wings long and fading from deep black to a paler blue and violet, the colors of twilight. His face almost feline, scaled, with two long whiskers.
That’s when Viktor notices the small puffs of condensing breath just in front of the unknown dragon's mouth, his heart lurching in his chest, his fingers going slack on the bag he was carrying, its contents spilling in the snow.
The dragon is breathing.
The dragon is alive.