Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rumi sits on the edge of the cliffs near her home. Watches the waves as they crash against the shore, feels the spray against her side.

There's the flap of wings next to her and she smiles as she turns. An osprey circles above her, cries out and then lands on her outstretched claw. It tilts its head at her, as if sizing her up, golden eyes looking into her soul.

Then there's a shimmer of light, like a ripple, and her best friend stands before her. Feet stumble for a moment as her claw dips under the new weight, letting Zoey find her footing on the cliff edge next to her instead of on her claw. Zoey's hair is pulled back into its usual space buns, dressed in what looks like the attire of a court mudang. Her eyes sparkle with magic, the lingering scent of it strong and heavy in the air like the dregs of lightning.

“How was the journey? How’re the air currents?” Rumi rumbles, feeling Zoey walk along her claw and press against her side for warmth. She chuckles, low like the rumble of distant thunder.

“The journey was fine but the wind was being a bitch,” Zoey whines as she pulls a feather from her hair. Flicks it away and they both watch it float along the air currents. Rumi itches to join it but she knows she can't. She can fly above the island all she wants, but she can’t leave. She's bound to this place, trapped by the woman she once called mother. She snarls at the thought of that woman until the feel of soft, small yet gentle hands against her face still her. “Hey, don't think about her.” Her hands are small against Rumi’s face, thumb brushing the line of her cheekbone.

Rumi rumbles against her, watching as the mudang shivers at the chill coming off the ocean. While Rumi herself doesn't feel the cold due to her high internal temperatures, Zoey's still human.

“Come on, let's go inside,” Rumi tells the small girl. She allows the small girl to use her arm like a stepping stool to get onto her back.

Behind them, lies the giant castle. Spires rise above the horizon, windows covered in frosted, magical glass that doesn't allow anyone to see inside. It's giant and Zoey's said that one can see it from the village at the other edge of the island. But the villagers know not to get close for fear of the monster that lurks within. The air smells like salt and churned earth. Instead of going down to the caves, Rumi turns around and heads back into the giant castle. The scones light themselves as Rumi moves through the space with Zoey on her back. 

“Are you even listening to me?“

Mira blinks as her mother stands in front of her, hands on her hips. Her hair's tied back into a tight twisted bun. She's wearing a long dress that reminds Mira of a tent. She's scowling at Mira, her face pulled into an almost disgusted grimace.

“Uh, no,” Mira answers honestly. She'd rather be anywhere else, but she's stuck in this stuffy room, listening to her mom go on and on about the different surrounding kingdoms, the connections they need to make with them, how to control unruly staff. Boring stuff she could care less about. She scowls down at her hands.

“One day, you will need to know these things, Mira.” Her mom sounds exasperated and Mira can't help but hide a smirk behind the fan she's supposed to be learning to use to play coy around suitors during royal dinners. She's the only thing these stupid fans are useful for. “Your husband will need a wife who knows how to run a good household while he takes care of the kingdom.”

“But what if I want to run the kingdom?” Mira retorts, putting the fan down and her hands on her hips. “I can do it just as well as any stupid prince. Maybe even better if you and dad would just let me learn.“

”That's not the way a princess acts.“ Her mother picks up the fan and hands it back to her. “One day, you will finally settle down and become a proper princess.” She gestures to the pair of pants and long sleeve flowy top she'd been wearing instead of the dress set out for her by the maids that morning. Her mom could force her to wear dresses to those special dinners and fancy balls. But day to day? Mira was going to steal pants from the seamstresses and wear more masculine shirts. They were more comfortable anyway. “Why don't you stay in here and think about how your actions affect this family?”

“Fine,” Mira grumbles, crossing her arms. “As long as it gets you to stop talking at me.”

Her mom huffs and storms to the door. “I need to see if that new mudang can magic something up to make the lock on her door unbreakable. If only the old mudang were here. Celine wasn't as useless as the girl she was training. Missing more than she's useful.” Mira's mother trails off as she gets further down the hallway.

Mira remembers meeting the new mudang-in-training a few years ago. A tiny slip of a girl with freckles and eyes that seemed to sparkle with stars stolen from the night sky. Her hair looked like she'd gone at it with scissors in a fit of emotion. Choppy and chaotic. Her mother had made some kind of comment about presentation with her nose in the air but Celine, the court mudang, had just laughed and joked about Zoey's magic being just a touch wild. Mira, herself had been fascinated by this new presence in her life but her mother didn't let her get out anything more than a greeting before whisking her off to her tutors. Mira started seeing the other girl around the palace but never spoke to her. She trailed behind Celine like a duckling. Until Celine disappeared and Zoey became the new mudang, even though she was younger than Mira.

The pink-haired girl shakes her head and sighs as she gives the door one heartfelt tug, curses when she realizes her mom did lock her in her room. It won't keep her in here forever— Mira's gotten good at picking locks— and turns around, sliding down the door to the ground. Sits in a way she can hear her mother scream is unladylike but she doesn't care. She hears something click against the stone of her windowsill and looks up.

“Oh, uh, hi.” She blinks when she finds the windowsill taken up by a large, dangerous looking bird. It has grey, almost black feathers along its back and a white body. Black rings its eyes like makeup and golden eyes look at her, eyes almost intelligent enough to make Mira do a double take. It clicks its beak, hooked and sharp-looking, and tilts its head at her.

She recognizes it. Sometimes the osprey visits her. Listens when she rants and raves about how stupid this all is. The precious only child, the princess who would, in her parents' mind, one day marry a prince and bear his heirs to continue the line. The worst kind of life Mira can imagine for herself.

“You're lucky, you know?” she says as she gets up, Moves until she's standing next to the window. Mira doesn't exactly have friends; there are other children of nobles and she likes the children of servants well enough even if they get in trouble for talking to her. But no friends.

The bird's talons tap-tap against the stone, beak clicking as it tilts its head at her. Listening. Golden eyes stare at her and sometimes Mira could swear it knows what she's saying.

“You can fly away from here.” Mira sighs and focuses on the feeling of stone under her elbows, her arms. The roughness of it instead of the itchy feeling in her nose that means she might cry. “Escape. Go anywhere you want.” The bird's beak clicks. Shifts its wings and flutters them for a moment before it hops closer. She waits to be attacked with baited breath but the bird just warbles in her direction. It's close enough to feel the shape of its feathers against her shoulder. “Maybe I should, too.”

The osprey tilts its head, golden eyes watching. Almost goading her on. It ruffles its feathers and puffs up for a second before it relaxes.

“I heard of an island with only one village. If I could get there, I could disappear.” She reaches out with cautious fingers, waiting for a bite, but instead the bird moves under her hand, feathers soft against her palm. “I can't stay here. It's a death sentence.” The bird makes a noise that sounds like agreement. Talons click against stone. She can feel restlessness under her fingers so she pulls them away. “Thanks for listening, bird.” The bird gently nips at her finger, not to hurt but almost a tease, before it spreads its wings and flies away until it's just a dot in the distance.

One day, she'll be free of her own prison.

Rumi makes her way through the castle, Zoey clinging to her back like a baby monkey. The sconces continue to light by themselves as they go by; the Honmoon hums in their presence, lines rippling around them like they were pebbles in a stream. Her footsteps click as she moves further down the hallway that makes up her home. Shadows dance across the walls, the shape of the two of them together making a huge monster across stone.

“Hungry?” Rumi asks as she gets to the once grand staircase. Two options above— one on either side of the stairs— and two options below, hallways leading from the first floor.  Zoey nods and Rumi can feel her almost bouncing against her spine. Rumi grunts but humors her. “Okay. I caught some fresh fish and a deer. Not too much but you haven't been around to trade at the village.”

“I know I've been gone longer than usual,” Zoey admits as she strokes Rumi's back. “But the king and queen are so demanding.” She groans and flops back against Rumi's spine. “I'll go later. Before I have to leave again. I promise.” Zoey pats her back again as she turns to the left, off to where the giant kitchen is. It's under what was once the guest wing, smaller bedrooms that Rumi knocked the walls down in so that Zoey could have a giant room to practice her magic when she came to visit. Rumi's got her own set of rooms in the other second floor wing, walls knocked down to create enough space for herself. Opposite the kitchens, down the hallway under her chambers, leads to the library and what might have been a ballroom at some point. There's a balcony that overlooks the sea, right under the cliff they were just standing on. The ballroom is actually under the palace, not above it, with a perfect view of a place Rumi will never be able to go.

Once, Rumi got curious and asked... asked Zoey's mentor what happened to the people who used to live here in the castle but had gotten no answer. Only a glare and a demand for her to focus more on harnessing her magic rather than questions about the past.

The kitchen really hadn't been much when she and Zoey discovered it. Just a room with a depression in the ground on one side below a chimney, ash all over the ground and mixing with the dust. Cupboards that might have held food; pots and pans that looked so rusted, they were unusable. So Zoey had traded some of Rumi's shed to the villagers to get new cookware brought over from the mainland.

Rumi hated how animalistic she's become. She could eat all the fish she wanted raw, but Zoey couldn't stomach it. Rumi would pick off one or two deer a month— the island wasn't that big and she didn't want the people who lived here to starve— but she always makes sure to leave enough for Zoey when she visits.

They work together and soon Zoey's got herself a meal. Rumi's already eaten her fill of fish before she settled on the cliff.

“Library?” Zoey asks as she holds her stew to her chest. Rumi rumbles out a chuckle. She slows her pace to match Zoey's as they make their way back to the main entrance of the castle and then to the library. It's Rumi's favorite room, even more than her giant bedroom. Zoey brings her books sometimes and there are scrolls from all the mudangs that came before. Maybe, in one of the pages or ancient scrolls, she could find the cure to what Celine caused. 

Find her freedom.

It takes Mira a few weeks to gather all the supply she might need during her journey. She steals food from the kitchens. Barters for a bedroll and silence from one of the soldiers in the barracks. She takes as much gold from the coffers as she can without anyone getting suspicious. She packs as much as she can in a large backpack she took from the soldier's storeroom. Everything's all set for her to escape; she just needs to gather up her courage and do it.

There's the familiar sound of talons scarping against stone and a clatter as something falls to the ground.

The osprey that's become her only real companion— sad as it is— sits on the windowsill. Below it is a dagger with a slightly curved tip. The hilt looks like black metal, something she's never seen before, and it feels smooth against her palm as she picks it up. Beside it is a sheathe, a dragon roaring and what looks like fire spewing from it's mouth carved into the soft leather. A belt of the same leather, whorls and spirals and ripples decorating it, a metal clasp to hold it together. The blade has a slight shine to it, like it had been kissed by starlight, almost humming in her hand when she picks it up. She has no idea where the bird found it or why it brought her a weapon, but she's come to trust the bird. For some reason.

“Uh, thanks,” she mumbles as she threads the leather through her belt loops and the buckle clicks as she closes it. She definitely feels safer with a weapon at her hip, even if she doesn't know how to use it. Her mother forbade her from learning weapons once she found out Celine was training her. It was too unladylike for the queen; her daughter was, apparently, better off learning to use needle and thread instead of to defend herself. “So, I guess you approve of my plan?” The bird bobs its head, almost in agreement.

She pulls her hair back and ties it up, out of the way. Her mother never let her cut it, so it hangs down to her butt. The weight feels heavy like a crown.. Putting it up helps to lift some of that off her shoulders.

“Okay!” She claps her hands together, rubbing them and shaking them out to try to quell the anxiety. The bird hops from foot to foot, like it's feeding off her emotions. It trills for a moment before it spreads its wings and disappears. “Okay, well, bye to you too.” She hoists the backpack onto her shoulder and touches the smooth-as-glass hilt of the bird-gifted dagger.

She's going to escape the prison of the palace.

She's going to be free.

Chapter Text

Rumi sits under the Seonangdang , Celine at her back. She can feel fingers carding through her hair, quickly twisting her hair into the familiar braid; her mom had the same braid, Celine once said. and Rumi likes how it connects her to her mom. Celine hums behind her and the young girl watches the Honmoon ripple out, the grooves in the Seonangdang glowing light blue to match the ocean of magic that covers the world. Rumi reaches out, gently moving her fingers through it. It laps at her skin. Cool to the touch.

Unlike Celine, and her mom, Rumi can't draw on the Honmoon. She can see it and watch it interact with the world. She can touch it but she can't use it. She reaches with her other hand to scratch her upper arm.

“Do the mudang protect the world from evil?” Rumi asks. The skin under her fingers feels rough, scaly. Purple so dark it looks black like a band around her upper arm.

“Yes” The one word answer does little to quell the nervous energy that itches under her skin. “Cover those up.” Celine's hand pushes the sleeve of her shirt down. Covering the ring of deformed skin. “You only have those because—”

“Because my dad was an evil mudang?”

Celine told her stories once about her father. About how he tried to use the Honmoon for evil. And that warped a person, turned them into something evil. Formed scaled on his skin— like the ones on Rumi's— and, eventually turned him into a monster. Rumi fears that one day she'll be just like her dad, even if she's been learning how to use the Honmoon for good. That's what Celine said anyway and Celine would never lie to her.

“You'e not like him, Rumi,” Celine says with conviction. “You're a mudang of light, just like me. Like your mother.” 

Rumi tries to ignore the itch. “So these will be gone?”

“Once you know how to control the Honmoon, use it for good, these should go away.” Rumi feels Celine continue to tug on her hair as she continues to weave the strands. Just like her humming weaves the Honmoon into magic that can help others.

Rumi fears that, one day, she'll let down Celine. That the Honmoon will never respond to her and the ugly scales on her arm will grow worse. Will consume her until she becomes a monster.

Zoey crashes into Rumi's life like a boulder rolling down a hill. She's Celine's newest prospect, now that Rumi's proven herself useless. She's with the Seonangdang standing guard behind them like a centurion. Celine introduces them and Zoey bounces over, her mouth moving like it never stops. Her hair is pulled into space buns, a shirt that shows off her bellybutton and pants that flair out at the knees and scrunch tight above her ankles. Her ears sparkle with piercings and Rumi's jealous of them.

Celine tells Rumi that Zoey's from the mainland— her mother a native of the kingdom, her father from a faraway land that fell in love only to leave— but she’s staying with them now. The younger girl gives her a shy smile, eyes sparkling with stars, and proclaims that they're going to be best friends.

Zoey settles into the room beside Rumi and, just as Zoey promised, they become fast friends. However, as the other girl’s training advances, Rumi finds herself more and more on the sidelines. Zoey has always been better at controlling magic. Where Rumi can sense the wild magic of the world, dangerous but there below the surface of everything, it's like Zoey breathes it. She dances across the strings of the Honmoon like a bipa pic, gracefully, spells doing her bidding as if they've been waiting for her. She dances and sings and the Honmoon ripples around her as if it has been waiting for someone to follow in Celine’s footsteps. 

On the other hand, Rumi’s connection to the Honmoon is different. She connects to the elements that make up the world around them, and the Honmoon. But her grip on the same kind of magic Celine and Zoey wield— the kind her mother wielded— is weak. Like trying to hold onto sand. She can hold a few of the grains, those stubborn moments that cling to her skin, but she doesn’t have the same power to do incredible feats of magic. One of the things she’s good at is magic relating to plants. They grow and bloom and thrive under her touch; greenery in a sea of sand and sea. She helps the farms surrounding them, helps the villagers when they need it. But she can’t do more than that.

Rumi's sitting under the Seonangdang, like she does every morning. Meditating, trying to reach out to the Honmoon and wish for more than just being able to touch the ripples of magic. But she can't and she wraps her arms around herself. She's wearing a thin, cotton tanktop in the summer heat, shorts and sneakers. Because she plans to go running after breakfast.

There's a rustle in the tree and an osprey lands on one of the lower branches of the tree. Its feathers have a slight blue tint to the grey. Stares at her with golden, unblinking eyes. It moves along the branches before swooping down to join her. The bird hops along the ground for a second before there's a shimmer of light blue that ripples around the animal's shape before Zoey's sitting almost nose to nose with her. The biggest smile on her face. “Wow, your tattoos are so cool!”

Rumi yelps and falls back, stirring up the dirt into a little cloud of dust. She leans on her elbows as Zoey falls back too, laughing with a huge smile on her face. Her eyes sparkle, freckles dusting her cheeks and nose. They've become more visible as the summer drags on. The younger girl reaches to touch but Rumi pulls back.

“They're…” Rumi swallows. Remembers Celine making her promise that her faults— like the scaley skin— and her fears— being unable to use the Honmoon like her mother— must never be seen. “They're not tattoos.”

But Zoey's looking at her so earnestly, so open and trusting and curious. She's the one who goes with Rumi to the village to get supplies; she makes Rumi laugh when she tries to isolate herself on her many, many bad days. Zoey doesn't admonish her when she fails at Celine demanding she use the Honmoon for more than simple elemental things. Zoey just smiles at her and makes a face behind Celine's back and Rumi tries everything in her power not to laugh.

“May I?” Zoey asks as her fingers hover where the band of scales on her arm has crawled down her arm like a sleeve, small clusters on her legs. If she took off her shirt, Zoey would see the one on her side as well. Rumi sometimes gets whiplash when Zoey quickly switches between playful and serious, but she's amazed when Zoey knows when to switch off her chaotic little sister energy.

Rumi nods, heart in her throat, because no one's ever touched them before. Celine refuses to touch them, has complained multiple times that she should just cover them up so no one could see them. But they live on an isolated farm on a tiny island, so there's no one to scare off but Zoey; Rumi wears something to cover them when the two of them go into the village, but not here at home.

She gasps, flinches a little, when she feels soft fingers against the edge of her arm. Zoey brushes her thumb against her skin again. “They're scales,” Rumi admits. “Because of my father.” She remembers Celine's words. “He was a dark mudang. He turned into a monster after my mom tried to save him. He gave me these.” She nods. “As soon as I can use the Honmoon for good, they'll go away. Celine promised.” But her voice shakes on the last sentence. 

Zoey makes a soft noise in the back of her throat. “Are they painful?” she asks, concern bleeding into her voice. Those deep pools of brown filled with concern.

“No.” Rumi can't lie to Zoey. Has never been able to do anything against those eyes. “Just itchy.”

“Have you tried to do anything for them?”

“Like what?”

Rumi remembers the knife from the kitchen. Staring at it. Grabbing it. Celine found her trying to dig under the scales. To get them off. Blood ran down her arm from the few she'd managed to get off. Skin raw underneath in patches, purple-black scales sitting on the tile in that puddle of blood. They'd grown back within days and she'd never tried again. The pain was too much and Celine promised that using the Honmoon, helping others, would cure her.

It hasn't so far and the scales itch as they crawl down her skin.

The young girl's fingers trail down her arm to where her hand has curled into a sharp claw. That's never happened before and Rumi's stomach drops. 

She tries to pull away but Zoey's stronger than she looks for her small stature. “Stop.” The word is firm. Enough that Rumi freezes, blinking in shock. “Rumi, I want to help you. But you have to let me.”

It breaks something in Rumi. Celine's always pushing her to be better. That the only way to be better is to hide everything wrong with her. But the way Zoey's treating her makes her think maybe she can be more than just her scales and her mother's magic and her father's sins. 

Zoey gives her a wide smile, bouncing on her toes. “Okay, so, one of the people my eomma used to work with had really bad skin too. Not, like, scales, but it was bad.” Why she sounds happy, Rumi doesn't know, but she doesn't have to wait for long. Because Zoey keeps talking. “And she said that they used to go to the bathhouse together. Said it helped her skin.” She claps her hands. “Maybe it'll help you too!”

“Get rid of my scales?” Rumi tilts her head to the side.

“Um,” Zoey bites her lip, “I don't think soaking in a bathhouse is that magical. But it might help with how itchy they must be.” She crosses her arms as if she's trying to hold in how much excitement she's got. 

Rumi shrugs. What's the worst that could happen?

The bathhouse isn’t like the one that Zoey described. It's not one of the public bathhouses that they have on the mainland. They don’t have one on Jeju since it’s such a small community of mainly fishermen and farmers. There’s little time to lay down the plows and nets to relax; Rumi’s seen them relaxing in the rivers on her way into town. Or on the beach. But, somehow, Zoey found this cave near the castle on the other side of the mountain, found a huge hot spring pool that looked like it could fit a giant with a few spill over pools next to it, and promptly decided that it would become their bathhouse. There’s an alcove right before the room widens into the cavern that Zoey decided was the perfect place to store their clothes, like the ones on the mainland.

Steam fills the room, everything hazy and slow. Like molasses. 

“Oh, wow, this feels amazing,” Rumi almost purrs as she slumps back into the water, only her head above water. Her long purple hair's been tied back into a tight braid under a towel. It's strange, being naked around another person, but Zoey says that this is just how the bathhouse works. And it's not awkward unless you make it awkward.

“Right?” Zoey chirps. “How do your scales feel?” She leans forward like she's on the edge of her seat. For all Rumi knows, she might be. There’s a few natural ledges within one of the smaller pools and the rim is thick enough to be a good headrest.

“I wanna come here every day.” She drags her fingers through the water, the ripples following her hand like she's pulling it with her. “It feels so good. Like I'm weightless. And my scales don't itch.”

“Have you ever done something like this? Relaxed somewhere? I know I just found this place but even in the stream or the ocean?”

“No. Celine doesn't like it when my scales are showing. It's why I'm always wearing sleeves.”

“Don't you get hot in them?”

“Yeah, but I think I'm used to it by now.” She shrugs. “But this is nice. Thank you.” Zoey beams and floats over so that she can put her hand on Rumi's shoulder. She brushes her thumb over the edge of her scales. Rumi reaches up. water dripping off her arm, and covers Zoey's hand with her own.

If she's going to struggle with the condition given to her by her father until she can connect with the Honmoon and use it for good... at least she has Zoey.

As Zoey becomes stronger, Rumi's place in Celine's orbit fades to almost nothing. They spend rare moments together, when Celine is trying to get Rumi to use the Honmoon like Zoey can. But, instead, Rumi's scales spread across her back and down her other arm. One of her hands is permanently covered in scales and turns into an actual claw, a purple so dark it looks black, when she flexes her fingers.

Rumi watches as Celine becomes more involved with Zoey. Heaps praises on the young mudang where she berates Rumi.

Celine loves Zoey like a daughter. From the moment the girl stepped onto their island, she became the progeny, the favored, because she could do what Celine did. Pluck the strings of the Honmoon like it was nothing. Could turn herself into any animal she chose. It’s funny, watching Zoey shift from one animal to the next. Celine rolls her eyes as such a frivolous use of the Honmoon and her powers, but Zoey doesn’t seem to care.

One day, Rumi's trying to meditate in front of the great tree in the clearing, watching the long fabric flags waving in the breeze. The air smells of churned earth and fresh flowers as spring returns to the island. It's been months since Zoey showed her the wonders of the bathhouse. Or, well, their cave hot springs. It helps with the itch under her scales and helps take her mind off of Celine and the fact she's being thrown aside for another. She's not even upset it's Zoey because Zoey's the best and only friend she's ever had, but because she's unable to connect to the one thing she thought her mother gave her. And Celine doesn't seem to realize that it's turning her into the same kind of monster her dad was, even though she can't even use the Honmoon for anything— good or evil.

She feels Zoey through the ripples in the Honmoon— while she can interact with it on a minor level, she can't use it like they can— before she sees her. But her excitement is palpable.

“Rumi, guess what?”

“Celine taught you a cool new trick?” Rumi asks without opening her eyes.

Zoey's hands land on her bare, scaled shoulder and shake them until she cracks one open. “No, silly, we're going to the palace!” She watches as the younger girl does a funny little dance involving waving her hands and spinning in a circle, stirring up dust under her. “Celine says I'm finally far enough in my training to be introduced to the royal family!” It's like she's shouting every line and the Honmoon ripples blue in happiness, almost dancing around the young mudang.

And Rumi wants to be excited for her. Really and truly. But there's that kernel of bitterness buried inside her stomach. She's never been off the island before; it's never been suggested that the mudang's daughter meet the royal family Celine serves.

“That's... that's amazing, Zo!” Rumi says as she swallows her jealousy. Claws pull at the sleeve of her sweater and she feels a fang dig into her lower lip. “You'll have to tell me all about it when you come back.”

It's like watching a dog with the way Zoey tilts her head to the side in confusion. She almost expects the way does does turn into a dog with a shimmer of light blue. Rumi finds herself looking down at a Jeju dog with a blue-ish tint to her black coat, head tilted at that 45 degree angle. Before she can open her mouth, Zoey's in front of her with a frown on her face. “Why aren't you coming with us?”

“I... Celine doesn't want my scales to be seen, remember?” She gestures to the fact that her scales are much more prominent than they were even just a few months ago. Since Celine's stepped up her training with the Honmoon. Gestures to all of her. The little stubs on her forehead that Zoey hypothesized might be horns one day. It's all so much that she can't even go to the village anymore. “How could I show my face around anyone, let alone royals.”

“But that's so unfair.”

“Why?”

“You're making me go, by myself, with Celine, all the way to the palace?” Zoey melts against her side. “I'll die of boredom if you don't come.” She puts her hand to her forehead and pretends to faint into Rumi's lap. Rumi rumbles out a laugh and strokes her non-clawed fingers through Zoey's hair. She wants to go so badly, but it's not a good idea, “I'm gonna tell Celine I can't perform my duties if you're not there.” Her cheeks puff up. “She'll have no choice but to let you go.” She looks so sure of herself but Rumi knows Celine. And she won't let Rumi go.

But she just smiles and nods, slinging her arm around Zoey and nuzzling against the younger girl's forehead, a rumbling purr making her giggle. 

She'll miss Zoey when she's gone.

Zoey's demand that Rumi come with her goes over about as well as she expects. Celine tells Zoey that Rumi's staying on the island to continue practicing so that one day she may join them at the palace. Rumi shoves her clawed hands into the pocket of her sweatshirt, watching as Zoey pulls out all the stops to try to change Celine's mind. From a puppy to a kitten to a turtle— Zoey's obsessed so that's her go-to animal, even if it doesn't have a face for begging— but nothing seems to change Celine's mind.

Except she glances at Rumi then off in the distance, towards where the castle is, and then back to her.

“Zoey, if I allow Rumi to leave the island with us, will you stop this incessant begging?” Celine asks as she pinches the bridge of her nose. Rumi perks up. Has the younger girl finally succeeded where Rumi, herself, has always failed.

“Yes!” Zoey throws a fist in the air. She turns to Rumi and hooks their arms together. Her smile is so wide, she wonders if the girl's turned her mouth into a shark's. “Gaja, gaja, gaja.” 

Celine looks from Zoey's enthusiasm to Rumi's small smile and sighs. “We'll see what happened. But, Rumi, you must remember to cover yourself. The villagers can't see you like this.”

Rumi stares at the ocean, trying to breathe as she watches the boat sail away. The air smells like salt, birds call from above, and the fishermen move around her frozen form as they continue about their business. Someone gives her a strange look— the person with their hood pulled up over their head, long pants, on a hot summer day— but she ignores them.

The boat in the distance gets smaller and smaller. Carrying Zoey and She reaches out her hand again and gasps as it presses against what feels like a solid wall. The barrier ripples like the Honmoon but it's a reddish pink color instead of a cool blue.

Zoey had boarded first, her excitement palpable in the air, clapping and skipping. But when Rumi tried to follow her, Celine grabbed her arm. She froze. Once the younger girl was out of sight, Celine turned to her.

“Practice your exercises. Try to work with the Honmoon. Don't let the villagers see you.” Celine's voice sounded no-nonsense, leaving no room for Rumi to argue. Her arms crossed over her chest and it felt like Rumi's just a bug on the bottom of her shoe.

“But I though—”

“Do you think Zoey would agree to go if I didn't let you come with us?” Celine turned her head and Rumi could hear Zoey babbling to who she assumed is a crew member. The older woman turned back to her. “Do not disappoint me.”

Heat builds up in her gut, a snarl curls at the corner of her lips. She flexes her fingers, feels her claws unsheathe and her scales itch fiercely. A growl rumbles through her throat, becoming louder with each step Celine takes. Rumi's vision goes blurry and then sharpens until she can see each strand of individual hair on Celine's head. Her back aches, right by her shoulder blades, like there's something underneath her skin and bones.

Anger roils through her like the sea churns during a storm; thunder rumbles in her chest. “For your protection and the protection of the world,” Rumi takes a shuddering breath, hot as what feels like smoke curls from her mouth, when she remembers Celine's words to her before she turned her back on her, “you cannot leave the spire's view.”

She gets as far as the edge of Celine’s property, vision dotted with spots, before she blacks out. She remembers nothing else.

Rumi consciousness pours back into her body like someone slowly filling a cup. She feels her claws digging into the ground, her body laying against it, as she pants. Like she can't get enough oxygen into her lungs.

“—mi? Rumi, can you hear me?” A voice, wobbling on a choked sob, comes from somewhere close to her head. With aching effort, she lifts her head and blinks. Tries to find the noise. “Rumi?” A hand lands on her nose but it feels smaller than usual. She takes a deep breath. The scent of citrus and the sea curl in her lungs.

‘Zoey,’ she rumbles. Her eyes flutter open and she tries to turn her head. Everything hurts . Like she's been torn apart and put back together again. But it's like she's been put back together wrong. What comes out of her mouth doesn't sound like words but garbled, rumbling speech. Like thunder from a far-off storm. She tries again. ‘Zoey.’ But the result is the same.

There's a blob in her vision that moves, soft and peach-colored, little dots of darker color scattered like stars across shoulders and the roundness of what could be a face. The hand moves down her nose but it doesn't end where it should. Instead, it moves down to where her mouth should be but it still feels like her nose. She huffs and wiggles it, hearing a giggle floating in her ear like a bell. Those fingers dance along her face, moving under her chin.

“Are you okay?” Zoey sounds worried, voice shaking.

Rumi doesn't remember anything after getting back to Celine's compound. She remembers feeling the dirt under her knees. Remembers the feeling of dark despair ripping through her at the thought of being trapped forever on this island. How her back felt like was being ripped open by something, the pain overwhelming.

And then the darkness took over and she doesn't remember anything beyond that. Until Zoey woke her up. To a heavy, weary body that didn't feel like hers.

‘What happened? ’ she asks, trying to push the words out of her throat but that hurts too. Like any small movement causes pain. Instead, what comes out is that same rough rumble. Thunder in her throat. She hears Zoey's throat click as she swallows, lets out a little pained noise. ‘Zoey.’

“You...” Zoey sounds nervous. The blob slowly starts to become detailed. Freckles on bare shoulders, black hair down and blowing around her face, eyes wide and fearful. Rumi's heart plummets. She did something. Something happened and Zoey doesn't want to tell her. But she needs to know so she presses her face closer to Zoey's hand. “I...” That click as Zoey swallows again. The silence is deafening. 

Rumi tries to push up on her arms but instead of tilting up, it feels like she's kneeling. Her head throbs. She reaches out for Zoey, for something real and watches as a large clawed hand— a monster's clawed feet— reaches out. Zoey's eyes flick between the claws and Rumi's eyes— looking down at Rumi instead of up— before she wraps one hand around a single claw. She's so much smaller and Rumi wonders exactly what happened.

‘Please.’ Rumi realizes that she can no longer use her voice— the rumbling thunder is what comes out instead— but she's speaking to Zoey inside her mind. ‘Just tell me. I need to know.’

She takes in the space around herself and Zoey and her eyes go wide. Fire licks the skyline and the sound of the crackling and popping as sound filters back in beyond Zoey's voice. The grounds beyond look charred, like something was drawn into the fire. The compound burns on both sides of the small stream, like the flames jumped from one side to the other, even if the only thing the breeze feels like it can blow is Zoey's hair. She realizes the two of them are sitting in the ruins of the training clearing that sits between the Seonangdang tree and the rest of the compound. The air smells like churned earth, burnt wood and charred flesh. Just thinking of the last one makes Rumi gag. 

The Seonangdang and the shrines around its base look like the only area that hasn't been touched by the fire. Like there's a barrier around it that's similar to the one Celine put on Rumi.

Celine.

‘Where's Celine?’ Rumi moves her heavy head and pushes it into Zoey's lap. She grunts at the weight of it before her hand presses against the side of Rumi's giant cheek. Zoey won't look at her but Rumi watches a tear slide down her cheek. Her gaze doesn't move from the space in front of them. On the other side of the training clearing, Rumi spots a figure on the ground. There's a pool of blood under it— her, Rumi realizes, with horror— and the body looks charred beyond recognition; claw marks mar the middle where her stomach would be.

Rumi wails and pushes herself up on wobbly legs. Her center of gravity feels off and then she freezes when she tries to walk and finds her right front and back left legs move at the same time. She has four legs. What the fuck? Rumi turns to look at her body and finds that she's looking at a large body covered in muscles under a thick scaly hide. A long thick tail that tapers off into a point drags behind her as she takes a step. Then another step— her left front foot and her back right foot moving in tandem— while she struggles with what she's seeing.

She really is a monster, just like her father must have eventually become.

Zoey's hand feels small against her neck but warm at the same time. She's speaking but Rumi can hardly hear her over the crackling of the inferno and the roaring in her ears. She tries to make her way over to the remains of her mentor, an anguished cry spilling from her lips. This woman, who treated her like the monster she's turned out to be, forced her to try to use the Honmoon when she could do nothing more than touch it... caused the scales to grow across her body, Rumi realizes. And trapped her here on this island, beholden to the spire at the top of the old castle on the hill overlooking the ocean. The tip can barely be seen from the village docks and that's where she found the barrier prohibiting her from going with Zoey and Celine.

The woman treated her horribly but no one deserves to die like she did. Burned alive.

Rumi tries to take another step across the training arena but Zoey moves in front of her, arms spread wide. She watches the younger girl take a step towards her and wince, glaring down at her leg, before looking back up at Rumi. Usually, Zoey's eyes were level with Rumi's chin. But now, Rumi has to arch her neck down just to be eye-level with the mudang. “Rumi, stop,” She reaches up her arms and frowns when Rumi doesn't move. Makes grabby hands at her. And, in the middle of the chaos and carnage, Zoey manages to get some kind of rumbling laughter from her. She cranes her neck down so that Zoey can cup her giant head in her hand. Thumbs brushing against scales. “Don't do this to yourself.” Rumi tries to move out of her hold but Zoey's stronger than she looks and there might just be a little bit of the Honmoon rippling around her arms. Cheeky shit. “Celine told me when we got back to the island that this might happen. Not that she would, you know,” Zoey shrugs, “die.” Her eyes soften as she strokes the bridge of Rumi's nose. “But that you were going to angry.”

‘I don't remember what happened after I blacked out.’

“You came back here, I assume,” Zoey tells her. “But you didn't do anything. We found you under the Seonangdang tree, covered in leaves and dirt. Like you hadn't moved since settling there.” Rumi's rumble sounds like a question. “You only moved when Celine started screaming at you.”

‘She's right.’ Rumi pulls away and covers her face with her front feet. ‘I am a monster.’ She flinches when Zoey touches her side, turning away. ‘Just leave me alone. I deserve it.’

But she's so much bigger than before that Zoey's able to grab something. And Rumi stumbles as the girl reaches up and grabs what she can only guess is a horn. It tilts Rumi's head to the side as Zoey settles back to her normal height. Her jaw drops. “I'm not leaving you.” Rumi knows Zoey gets scary when she's serious. Her voice lowers from her bouncy, perky tone, to almost flat and low. Her eyes narrow until the freckles right at the corners disappear. She looks deadly. 

‘Zoey, I—.’

Rumi's eyes dart to where Celine's charred body rests, smoking still rising, before Zoey directs Rumi to look back at her by pulling on her horn. She even reaches up to grab her other horn. “Not. Leaving. You.” The angle is awkward because of how much Rumi has to crane her neck; she doesn't want to hurt Zoey if she tries to jerk her head up. “We're going to find somewhere to sleep and deal with all of this in the morning. Okay?”

‘Okay.’

Zoey gently lets go of her horns, but keeps her hand on Rumi's neck as she finally straightens out. Rumi huffs when she feels a hand settle against her side, right near her shoulder joint. Rumi takes one last look at the compound where she grew up as the building gives way as the fire finally consumes enough of the structure. At the charred remains of her mentor, her parental figure that treated her more like a pet project than a daughter. Zoey hums, stroking at her scales, and follows as Rumi turns her body in the direction of the castle on the other side of the island. They pass the Seonangdang tree and the sacred grounds surrounding it; Zoey bows towards the tree before they move beyond. 

‘I'm sorry I killed your mentor,’ Rumi rumbles as they make their way to the castle. It might be the only safe space large enough for Rumi to fit. And it's far enough away from the village that they won't even know a monster inhabits the island. ‘Now you're going to have to go back to the palace.’

“Not until I know you're going to be okay,” Zoey says, that same steel in her voice. “And I'm not going to abandon you.” She sniffles. “You're my best friend, Rumi. I love you.”

Rumi pauses and looks down at the younger girl. Her eyes are full of fierce loyalty and determination. The dragon pushes her head into Zoey's stomach and feels hands wrap around her horns, soft pressure.

‘Thank you.’ Rumi presses the thought into Zoey's mind, a soft feeling fluttering in her chest. ‘And I love you too.’ Zoey wraps her arms around her neck right under her chin. Rumi lets out a soft rumble that sounds like thunder at the tail end of a storm.

She's going to have to live out the rest of her days as a horrible monster that needs to be kept away from society. But, maybe, as long as Zoey can come visit her every once in a while, she'll be okay.

Chapter Text

The first thing Mira needs when she escapes is transportation. She winces as she pushes the door open to the stable, just wide enough to slip through with her backpack. The space is giant. In the front, the horses for the royals are housed in large, spacious stalls with access to an individual outdoor space. She walks among them, brushing her hand against the muzzle of her favorite, rests her head against the soft skin there. But she can't take any of these horses. They're more for show than anything, aren’t used to long, arduous journeys, and it would be too suspicious. So she moves on. There's more buildings beyond the royal horses, past the carriage house that stands between the royal section of the stables and the war horses meant for the cavalry and soldiers. They have smaller stalls and no outdoor access but there are pastures for them outside. These are the horses that can travel long distances, strong and capable.

Mira moves along the stalls. Some of them are empty, some have horses just coming back— she can tell because they're dripping with water from being cleaned of sweat and grime— and so she keeps moving. Maybe she should take one of the horses from the pastures.

She grabs the first saddle she can in the soldier's tack room. It's heavy; she grunts and groans under its weight but she keeps breathing through it as she makes her way outside. There are several pastures to choose from. But, while she's throwing the tack over a rail outside, one horse edges closer. Like it's curious. It's a blue roan with what looks like a splatter of darker dots across her side and rump, under her eyes like freckles. She lips at Mira's hand when the pink-haired girl gets close enough. “Looks like you're just as on edge as I am.” The horse snorts in her face. “Ew. Thanks for that.” But she pats the horse on the shoulder and smiles. 

There's something about this horse that tugs at the thread of her memory. Like she knows it. Even though she's never stepped foot beyond the royal stables. She stares into the horse's golden eyes and wonders why they look so familiar.

Mira saddles up the horse, moves everything from the backpack to the saddle bags hanging on either side. She shoves the pack into one of the bags because she probably won't be able to bring the horse to the island. She strokes the horse's nose, chuckles as it lips at Mira's jacket, and mounts the horse. It snorts and shifts its weight. She runs her fingers through a long black mane and takes a deep breath.

There's an old fence just beyond one of the pastures that leads to the crumbling ruins on the far edge of the castle wall. Under the cover of night, Mira and the horse slips past the guards, She pulls the hood up over her pink hair as she makes her way down the road and into the nearby town. She needs to lay low, to not be seen, or she'll be dragged back to her parents. And she'd rather not be locked into her room until she's forced to be married.

The horse moves on sure feet, almost faster than she imagines a horse could move. As soon as they're out of the village boundary, it’s as if the horse grows wings.

Mira stands on a cliff overlooking the ocean. The air smells crisp, toseling the strands off her hair that have come out of her twisted braid. It’s beautiful and smells like freedom. She’s almost there. She can almost taste it, like she can taste the salt of the ocean on her tongue. It churns, grey-blue, frothy white caps breaking the surface. The sky’s a bruised purple as the sun just thinks about peaking over the horizon; oil lamps shine at entryways and windows in the small village below. Boats of all shapes and sizes rock from side to side and Mira’s not looking forward to getting on one.

Zoey once complained, loudly, in the small time they were able to interact with each other, that it took five days to get to the small fishing village and then another two or three weather dependent days to get to the island from the mainland. But, by some miracle, the horse she chose has gotten her there in two days. Somehow, it rode throughout the night, tirelessly, almost bending the world around them to go faster than Mira ever thought possible. Like magic.

“Come on,” she says as she smooths her thumb over the reigns. The horse shifts beneath her before she turns towards the path leading down to the village. “Let’s finish this.”

The village is just starting to wake up when she gets to the edge of it. The smell of fish makes her nose wrinkle as she dismounts from the horse. It lips at Mira’s hair, pushing her forward. Mira moves to the saddlebags. She begins transferring what's left of the food— now stale bread and the last of the cheese and fruits just starting to rot— back into the knapsack so she can take it with her. Mira takes off the tack— there’s really no way to get it back to the palace unless she sends the horse back with it on— and smiles at the horse. Mira doesn’t know how but all cavalry horses somehow know how to find their way home. She strokes the blue roan’s muzzle and presses her forehead to her nose. “Thank you,” she whispers.”Now go home. I’m sure someone’s missing you.” The horse snorts, shakes out her mane, and looks at her like she understands human speech. “Go!” Mira’s shout makes a few of the early morning people look up.

The horse snorts in her face as a goodbye and turns around to go back up the trail. Back towards the palace. Mira squints and watches, eyes wide, as the horse turns back towards her when it gets to the end of the trail. In a shimmer of soft blue light, it disappears.

“What the fuck?” Mira mouths to herself. There’s no way her horse just disappeared. Maybe it was magic after all?

She’s shaken from her thoughts as more and more people spill into the central area of the village. Mira blinks a few times before she hoists her bag onto her shoulder. She weaves around them, dancing out of the way of a few carts and oxen, fresh fruit still covered in dirt. It smells in the village, so different from the streets of the city surrounding the palace. Mud squelches under her sturdy stolen boots as she moves closer to the water. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore, boats creaking and rocking next to the docks, the sound soothing to her ears.

One step closer to freedom.

There's a larger fishing boat, bustling with people moving back and forth. Loading crates and nets up a ramp. The air smells like fish and the ocean and salt. She reaches into her pocket and touches the few coins she put there for this purpose. But will they be suspicious of her for having so much even if she looks the way she does?

Mira takes a deep breath in and breathes out through the uncertainty, She takes a step forward, determined to get to the island.

The village on the island is tiny. Even smaller than the one on the other side of the ocean. There's three rows of small houses and smaller boats tied to a single dock. There are vast fields of farmland and rice patties off to one side. An old road curves through them and then leads over the hill.

“Good luck!” the captain of the fishing boat that brough her over calls. Her crew, small but tough, follow behind her. Mira clenches her fists, wincing at the beginning of callouses form there; she'd been put to work as soon as she agreed to sail with them. “Hope the dragon doesn't eat you!”

Dragon? Mira blinks in shock. She turns to one of the villagers but they shrink away from her. Right. A stranger coming into the village probably won't get any answers. Mira uses her long legs to catch up with the crew she sailed with for three days to get here. They're not her friends but they were kind to her even if the captain worked her to the bone.

“Wait!” She grabs one of the sailors on the arm. The man turns towards her, brow furrowed. “What dragon?” Dragons can't be real, can they? Mira knows magic exists because Zoey and Celine could do magic but mythical creatures?

The captain pauses right before she can step off the dock. Stomps back over. "According to legend, a dragon appeared three years ago. It lives on the other side of the island." Her eyes sparkle as she talks. "It doesn't look like any dragon anyone's ever seen before." She steps closer and pokes Mira's sternum. "Don't go looking for trouble. You know what they say about dragons and maidens."

Mira would rather face a dragon than live her whole life stuck in a stuffy palace to one day be married off to a prince.

"Thanks," she says; "I'll be sure to avoid that side of the island."

The captain nods and she watches as the crew disperses, some with buckets of fish to trade for food and others heading to what looks like a tavern that'll collapse under its own weight with a poorly timed sneeze.

As soon as they’ve gotten far enough away, she turns towards the dusty road leading out of the village. She can barely see the top of a spire as she passes the fence that marks the edge of the last field. Mira pants as she turns to look over her shoulder. 

A familiar screech makes her look up and there's a bird staring at her from the tree. She squints. It’s an osprey with similar markings to the one who visited her balcony but it can’t possibly be the same one. Right? She glares at it and it just tilts its head at her in response, gives her a soft chip, before taking to the air and letting out a cry as it flies towards the towering spire ahead.

Maybe the osprey is trying to tell her something.

She hikes her backpack further up her shoulder and huffs, continues onward towards the dragon’s castle. Shivers when she passes what looks like a burnt out husk of an old compound. A tree further beyond, heavy with the weight of flags that flap in the breeze, seems to stand guard over the place. Headstones dot the concentric rings going out from the tree, one standing out among the others as being set underneath its branches. Mira doesn’t stray off the path to see what’s written there, but the place feels old and ancient and full of magic.

When she reaches the top of the hill, just beyond the burned compound, her eyes go wide. In front of her is a castle, crumbling in places and intricately decorated in others. The tallest spire rises out of the ground like a beacon. The sounds of the ocean, which had become almost non-existent as she traveled further inland, becomes louder the closer she gets. The air smells like salt again instead of churned earth and the lingering bitterness of the charred homestead.

She takes a deep breath, straightens her back out, shoulders her pack, and marches towards the spire in the distance.

Mira pushes the door open to the castle, wincing as it creaks. The inside isn’t as gloomy as she thought a dilapidated building should be. But that might be because some of the windows are shattered, glass crunching under her sturdy boots, as she moves further into the entranceway. There’s a grand staircase with a branching pathways leading to two different wings, two more hallways on either side underneath. 

Dust moats float in the air and the smell is strange, out of place. Fish, cooked and raw, mingle together with cooked venison. It’s not strong so Mira knows someone hasn’t been here recently but it’s definitely not something one expects in a place like this. She drops her heavy bag and rolls her shoulders.

“Hello?” she calls out. Probably not the smartest thing to do in a castle where there’s a supposed dragon lurking around. “Is anyone here?” She turns towards where the scent of food is the strongest but her head jerks around when there’s a crash from the opposite direction. The sound of something skittering and clicking against the stone floor draws her in.

She follows the sound down a narrow hallway, away from the light streaming in through the broken windows. Mira jumps when the sconces on either side of her burst into flame and just as quickly go out once she’s fully past them and under the next sconce. Magic, Mira thinks as her pace quickens. She’s not going to let whatever’s fleeing get away. Even if it seems fast.

Mira skids to a stop at what looks like it once was a doorway. But now it’s an archway, a broken piece of stone clinking as it hits the floor. It doesn’t look like it was recently done but the dust stirred up means whatever it was came through here. And it’s big.

She steps over some of the crumbled stones, fingers feeling the roughness as she uses the arch to steady herself. There are two rotted, wooden doors laying on either side of the entrence. She blinks in the bright light of the room; there’s one wall that’s almost completely covered in windows, a terrace balcony beyond and then nothing. She wonders if it overlooks the ocean. She scans the rest of the room: spiderweb-covered chandeleirs that must have once shined gold, a lonely piano collecting dust with its bench knocked over and crushed by what must have been a giant foot, a pattern in the marbel floors that must have been beautiful once upon a time. When she looks up, she sees what was once a beautiful fresco of a mountain, rolling hills, and grass that almost seemed to sway in the breeze. The whole room blazes a bright gold as the sun begins to set over the horizon. Broken, jagged edges of glass meets the light; some remains of stain glass cast fractiles of color across the floor, bathing the room in all colors of the rainbow to mix with the gold of the sunset.

It’s beautiful.

Mira imagines long dead royalty dancing among the dust moats, listens to the soundless tune of a piano. Her legs itch to dance, throat clicking as she swallows back an unknown tune tugging at her chest.

It’s like the magic of this place touches something inside her. Like there’s something here that’s been waiting for her.

She takes another step forward and freezes when she hears the skittering on the floor again, the clicking echoing in the space. Her body turns before her eyes do, trying to soak up the last of the sun’s golden rays before she faces whatever giant thing is haunting these halls.

A giant, dark shape takes up space in the far corner, trying to hide in the shadows; but it’s impossible with how much sun streams through the windows. Purple shimmers across black as the creature shifts from side to side. A tail covered in scales sweeps across the floor, disappearing into the non-existent shadows the creature's trying to hide itself in. Golden eyes, slitted pupils, stare at her. The creature shifts, like its uncomfortable, not blinking as it stares at her.

“What the fuck?” Mira hisses under her breath. “What are you?” But, from the rumors the captain said, that the villagers shied away from, she’s standing in front of a creature that shouldn’t exist.

The creature flinches at her voice, a low rumble reverberating through the room. The chandelier crystals clink together, another piece of glass falls from one of the colorless windows and shatters on the floor. Another flinch. Golden eyes closing and a head bowing.

“Are you…are you afraid of me?” Mira’s voice shakes as she steps closer. The creature— the dragon— tries to press itself closer to the wall.

‘Why are you here?’

The voice doesn’t echo through the room… but inside her head. It sounds sharp, like a growl, pitched with a mix of fear and anger. Feminine in a way Mira wasn’t expecting. She jolts back and almost stumbles over a rock that must have fallen from a collapsed column. Her arms flail as she begins to fall back, already wincing as she prepares herself for the pain. But she feels something bulky against her back, holding her up. Looking behind her, she sees a thick tail that tapers off into a thin point pressing against her, those purple-black scales shining in the light.

“I…”

‘You need to leave.’ The growling in Mira’s head comes again, making her flinch. The dragon finally uncurls herself from where she’s hiding in the corner. When she moves out of her hiding spot, Mira finally gets a glimpse of just how big she is. Large claws at the end of each taloned foot. Muscles move under armored scales and black wings shift with each step. The end of her tail flicks back and forth like a cat’s.

“I came to find the dragon,” Mira argues. She straightens up, holds her head high. 

The dragon tilts her head— it’s probably the size of Mira’s whole upper body if she had to guess— and stares at her with those piercing golden eyes. ‘Well, you found me. Why?’ She curls her lip up and Mira swallows as large, dagger-length teeth glint in the light. She touches the belt at her hip, where the osprey-gifted dagger sits. It hadn’t been used once on her journey to get here but if she has to protect herself. ‘Did you come to kill me?’ The voice in her head sounds dangerous but also resigned. Her head lowers until it's close to Mira’s. Hot breath washes over her, smelling like fish and sulfursulfur. She wrinkles her nose and tries not to gag. ‘Then do it. Kill me. I’m sure whoever sent you is waiting for their trophy.’

Mira just blinks owlishly. She wasn’t expecting the dragon to be like this. Meek and willing to die instead of roaring and fighting and ready to lock her away in a tower, waiting for a prince to come save her. To be fair to the dragon, she doesn’t really look like a typical princess. She probably doesn’t smell like one either.

“I don’t want to kill you.” Mira sighs and runs a hand through her pink hair. The dragon’s eyes follow the movement. “I just want a place to stay.”

‘With a monster?’

“If no one comes here because of you, they won’t find me,” she admits. “I ran away from home.”

The dragon watches Mira, not moving but for the rise and fall of her chest, the shifting of her tail back and forth like an irritated cat. Her nostrils flair, eyes flicking back and forth across Mira’s face. Like she can see into her soul more than just the princess standing before her. A hum echoes through her mind as well as in the room and Mira gasps. It’s like something reaches from the dragon to her, a thin thread of something she can’t name. Invisible but it feels like a warm blanket washes over her.

‘There.’ The dragon turns from her. Doesn’t explain what just happened. When she makes it to the door, a giant scaled head turns towards her. ‘If you’re going to stay here, you’ll need to know your way around.’

She’s halfway out the door before Mira unfreezes. “Wait!”

The dragon pauses, one clawed foot hovering in the air.

“What’s your name?”

A long neck cranes back to look at her. Claws click as she sets her foot down. Golden eyes blink once before they stare. As if the question isn’t one she was expecting. Like she thought Mira would just live here and not care about the other resident. She meets golden eyes head on, doesn’t look away.

‘I…’ A pause. ‘I no longer have a name.’

“Well, I can’t just call you ‘Dragon’, now can I?”

‘Why not?’ The dragon tilts her head to the side. Like a puppy does when it’s confused. ‘I’m a monster. And monsters don’t deserve names.’ Her head droops. Like she’s accepted the fact. And there’s been no one around to correct her.

The sun’s almost completely gone from the sky. The last rays creep across the floor and seem to settle on the dragon’s scales. They shimmer a dark inky purple color every time she moves or breathes. Like one of the gemstones set into her crown back home.

“Fine,” Mira crosses her arms over her chest, “then I’ll give you one.” Golden eyes just slow blink at her again. The dragon shifts and little fractiles of purple scatter across the floor for a second before they disappear. “Amethyst.” She nods. “You’re name is Amethyst. It suits you.”

The dragon… Amethyst… stares at her for a few seconds before nodding. Like she’s accepting her fate. Like she doesn’t really care but has decided to humor Mira. 

‘Very well.’

Mira follows the dragon out of the ballroom.

Maybe being a princess living with a dragon won’t be as bad as all the stories say. She can live out her days peacefully on an island with a telepathic dragon. Away from her parents and royal duties.

The call of an osprey echoes overhead as she follows the dragon back into the dimly lit hallway and Mira smiles.

Here, she can finally be free.

Chapter Text

Living in a castle with a creature that could kill her has certainly been an adjustment period. Amethyst has been trying to stay out of her way as much as possible. Even when she goes hunting for the dragon. It’s like she can sense Mira’s coming and goes in the other direction.

The bedroom Mira chose, up the stairs and to the right, has a bed she can sink into— that might be due to how old and rotted it is— with curtains that hang around the edge in moth-eaten tatters. It’s the complete opposite of her room back home and smells like dust and salt from the ocean… but it feels more like home than a prison. There’s always fish in the kitchen and a fire blazing in the hearth of each of the rooms Mira visits daily. It may not be cold outside but the stones don’t hold heat well. But Amethyst is gone by the time she gets there; fish still drip with salt water or fire already burning.

Mira hears talons clicking on stone as she reaches the castle entrance. The osprey— the one from her window at the palace, it has to be— sits on the curled railing at the bottom of the grand staircase. It chirps when it sees her. Mira smiles and strokes its feathers.

She takes one step toward the kitchen when a roar echoes throughout the castle. It rattles her bones as well as the windows, small glass pieces raining down around her. Mira hisses as one cuts through her cheek, another across the back of her palm as she protects her head. They bounce off the bird like water, as if its feathers are made out of armor. Blue ribbons of shimmering light ripple outward from somewhere outside, turning magenta for a moment before the blue is back. She’s never seen it before but she doesn’t have time to wonder because the osprey’s tugging at her hair. As soon as she looks towards it, the bird launches itself into the air, heading out one of the broken windows. Towards the back garden with no railing that drops into the ocean. As if the cliffside crumbled over time while taking the rest of the landscape with it. The doors to the garden are straight ahead under the grand staircase. Mira pushes the door open, the hinges screeching as she forces them then almost falls when they snap open. What she sees on the other side makes her freeze.

Amethyst stands inside a circle of scorched earth, hinting at the path she took to get there. Eyes closed, she swings her tail, kicking up dust and ashes. Long claw marks score the ground; Amethyst’s large, sharp teeth glint in the light. Mira looks in the distance to see more claw marks in trees and trailing from the cliffside, trees and bushes storm or completely uprooted or charred. Mira’s heart stutters for a moment, fear making her hands tremble. What’s happening?

The osprey hovers in the air over Amethyst, screeching. The dragon snarls but doesn’t open her eyes. She turns her head towards the bird and roars again. It sounds like she’s in pain.

Mira doesn’t know Amethyst well but the dragon has made sure she was warm and fed. So she can’t leave her to suffer. But she also doesn’t wanna get gutted by those dagger claws.

“Uh…” She stares between the osprey and the dragon. Amethyst freezes and swings her head in the direction of Mira’s voice. But she still doesn’t open her eyes. Since the first day, this is the closest she’s been to the dragon in two months. “Are…” She swallows down the fear that forms in her throat. Amethyst has been nothing but kind to her. “Are you okay?”

Amethyst hangs her head but won’t open her eyes. ‘I’m fine.’ Her voice rumbles in Mira’s head. She still doesn’t understand how she’s able to hear the dragon in her mind but she’s just accepted it; it would be hard to communicate with the master of the castle if it was only growls and snarls. ‘I’m sorry if I scared you.’ Mira rolls her eyes. Of course the dragon can smell her fear. ‘Zoey can help me.’

Mira’s brows furrow. Zoey? she thinks. Who’s Zoey? There’s no one here but us and— The osprey screeches and lands on one of Amethyst’s curling horns. The spiraling cracks in them glow a soft purple from the inside. The bird tilts its head at her. Golden eyes hold more intelligence than anyone she remembers in court. “Oh.” Well, at least now she can stop calling the osprey ‘Bird’ in her head. The osprey, Zoey, clicks her beak, like she’s laughing, and flaps her wings, ruffling her feathers. She waves a wing like she’s beckoning Mira closer.

So she takes a step but Amethyst must hear it and growls, lip curling to reveal those sharp fangs. ‘Don’t,’ Amethyst sounds almost pleading. ‘Don’t come any closer. I don’t want to hurt you.’ Somehow, probably through her other senses, Amethyst knows where she’s standing, face pointed towards her but with her eyes still closed. Mira’s eyes narrow. 

Why won’t she open her eyes?

Ignoring Amethyst’s growl as she takes another step, then another. Zoey chitters in what feels like encouragement. The dragon takes a step back for every two steps Mira takes forward. The dragon… afraid of the princess. Eventually, the spines on Amethyst’s back rattle as they bump into a tree. She freezes.

Mira reaches out a hand, feels hot breath against her skin. This close, she can finally see why Amethyst won’t— can’t— open her eyes. There are white crystals at the edges of her eyes, in the cracks near her nostrils. Moving her eyes across the rest of her body, Mira can see more white crystals digging into the small edges between each scale. Even her claws aren’t spared. The space between them looks coated, ichor leaking between each talon, the little webbing in between.

Salt.

Amethyst’s scales, her whole body, is coated in salt crystals. Mira takes a chance and reaches out, pressing her hand against warm scales. The dragon flinches back, growling but it’s more frightened than warning. Some of the clumps have been able to get under a few of her scales.

“How did this happen?” Mira asks. Her thumb strokes along the edge of a scale, salt pieces falling off in small, sharp bits. Amethyst shakes her head. Still that low growl, like she can’t help herself. Zoey hops from a spiral horn onto Mira’s head, the girl winching as claws press against her scalp. The bird screeches like she’s yelling at the dragon.

With a great sigh, Amethyst admits, ‘Hunting.’ It’s one word but tells Mira a lot. Her mind flashes back to the daily fresh fish in the kitchen, the trail of water leading from the front entrance. She knew Amethyst must have brought it in— she doesn’t question how the vegetables get there but she assumed Amethyst had something to do with that too. But she didn’t know the cost. ‘I can eat while I hunt but you need food.’ And Mira has done nothing in return. ‘I’ll be okay.’

Mira shakes her head, even if she knows the dragon can’t see her. Her shoulders stiffen, chin tilting up, filled with determination. She won’t let her provider suffer one second longer when she’s the reason for all the salt. The dragon could probably go days without hunting if it wasn’t for her. “Let me help you.” She strokes at the space where foreleg meets shoulder. “As a thank you.”

‘There’s no need—’ Amethyst tries to argue but Zoey screeches and clicks her beak. Mira yelps when sharp claws press against her scalp. Zoey jumps from her head onto Amethyst’s back. ‘Zoey.’ Mira tries to hide her shocked laugh when Rumi’s rumbling voice sounds almost petulant. Not at all like a dignified dragon should sound. It’s more like the girls in court who whined and talked about boys. Her massive head droops until she would be looking at Mira. If he should open her eyes. ‘Fine. Twist my wing.’ Zoey clicks her beak again, puffing out her chest. Amethyst shakes her off in response.

Seeing them interact makes Mira feel like an outsider. It reminds her of the servants when they thought no one was looking. Giggling in the corridors and whispering to each other, teasing when they thought superiors weren’t looking. Mira never understood it before. But that’s probably because she’s never had friends before. Just courtly girls who tried to use her as a leg up on their peers. Cut throat. The only person she tolerated at the palace was mudang Zoey— it’s not a common name in the kingdom but it’s funny she knows a person and a bird with the same name. She watches the bird hover over Amethyst before landing on her horn. The dragon goes to swipe her away, lifts a claw, and Mira watches as ichor drips from the space between two scales where the muscle of her shoulder moves. She roars in pain, head bowing, spine arching.

Mira, heart in her throat, lunges forward. Warmth presses against her palms, the scrape of keratin rough and spiral indents standing out. But Amethyst freezes, hot breath against Mira’s front. Zoey chirps, golden eyes close and sparkling with intelligence. Like she’s looking into her soul. Mira closes her eyes and takes a shuddering breath. “Let me help.” She tries to sound strong but her voice wavers at the end of her sentence. Amethyst grumbles, steam rising from her nostrils, but eventually she bows her head. Conceding to Mira. It makes something flutter in her chest at the thought of this giant, magnificent beast bowing to her request.

Even if it is to help her.

Zoey flies ahead of them, screeching every so often. Like sonar for Amethyst. Mira keeps a hand on the dragon’s shoulder. The muscle under her palm shifts with every step; sometimes she pauses because of the salt crystals digging into her feet with every other step. The dragon still hasn’t opened her eyes.

Mira has come to the bathing cave one or two times a week once Zoey led her there. She’d been complaining about the state of her clothes and her hair and the layer of grime on her skin. So the bird had stolen her dirty clothes in her claws and Mira gave chase all the way to the nearby cave. It’s tucked away in a hill with a wide footpath leading down into the darkness. It reminds her of the bathing house at the palace for the royal family only. There was a giant natural pool in the middle with smaller pools around it with water flowing from the main source. Steam rises from the surface and curls up towards the ceiling. There’s a hole that looks clawed into the rock there.

Zoey lands on a high shelf— once more looking like it was clawed into the wall instead of natural— that Mira’s never noticed before. Usually, she just sticks to the small pool near the cave entrance. When Mira drops her hand from Amethyst’s shoulder, the dragon just stops moving. But her head stays up and follows Mira’s movements, listening to her footsteps on stone. Zoey hops from foot to foot, knocking against something that clatters to the floor. Amethyst flinches, muscles rippling, claws flexing at the sudden sound. Mira stops to pick it up and recognizes a soft bristle brush, like those used on horses. There’s a long handle brush that leans against the wall below the shelf. Looking at the shelf itself, she sees a bar of soap and two towels: one that looks soft to the touch and out of place while the other that looks rough enough for Mira to never want to use it. There is a pail for water— like those used by the servants in the palace to bring water for Mira’s daily bath when she didn’t want to go to the bath house. She picks up the soap and brings it to her nose; it smells like jasmine and feels like something a noble might own, not something she would expect to find in the possession of a dragon on an island of poor fishmen. Mira almost slips on a little divot in the floor that leads downward. Like a drain for dirty water.

Zoey clicks her beak, breaking Mira from her thoughts. “What do I do?” she asks the osprey. How the bird was able to help wash the dragon, Mira doesn’t understand. She looks at the dragon frozen in the exact same place she was when Mira dropped her hand. So the princess makes her way over and places her hand on warm, salt crusted scales. Muscles flinch but Mira whispers softly. “I’ve got you.” Her voice trembles but she stays steady. One foot in front of the other. Claws click on the floor until Mira helps Amethyst maneuver through the large alcove archway. It’s almost like a second cave that’s big enough to fit the dragon and plenty of space for Mira to move around her. “Be right back,” she says, letting her fingers brush the dragon’s scales until she has to drop it. Still Amethyst says nothing. Just stands there. Waiting for something to happen. Mira looks to Zoey again, who just warbles at her.

Okay, looks like neither of them will be any help.

She grabs the pail and goes back into the main room, scooping hot water. It’s heavy but Mira’s never shied away from hard labor. Her mom used to yell at her for the callouses on her hands from sword fighting or riding horses or helping in the kitchen until she got caught. The pail scrapes along the floor and Amethyst shifts her weight. Mira dips the rough cloth in the water, soaps it up, and approaches the dragon’s head.

Amethyst flinches when Mira reaches up to touch her face. “Sorry,” Mira says, reminding herself to telegraph her movements from now on. “Can you bend down so I can clean your eyes?” If the dragon can see her, she might be a little more comfortable. With a rumble— both out loud and in her mind— the giant head lowers until it’s on the floor. Mira kneels down, hand between her nostrils. Mira uses gentle circles, being careful not to claw at the crystals. She works in silence for a few minutes until it becomes too heavy. So she begins to hum. It’s not a song, just a tune she doesn’t remember ever hearing. Like it’s always been with her. It’s not long either, a few notes on repeat. By her fifth round, all of the salt crystals around one eye have slowly come off. She moves around the dragon to do her other eye, gathering more soap on the cloth. Five more repetitions of the song and both eyes are clear.

Amethyst’s eyes start to flutter. “Not yet,” Mira whispers into the softness of the alcove. Her pants are wet and she can feel scrapes on her knees. But she grabs the soft cloth, dips it into the water, and brushes it over each eye twice. Making sure to get the soap off.  “Okay.” She watches as the dragon’s eyes open. It’s the closest she’s ever been to the dragon, even closer than when she was leading her. She can see little amber flecks among the gold of her eyes, slitted pupils dilating as if trying to recalibrate to seeing light again. “They’re beautiful.”

‘Thank you,’ Amethyst rumbles, pressing her snout into Mira’s stomach. Hot breath fans across her shirt, warming her almost as much as the water would.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” Mira responds. “I’ve just never been able to say it because you’re always running from me.”

‘I don’t want to scare you.’ Amethyst tries to move her head away but Mira cradles it in her hands, fingers pressing to her jawline. There are a few small frills there so she pets them. Amethyst starts to purr; her eyes shoot open and she tries to squirm away. Zoey clicks her beak and she’s definitely laughing at them. ‘I’m a monster.’

Mira picks up the rough cloth and begins wiping the salt she can reach. “No.” Mira’s voice is firm as she watches soapy water and salt drips from Amethyst’s face. The dragon’s eyes go wide, pupils dilating, when Mira says, “You’re beautiful.”

Mira sighs as she sinks into the hot pool. Her muscles ache but in a way that makes her feel accomplished. She has no idea exactly how long it took to wash the dragon off, but her scales gleam. She’d turned into a big puddle of purring dragon as she’d moved down her body, using the long brush to get those hard to reach places. She hadn’t been able to get all the salt off her wings because of how much they twitched but enough for the warm water to get the rest

She yelps when a warm wave of water washes over her shoulders and chin. Glares at the other end of the pool as Amethyst settles in. The dragon blinks at her, sheepish curls to her mouth, steam rising from her nostrils as she exhales. Her golden eyes take in Mira sitting on a ledge across from her. There’s a rumbling that echoes around the room and in her mind. ‘Thank you.’ It’s said with a sigh.

“Happy to help,” Mira responds with a soft smile. She trails her fingers through the water. It’s hot enough to relax but not burning. The strain in her muscles fades to small aches with the water. “I don’t mind, you know.” Amethyst tilts her head like a puppy and Mira’s heart flutters. “Helping.” She raises an arm and watches the droplets return to the water. “You’ve been so kind to me.”

‘I didn’t ask for anything in return.’ Amethyst lowers her head until only her nostrils and eyes are visible; her head’s close enough to rest on the ledge Mira’s sitting on. Her nostrils flair with every breath, eyes looking at her with something softer than the first time she saw her; the grooved cracks spiraling around her horns glow with a soft purple light from within. ‘You were the one who barged in, demanding I let you live here.’ She snorts. ‘So now I have to feed you and keep you warm. Like a pet.’

Mira gasps, reaching out to tap Amethyst’s nose. “How dare you! I am a princess.” But it comes out without a bite, a laugh spilling from her that sounds nothing like the forced laughter of the palace. Amethyst joins in and water splashes as she settles further into the water. Mira stiffens when a large head lands in her lap; it’s heavy but the water buoys her. She can feel the rumble of Amethyst’s laughter through her body, against her stomach and legs. Down to her toes. The small frills press against her skin. She puts her hand on the dragon’s scaly snout. Her voice comes out soft as she says, “Will you stop hiding?” Mira doesn’t mean for it to sound like a plea but it does. With only Zoey for company, it’s been lonely. She has the vast library, food for her belly, and the warmth of the fires. But no companion to talk to. Zoey can chirp and screech and whistle but not hold a full conversation.

“Are… are you sure?” Amethyst sounds wary. There’s a low rumble against Mira’s legs as she brushes her hand over scales. Golden eyes flutter open and Mira’s even closer than she was when she was washing the salt from them. The color reminds her of liquid gold— everchanging and little dark flecks of amber within the pure metal. Beautiful. She traces across scales until she reaches the rough base of one of her horns. The purr grows louder as a finger traces along one of the curved groves, the glow under her finger turning gold for a brief moment before settling back to purple. ‘That feels weird.’

“I’m sorry,” the princess says as she pulls her hand away. Her eyes go wide as a giant foot reaches out of the water; one claw touches her palm and pushes it back up until it comes into contact with a horn. “Oh.” She wraps her fingers around the horn and the foot slowly retreats back down into the water. Gold eyes close and that purr of contentment comes back even louder.

She’s not scared of the dragon anymore; honestly, the only time she had been scared of her enough to want to run away was the first time she’d laid eyes on Amethyst. The fear of Amethyst in the garden, out of her mind with irritation from the salt crystals, that had been fear steeped in worry.

It’s as if this moment— Mira bathing Amethyst and getting the salt buildup off— has changed their dynamic. It’s changed everything. Mira settles her hand back against Amethyst’s forehead, thumb brushing against a horn, and leans her head back against the ledge. It’s the most relaxed she’s felt since she broke free of her parents’ chains. Way before she even thought about escaping the palace.

Mira shivers as she rises out of the water. She can feel the beads drip down her body. It’s warm in the cavern but there’s still a draft that causes goosebumps on her skin and it’s wrinkly. Like a prune. Her head feels a little bit light from the heat so she needs out. Amethyst watches as she steps out of the pool, golden eyes glinting in the beam of light from the skylight. Steam rises from her skin in the heat. There are no towels, besides the ones she used for Amethyst, and she doesn’t want to use her clothes that she hopes are dry.

Amethyst hangs her giant head over the side of the tub. ‘Here.’ Mira watches her mouth open, dagger teeth glinting in the light. A second later, hot breath— she wrinkles her nose at the smell of fish and meat and sulfur, trying not to gag— wafts over her. The hair on her body stands on ends, making her shiver again, before the stream of air stops. Her hair drips down her back and onto the floor but the rest of her body feels as dry as if she’d never gone into the hot spring at all. ‘There. No need for a towel now.’

“Convenient,” Mira nods, “if not extremely smelly.”

Amethyst rolls her eyes. She stands up and steps over the edge of the pool like it’s nothing. Shakes herself out. Drops of water splash against Mira’s skin but she can do nothing but laugh. She reaches for the soft cotton cloth and moves to wipe the dragon down. Looking down, she finds a teardrop shaped scale, several inches long. The underside is beautiful when she picks it up and holds it to the light. Black like a void on one side with a purple sheen on one side, the other side an iridescent black with purple and white and blue flecks. “It’s beautiful.” She can’t keep the awe out of her voice as she holds it up to the skylight, watching the way the different sides glitter. When she asks the dragon to spread her wings so she can dry them, she notices the purple scales on the underside of her wings spray out like the waves that crash against the cliffside, But they look like galaxies in color. Swirls of silver and purple and opal, like the scales have been flipped over only on the underside of her wings. 

God, everything about a creature that caused the young countesses at the palace nightmares, is beautiful.

Except her breath.

Mira brushes her thumb over the purple side of the scale. ‘Keep it,’ Amethyst says. Mira smiles and presses it against her chest. It’s warm, like the pool of water before them or a hot drink on a cold winter night. ‘I think there are some tools to make a hole. For a necklace.’ The dragon looks shy. ‘If… if you want.’

Mira turns the scale over in her hand. Smiles down at it. A little piece of her protector with her wherever she goes? She turns that smile on the dragon. Holding the scale in one hand, she presses the other to the middle of Amethyst’s muzzle, right between her nostrils. She leans in and presses her forehead to the dragon’s.

There’s definitely something between them that wasn’t there before.