They fled the capital before the emperor's allies could regroup. Kaito knew vengeance had bought him nothing but enemies — the empire would not forgive what he had done, and those who survived would rally to destroy him.
Everywhere they traveled, doors shut in their faces. Villages barred their gates as soon as Yù Lóng's shadow passed over the mountains. Monks at the temples lowered their eyes and turned away. Priests spat prayers of curses as he passed, calling him graveborn, monster, abomination.
The rumors spread faster than fire — the man who walked with a dragon, who burned the capital to ash, who carried the curse of the dead.
Takeshi, still wounded, marched despite the pain. His loyalty was iron, though his body faltered with every step. He bound his wounds in silence and carried his sword though his grip shook.
Mei Lin walked behind, her silence heavier than any accusation. She carried Adrian's journals pressed tightly to her chest, guarding them as if they were the last fragile thing left in the world. At night, when they made camp, she said nothing. But her eyes accused Kaito with every glance, a silent reminder of what had been lost.
Kaito spent those nights by the fire with Adrian's words. He traced every page as though touching his brother's hand again. The journals spoke of dragons not as curses, but as partners, guardians of empires, teachers of men. Adrian's research painted a world long erased — a time when dragons guided kings, when their wisdom shaped dynasties, and when mankind had not yet succumbed to fear.
The final pages were darker, filled with Adrian's cramped, hurried hand. He wrote of a hidden order — men cloaked in white, sworn to erase dragonkind and bury their memory from the earth.
"They are coming for me," the last line read. "If I fall, Kaito must know: the last dragon must not die. She is the key to everything."
When Kaito closed the journal, his hands shook. He stared at Yù Lóng across the fire, her golden eyes watching him as though she already knew.
"They killed him not only for knowledge," Kaito whispered, his voice trembling. "They killed him because he tried to keep you alive."
The dragon lowered her massive head, her breath stirring the fire. "Then his death was not for me alone," she said, her voice soft as smoke. "It was for the memory of my kind. And now that memory burns within you."
The next morning, the order came.
Cloaked riders descended from the cliffs, their blades glinting, their arrows blotting out the sun. Their white hoods fluttered like the wings of carrion birds, their voices chanting in unison.
Takeshi met them with his last strength, his sword singing one final hymn of loyalty. He fought like a storm, his blade a blur despite his wounds. But the enemy was endless. A spear pierced his chest, and though his knees buckled, he dragged two foes down with him.
"Live, Kaito!" Takeshi roared with his dying breath. His cry shook the valley, carried on wind and blood. "Live — even if it burns!"
Kaito's answering roar shook the earth. His sword blazed with dragonfire as he cut through the enemy, his fury fueled by loss. Yù Lóng descended in wrath, her fire scattering the riders, turning snow and stone alike to molten ruin.
But Takeshi's blood stained the earth, and nothing could undo it.
They fled again, leaving his body behind. And in the silence that followed, Kaito carried not just Adrian's ghost, but Takeshi's as well.