Chapter Text
The dragon gods mourned as they watched their world collapse. Humans, once such innocent, hopeful creatures, removed limbs and drank blood in the place of clean water. The dragon gods mourned as the earth, a vibrant place beneath their celestial clouds, stood scorched, trampled by feet they failed to protect. The dragons god seethed, for many things. They seethed for traitorous people; for their faulted sanctity; for their love gone to waste.
Hiryuu, so young, so strong, cherished what good was left. Holding it in his claws, burning bright in his splendor, he cared for the small seed of hope. He nurtured. He adored. He became. With a final goodbye and a golden medallion, he abandoned weightless clouds for dead grass. He planted the seed in earth which would grow no more. Hiryuu, so young, so foolish—so brave.
The seed did not grow. Blood could not nourish. Tears were not enough. Only bodies underground could provide pabulum. But Hiryuu would not be proved wrong. He adored despite it all. The dragon gods seethed.
"Hiryuu! We have come for you! Return to the Heavens and destroy the humans who have forgotten to cherish and heed the gods."
But love he still did. He looked upon the humans holding spears and blades to his throat, and he loved. The dragon gods mourned. But love him they still did.
So they passed their blood to the very humans who had forgotten them. Hakuryuu, to a mercenary, with ties to no one, yet loyal to a fault. He would not betray those he loved, and love Hiryuu he would. Seiryuu, to a villager struggling to survive. Physically incapable, but with eyes to attract. Those eyes would do well to destroy the millions who dared to harm the human Hiryuu. Ryoukuryuu, to a vigilante, with a harsh heart, yet with aspirations as far as the heavenly skies. He was finicky, but his hopes reached Hiryuu, and that was enough. Together, they would protect. They would shelter and save the fragile body of Hiryuu. They would serve until the end of their days.
But Ouryuu was smart. He knew humans died, but gods did not. Hiryuu may die, but his spirit would find another home. The humans, in their finite, impatient nature, would not find reason to remain with the shell of a god’s corporeal body. Ouryuu would not abandon Hiryuu, even if many a millennium passed before his return.
To a small priestly boy, then, did the blood of the Yellow Dragon go. He had barely lived through fifteen winters, but he had survived, nonetheless. He loved as deeply and as continuously as Hiryuu. His heart was strong where his body was not. For him, the small priestly boy, who looked upon a dragon god with such awe and reverence, Ouryuu blessed cursed with immortality with never-ending sorrow. He would be the one to nurture Hiryuu’s buried seed where the god could not. He would be the one to carry on the legacy of the gods. He would be the one to defy the limits of human life, as a god ought to do.
The Ouryuu was smart. The Ouryuu was very smart.
(And Zeno, that small priestly boy, he was so very hopeless.)