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In the silence of the battlefield, where mages and knights stood, no one would have thought a dragon might appear in the skies. With scales of gold and red, claws as sharp as the swords of terrified knights pointed at the beast, and its body circles the field not once but twice as long. Its fangs bared at the humans and elves, all-knowing and unknowing at the same time at the sight of it.
Dragons, as far as historians are concerned, were hidden away. Forgotten through time and the last thing which was left were legends and myths of their benevolence and temper if taunted nad harmed. Never once in recent history has a dragon appeared in someplace where they can clear it in all its glory and beauty.
It is a momentous moment however there was no awe or praise leaving the lips of those who are faced with the dragon. Only screams and cries of despair as flames spew out of its snout. There was no goodness in its arrival.
Only bloodshed and death. The omen of a fallen war in the form of a dragon angered and in pain. No one knows where it first came from. The battlefield a graveyard for long wars from before the eldest of the soldiers was even born. Blood was spilled here for centuries repetitively- is that the reason why such a celestial beast appears before them?
The bloodshed and loss of precious fragile life being used as pawns by the kings and rules of the land?
No. Maybe not.
For if one were to look closer to the front claws of the dragon, it seems to be cradling something- or perhaps someone? in each claw. Human blood spilling onto sharp black talons and in the golden eyes of the dragon shows not rage one would have expected but rather of pain and grief.
A loss so unimaginable no one would have thought that the beast is not angry but just... in deep mourning from the loss of a life. Or rather two lives cradled in its claws. Held so closely to its chest and refusing to move or let anyone ever touch it once more. Not after the war and the soldiers had taken it away from it.
Took them away from him.
His lovers. His beloveds.
The heroic knight who thought he was bigger than the world and he was doing good for the people when he marched straight into his haven filled with treasure. Gone is the man who the dragon had learned cries at every crushed flower and whose eyes shone like the sun in the morning of the blue sky. Alfred is gone and Yao already yearns for his laughter, twinkling in the wind as he swings his body to the rhythm of their footsteps over forest paths and ancient stone. Gone. He's gone and it's all because of Yao.
"Promise me you won't leave?" Alfred asked him once. In the dead of the night while their local demon friend nestles in Yao's lap for the night. Both of them awake for different reasons. Yao as a nocturnal creature and Alfred due to a nightmare where he immediately woken up from, coming closer to Yao to leech some of the warmth radiating from his human form.
Yao vaguely remembers what he said. "I will never." The words burning against his tongue for he was bound to leave their little party sooner than later. It is simply not in his nature to stay.
"Liar." Alfred answers back but before Yao can even defend himself, the human knight had settled down by his side. His head on Yao's shoulder and one hand around Yao's waist.
He heard the heartbeat slow down to a soft tune. In the same rhythm as the world in which sings for the lad whose hair shines like the light. However- why was it not when Yao yearns to listen to it's song once more he finds nothing but a deafening silence.
An emptiness which hurts more in his chest compared to the strings of arrows piercing through his scars. Making him bleed gold and his cries echoing alongside the screams of the humans and elves begging for mercy. The battlefield turned into a morbid orchestra of mourning and grief and death. Mixing until no one knows which sound is which.
But if it was so loud? Then why is the silence in Yao's ears louder than the screams of those he is burning under the flames of his grief? Where is he- Where is the demon whose hands were as cold as the eternal ice of the north?
Where is Ivan who's hands, though his talons were almost as dangerous as that of Yao's, would never fail to be gentle when it's in the early morning. Helping out in braiding Yao's long hair with a story leaving his lips, philosophies he had learned from the numerous humans he had taken underneath his shadow. Legends and myths of which Yao had personally lived through but still- he grew to listen to the voice who speaks in such light tones despite the background he speaks of.
Gone. He's gone. Gone is the demon who is more man than other with eyes like amethyst pearls, who speaks in rhymes and threats thinly veiled and yet when he speaks of danger and violence- Yao only finds comfort and safety in his presence. Gone is the man whose skin was kissed by the winter spirit, hair mused always by the lights of the sky solely because his origins has always been divine despite the name of a demon given to him.
"Do you think we'll be allowed to stay here?" Ivan asks him while they wait outside the castle for their little knight. "Beside him until he dies of old age?"
Yao does not like to think of death. He cannot think of it or else he will end up mourning a life which he can still cradle and save in his arms. He rather not think about it but the expectant eyes of his partner speaks more than what he was clearly asking.
"If anyone tries..." He started, licking his lips to wet them against the heat of the sun from above. The stuffiness of the city capital is still something he was unaccustomed to and thus, he stuck near the demon in favor for a portable air-conditioner in the form of someone who would hug him tightly if possible.
"They can face us both."
"Hand in hand?"
Yao laughs, reaching out for Ivan's hand. "Hand in hand." He agrees.
But in his talons right at this moment, in the middle of the battlefield which was between Alfred's home nation and an enemy- his hands carried not warm fingers and cold palms but the bleeding bodies of his beloveds of whom he only watched fall to the floor due to the war in front of him.
Gone. Both of them gone and Yao is left alone. As always. As usual. He's alone again except this time Yao doesn't wish to be alone. He rather not be alone. He wants to be stuck in the middle of a bed, his back pressed against the soft padding of Ivan's stomach while his arms are trapped between Alfred's hugs. He wants to go...
He wants to go home where Alfred and Ivan will be waiting for him. In the first place where they met. Behind the waterfall, in the small garden and hut Yao made from scratch. Far away from battle. Far away from death. Somewhere so far no one can find them and so they will remain untouched by death and illness.
Except-
The dragon releases another cry. Not due to the pain of it's wounds but rather the pain in it's chest. For it has lost both of it's mates at the same time, the bond between them shattered like glass dropping to the ground. Into pieces it's talons are too big and sharp to pick up one by one.
It's cry shatters the eardrums of the soldiers scrambling for safety while it's body drops to the ground. It's serpentine figure curling around itself to protect what it has in the middle. Regardless of the war's status or it's own bleeding injuries, tainting broken armor and weapons a brillant gold.
If this battlefield is his beloved's grave then let it also be Yao's. For he will perish today. If it meant staying by his beloveds' side. Even if it is in another world- in another time. Let them meet once more in the heavenly fields of the afterlife.
At least there...
Yao knows he wouldn't be alone. How could he? With the comforting hugs of his courageous knight and the loving touches of his most loved demon.
There, in the battlefield, where death runs rampant lays a dragon. Breathing its last as it has fallen to the grief of love and the pain of losing a lover. It has fallen.