Archive of Our Own

As always, the harvest season was the busiest time of the year. Countless meetings, a mountain of paperwork, problems piling up faster than Shota could deal with them. It had left him drained, his days consumed by hazy routine. But at last, with the final documents signed and the worst of the year’s demands behind him, Shota finally carved out time for his yearly hunting trip - what Hizashi liked to call, with a touch of too much amusement, a misanthrope’s retreat.

Shota didn’t waste a moment. He pulled on his worn hunting gear, packed enough supplies to last a comfortable month, and told Hitoshi he’d be back before the next full moon. His son barely looked up from his book, just waved him off like always. “Be safe,” he said, and that was that.

Shota loaded his things onto his favorite suugu, a large white tiger he fondly named Bastard, and soon the two of them were bounding through the clear skies of Sai, heading toward the secluded place where his cabin stood.

After checking the cabin and making sure everything was in order, he sent Bastard home. The beast would make it safely back on its own, as it always did.

The first few days passed in blissful silence. The forest felt welcoming after weeks locked in stuffy rooms that reeked of paper dust and ink. Coming here was like finally exhaling, like coming home after a long day. The quiet murmur of leaves in the wind, the happy lilt of the river in the distance, even obnoxiously loud birds singing - all of it felt like a balm on his soul. Shota walked the deer trails, checked the forest for signs of youma - not expecting to find any, but still cautious. Sai had been peaceful for centuries, but peace was never permanent. He’d learned that the hard way.

On the third night, the silence was broken.

A shrill, unnatural screech tore through the forest. No animal could produce a sound like that. A youma, then - and it had clearly found prey.

Shota grabbed his bow and quiver without hesitation, grateful he hadn’t yet settled in for the night. He moved quickly, silent on his feet, each step driven by honed instinct. The screeching cut off abruptly, but he’d already pinpointed the direction.

The forest grew darker, the air tighter. Then, a clearing.

He stepped to its edge - and froze.

The scene before him was gruesome.

The green forest floor was smeared with blood, guts, and torn-up earth. In the center of the clearing lay a heap of dirty-gray feathers and talons - unmoving, twisted at awkward angles. Shota recognized the creature instantly: a kochou, one of the giant raven-like youma with curved horns and a beak sharp enough to pierce bone. It was clearly dead.

Good.

To the side of the beast stood a small figure, gripping a bloodied sword far too big and heavy for its wielder. Shota’s breath caught. A child. Way too young to be fighting savage beasts in the dead of night. The boy trembled violently, shoulders heaving with exertion. As Shota stepped closer, the child turned sharply, eyes wild, and pointed the sword at him.

He was a mess: tattered clothes drenched in blood - his own or the youma’s, it was impossible to tell - and thick streaks of crimson matted in his green curls. Blood had run down his face and dried there, cracking against his clammy skin. His eyes locked on Shota, but they were clouded. Unfocused.

Shota raised one hand slowly, palm outward in a silent gesture of peace.

“You’re safe,” he said, gently, the way one might speak to a spooked animal. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The child didn’t lower the sword, but his arms were shaking. The tip of the blade wavered.

Shota crouched slightly and set his bow down, slow and deliberate, projecting his movements. He kept his other hand up, open, visible. The last thing he wanted was to be impaled by a delirious kid in the middle of nowhere. His stomach churned at the poor state of the boy, tight with worry. 

“You’re safe,” he repeated. “I can help you.”

The sword slipped from the boy’s hands. His knees buckled like a marionette with its strings cut.

Shota lunged forward before the kid could hit the ground, catching him before he injured himself even further, heart pounding louder now than it had during the sprint through the forest. 

He lowered him to the ground gently, careful not to jostle his head. The child seemed to be in pretty bad shape. Shota was no medic, but he'd have to do. The boy was covered in bruises and gashes, but thankfully, most of them didn’t seem deep enough to be life-threatening. The worst was the head wound - and those, Shota knew from experience, could turn nasty fast.

Running his fingers carefully through the boy’s matted curls, he found a swelling at the back of the skull. Not good.

Shota stood and searched the clearing quickly. No signs of other travelers, no tracks leading in or out. The kochou must have snatched the boy from somewhere and brought him here - maybe dropped him from a height. It was a miracle he hadn’t broken any bones.

Slipping both his own bow and the boy’s sword onto his back, Shota lifted the kid into his arms. He’d have to tend to his wounds back at the cabin - he didn’t carry medical supplies when out tracking.

As he moved through the forest, his mind was working rapidly. The boy couldn’t have been more than twelve, maybe thirteen years old at most. He wore a tight black uniform, not one Shota recognized, and bizzare footwear: bright red boots with loose laces, made from some strange material he'd never seen before. A bright yellow bag hung from his back.

From that alone, Shota could make an educated guess about the boy’s origins.

The sword, though...

It was definitely forged here, in Tai.

It was no common blade, either. Jeweled hilt and sheath, a phoenix etched in silver along the steel - ceremonial, perhaps, but exquisitely balanced. It had to be worth a small fortune.

And this child, clearly neither noble nor warrior, had been clutching onto it like a lifeline. He was too small to carry a weapon like that, too young to stand in a clearing full of blood, facing a ferocious youma all by himself.

That alone made Shota uneasy. What brought him here? Who gave him the sword? Why was he attacked?

The questions would have to wait.

Everything hurt.

A deep, pulsing headache pressed behind his eyes, making the world spin, even though his eyes were still shut. Izuku wanted to clutch at his head, to try and ease the pain a bit, but his hands refused to move. He was surrounded by unfamiliar smells: burning wood, pine, some herbs maybe? It was hard to tell. Everything was hazy. He tried to open his eyes, but the sliver of light that snuck through his cracked eyelids made him wince from a new wave of pain.

A steady hand touched his shoulder, startling him.

"Easy", a male voice said. It was thankfully quiet; gruff, but not unkind.

Izuku felt his head being carefully lifted, and something pressing to his lips. A cup. He didn't realize how dry his mouth was until the water slid down his throat, almost making him cry in relief.

"Do you remember your name?" the same voice asked. Izuku didn't recognize it.

The boy tried to gather his scattering thoughts. That was a pretty easy question at least.

"Mi-Midoriya Izuku", he gasped out. His lips felt dry and cracked, pulling unpleasantly at his words.

Pause.

"Good. That's good. I am Shota. Did you come here from Wa, Izuku?" 

Wa? Izuku furrowed his brow a bit. That was an old name, straight out of a textbook.

"From Musutafu."

He hesitated, then added, quieter, unsure: “Japan.”.

He heard a heavy sigh, and the hand on his shoulder tightened slightly. 

"You're a long way from home, kid," the man - Shota - said seriously. There was a hint of sympathy in his voice. That did not sound reassuring at all. 

"Mom's going to kill me," Izuku croaked out, slowly faling back into unconciousness, and the last thing he heard was an amused huff.

The next time Izuku woke up, he was actually able to open his eyes. His vision blurred. The boy blinked until the world settled into place. The pain was still there, but less imposing. Duller. 

The boy turned his head slightly, wincing from the motion, and took in his surroundings for the first time.  

The space was small, but not cramped. A simple cot beneath him, a rough-hewn table with two stools, a crackling hearth to his right. In the corner stood a narrow bookshelf, its shelves overflowing with scrolls of every size.

His eyes lingered there. He’d never seen a real scroll before - not outside of movies or pictures. The sight stirred something through the fog in his mind, something curious and steady, even in the pain. He wanted to get his hands on one of the scrolls, to unfold it carefully and see what secrets it held. 

In the other corner of the room, by a window that let the bright sunlight in, sat a dark figure - Izuku's host. He looked middle-aged, with long black hair pulled back in a simple knot with a leather strap, and dressed in black clothes that resembled old-timey Chinese costumes: a plain pair of pants and a loose shirt tied with a sash at the waist. The man was fletching an arrow, head ducked low, and, squinting a bit, Izuku recognized the grey feathers he was using.

The bird. Sharp talons and wind howling in his ears. The fall and the desperate fight. 

"You're awake again," the man said without lifting his head. "Good. You'll probably survive then."

"What... is this place?"

"My hunting cabin," came the short answer. "Though I suppose that's not what you're asking. We are in northwest forests of the Kingdom of Sai, not too far from the Han border." 

Izuku frowned, processing. "Kingdom?"

Shota placed the arrow down and finally looked up at the boy. The corner of his mouth tugged down slightly. "You’re not in your world anymore, kid."

Izuku blinked slowly, the gears in his head turning. Was this some kind of elaborate joke? Traveling between worlds - that was the stuff of fantasy novels, and his life was more of a quiet tragedy. 

But… there was evidence. The scrolls stacked on the shelves, the bow resting by the door, the giant bird that took him to the sky. And most importantly, Shota didn’t look like the prankster type.

The man's words settled in like a stone in his chest. Izuku’s breath caught in his throat. His fingers clutched shakily at the blanket. Blood drained from his face, making him dizzy, and terror gripped at his heart like a vice.

"No... no, that's not real... I ne-need to ge-get back- I ne- Mom- Oh God, Mom-"

Izuku's insides twisted sharply, and every breath felt like a struggle. The world blurred, hot tears streaking down his cheeks. He tried sitting up, but his head throbbed in protest with sharp ache, making him wince. 

"Breathe," Shota's voice was much closer now, and his hand was being gently unclasped from its death grip on the quilt. The man pressed Izuku's hand to his chest and ordered softly, "Match me. In... two, three, four. Out.”

The man's voice was nice, Izuku thought, detached. Maybe a bit rough around the edges, but still nice. Kind. The boy did his best to follow Shota's rhythm, and after a few minutes his breath evened out. He rubbed his free hand over his eyes, wiping the tears that still refused to stop.

"You're safe," Shota said, squeezing Izuku's hand a bit. "I know it's scary, and you're hurt, but you're not alone. I've got you."

The man hesitated for a second, and then lightly stroked his curls, careful to avoid the bandages. Izuku was embarrassed of how comforting that gesture was at that moment to him. 

"Unfortunately, you're not the first kid to be carried through the worlds by storms, but it's pretty damn impressive that you have already fought a kochou and survived."

Izuku thought for a moment, carding through his hazy memories. Was there a storm? He wasn’t sure. Everything was still very foggy. But the steady heartbeat under his hand, the fire, the voice -

That felt real enough.

The man shifted back slightly, giving Izuku space without truly stepping away. The silence between them stretched, dense with unspoken things, but not uncomfortable. Izuku swallowed hard, a lump still lodged in his throat.

"Can I..." he began, voice barely more than a whisper. "Can I go home?"

The man's expression was answer enough.

"I'm sorry, kid."

Izuku nodded slowly. Of course. Just his luck - swept into another world, nearly torn apart by a monster, and now trapped with no way back. He stared down at the quilt covering him.

"What... what do I do, then?" he asked, trying to keep the wobble from his voice.

"For now?" Shota said, tone even. "You rest. You heal. When you're better, I can take you to Yuunei - Sai’s capital. We’ll figure things out from there."

Izuku flinched.

"I-I don’t want to be a bother-"

The man quirked an eyebrow.

"You got a better plan?"

Izuku wilted.

"N-no..."

Izuku hated the thought of being a burden. Shota had already gone out of his way to help him - a complete stranger - and asking for anything more felt wrong. The thought of taking advantage of someone’s kindness, no matter how unintentional, twisted uncomfortably in his gut. But the truth was, he didn’t have much of a choice. Izuku was stranded in a world he didn’t understand, with nowhere else to go. He had to suck it up, at least for now.

He pushed himself upright just enough to bow awkwardly from where he sat.

"Um, thank you so much for taking care of me!"

The man stared at him for a beat, unreadable. Then he exhaled sharply through his nose.

"It’s not like I could leave you bleeding out in the woods."

The boy didn’t answer. His eyes had gone wide, fixed on his hands. He turned them this way and that, then pinched his skin lightly, as if trying to wake from a dream.

“U-um, Mister Shota-”

“Just Shota is fine, kid.”

“H-how long have I been here?”

“I found you in the forest last night. You were unconscious for most of the night and all of today. Why?”

Izuku's hands began to shake. His skin, pale and dull before, now held a bronze hue, glowing faintly in the firelight. Freckles dusted his arms like stars across a summer sky - far more than he remembered ever having. He tugged one of his curls close to his eyes, and the color made his stomach lurch. What had once been a dark, almost-black green was now vivid, emerald-bright.

“Why- why do I look different?” he breathed out. Panic crept down his spine like ice water.

Shota, who had been watching him closely, didn’t hesitate. He stepped over to the table, picked up a small wooden tablet from beside the candle, and placed it firmly into Izuku’s trembling hands.

“Read it,” he said.

Izuku blinked, disoriented, and glanced down. The tablet was carved with symbols he didn’t recognize - twisting, foreign shapes - but the longer he looked, the more they shifted before his eyes. Within seconds, he understood them.

His breath caught.

“By... by the imperial de-decree of-”

His voice faltered.

Shota reached over and gently took the tablet from his shaking hands.

“So,” he said softly, “you’re a taika.”

“W-what does this mean?” he looked up, eyes wide with a child’s desperate hope that someone might explain it all away.

"It means that you are of this world. You were meant to be born here, but a storm swept you away."

Izuku blinked rapidly, his throat tightening.

"I- huh? But- my skin, my hair- why did they change?"

"That’s what happens when a taika returns to our world,” Shota explained patiently. "When taika are born in Koukai - that's what we call your old world here - you are still protected by the Heaven. It masks your appearance so you fit in easily, but if you come back, you shed that mask. This is what you really look like, kid."

Izuku slumped back, eyes unfocused.

Shota let him sit with the revelation, silent. The boy drew his knees up and pressed them close to his chest.

“I just wanted to become a hero,” he mumbled. “That’s all I wanted. And now I’m… I don’t even know what I am.”

“You’re still you,” Shota said. “That hasn’t changed.”

Somehow, those words brought the boy little comfort.

The child had drifted off again, his breaths slow and even. The panic attack had left him exhausted, so Shota let him sleep. He sat at the table, elbows resting on his knees, watching the rise and fall of Izuku's chest.

The boy had curled in on himself, like he was used to making himself small. As if he had learned long ago to take as little space as possible.

Shota's gaze slid to the scars covering his arms and torso. Burns, most of them - some shaped unmistakably like handprints. The man winced internally. What kind of life had this boy led, to get wounds like those?

The way Izuku had watched him, the way he flinched when spoken to too sharply or reached for too fast - it was painfully familiar. Back at the academy, Shota had taught a handful of children who had the same habits. They were rare, thankfully, but not rare enough.

He let out a quiet breath and stood, crossing to the storage chest at the foot of the cot. He opened it carefully, mindful not to wake the boy. Inside, among old tools and travel supplies, was a neatly folded bundle of clothes - an extra set Hitoshi had left behind on the last trip he joined Shota. His son was taller, broader at the shoulders, but it was better than the bloodstained rags Izuku had arrived in.

He held up the shirt - it would hang loose - and the pants would need to be rolled up a couple of times. Still, they were clean, warm, and whole.

Shota glanced back toward the cot. Izuku had shifted slightly, brow furrowed even in sleep. The sight tugged at something deep in his chest.

“I don’t know what kind of hell spat you out,” he murmured, voice low. "But you're safe now. I promise."

Shota folded the clothes and placed them neatly beside the boy’s bed, then sat back down and picked up his fletching again. His plans for a solitary retreat had long since fallen apart, but he was grateful he had found the kid when he did.

He didn’t want to think about what might have happened if he hadn’t.

The days passed slowly, stretching like molasses. Most mornings, Shota was gone before the kid woke, leaving behind a simple breakfast and some clean water. When he returned later in the day, he was often covered in dirt and sometimes dried blood - from small game, mostly. He said nothing about his time away, and Izuku didn’t ask.

Shota had expected the kid to go stir-crazy in the quiet - city children were often too soft, prone to boredom when deprived of entertainment - but Izuku surprised him.

By the third day, he’d begun moving around the cabin more, slow and stiff, but determined. Shota caught him reading through the few scrolls and books he’d brought a long time ago - some maps, old texts on forest herbs and survival. There was a journal the boy kept close to him, the paper too white and thin to be of this world. It was filling up quickly.

At first, the kid tried to stay out of Shota’s way, keeping to himself. But curiosity outweighed hesitation, and soon he began asking questions, carefully at first. Shota answered them with quiet patience. Encouraged, Izuku grew bolder, and before long their evenings turned into impromptu lessons in the history and geography of Tai.

"You're very good at this," the kid said once.

"I used to be a teacher." Shota couldn’t quite keep the wistfulness out of his voice. Izuku seemed to notice.

"Not anymore?"

"Unfortunately, I became too important in my current position." He didn't elaborate any further, changing the topic instead. Thankfully, Izuku was easily distracted. 

The kid was definitely an odd one. Sometimes, during their lessons, he would dissolve into intense mumbling on a topic he found particularly intriguing, dead to the world around him. His eyes would light up with enthusiasm, hands gesturing as if explaining things to invisible listeners. Then, inevitably, he’d feel Shota’s gaze on him, freeze mid-sentence, and flush a furious red.

“S-sorry! I didn’t mean to ramble-!” he'd stammer, clutching his journal like a shield.

At first, Shota found it mildly baffling. The boy seemed genuinely convinced that being curious and passionate was something to be ashamed of. But the habit seemed harmless enough. There was something familiar in the way the kid clung to knowledge, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Shota had seen that look before in students who were desperate to prove they belonged somewhere, anywhere.

So, he didn’t interrupt the muttering anymore. He let the kid talk, nodding quietly even when he didn’t follow every word. Sometimes, he’d add a dry comment or ask a question just to see Izuku light up again. The boy didn’t realize it, but his rambling wasn’t a nuisance. It reminded him a lot of Oboro, who could rant on and on for hours if they ever let him, and the thought of his friend filled him with fondness.

One evening, after finishing a quick stew of smoked meat and dried root vegetables, Shota nodded toward the journal.

“May I?”

Izuku startled like a deer hearing a branch snap. "Uh- It's just notes, really. It’s not- I mean, you can, if you want.”

He handed it over with a nervousness that spoke of bad experience. Shota took it, flipping through the pages slowly and carefully. The paper felt oddly luxurious under his fingers.

The handwriting was surprisingly neat. The entries weren’t in a language he recognized, but it was not a problem for Shota. After a blink, the peculiar symbols shifted into familiar script. 

The first entries were simple: terminology, maps he copied, basic information on the flora and fauna he’d encountered. Then came the questions and theories, with Shota’s answers carefully transcribed beneath. All of it was well-organized and shrewd.

He closed the journal and handed it back.

"This is very impressive," he said, tone even but genuine. "You could make a fine scribe. Maybe even a scholar, if you wanted."

Izuku’s ears turned red. “I-I just write stuff down.”

Shota raised an eyebrow. “Organized. Inquisitive. Observant. That’s more than I can say for most civil servants I’ve met.”

He didn’t say what he was thinking - how easy it would be to pull a few strings and get the kid into the academy, if he kept on working as hard. Shota liked competent people, and this kid clearly was sharp. He'd would be a fool to let his talents go to waste.

Instead, he stood and stretched, joints popping.

“You seem well enough to walk,” he said. “Tomorrow, I can show you the river trail. If you’re going to stay here, you should know your way around.”

Izuku brightened, then nodded quickly, gripping his journal tightly with excitement.

Shota gave a short nod in return and stepped outside into the cool evening air. The trees swayed gently in the distance.

He could already feel it - the boy was going to be a handful. 

The sun filtered through the branches, covering the forest trail in shifting patches of light. Izuku, still a bit stiff from days of bedrest, followed Shota carefully along the narrow path. His steps were cautious but steady. The fresh air filled his lungs, and despite the dull ache in his legs, he was glad to be outside.

They didn’t speak much at first. Shota led with quiet confidence, pointing out landmarks as they walked: the river that curved around the hills to the east, a split in the trees that marked the main trail, a low rise of moss-covered stone that served as a lookout point.

"So you don't get lost," he said simply.

Izuku nodded, taking everything in eagerly. After a while, curiosity got the better of him. 

"How did you learn all of this?"

Shota glanced back. 

"Both my mothers were hunters. Taught me everything I needed to survive, in case hardship came."

Izuku blinked. He certainly did not expect something like that in a medieval fantasy world. "Your mothers? Were you adopted?"

Shota huffed under his breath. "Right. You don't know. Follow me, I have something to show you."

They turned off the main path, deeper into the woods. The canopy thickened above them, muting the sunlight, until finally they emerged into a quiet glade. In its center stood a massive white-barked tree, gnarled and ancient, its roots spreading wide like a protective embrace. 

"This is a yaboku tree," Shota said.

Izuku stepped closer, awe softening his expression.

"If you ever need a safe spot in the forest to sleep, look for one of these. Nothing will harm you here, not even youma." He let the words settle before continuing. "This is where wild beasts and plants are born. There are also riboku trees, where the humans and hanjyuu grow. Every settlement has one of the riboku trees at its heart."

Izuku looked up at the tree's massive trunk, his hand brushing lightly against the bark.

"People... are born from trees?"

Shota nodded. "All life comes from ranka, the fruit of these trees." He pointed at the branches that held glowing white orbs of various sizes. "If a couple wishes to have a child, they will tie a ribbon onto the branch of a riboku, and pray to the heaven. If the heaven deems them worthy, a new ranka will start growing on the branch." He thought for a moment and added: "No child is to be accidental or unwanted. Such is the will of Tentei, the Emperor of the Heavens."

Izuku grew quiet. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face. He looked away.

Shota caught the shift in mood but said nothing at first. Then, with a hint of mischief: "Of course, people still have intercourse for pleasure."

Izuku nearly choked on his own tongue. "W-what?! Why would you say that?!"

Shota's expression didn’t change, but the amusement in his eyes was clear. 

"Just figured you should know since you're living here now."

Izuku buried his burning face in his hands, muttering, "Please stop talking."

Shota grinned widely, pleased with himself. 

"You’re easy to fluster."

"And you're impossible," Izuku groaned. But when he looked up again, he was smiling.

By the time they returned to the cabin, the light was turning golden, casting long shadows across the clearing. Izuku still looked awestruck, clearly turning over everything he’d learned, but his steps were steadier now, lighter.

Shota set down his satchel and stretched his arms overhead, spine cracking audibly.

“If you’re feeling well enough,” he said casually, “I could start teaching you how to defend yourself.”

Izuku blinked at him, surprised. “You mean… with a sword?”

That earned him a low chuckle. “Lord, no. That thing is way too heavy for someone your size, and I wouldn’t hand a real blade to a child anyway.”

Izuku flushed. “I’m not a-”

“Mm-hm.” Shota raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “If you really wanted to learn the sword, we’d have to start with a wooden one. But for now, considering you’re still not fully recovered, I have something else in mind.”

He walked over to the cot and opened the storage chest. After rummaging through it, he produced a shortbow and a coiled string.

“This’ll suit you better for now.” He tossed the bow. Izuku caught it with both hands, eyes wide.

“It’s lighter than I thought,” he said, running his fingers along the smooth wood.

“I keep it around in case I snap mine.” Shota sat down on the steps outside the cabin and motioned for Izuku to join him. “Let me show you how to string it.”

It took a few tries, but under Shota’s patient guidance, Izuku managed to set the string properly. Then came the stance, the grip, how to nock an arrow, how to breathe.

Shota had expected the usual flailing and frustration he’d seen so many times before in his students, but Izuku was focused, brow furrowed in concentration. He missed the target by a wide margin on his first shot. And his second. But by the fifth, his arrow hit the outer edge of the straw target Shota had propped up near the trees.

“Good,” Shota said simply, nodding once. “Your aim’s not bad. Keep your elbow up next time.”

Izuku tried again, adjusting. This time, the arrow landed closer to the center.

He turned, a mix of disbelief and pride lighting up his face. “I hit it!”

Shota allowed a faint smile. “You sure did.”

They kept practicing until the light began to fade, the forest slowly sinking into twilight.

As they packed up, Izuku rubbed his sore wrists, grinning despite himself.

“Thanks, Shota.”

Shota glanced at him, the corners of his mouth lifting just slightly. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You’re doing really well. Good job, kid.”

The boy ducked his head, ears turning pink. Shota grinned and reached out, ruffling Izuku’s hair with a bit too much force.

Izuku whined, and Shota chuckled as they headed back inside. The boy had spirit - and more importantly, he was learning fast.

One day, a storm rolled over them. It came fast and loud, sweeping through the forest with torrential rain and thunder that cracked across the sky like a whip. Shota glanced toward the darkening forest and made a mental note to check for lightning-struck trees once it passed. The downpour was cold, the kind that soaked through every layer and clung to one's bones. Not worth venturing out and risking getting sick.
 
The cabin groaned quietly under the weight of the storm. The fire in the hearth burned strong, its glow casting flickers of orange across the wooden walls. Shota caught Izuku staring out the window, flinching just slightly whenever the thunder rumbled. He wasn't exactly scared - more like nervous, perhaps. Storms always felt much closer away from civilization. In the shelter of the city, the proximity to people provided a certain sense of security.  There was no background hum of life to soften the edges.

Shota tossed a blanket at the boy’s head, snorting at the muffled squawk it earned him. 

“Come sit by the fire,” he said. “You’ll warm up faster.”

Bundled like a caterpillar, Izuku obeyed, huddling by the fireplace with wide eyes and tense shoulders. Shota sighed sitting down next to him. 

Shota found himself speaking more than usual. He told Izuku about the world they now shared - about the Twelve Kingdoms, the kirin who served as divine messengers, and how emperors were chosen not by bloodline, but by virtue, selected by the will of Heaven. He explained, too, how rulers blessed by their kirin could live for centuries, their lifespans stretching as long as their rule remained just. Izuku didn’t interrupt much, just listened with wide eyes and silent awe, bundled in layers of blankets by the fire. He took in every word like it was something precious.

The boy leaned closer, eyes wide with that same intense curiosity he brought to their lessons. Shota felt a pang - something tender, almost nostalgic. Hitoshi had once clung to him the same way, back when his son was small and still dependent on him. He missed that fiercely sometimes. 

He softened his voice without thinking, letting the rhythm of the rain lull them both.

They stayed like that for hours, a man and his young ward, wrapped in warmth while the storm raged beyond their walls.

The storm finally broke sometime after nightfall. The last rolls of thunder had long since faded into the distance, leaving behind a damp hush that clung to the forest like morning fog. Outside the window, water dripped steadily from the eaves, each drop landing with a soft plip into the growing puddle just below.

Inside the cabin, the fire had burned down to a low, crackling ember, casting warm shadows against the walls.

Izuku had fallen asleep curled up in the blanket he’d stubbornly refused to shed, despite the heat. He’d drifted off in the middle of Shota’s story about a merchant who’d tried to train a youma as a pet - a dumb idea from start to finish. Now the boy lay on his side near the hearth, cheek squished into his forearm, his breathing soft and even.

Shota sat nearby, unmoving, a half-finished arrow in his lap and carving knife resting loosely in his hand, mind leagues away.

The forest was suspiciously quiet. Even the birds seemed to be holding their breath. A heavy layer of clouds blanketed the sky, muting the light and dulling the colors of the trees around them.

Shota moved ahead through the underbrush quietly, listening for any signs of disturbance. He’d told Izuku to check one of the traps nearby, promising not to go too far. They’d done this enough times by now. The boy would be fine.

Hopefully.

The crack of a branch was the only warning he got before a massive shape lunged out of the trees. Shota barely had time to dodge before the beast - a shouhi, a monstrous wolf-like youma with its tail split in three - slammed into him, knocking him flat on his back, taking his breath away. His bow went flying out of reach.

The creature snarled, fangs bared, paws thudding against the ground as it prepared to pounce again-

An arrow whistled through the air.

With a sickening crunch, it buried itself into the youma’s eye. The beast shrieked, reared back, and then collapsed in a heap, dead before it hit the ground.

Shota lay still, stunned, catching his breath. A second later, Izuku came crashing through the bushes, eyes wide with panic, shortbow clutched in his shaking hands.

“Shota! Are you- are you okay?!”

The man groaned, propping himself up on one elbow. “I’m fine,” he muttered, rubbing his face. “Just some scratches.”

Izuku dropped to his knees beside him, tears already spilling down his face.

“I-I heard the noise and- I thought-” he choked on a sob and suddenly flung his arms around Shota, clinging to him tightly.

Shota grunted as the boy all but tackled him, but he didn’t push him off. He let Izuku cry for some time, one hand coming up to rest gently between his shoulder blades, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“It's okay,” he said quietly. “You did well. That was a perfect shot.”

Izuku hiccuped. “I thought you were gonna die!”

“Well, I didn’t,” Shota said, trying keep his tone light. “Thanks to you.”

The boy didn't answer, just buried his face deeper into Shota’s shirt. The forest was quiet again, the danger passed for now.

As night settled over the forest, Izuku stepped outside. The cabin felt too small, the air too thick. Wrapping a blanket around himself, he sat with his back against the rough wooden wall and looked up at the sky.

In Japan, he’d never seen stars like this. The lights of Musutafu drowned them out, leaving only a few faint specks visible to the naked eye. But here, deep in the woods, the stars were endless, like a scattered collection of jewels spread across a black velvet cloth.

He wondered if each one was another world, like the one he’d ended up in, or something even stranger. The thought made his chest tighten. He pulled the blanket closer, as if trying to shield himself with it. The world around him felt impossibly big, and he felt impossibly small.

Izuku thought about his mother. He missed her so much it almost physically hurt. Her warm embrace after a hard day at school, the soft floral scent of her favorite hand cream that he came to assosiate with her, the way she’d hum old love songs while cooking dinner - she had always been such a big part of his life, and now without her Izuku felt out of balance. Every time he closed his eyes, he could vividly see her face, her gentle smile washing away the worries and fears, leaving only the feeling of safety. With every passing day away from her, the image became more and more vague, and he was afraid that one day wouldn't be able to remember it at all.

The cabin door creaked. Shota stepped out and sat beside him without a word. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t crowd. He just sat, quiet and solid, his presence like a warm fire on a cold night.

They sat like that for a while, watching the sky together. 

"I've never seen so many stars before," Izuku said at last. "Too much light back home."

He picked at the edge of the blanket.

"It’s beautiful," he continued softly. "But I miss home. Even if it wasn’t always kind to me."

Shota leaned slightly against him, a small gesture of support. Izuku offered a quick smile, but an unpleasant weight settled inside him.

"I never really fit in," he admitted. "I tried. I really did. But I was always behind. Always... less."

He paused, then whispered, "I was useless."

Shota raised an eyebrow.

"You're crazy smart, and you’ve got two arms and two legs that work. That already puts you ahead of plenty," he said dryly. He lightly bumped Izuku's shoulder. "Sure, maybe you’re lacking some common sense, but we’re working on that."

Izuku let out a surprised laugh. Shota was a good man, he thought - the kind who tried his best to look gruff and uninterested, but whose actions spoke louder than any words. The way he’d made sure Izuku ate, rested, stayed warm, the quiet way he praised him when he got things right. None of it lined up with the front he put on.

And still… Izuku wondered. Would he still be that kind if he knew the truth?

No one back home had ever looked at him the same once they learned. Even the ones who didn’t laugh or sneer would pity him - and that somehow stung worse. People always assumed he was weak, useless, broken.

Shota hadn’t asked about his quirk. He hadn’t talked about his own either, not even once. But eventually he would. It was inevitable. Izuku didn’t want him to find out by accident, didn’t want that familiar flicker of disappointment or surprise to pass over his face.

Better to get it over with now. Just rip off the bandage. If Shota turned cold, then at least he’d know.

"I'm Quirkless."

Shota blinked. "What’s that?"

"You... do you know what Quirks are?"

"Not a clue," Shota replied with a shrug.

That opened the floodgates. Izuku launched into an explanation - quirks, heroes, villains, fights and expectations. He stumbled through the words, trying to make it as coherent as possible. Shota just listened, calm and quiet.

By the time Izuku finished, Shota’s brow was furrowed.

"So," he said slowly, "you were born without a special power, and because of that, people treated you like you didn’t matter?"

Izuku looked down. "Basically."

"That explains some things," Shota muttered, shaking his head.

"It makes sense, though," he added. "You're a taika. You are of our world. We don’t have anything like those ‘Quirks.’"

Izuku looked up. "Really?"

"Aside from the hanjyuu, who can shift between beast and man, the rest of us are pretty ordinary," Shota said. "You’ll fit in just fine."

Izuku's eyes burned. The tightness in his chest unraveled, replaced with something gentler, something fragile. He wiped his cheeks, but the tears still kept coming. An arm wrapped around his shoulders, and he pressed his wet face into the man's chest. 

He didn’t know why it meant so much.

Maybe because, for the first time, being without something didn’t mean he was less.

Maybe it just meant he finally belonged.

The morning sun filled the cabin with warm light. They had already finished their meager breakfast, and put out the fire. All they had left to do was to secure the shutters, but that could wait a while longer. As Shota was still nursing his cup of tea, Izuku gathered everything he had - though he didn't need much. His notebook, of course, the sword, bow and arrows that Shota had given him. He also stuffed his old school uniform and sneakers into his backpack. The uniform was torn and no longer wearable, but he couldn’t bear to leave it behind. It was the last piece of home he had, and Izuku wasn't ready to let go just yet.

As soon as Izuku zipped his backpack, a sudden gust of wind swept past the cabin, rustling the tall grass outside. The boy jumped and instinctively reached for the bow, but Shota only huffed and shook his head. Moments later, the door was unceremoniously slammed opened. 

A tall man strolled in, easy and confident, as if he owned the place. A breeze trailed in with him, though the air outside had been still for days. Izuku couldn't help but stare. The newcomer was gorgeous: long golden hair flowing like silk over his shoulder, bright green eyes, piercing and almost hypnotizing, sharp angular face, perfectly coiffed moustache. He wore robes made from rich fabrics, elegant and flowing - clothing that reminded Izuku of something from a Chinese historical drama - and suddenly Izuku felt severely underdressed in his simple pants and shirt.

"Hizashi," Shota greeted him with a sigh.

"You’ve missed quite the stir while hiding in your den!" just like his looks, the man's voice was attention-grabbing and loud. His gaze fell on Izuku. "Oh? Picked up another stray, have you? It's been a while since-"

Hizashi abruptly stopped, looking at Izuku more closely. Silence stretched for several long seconds, and Izuku shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. Was there something on his face? Shota quirked an eyebrow, but instead of answering the blond man simply threw his head back and laughed. Izuku liked his laugh. It was bright and melodic, nothing like the forced chuckles of teachers or classmates' mocking snickers hiding behind their hands. 

"Oh, Shota," Hizashi said finally, delicately dabbing at his eyes with a corner of his sleeve. "Of course you’d be the one hiding the wayward Lord of Han while all of us are scrambling to find him".

Hizashi's laughter faded into a wide, teasing grin as he stepped inside fully. Shota sighed again, tired, long-suffering, but not truly annoyed.

“Of course,” he echoed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Should’ve known peace was too much to ask for.”

Izuku stared between them, frozen in place. His mind raced. Surely, he’d misunderstood. Lord of Han? It was a title that Shota had told him before. There was no way he was-

That he was-

He looked at Shota, hoping for a scoff, a joke, anything.

But the man was already turning back toward the hearth, gathering the last of their supplies.

“Time to go,” Shota said, voice even.

As Shota walked past him and out the door, Hizashi glanced at Izuku again. His smile softened.

“Toshinori will be so happy to see you’re safe,” he said gently, then inclined his head towards the open door in a quiet invitation.

Toshinori.

He was the one who brought Izuku here.

He remembered now.

The streets blurred as Izuku dragged his feet home, his head bowed low, heart aching. The new journal he just bought dug sharply into his palm as he clutched at it tightly. 

All Might had told him he couldn't be a hero.

He wasn't enough - he was just a useless, Quirkless deku. He couldn't save Kacchan, hell, he couldn't even save himself from a villain! What a joke.

Izuku's hands clenched tightly around the journal, knuckles white. He turned into the park without thinking, cutting through the familiar path that led to the back of his neighborhood. The sun had slipped below the skyline, painting the clouds in purple and pink. The cicadas buzzed as a soft breeze stirred the grass.

Suddenly, he saw something standing in his way.

It was a tall, imposing figure - a horse, Izuku thought at first. But where would it come from in the middle of a city? Maybe, it was an animal transformation quirk, or an illusion? However, as the boy slowly stepped closer, it became clear that it was no simple horse. The creature was more slender, way more graceful, not unlike a deer. The white skin of the creature contrasted starkly with its wild golden mane that almost reached the ground. On its head a long three-pronged horn stood proudly. 

Izuku was not a mythology expert, his interests lying more in heroes and quirks, but still he knew enough about fairytales to recognize it as a kirin. He blinked several times, but the vision didn't disappear. 

The creature's eyes met his, deep and knowing, and it took a step forward, hooves barely touching the ground.

"I saw you back there."

It spoke, but its mouth didn't move. The voice was calm and warm, echoing as if spoken inside a cavern.

“You threw yourself into danger to save another. Why?”

Izuku’s mouth opened and closed. His throat was dry.

“B-because... no one else was doing anything. And... I couldn’t just watch Kacchan die.” He looked down at his scuffed shoes. “It was stupid. I didn’t help, just got yelled at.”

The kirin tilted its head.

"You have risked your life while others stood idly. That alone is admirable."

Izuku shook his head.

"I almost got myself killed. I can't save anyone without a Quirk, I'm just useless."

The creature stepped closer, and Izuku could smell something faint, like freshly cut wild grass.

“There are no Quirks where I come from,” it said. “And still, we have heroes.”

Izuku looked up, startled.

“There is a land across the sea of worlds,” the kirin continued, “where the people suffer, waiting for someone whose heart is stronger than his doubt. When I looked at you today... I knew.”

“Knew... what?”

“That you are our ruler.”

Izuku flinched like he’d been hit. “No. No, you’re wrong. You have to be wrong. I’m not-”

His breath hitched. The world tilted like it was about to drop out from under him.

“Even now,” the kirin interrupted gently, “your first thought is of why you’re unworthy. That humility is not weakness, my boy. It is the mark of someone who understands the weight of power.”

“You really think someone like me could lead a whole nation?”

"I don't think. I know."

The kirin lowered his head, so deep that the tip of his horn touched the toe of Izuku’s red shoe.

“I, Toshinori, the kirin of Han, pledge to you my eternal fealty. Do you accede?”

Izuku’s breath caught. For a moment, he couldn’t move. He had always dreamed of being chosen, of someone - anyone - seeing worth in him.

“Okay,” he whispered.

Toshinori lifted his head, eyes glowing with joy.

“Then come,” he said. “Let us go home.”

As Izuku followed Hizashi outside the cabin, his eyes caught on the enormous creature waiting just beyond the clearing. It looked like a giant white tiger, with powerful shoulders and a thick tail nearly as long as its body. Another youma, the boy thought, tensing instinctively.

But then he noticed the large saddle strapped across its back, and the bags already secured to it. Shota was fastening the last of them with practiced ease. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught Izuku's wary expression and gave the beast a pat.

"This is Bastard, a suugu." He scratched the creature under its chin like an overgrown housecat, and it let out a pleased rumble. "He’ll take us to Yuunei."

Izuku’s breath hitched. The thing was massive - easily larger than a car - and every nerve in his body screamed at him to back away. But Shota stood there calmly, utterly unfazed, and Izuku forced himself to hold still.

Then Hizashi stepped forward, and shifted.

There was no warning, no flash or noise - just a slight shimmer, like the surface of still water breaking. One moment, Hizashi was a man, hair fluttering in the breeze. The next, he wasn’t.

In his place stood a kirin: sleek, pale, and radiant. He looked different from the figure in Izuku’s bleary memories of that night in the park - not as tall as Toshinori, his mane more elegant, his movements more precise. The horn sweeping from his brow glinted faintly in the dimming light.

Izuku’s knees buckled slightly. He shot a look at Shota, wide-eyed.

If Hizashi was a kirin, and the two of them were so familiar with each other, then-

Oh God.

He had spent nearly a month with an emperor without ever realizing it.

Shota didn’t comment on the boy’s sudden change in expression. He simply gestured to the suugu’s back.

Izuku climbed up stiffly, moving as though in a dream. His legs felt like jelly. Shota jumped up behind him smoothly, the leather saddle creaking softly under their weight. Beside them, Hizashi padded silently, his kirin form radiant and composed, each step filled with effortless grace.

Moments later, they took to the sky.

Bastard launched into the air with surprising elegance for such a large creature, his huge paws catching the wind easily. Hizashi followed, gliding beside them with quiet poise, wind curling his mane like ribbons of gold.

Izuku clung to the saddle, his mind still reeling from the day's revelations. He barely registered the world speeding past below - forests, rivers, distant mountain ranges - all blurred into indistinct color and motion.

It wasn’t until they broke through the clouds that he truly looked up, and what he saw made him forget how to breathe.

The world beneath them had disappeared, replaced by a glittering, endless sea bathed in the light of the setting sun. It shimmered like a field of stars, stretching from horizon to horizon. Through the translucent waves, Izuku could see faint silhouettes of the land far below - shadowed mountains, winding rivers, distant towns.

And then, piercing the surface of the Sea of Clouds, rose a mountain.

At its peak sprawled a palace complex, carved into the very rock, its buildings and gardens intertwining with one another in an intricate pattern. Bridges arched across tiers of courtyards, lanterns flickered in the dusk. The roofs gleamed with polished lacquer, and waterfalls tumbled from carved dragon mouths down the cliffsides into nothingness.

It was like something straight out of a fairytale.

By the time they landed, the sun had dipped low, painting the palace in hues of rose and gold. The wind had quieted, and the sky began turning violet.

Izuku barely remembered dismounting, or the greetings as several figures in fine clothes reverently bowed to Shota and Hizashi.  There was no grand announcement, no fanfare - just quiet respect in every move and gesture. A tall man with strikingly blue hair dressed in refined armor greeted Shota cordially, and soon the two men were engaged in a hushed conversation. Izuku had felt the weight of curious gazes the gathered had sent his way, but no one spoke up. 

The blue haired man - Oboro, as he had introduced himself, bowing respectfully, making the boy uneasy - had led him to a guest room overlooking one of the inner courtyards. The room was grand and exquisitely furnished, and after living in a small hunting cabin for a month, Izuku had felt completely out of place. Even though the bed was comfortable and soft, its siren call had failed to lull his anxious mind to sleep. 

Hours later, he found himself wandering through the palace gardens, heart tight and thoughts tangled. The air was cooler now, heavy with the scent of night-blooming flowers. Lantern light shimmered across decorative ponds and stone walkways.

Eventually, he came to a gazebo perched near the cliff’s edge. Below it, the Sea of Clouds stretched endlessly, glowing under the moonlight. He sat there for a long time, small and uncertain, staring out over the quiet vastness.

Soft footsteps approached from behind, light enough that Izuku might have missed them if he hadn't already been acutely aware of every little sound around him.

"You know," Hizashi's melodic voice broke the silence, "you've got a big day tomorrow. Might be a good idea to catch some sleep while you can."

Izuku didn’t move. “I couldn’t.”

There was a rustle of fabric as Hizashi stepped into the gazebo and sat beside him, folding his long legs beneath him with easy grace.

For a while, they simply watched the sea of clouds below.

“You’re nervous,” Hizashi said with quiet certainty.

Izuku wrapped his arms around his stomach.

"I'm-" He stopped himself and sighed. "Yeah. I guess I am."

Hizashi tilted his head slightly. “Want to tell me why?”

The boy turned to look at him. Hizashi's face was serene, but his eyes, illuminated by moonlight, watched him intently - cataloguing, observing, as if trying to read the thoughts he couldn’t speak. Izuku felt like a small mouse caught in an owl's talons: vulnerable and exposed. Yet, the kindness in Hizashi's gaze made it impossible not to answer.

“I don’t think I’m going to be a good emperor.”

A fresh breeze swept past them, carrying the mingled scents of jasmine and briar rose. Somewhere far off, a night bird sang.

"You never know until you try," Hizashi said at last.

Izuku glanced up at him, still unsure.

"Besides," Hizashi continued, “you won’t be doing this alone. You’ll have Toshinori, advisors, teachers... and if you think His Majesty is going to just turn his back on you - boy, are you in for a surprise.”

Izuku laughed - soft, startled.

Hizashi grinned. “No one expects you to fix your kingdom overnight. You’ll have space to learn and grow.”

“But… why me?” Izuku’s voice cracked. “Why would the heavens pick someone like me?”

Hizashi’s eyes softened.

“There’s no such thing as a perfect ruler. If there were, no kirin would fall ill, and no emperor would ever fail.”

He looked up at the sky, voice quieter now.

“We don’t see perfection. We see potential. The heart of someone who can become great, if given the chance.”

Izuku’s throat tightened. “What if I mess up?”

“Then you learn from your mistake,” Hizashi said simply. “And you try again. Shota’s told me a lot about you, you know. You are bright and have a kind heart. If you give it your all, you’ll be amazing one day. We believe in you.”

Izuku didn’t speak for a long moment. Then he whispered, “I’ll try. I’ll try really hard.”

“I know you will.” Hizashi smiled, then stood and offered his hand. “Come on. Big day tomorrow.”

Izuku took it. His fingers were cold, but Hizashi’s grip was steady.

As they walked back toward the palace, lanterns swaying gently in the wind, the boy no longer felt quite so afraid.

Despite falling asleep late, Izuku woke just as the sun began to rise. He couldn’t keep still, too many thoughts turning over in his mind. Someone had thoughtfully set out a set of fresh clothes - far fancier than what he’d worn in the forest, but thankfully simple enough not to make him feel too self-conscious. He dressed quietly and slipped into the garden outside the guest wing.

The morning air was crisp and refreshing. Dew clung to the petals of unfamiliar flowers, and the palace grounds lay quiet, most of its inhabitants still fast asleep. Izuku wandered to a pond and sat down at its edge, watching the flicker of fish just beneath the surface.

“Up already?” called a familiar voice.

Izuku turned. Shota stepped into the garden, looking far more put-together than usual. He was clean-shaven, hair still damp from a recent wash. Somehow, the neatness made him look more imposing.

“I could say the same to you, Your Majesty,” Izuku said with a nervous smile. He hesitated - unsure whether to stand or to bow - but remained seated. Surely Shota would correct him if he was making a grave mistake.

Shota grimaced at the title, waving it off, and sat beside him on the stone bench.

They watched the pond in silence for a while, the occasional flash of scales breaking the stillness.

“You know,” Shota said eventually, “I don’t care much for ceremonies and formalities.”

Izuku let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I figured.”

“However…” Shota glanced over at him, voice quieter. “I am looking forward to your coronation. I think Toshinori made a good choice.”

Izuku swallowed against the tightness in his throat. “What if I’m not ready?”

“No one’s ever ready,” Shota said. “You just keep going forward. Learn. Ask questions. Listen to people who know more than you. And trust your heart.”

Izuku was quiet for a long moment. Then, in a thick voice, he said, “Thank you. For everything.”

“Don’t get sappy on me,” Shota huffed.

But his hand reached out all the same, ruffling Izuku’s hair with the same rough gentleness he always used. The boy leaned into the touch with a contented sigh.

“I meant what I said before,” Shota added, voice softer now. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You’ll do great, kid.”

Izuku looked up at him, eyes welling up with tears. “I’ll try not to disappoint you.”

“I know you won’t.”

In the hush of early morning, something inside Izuku settled. The fear was still there - but so was something else. He felt determined to give his all, to make all the people who put their trust in him proud.

They stood together on the open veranda, watching the soft waves of the Sea of Clouds drift and fold into one another. The garden rustled faintly behind them, leaves whispering in the breeze.

“He signed it this morning,” Hizashi said, arms tucked into his sleeves. “First decree: redistribute the grain reserves to the border villages.”

Shota hummed, the faintest trace of a smile pulling at his mouth. “Practical.”

“You’re such a proud dad,” Hizashi said, huffing the words out without real bite.

Shota rolled his eyes, but didn’t deny it.

In over three hundred years on the throne, he had seen many emperors rise and fall.

This one, he believed in with his whole heart, would stand tall for a long time.