Chapter Text
🩸🩸🩸
Katsuki’s clan has always protected the mountain from outsiders. His people do not traverse the mountain, merely revere it and hold it sacred. Katsuki doesn’t understand why and thinks it’s all a bunch of superstitious bullshit. He wants to explore! To adventure!
So he does.
He’s all of eight and invincible, so he takes his sword and sprints into the forbidden forests of the mountain.
It’s nothing remarkable. Nothing godlike or awe inspiring. Just a bunch of damn rocks and plants and other boring shit.
His people risk their lives to protect this?
He doesn’t understand what could possibly warrant their clan waging wars and spilling blood over a stupid mountain.
That is, of course, until he finds the dragon.
Except he doesn’t know it’s a dragon, not at first.
It appears as a dirty boy, naked and feral, with dried blood across his mouth and hair the color of burned wood.
Katsuki, despite prior hesitation, draws his sword and levels it at the boy.
“Trespasser.”
The boy’s eyes grow wide and the sound that comes from his throat is strange and curls into the air like music. It’s like nothing Katsuki has ever heard before: enchanting and horrifying all at once.
“Get off the mountain or—“ he isn’t sure what. Katsuki has never used his sword like this. He’s never struck down another person, never seen metal bite into flesh. His stomach twists inside him and his hand shakes on the pommel.
Crouched on the ground, the boy eyes him warily.
It speaks again, in that foreign tongue, and Katsuki growls in frustration.
This, it seems, is universal. The boy growls back, baring sharp, bone-white teeth, and stands. Beneath the grime his skin is golden and already well-marked with scars.
Katsuki grimaces as he looks over his own arm, pale and soft with boyhood, not yet familiar with true pain or injury.
It’s a point of contempt for Katsuki. All warriors have scars, this wildling boy had them! He’d not go home until he had his own.
“Fight me.”
Art by Mak on Twitter (@gwenynart)
Katsuki bares his teeth, snaps at the boy, and lunges forward. As the silver slices through the cool air, the wind seems to change and brings a gust of warmth. Between one blink and the next, the boy’s eyes go dark as pitch, monstrous and otherworldly.
Katsuki falters.
The boy does not.
They fall heavily on the ground and the sword skitters away uselessly. In a panic, Katsuki reaches for his dagger, but knows he will find it dull and brittle. It’s merely ornamental, not for battle. He slashes out wildly & only realizes he has hit the wildling when he screams.
The boy is distracted enough, clutching at his eye where Katsuki struck him, that Katsuki is able to wrestle free and trip his way back a few paces.
Still kneeling, the boy drops his hand and it is red as holly. His brow bleeds down his face. It is then that Katsuki feels shame for perhaps the first time in his young life.
Art by Narma on Twitter (@cemeterdrive)
“Go!” Katsuki yells, voice small and cracking. “You don’t belong here!”
“Go!” The boy shouts back, mouth struggling with the unfamiliar sounds. He sniffles, wipes at his nose.
There is nothing brave or warrior-like about this.
Katsuki’s shoulders drop and he looks at the blunt, bloodied edge of his dagger.
Steeling himself, he stomps forward and holds the dagger out for the other boy to take.
“I shouldn’t have done that. It’s only fair that you have a shot.”
Uncomprehending, the boy shrinks back, fat tears welling in his eyes, slicking his round face.
“Hit me back!” Katsuki yells.
The shouting only seems to terrify the boy more.
With a sigh, Katsuki kneels down and slams the blade across his arm. He does not make a sound as ancient bone meets skin, as blood wells up and drips.
He holds his injured arm up to the boy and frowns.
“See? We’re even. Even.”
The boys sniffles again, eyes wide and confused. He studies Katsuki’s hurt arm and sucks in a breath before leaning forward to press his brow against the wound. Katsuki struggles, but the boy is stronger and holds the arm firm to his own injured face.
“Even,” he tries.
Art by Bell on Twitter (@whatthebell)
Katsuki blinks, watching their blood mix as it trickles down to muddy the dirt.
The boy let’s go then and pushes matted hair out of his face as Katsuki grips his wrist and studies his injury.
“It’s gone?” He says, bewildered, wiping away blood and seeing only a silvery scar.
How could it even be possible? He had made the cut himself. He had seen the dagger dig deep, had felt the sting.
The boy says something in his wildling language and gestures at Katsuki’s arm and then his swelling eye.
“How?”
He repeats the motions.
Irritated and unnerved, Katsuki crosses his arms. Magic is dangerous.
“Why don’t you fix yourself?”
The boy’s head tilts, bird-like and innocent, and he shrugs, mumbling something else.
“Tch,” Katsuki taps his foot impatiently against the forest floor, contemplating the wrath he will face when he returns home. Perhaps bringing back a trespasser will be enough that his mother forgets his previous transgressions.
He holds out his hand to the boy and sighs.
“Come on,” Katsuki orders. “You’re coming with me.”
The boy says something and laughs. He slaps his chest and purrs out something that sounds like—
“Eijirou.”
His name maybe? Or a curse.
Katsuki glares and turns, motioning for the boy to follow. He hasn’t yet learned his clan’s legends or the truth behind the mountain. He knows nothing of dragons, or love, or fate.
Still, he blindly leads them home, already entangled in all three.
🩸🩸🩸
From his home near the mountain’s peak, a craggy, grey place, Eijirou often sits and contemplates what the world below must be like. He can describe how the far fields turn blue as the sea in spring, but has no idea what it must feel like to be surrounded by so much color. He knows there are others living far down at the base, their fires like smoky beacons, but he’s never seen them.
His whole life feels this way, this knowing and not-knowing. It is as if all the answers to his great questions are /right there/, laid out like a great feast, but he's sat too far away to reach the meal.
According to the others in his flock, Eijirou has always wandered too far and wondered too much. His mother tries every trick to keep him within her sight, but he has an uncanny ability to know just when to sprint, when to duck, and hide. He’s /good/ at disappearing, which is exactly how he manages to make it so far away so often. And it's how he currently finds himself trudging down the mountain, feet light and sure. He is on his way to finally see the landsea up close and his heart beats excitedly with each step closer. His mind is buzzing with hypotheses about the source of the strange blue fields when he sees the human.
He isn’t sure how he knows it’s a human other than he smells different. His blood smells metallic and tangy where his people smell warm, like spice. Eijirou had thought humans would be taller, more impressive, but the one standing before him is thin and pale and has no claws, though he seems to wear a string of teeth around his neck.
How odd.
And the human's skin is covered by drapes of animal hides. Perhaps humans are embarrassed of their plainness, their lack of feathers or horns, and disguise themselves as other animals, Eijirou ponders. That would make sense. Even Eijirou, barely a fledgling, already feels the feathers, though still downy and soft, growing at the nape of his neck. He feels sorry for this pink, naked creature who has to hide behind borrowed furs.
His eyes widen as the human inches closer.
“Are you lost?” Eijirou trills curiously.
The human shouts something. The words are clipped and blunt, like stones falling from a great height. Without knowing the meaning, Eijirou still senses that the human is angry.
He speaks again, voice growing with volume, and Eijirou crouches low, toes curling into the soft dirt. This seems to trigger something in the human, who growls like a beast and snaps his teeth at Eijirou.
Oh! Eijirou thinks he understands now. The human is rioting! He wants to practice his fighting skills with Eijirou in a play battle, just like he and Tetsutetsu do.
So Eijirou stands tall and flashes his sharp teeth, growling like his mother, and charges forward, aiming for the boy’s middle and narrowly avoiding his strange, shining stick. They land on the ground and Eijirou chuffs, pleased with the blow. His eyes dart to the shining stick as it skitters across the forest ground, gleaming and tempting. Eijirou immediately wants one of his own. Is this his first hoarding instinct?
The exciting thought is cut short by a blow to his eye. Eijirou wails, unprepared for such a strike, and clutches at his face as the human scuttles backward. He shouts something again and Eijirou stares at his hand, wet and glittering with blood. He’s never been hit like this in a riot before, never been truly hurt. It feels wrong, and Eijirou realizes with a sinking feeling that perhaps humans do not play like his people and that he might be in real danger.
Eijirou tries to hurl the human’s words back at him but the sounds are strange and round and his mouth doesn’t want to move the right way. He sniffles then, allowing tears to well up in his eyes, and tries his best not to shake with fear.
Then something shifts in the human. His expression softens slowly, almost imperceptible, as hard lines giving way to something more unsure. He flashes his large tooth in his hand, holds it up, and says something to Eijirou. Eijirou distantly wonders how in the world this human wound up with a dragon fang, not to mention why he is using it to fight. Do humans not do anything on their own? They’re that defenseless?
Is he apologizing? Has this all been a mistake?
The human makes a frustrated noise and brings the tooth down on his arm, cutting into his soft, naked hide. Eijirou winces at the sight. The human holds his arm up and shoves it at Eijirou, mutters something softly.
E… ven. Eijirou wishes he knew the word.
Still, the sentiment is there and Eijirou is eager to forgive. He pulls the human’s wound to his own and mixes their blood together. His eye burns with magic as he focuses it on stitching up the injury. It stings a little, and the human tries to pull away, but Eijirou is firm.
Eijirou attempts to comfort the human with his own language.
“Even,” he tries. What a strange way to speak!
When at last the magic throbs away, Eijirou releases him and wipes tangled hair out of his face. Meanwhile, the human’s eyes widen incredulously as he prods at his newly healed arm. He looks at Eijirou, clearly confused.
Humans don’t have magic, he finally remembers. They must not heal like dragons. He tries to explain with gestures what has happened, but the human only grows more wary. This goes back and forth for a bit and Eijirou nearly laughs when the human angrily points to Eijirou’s wound.
It doesn’t work like that. It’ll heal in time, but his body is immune to his own magic. It’ll probably leave another scar, but Eijirou kind of likes them anyway, likes the way they decorate his golden skin like sunlight dancing beneath waves.
Then the human holds out his fragile hand and motions with his head for Eijirou to follow. He tucks the dragon tooth away in his borrowed hides and seems to relax just a bit.
Eijirou is pleased with the development. He purrs, and tries to give away his name.
“Eijirou,” he tells the human, tapping at his breast.
The human turns and Eijirou follows him further down the mountain, away from his sky-kissed home, and closer to the mysterious encampment below.
🩸🩸🩸
Katsuki sneaks the boy back the way he left, through a small copse of trees hidden away from the matriarchs and their steely, commanding eyes. By now the sun has lowered and hangs round and pregnant in the sky. The women and girls of his clan would be finishing their training by now, putting away swords and shields and returning home where fathers and brothers and sons wait with warm meals. The timing is quite fortuitous. Katsuki is sure that if one of the girls saw him now, smeared in blood and sneaking in a naked wildling, he would never ever hear the end of it. He can practically hear their outrage already.
You know boys are too emotional for fighting!
It isn’t safe to go out alone!
What if you had been injured?
Who would protect you if you’d been attacked?
He sets his jaw firmly, already practicing his rebuttals. It’s not like he hadn’t had this argument before, after all.
He can take care of himself. He's proved it! And besides, it's not like there are no male warriors in their community- they’re just few and far between. Katsuki intends to be the greatest warrior their clan has ever seen, no matter how 'emotional' or male . He will prove them all wrong.
Behind him the wildling sucks in a breath and mouth drops in awe. When Katsuki looks over at him, he is gawking at their clan’s garden, already thick with gourds and fruit. He takes a step toward the fencing, eyes glittering, hands reached out to grab.
“C’mon,” Katsuki huffs, stomping a foot. The High Priestess is testy even on a good day, and he doesn’t look forward to the scolding he’s already bound to receive for disappearing this morning. It wont do to provoke her any more now by being late. He’s just too tired for that.
The boy shakes his head and grins, showing off razorlike teeth, before stepping back.
As they take the path toward Katsuki’s home at the temple, he talks incessantly. He points things out and speaks in his strange lilting tongue, as if Katsuki has any idea what he means.
“Shut up, will you?” Katsuki hisses.
The wildling pounds his fists together and they meet with a pleasant thwack. His smile doesn’t waver, which somehow annoys Katsuki even more.
The temple, a large, marbled building painstakingly carved directly into the mountain, is at the center of their encampment. It is normally abuzz with prayer and gossip but currently rests quietly, the steps already lit by torchlight.
When they finally arrive, they keep to the shadows and slip in undetected to Katsuki’s room.
First things first. He grabs a spare robe— watery blue silk too large for him— and throws it at the boy.
“Cover up!”
The boy catches the garment and sniffs at it.
“Put it on.”
“Eijirou,” the boy says, pointing at himself and grinning.
“Put. On. The. Robe.” Katsuki enunciates exaggeratedly, as if this will magically convey the meaning of his words to the strange boy. “Eijirou,” he adds, for clarity.
The boy makes a singsong chirping noise, bright and clear, when Katsuki says the word. He points a finger out and taps Katsuki’s chest.
“What?”
Tap, tap.
Seriously?
Tap, tap.
“Eijirou,” Eijirou says again, poking himself. Then he points back at Katsuki.
“Katsuki,” he growls.
“Kaaatssssuki,” Eijirou tries. It sounds funny, some serpentine accent coloring the words.
“Now put on the damn thing!” Katsuki growls, grabbing the robe and sliding it over one of his gloriously scarred arms.
Eijirou struggles like an unhappy babe and makes a displeased noise as the robe is wrapped around him and Katsuki sloppily ties the obi.
“You can’t go in front of the High Priestess naked, you shitty-haired fool!”
Eijirou pouts indignantly and squirms in his new clothing. He clucks his tongue and pulls at the fabric as he talks to himself. He just /never/ stops talking. Katsuki has never heard someone talk so much in his whole life!
Then, they are interrupted by the deep timbre of his father’s voice as he welcomes the High Priestess home. Katsuki snaps to attention, limbs alert and mind sharper. He’s going to show his mother that he’s strong, that he can be a warrior! He’ll show her that he caught this wild boy all by himself and then she’ll have to let Katsuki join in on training drills with the girls of the clan.
Determination renewed, he squeezes Eijirou’s hand on his and leads him to stand before the leader of their people to answer for his crimes.
“Mom,” Katsuki acknowledges. “I caught a wildling.”
His mother, Mitsuki, The High Priestess, pales.
“Oh, Katsuki,” she sighs, exasperated. “What have you done now?
Katsuki frowns. “What does it look like? I protected the mountain. I took him away.”
Mitsuki sits down on a gemstone-colored pillow and rakes a hand through her wild hair, bracelets jingling on her wrist.
“And what were you doing there, exactly?”
Shit. Katsuki forgot about that part of this.
“I— he made me. I had to chase him to capture him! He led me right up the mountain!” Katsuki lies.
Eijirou makes a purring noise as he stares at his hand, still held firmly in Katsuki’s. He squeezes his fingers experimentally and Katsuki shoots him an icy glare.
Mitsuki pinches the bridge of her nose before turning to the dirty child beside her own.
Art created by KB on twitter (@whistlebombomb)
“C’mon, kid. Let’s see you.”
Eijirou blinks. He looks from Mitsuki to Katsuki and purrs out something that sounds like a question.
“He doesn’t know how to talk,” Katsuki clarifies. “He just makes sounds.”
“Oh, he’s talking,” Mitsuki marvels, eyes widening in realization. “He’s just using a very old language to do it.”
“Why would he do that?” Katsuki wrinkles his nose in disgust.
“Because that’s what his kind speaks.”
Eijirou chuffs happily and introduces himself the same way he had to Katsuki, voice loud and confident.
“Eijirou,” she repeats fondly before placing her palms on the marble floor and lowering her forehead to rest between them in supplication, “we give thanks for your divine presence.”
Katsuki scowls and stomps his foot.
“What are you doing, you hag? You’re supposed to slice him to pieces, not invite him to move in!”
Mitsuki momentarily sits up to grab her child’s head and drags him down to the floor beside her.
“Mind your manners, brat!”
Katsuki struggles, face red and furious. This wasn’t at all how it was supposed to go. He had brought her a prisoner, not a guest!
“Why should I!?”
“Because,” she hisses, still firmly holding Katsuki’s head to the floor, “you’ve stolen a god from his own home.”
“What the hell!? There is no way!” Katsuki thrashes enough to finally tear loose from his mother’s grasp. “He’s just a weird naked kid! He isn’t a god.”
Eijirou tilts his head and watches Katsuki struggle with a frown.
“You think you know everything,” Mitsuki sighs, her voice cooling to ice. He knows then that it is no longer his mother speaking but the leader of his people, the High Priestess.
“If he’s a god then how come he’s bleeding?,” Katsuki argues, pointing to Eijirou’s swollen eye. “Why could I hit him? Huh ? Why could I hurt him?”
“You did what?!” Mitsuki snarls at him. “Katsuki--” Her eyes flicker up to Eijirou then back to her son.
“Eijirou!” Eijirou reminds them. He says something else and grabs back Katsuki’s hand, pushes back his sleeve, and shows Mitsuki the pale scar there. “Yuán fèn. Katsssssuki.”
“What’s this?” She eyes her son warily as she rises to her knees to inspect his arm.
Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Alright. So he knows some magic. He only fixed my arm. He’s probably some kind of demon and now it’s cursed to fall off or something!”
She reaches out and traces the outline of the scar reverently.
“All he did was smear his blood all over me like a freak! What about that screams god to you?”
“Katsuki,” she warns, voice low. “You know humans don’t have magic.”
“Not any more , but they have.”
“Magic is not ours to have or take.”
“I didn’t ask for this!”
Eijirou steps closer to Katsuki and holds onto his arm.
“But he gave it to you.”
Katsuki looks pointedly at Eijirou. “So take it back.”
Mitsuki shakes her head.
“Katsuki, do you know why we watch over the mountain?”
“It’s special or something.”
“Why is it special?”
“It’s never been settled by humans?”
“And why is that?”
“Because it’s our job to keep them away,” he says, growing impatient.
“It is our job to keep humans away because we’re protecting what lives there.”
“Like rabbits?”
She sighs.
“Dragons, Katsuki, like Eijirou.”
At this, Katsuki doubles over laughing. It’s contagious enough that Eijirou begins to chuckle at his side.
“I’m serious.”
“Eijirou is a god? He’a a dragon god?”
“Dragons are special creatures, pure magic. They have terrible power-- power enough to scorch the entire world to ash. Though peaceful by nature, once humans discovered the extent of their power, they tried to take it for their own selfish reasons. They were captured, hunted, murdered-- almost driven to extinction. Our family has always revered the dragons as the rightful gods that they are and have vowed to keep them safe. That’s why we still circle the mountain— to keep them hidden, and protected. In return, they keep to their own and bless our clan with good weather and health."
“I don’t understand. If they’re so great, why would people want to kill them?”
“Well,” Mitsuki’s eyes are dark as they flit from Katsuki to Eijirou, “among other things, you saw it first hand. Dragon blood in particular has certain… abilities. It can heal you, make you strong or powerful. With enough of it, it can even transfer magic. It can even prevent death.”
Katsuki takes this in with a blank expression.
“There are a lot of people out there who want to use the dragons for selfish reasons. We can’t let them. The last time it happened, it almost ended everything.”
The conversation is becoming too big for Katsuki’s 8-year-old mind to comprehend. He isn’t sure how to process this information or what to do with it.
“Eijirou used his blood to heal you,” she continues. “You've been given a great gift. Too great. As such, you are now in his debt.”
“I didn’t ask him to help me.”
“Regardless.”
“So… what does that mean?”
She looks to the fledgling still clinging to her son.
“Whatever he wants it to mean.”
🩸🩸🩸
Eijirou sits beside his new friend at a low table, drumming his fingers excitedly against the wood, as an older, hairier human passes out bowls of strange food. This human one looks a lot like Katsuki, except soft and relaxed in all the places his new friend is thorny and energetic.
“Can I eat this?” He looks at Katsuki and points to the bowl.
Katsuki mutters something with a scoff, then shovels a pile of grain into his mouth with sticks.
Eijirou spies an identical pair laid out for him by his bowl. He turns them in his hand, inspecting the strange thing, then gives it a tentative sniff before chomping down. The stick doesn’t taste good… and it’s kind of tough to chew, but he has strong teeth, so, no matter. He pushes through the taste, terrified of appearing rude or ungrateful. Despite his discomfort, he finishes both sticks and swallows them down.
“Thank you!”
Katsuki spits out his food with a loud guffaw. A fist pounds on the table, and Eijirou can see tears of laughter glittering in the corner of his eyes.
Oh, Eijirou likes that sound. He wants to keep making Katsuki laugh, so he reaches for one of his sticks and takes another bite.
Katsuki howls with laughter.
Art created by KB on twitter (@whistlebombomb)
“Eijirou,” the pretty woman says to him. She demonstrates how she uses her sticks to pick up small bits of food in her bowl. What a good idea! Too bad Eijirou already finished his. He makes a mental note to save some stick next time he has a chance and try her method.
Then his stomach growls and the sweet, nutty flavor of the food in his bowl is just too much to resist. He sticks his mouth into the bowl and begins to eat. With relief, he notes that this food is much more palatable.
It’s not like anything Eijirou has eaten before. It’s nothing like rabbit, or squirrel, or bear. It’s much more delicate and almost floral. Eijirou can’t get enough of the texture and taste. When he finally comes up for air, his face is warm and sticky with food scraps.
Food flies out of Katsuki's mouth with the force of his laughter. The woman immediately takes off a foot covering to smack him with it. He seems to not mind the scolding though, because he doesn't stop giggling.
Maybe this is just some other human habit he’s unaware of.
Eijirou points to the mess on his face and grins, making Katsuki laugh harder.
“Is this not how it’s done?”
Katsuki snorts, puts his sticks down, and copies the way Eijirou put his whole face into the bowl to eat.
Across the table, the blonde woman groans and her face is pinched tight, like maybe her head hurts. She doesn’t smack Katsuki this time.
“I like it here,” Eijirou tells them, finally sitting back and taking in the shiny walls and velvety pillows. “I’ve never seen some of these colors before.”
Everyone watches him speak (except for Katsuki), but Eijirou doubts they understand what he's saying. Not that it’s that important. He’s gotten this far without knowing the human language, after all.
“Can I stay here?” he chirps, looking around the table. “There’s so much I want to see.” He closes his eyes and rolls his head to the side, pantomiming falling asleep. “Sleep here?” He tries again.
Katsuki and the hairy man look at the woman, who seems to be in charge. She shrugs, and her many layers of jewelry tinkle as she moves. The delicate sound reminds Eijirou of the wind charms his mother hung in his den on the mountain. The thought freezes him. His den seems very far away suddenly.
As Eijirou thinks of home, his chest tightens. The sun has dipped lower in the sky, replaced by the shining crescent of the moon. The sky looks different here, further away, bigger and smaller, all at once. Even the air tastes different.
What would sunrise feel like, so far away from the warm peaks of the mountain? Would Eijirou even recognize it here?
The man takes the bowls from in front of the two boys and Eijirou marvels at his strong, weathered hands. He smiles softly at Eijirou but says nothing. As he clears the table, the man squeezes the woman’s shoulder affectionately. The woman headbutts his arm gently before he leaves in silence. The little act reminds Eijirou of the way his mother playfully nips at her mate.
The woman watches the man leave with a crooked little smile, her face relaxing enough to make her look suddenly very young. Katsuki clears his throat, a little annoyed at the display, and her face snaps back into the regal mask she wears so well. She points to her left and orders Katsuki to do something. When she is finished speaking, Katsuki stands and looks down at Eijirou with a scowl. It takes Eijirou a moment to realize that Katsuki is waiting for him. In his haste to stand, as he scrambles to his feet, Eijirou nearly trips over the edge of his borrowed robe.
“C’mon,” Katsuki says, gesturing for Eijirou to follow. His eyes are bright as burning coal, a pretty red color that makes Eijirou's heart flutter.
Eijirou grabs Katsuki’s hand, sticky with remnants of dinner, and is led through the strangely square cave. Everywhere they turn there are unnatural walls, glassy with hard edges. Eijirou stretches out his free hand to trail along the hall, delighting in the smooth way it glides, as if ice and not stone. There is nothing like this in his home.
Their journey takes them through a dizzying pattern of turns before finally opening up to a garden. The air smells damp here, fresh, and the grass is green and new. Submerged in the inky moonlight, Eijirou feels his pupils dilate and adjust to the darkness, bringing the splendor of the thicket into focus.
There are night-blooming flowers, petals bone white and smelling sweetly of summer, climbing the walls of the strange cave. Insects cry out shrilly, much louder than those at the summit of the mountain, and strange flashing lights dart through the air with seemingly no pattern.
Katsuki leads them to the edge of a small pool at the back of the garden and gestures to it. Eijirou stares down and kicks a foot into the tranquil water, warping the reflection of Eijirou and Katsuki until they blur and become one giant, inseparable, monstrous thing.
Katsuki begins tugging off his borrowed furs, and Eijirou watches him wade into the water and sit. Naked, he looks vulnerable and pink like a baby bird. Eijirou swallows down sadness on his friend's behalf. The moonlight rolls across softly rippling water, as Eijirou struggles with the tie at his waist. As the robe is discarded, pooled at his feet like a carpet of spider silk, Eijirou shakes out his hair. Finally unburdened by the coverings he feels a bit more like himself again.
Eijirou follows Katsuki into the water and shivers as his body adjusts to the cooling temperature of the stream. He is about to speak when he notices that the tall woman returns, two long-haired humans at her hip. She holds a basket of strange bottles, fruits, and flowers. They toss petals into the stream, singing something quietly, and Katsuki rolls his eyes, batting the flowers away as they float toward him. Eijirou scoops a flower up as it whirls by and holds it in his palm as water trickles through his fingers. The woman sits on the stream edge and hands a potion over to Katsuki, who reluctantly takes it from her hand, scowling, as usual.
“Soap,” Katsuki tells him slowly, wagging the bottle in front of his face. The woman sighs. He pours some of the contents on his arm and rubs it as a bowl of water is dumped over his head. He sputters out something and glares at the woman, who laughs. It is a very good laugh.
Katsuki hands over the bottle and Eijirou takes a sniff. It is sweet smelling and clean, like the herbs that grow near his home during the rain season. He resists the urge to taste the mixture and instead copies the way Katsuki pours it on his body and scrubs. Beneath Eijirou’s hands, as if by magic, blood, dirt and the grime of the day dissolve, leaving his skin soft and clean as a hatchling. He tries to show this to his friend, but Katsuki ducks under the water just as he is about to speak.
Eijirou watches bubbles rise to the surface and burst and imagines the sea monsters from his mother's stories. When Katsuki pops up for air it is, like all his movements, dramatic and demanding. He flings water in all directions, dampening the bottom of the woman’s pelts.
Eijirou watches Katsuki curiously. Away from the harsh light of day, all the background details dissolve into darkness, highlighting Katsuki in stunning clarity. His hair falls into his eyes, honeyed gold, like noonday sun, and Eijirou has never seen hair such a color. His own, black and dull, seems exceptionally boring in comparison.
Then the woman pours another sweet-smelling brew onto Katsuki’s dandelion hair. He grumbles something as she massages his scalp, then pulls away to duck under the water once more. She holds her palms out toward Eijirou cautiously, offering the same treatment, and Eijirou eagerly accepts. He wonders if this magic potion will make his hair as golden as Katsuki’s.
Her fingers are soft and soothing as they brush across his scalp and lather the potion into a bubbling mess. When she brushes the feathers at the nape of his neck, he bursts out in laughter, ticklish.
She leans Eijirou back into the water and pours water into his hair, using one hand to keep it from getting into his eyes. He watches her as she rinses him, the stars winking behind her shoulders, and feels safe despite the growing uneasiness from leaving home.
When he is finally released, Eijirou eagerly stares down at his reflection, hope fluttering in his chest. Unfortunately, he sees his same, dark hair he’s known all his life. When he reaches up to touch it, disappointed, he lets out a little whine. .
“Bath,” the woman explains, gesturing to the stream broadly.
Eijirou thinks he would very much like to try this again. Maybe next time her magic potions would make him beautiful.
Art created by KB on twitter (@whistlebombomb)
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The wildling is weird.
Katsuki doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so excited by the prospect of a bath. Eijirou complies goodnaturedly with his mother’s every move, smiling as water flows through his hair, as she combs through it with her hands.
Beneath all the dirt and grime, he looks much like any other boy, but when Eijirou looks at Katsuki, his eyes are strange and wild, more animal than man. Something deep inside Katsuki, something primal, screams at him to be cautious. He just isn’t sure if it’s to keep Eijirou from running away, or to compel himself to flee.
His mother must be wrong somehow. Dragons aren’t real— they can’t be. Katsuki has never seen one before and he is eight. They are simply artistic representations of gods. And to that end, Katsuki doesn’t even know how much he even believes in gods. He’s never seen one of those either .
After they dry off and are handed sleep tunics, Eijirou is once again back to clinging to Katsuki like a nettle. It is late, the night insects loud and pulsing like a summertime lullaby. Exhaustion settles deep in Katsuki’s bones.
While they bathed, the other priestesses were busy arranging a room for Eijirou. The room, saved for only the most important visitors, is more opulent than any other Katsuki has seen. He’s never been allowed inside it before, only caught glimpses between closing doors, but as they usher Eijirou inside, he refuses to let go of Katsuki’s arm.
Katsuki takes the room in with wide eyes. Every comfort has been provided. Ripe figs, tareens of nectar, the finest silks, the softest bed. Red candles, fat and dropping with wax are situated on stone pillars, proving soft, flickering light. An offering of gold and gemstones lay on a platter longer than Katsuki is tall, and one of the priestesses offers it up to the wild boy.
Eijirou, for his part, is equally awed. He picks a single jewel from the pile of treasure and holds it up against a candle and the glittering refractions of iridescence nearly blind Katsuki.
Katsuki then finds himself a bit resentful that he should have to sleep in his own, average room when this room has just been sitting empty the whole time. Eijirou had come to them naked and a prisoner and now was being called a god and given anything he could ever want. It isn’t fair.
“Time for bed,” Mitsuki tells Katsuki, gently disentangling Eijirou. “We can talk about your punishment for sneaking onto the mountain in the morning.”
“Seriously?” Katsuki groans. “If he’s a god then shouldn’t I be rewarded or something?”
“Go,” his mother commands, pointing down the hallway. “Now.”
“Fine, but I’m going because I’m tired, not because you told me to!”
He catches a look of incredulity pass over Mitsuki’s face as he shouts. As he turns around, he pretends he doesn’t hear her amused laughter behind him.
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Eijirou is alone.
Alone , alone.
The humans bring him to a cell and entice him with treasure. Then they turn heel and abandon him, shut him in, bar the exit. Katsuki is made to leave so abruptly that Eijirou forgets to protest or put up a fight.
This prison is… odd. He has food and water and a bed, but it’s uninhabitable. There is no life in this room. It is a mockery of a den. There are no bodies to curl around. It is hollow and too big and Eijirou is so overwhelmed that he wants to cry.
He’s never felt alone like this before.
He doesn’t even smell like himself anymore. He can’t smell his mothers, or his friends, or the mountain on his skin at all. A little whimper escapes his mouth as he crawls into the center of the nest. It is giant and dwarfs him, and he thinks of all the animals who died to provide all these furs and pelts. For the first time, there is clarity regarding death. The finality. To be gone.
To just… stop. Forever.
Would it be like this empty room?
Eijirou can’t sleep here. It’s too quiet without Tetsutetsu’s sleep talk and Mina’s snoring. His body feels too small and light for sleep without tails and scales and arms thrown over him. Did humans not sleep in piles, like his family? Surely they did. How could they not?!
He realizes then that he must escape this room. He might not be able to make it home tonight, but he can at least find Katsuki. Then, at least, he will be able to sleep.
So he slips out of the room, eyes comfortably adjusted to the darkness of the strange, smooth cave, and sniffs the air. He can smell lemons and charcoal, moth wings, and stone. A wrinkle forms between his brows, as he concentrates, searching for—
Katsuki. There he is. He smells like sunlight on wet stone, like thunderstorms and heat. He smells like energy and blood and sweetness. Human.
Eijirou’s legs can’t carry him fast enough. He rushes in the direction of the scent, eyes burning, feet thumping against stone. His heart lodges in his throat as he arrives at another door. He can hear Katsuki behind it, tossing and turning, his smell sweet and strong.
Eijirou tries the door and it swings open easily. He tip-toes inside, scanning the area for danger, and takes a deep breath finding none. He pauses to take in the room. Last time they’d been here he had been so preoccupied by his new coverings that he didn’t notice much else.
Katsuki has a much more suitable den. It is small, warm, and filled with treasure. Beads of multi-colored glass swing from the ceiling like vines. Little figures, some painted, some not, line shelves. Wooden weapons lay in disarray on the ground beside piles of discarded fabric.
He hears movement before he sees it, a little rustle of darkness out of the corner of Eijirou’s eye. He draws closer to the lump and the smell of storms grows thicker. Then, finally, Eijirou spies Katsuki tucked into a bed of goose feathers.
“Katsssuki,” Eijirou whispers, staring at him in the darkness.
He pauses only a moment before crawling into the bed beside him. His little shoulders shake in relieved tears as cozies up beside the human.
At this, his friend startles awake.
Eijirou sniffles as he allows the comfort of another body to soothe him. He wiggles himself into a comfortable position and drapes an arm and leg over Katsuki.
“Oi,” Katsuki grunts, more lucid, as he tries to push Eijirou off. Eijirou feels Katsuki’s muscles tense beneath his grip, so he begins to purr, hoping the low vibration will comfort and still him.
“We’ll be okay now,” Eijirou reminds himself.
Now that he is safe, exhaustion blankets body. His eyelids are heavy, like bags of sand, and his muscles ache from the day’s journey.
“Katsuki,” Eijirou repeats, sleep fuzzing out his mind into cottony snow. “It is Yuán fèn, I’m sure.”
Katsuki sighs and rolls to his side. Eijirou holds him closer still, rubbing his face and scenting Katsuki until he sleeps.
That night Eijirou is too tired to dream.
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Katsuki wakes groggily, body slow as if drowning in honey. He feels heavy and warm beneath his blankets but his face is cold, his nose ice. He blinks into the blue light of morning and is surprised to be met with the sight of his own pillowy breath as he exhales.
It is summer, so he must be dreaming. Snow season is still long off.
As he begins to move, beside him there is a little joyful squeal. Eijirou yawns and begins to stretch his limbs. Feeling the wildling's grip relax as he kicks out his feet and arms, Katsuki rolls away.
“Katsuki!
He grunts in acknowledgement, squinting into the room. His tunic slips, exposing a thin shoulder, and Katsuki shivers as his skin kisses the icy room. Eijirou mutters something, wrinkling his nose in distaste, then ducks under the blankets and cuddles up to Katsuki once more.
Try as he might, Katsuki cannot think of a good reason for his room to be so cold… Unless, of course, he thinks belatedly, it is magic at work again. Perhaps it is Eijirou causing the frost to crack along his window.
Then there is shouting outside Katsuki’s door, distressed chatter bouncing off the walls of the temple in a dull roar as many people speak at once. Katsuki feels a pit grow in his stomach. Something is wrong.
“C’mon, get up,” he says, wincing when his bare feet touch the cold floor.
Eijirou chitters something beneath the blanket and does not move.
Katsuki beelines for his wardrobe and digs for his winter trousers and boots. He can’t get dressed fast enough. His fingers are clumsy and numb with cold, and his teeth chatter like loose dice. He finds a spare fur-lined cloak and other necessities for his prisoner while he dresses, anxious to see what is going on.
“Eijirou, come on, ” Katsuki sighs impatiently.
Eijirou pops up, black hair a proper tangle, sticking up in wild tufts, but his eyes are closed, unwilling to meet the daylight.
“I’ll leave you here,” Katsuki says, crossing his arms. “I swear I will. Hurry up.”
Eijirou sniffs the air and tits his head in his curious, birdlike way. He slides out from beneath the blanket and Katsuki expects to get a good laugh at his bare feet meeting the frosty floor, but Eijirou doesn’t even flinch.
“Aren’t you cold?”
Eijirou walks over to Katsuki, casual as always, and chirps.
“Put on some clothes before you get sick,” Katsuki warns, grimacing after he realizes how much he sounds like his mother. He shoves the pile of winter clothes at Eijirou, continually amazed that he is not shivering or otherwise uncomfortable. It makes him angry that Eijirou is tough enough to handle the cold and he is not. Stupid wildling.
After helping Eijirou figure out how to work pants and shoes (seriously-- how could this guy be a god? ), Katsuki bounds out the door with Eijirou skipping along beside him. As they grow closer to the temple’s center, the braziers are lit and the temperature warms enough that Katsuki can no longer see his breath.
A dozen or so worried neighbors have filled the main hall, their faces tense and eyes fearful. His mother, acting as High Priestess, speaks to them from a small raised dais, her voice calm and reassuring.
Katsuki and Eijirou slip around the group of people undetected and make for the exit to peer outside. Katsuki’s jaw drops at the sight before him.
The scene is nonsensical. Where there had been green grass and summer the night before, all is now snow and winter. The trees retain their lush canopy, though the branches are heavy and bowed with the weight of ice.The snowdrifts are up to Katsuki’s knees, powdery and soft, glittering in the sun. The world is bright-- much too bright for so early a morning-- and when Katsuki blinks, the scenery is tattooed in negative behind his eyelids.
Eijirou scoops a handful of snow and it does not melt in his hands.
“Mama,” Eijirou mutters, eyes soft and mouth curling into a little smile.
Perhaps their languages are not so entirely different after all.
“The snow-- your mom did it?” Katsuki rubs his eyes with his palms.
Eijirou tosses the snow into the air and it floats down like flower petals. Snowflakes tangle in the wildling’s eyelashes and stay there, perfect and beautiful.
“Katsuki. Eijirou.,” he gestures to each of them, then tosses more snow in the air. “Mama.”
Well, shit.
“We need to go tell them,” Katsuki says, pulling Eijirou along with him back into the temple. They rush between the audience, bumping elbows and knocking into hips, until the sea of people parts and Katsuki stands at his mother’s feet.
“Katsuki?”
“His mom,” Katsuki pants, “is a witch! She’s causing the snow.”
“Hold your tongue, Katsuki,” his mother admonishes. “Do not speak of the gods like that.”
She looks over at Eijirou then, still dusted in white powder. Behind them, the people are quiet. Mitsuki sinks low, her head on the cold floor as she greets Eijirou. Katsuki does not look behind him but by the soft rustle of fabric, he thinks their visitors are also bowing.
Eijirou purrs out something and they rise to meet his smile.
“Mom, listen, it’s his mom’s magic.”
“Oh, no,” someone behind them wails. “We have angered the gods of the mountain!”
“Calm, calm, everyone,” Mitsuki tries to soothe, eyes trained on her son.
“What shall we do? The crops! The livestock! We are not ready for winter! How will we survive?”
“I will go to the mountain,” Mitsuki says, raising her hand for silence. “I will pray and ask for forgiveness.”
“Take him back! They are angry that the godling is here!” a man shouts.
Eijirou swishes his cloak, ignorant of the conversation.
“I cannot simply tell a god where he is welcome,” Mitsuki explains. “If he wishes to leave, he may, if he wishes to stay, it is not my place to stop him.”
Katsuki grows irritated. The solution here is simple.
“I’ll take him back.”
The room hushes.
“You are not permitted on the mountain, son.”
“Well, he’s not going to go anywhere without me. You know how he is. If I go there, he’ll follow me. Maybe then he’ll go back. And anyway, didn’t you say I’m in his debt or something? Maybe this will make us even.”
The people begin to talk amongst themselves quietly.
“Eijirou, do you want to go see your Mama?” Katsuki says slowly, pointing back at the snow.
Eijirou grabs Katsuki’s hand and grins, hopping from one foot to the other.
“See? He wants to go home.”
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Eijirou can smell his mother’s magic from the moment he wakes up. It smells like stardust and moonlight, like winter and wind. While Eijirou has very much enjoyed meeting humans, he is beginning to feel a bit homesick. It is comforting to know that she is still nearby.
His heartache eases when he is able to touch his mother’s snow and throw it into the air. The magic feels like butterfly wings brushing across his skin, powdery and light. Beside him, he senses that Katsuki is shivering. The cold makes his lips turn blue, makes his nose run. Eijirou doesn’t really feel things like temperature. It’s sort of all the same to him, neither good nor bad. It is just something that is .
He tries to tell Katsuki not to worry, that this is only his mother’s way of scolding Eijirou, a temporary freeze, but Katsuki doesn’t seem to understand.
Katsuki chews on his bottom lip, eyes pinched in concentration. Then his eyes light up with an idea and Eijirou is led to stand in front of a pack of humans. They all look different from each other, and nothing like Katsuki. Despite this, the humans are splendidly diverse and pretty, in all manner of coverings; veils and furs and feathers and masks.
They all bow to him again, which Eijirou thinks is pretty silly. They don’t need to submit to him. He isn’t threatened-- they are friends. Eijirou watches as they talk amongst themselves and as Katsuki argues with the woman who cleaned them.
He finally recognizes some words, namely ‘Eijirou’ and ‘Mama’, which perks his interest. Maybe Katsuki has finally understood. Excitedly, he jumps a bit, holding his friend’s hand, and smiles.
Everyone looks at the woman on the platform. She nods reluctantly and gestures to Katsuki to lead on. The pack parts, allowing them to pass, and as Eijirou comes near they all fall to their knees in submission.
It’s all very odd, but interesting nonetheless.
The closer they get to the mountain, the more Eijirou can taste his mother’s magic. It buzzes around them, tickles his skin. There is a stream that separates the division of their territories and it is frozen solid, but beyond that is peaceful summer.
There is a rumbling noise and Eijirou’s heart thumps in recognition. He releases Katsuki and rushes over the ice to the meadow, feet light and swift.
“I’m back,” he says to his mother, knowing she is near. “Come speak with my friends!”
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The low, rumbling growl is like nothing Katsuki has ever heard before. No earthly beast could make such a noise. It is everywhere at once, in every direction. Around them the sounds of the forest fall eerily silent and the air in the clearing turns stagnant. The hair on Katsuki’s arms sticks up and goosebumps rise. He fights against his instinct to flee.
Eijirou squeezes his hand once before running across the frozen river to stand in a little circle of wildflowers. His eyes close as he sniffs the air intently. Eijirou shouts out to his mother and the answering call is so loud it rattles Katsuki’s chest.
Mitsuki grips onto her son’s shoulder and steps ahead of him to put herself between him and whatever might be coming. Her muscles are tight as if she might burst into movement any second.
Around them the wind picks up and snow whirls up into a vortex. Their vision is whited-out by a blizzard, obscuring Eijirou and any hint of sky. Mitsuki shields Katsuki from the wind with her body and cloak. She holds him tight, her cheek pressed tight to his head.
Then as soon as it starts, it ends.
Katsuki can’t stand the suspense. He wiggles out of his mothers arms, anxious to see what has just happened, and the world seems to tilt on its axis.
A white dragon, long and winding, coils around Eijirou like a rattlesnake. The wildling (godling? he’s becoming more convinced now) pets the dragon’s pale fur and nuzzles his face into the mane of feathers down its middle. There is no wind around the pair, yet the dragon’s whiskers and tail sway gently like seaweed bobbing along the coast.
“Mama,” Eijirou shouts over at them with a toothy grin. He climbs up onto her back with well-practiced ease.
The dragon snarls. The sound thrums like a plucked ruan inside Katsuki’s skull, low and threatening. This time, when his mother urges him to bow, he does so without complaint. He takes in great gulping breaths as his forehead rests on the hardened snow. They rise slowly to their knees and only then does Katsuki change taking another look at Eijirou’s mother.
The dragon speaks without moving its great, fanged mouth, yet her words are clear.
“You do not speak the godtongue,” she says plainly, addressing Katsuki and his mother, “so I will use your own language to ask... what trickery is this?”
Eijirou suddenly looks upset and slams a fist on his mother’s long torso. She barely bats one giant, ruby eye at him.
“My hatchling is displeased with me,” she explains, her great head tilted slightly, feline eyes focusing in on Eijirou. “He wishes me to be kind.”
Mitsuki does not meet the gaze of the dragon and keeps her head bowed.
“Thank you for allowing us to speak with you,” she says.
“I am Wen Shi, matron of the mountain. Speak your names so I shall know you better.”
Mitsuki tells her for both of them because Katsuki’s tongue has turned to lead.
“Bakugou clan,” Wen Shi repeats. “Mitsuki. Katsuki.”
“Katsssuki,” Eijirou points at him. Their eyes meet across the distance. Suddenly his strange, catlike pupils seem terrifying. Had Katsuki really allowed such a creature into his bed?
“Explain yourselves.”
“My lady, Wen Shi, we were visited by your son last evening. He seemed to be there of his own accord and it did not seem my place to send him away. I ask for forgiveness if this was unwise. We took it upon ourselves to look after young Eijirou until the time for his departure. We are very grateful to be blessed with both you and your son's presence.”
Eijirou is speaking quickly, words tumbling out of him at such a pace that he must pause and suck in a deep breath before continuing. He touches his brow, still purple and angry from Katsuki’s blow, and quiets down.
“You look after him and yet you return him to me wounded.”
Mitsuki glances at Katsuki and pauses. “I failed you, Wen Shi.”
Katsuki’s stomach drops. His mother had not harmed Eijirou-- why is she acting like she did? The idea that this dragon might hurt his own mother seizes his heart in panic.
“I did it,” Katsuki shouts, standing up and struggling to keep his hands from shaking.
“Boything,” Wen Shi hisses, head whipping back to stare at Katsuki so quickly it is just a blur.
Katsuki bites his lip and chastises himself for forgetting his sword.
“Yuán fèn!” Eijirou yells at her, tugging on her feathery mane.
Wen Shi’s mane floats around her, brimming with static and thunder.
“It was an accident,” Katsuki says. It is half truth. “I didn’t know who he was. I let him strike me back.” At this he holds up his arm and indicated the nearly transparent, silvery scar.
“You smell of my son’s magic,” she growls, hackles rising.
“Yuán fèn!” Eijirou pounds his fists on Wen Shi’s back until she turns to look at him.
“What does it mean?” Katsuki finally manages to squeak out. He does not dare look at Eijirou’s mother as he says it and instead stares down at his boots in the snow. “What is he saying?”
“The nerve to ask such questions… Boything, I wish to see you,” the dragon growls. “Come closer.”
Mitsuki’s hand shakes where it rests on her son’s shoulder. He can feel her panic as if it were some tangible thing. He has never seen his mother scared before. He doesn’t like it.
“I’ll go,” he tells her, looking up at her, trying his best to sound brave. “Don’t worry.”
He stomps forward, slipping and sliding over ice, to stand in front of the massive dragon. Her lead lowers and it is bigger than Katsuki’s entire body. Her massive eyes glare at him and he can see his terrified reflection staring back at him.
“Repeat your question, boything. Ask me properly”
“Uh… Wen Shi? What does… yu… án… f--?” He isn't quite sure how to pronounce it. His blood rushes in his ears. He’s messing this all up.
“Yuán fèn,” Eijirou says softly, sliding down his mother and standing beside his friend.
“That. What is that? He keeps saying it.”
“It is two streams becoming a river. It is twilight and dawn. Yuan fèn means that you are inevitable, you are tied. Two branches spiraling toward the sun. A pair of wings. Your people call it fate, but we have no need for such simple words.”
“Fate?”
She regards him icily.
“Eijirou is young. He believes in such things.”
“He shouldn’t?”
Wen Shi makes a sound that might be a laugh. It is bitter and mirthless.
“I don’t understand what’s going on…” Katsuki confesses. “What is going to happen to me?”
Eijirou grabs his hand then and tangles their fingers. With his other, he reaches out to place a palm on the dragon’s scaled chest.
Art created by KB on twitter (@whistlebombomb)
“You are of the same blood now; verse and bridge. Only together the chorus.”
“I still don’t understand,” Katsuki frowns.
“One cannot be without the other. No light without the sun. No Katsuki without Eijirou.”
Katsuki struggles with this information. Years later, he will think back to this conversation and pick apart each word for meaning. In the moment, however, he can only think to ask--
“Will you make the snow go away now?” Katsuki, voice small and shaky.
“You are in no position to ask favors, boything. I should leave you all to turn to ice for harming my son.”
Katsuki looks down, red faced and ashamed.
“But I cannot. Eijirou would not have it so.”
He looks up in surprise and sucks in a breath.
“You are of his blood now, and as such you are mine, boything, though I dislike it.” Wen Shi shakes out her mane and closes her eyes. “Do not disappoint me, Katsuki of the Bakugou clan. Do not let my son down.”
“I--”
“Where he goes, you must follow.”
Behind them, Mitsuki sucks in a breath. When she speaks her voice is quiet.
“Please don’t take my son.”
Wen Shi rises up and stomps one clawed foot into the dirt.
“It is not up to me. Were it so, I would tear him limb from limb and scatter his ashes to the four winds.”
Mitsuki sets her jaw firmly. “You would tear a mother away from her only son?”
Wen Shi snarls. Eijirou tugs on her whisker and says something to her. Slowly, her body relaxes, though her voice is strained.
“A bargain then.”
“Yes?”
The air tingles with electricity and between the stream that separates their two homes a small tree grows. It reaches up and out, branches twisting and growing, as if years pass each second.
“Let it not be said that I am not merciful.”
Mitsuki clutches at her necklace and takes a step toward the tree.
“As the first leaf falls dead, they will journey to the mountain and be my sons. When the first spring bud awakens, they will return to you as yours.”
“Half a year…”
“Is that not generous?”
“No, no… Thank you, my lady.” Mitsuki’s face is unreadable.
“Should anything happen to them in your charge--”
“I will not allow harm to come to them.”
“-- but if it should, hear this now: death will only be the beginning of your suffering.”
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