Chapter 15
Still riding the high, Ando wheeled above the shoreline with Wani at his side.
As they curved back over the beach, he spotted Kiba below—one hand braced at his hip, watching the sky. His steedraptor stood beside him, calm and still, wings tucked.
At Wani’s cue, Ando brought Kito down onto the sand.
“You’re doing well,” Kiba called, a trace of relief in his voice. “Seems I worried over nothing after all.”
He had likely been there the entire time—ready to move at the first sign of trouble, ready to catch him if he fell.
Being watched over like that was something Ando had scarcely known. It left him faintly self-conscious, yet… not unwelcome.
He bowed his head in thanks—to Kiba for keeping such close watch, and to Wani for his guidance.
By the time he turned, Master Ko and Tien were already approaching from the mews.
“How are your feet holding up?” Kiba asked, as casually as ever.
Until the dragons had pointed it out, Ando had never thought of it as a problem. He had carried on with his duties in the Royal Guard, ignoring it for years—so if they had warped and stiffened, that was on him.
But since the correction began, the change was unmistakable. The pain remained, yet little by little, his feet were beginning to set properly beneath him.
“There is still pain… but they are improving,” he said, unable to hide the resolve in his voice.
“Good.” Kiba nodded once, then glanced at Master Ko before continuing.
“We’ve been discussing whether to begin your transformation training.”
Ando straightened at once.
“I would be honored—no, I would be eager—to receive your instruction.”
Kiba’s lips curved faintly, though his tone turned more measured.
“Draconic transformation is the most important ability you’ll ever need as a Dracotyrannus. I’d have you getting the hang of it sooner rather than later if it were up to me… but.”
Master Ko continued, his voice steady, with a hint of reluctance.
“It will place a heavy strain on your body. At first, it may feel as though the power itself is forcing you under. I would prefer we wait until your feet have fully recovered.”
Tien hesitated, her gaze flicking between them before she spoke.
“But Master Ko… you said that could take years, didn’t you?”
“Quite possibly,” he replied. “And that is precisely why we must be careful. We cannot risk leaving him worse off. This is not something to rush.”
“But then…”
She faltered, as if weighing what she did not wish to say.
Ando frowned slightly.
“Is there… some urgency I should know of?”
Another voice cut in.
“With regard to the solemn establishment of an enduring amity betwixt our two realms, we do most humbly entreat the gracious favor of Your Majesty.
At the earliest advent of the coming spring, we shall dispatch an envoy from our dominion; should this be deigned worthy of Your Majesty’s consent and acknowledgment, we would esteem it an honor beyond all measure.”
“…That’s what it says.”
It was Yuki.
In her hands were two letters. One had already been opened; the other remained sealed. The one bearing the seal of the Royal Guard was marked with blue wax—used only by the Royal Family.
“Letters from Imresia,” Yuki said. “This one’s for you, Ando.”
She handed them both over.
The letter from Antonius informed him that he would be visiting Tatsuno—not in his capacity as Lord Commander of the Royal Guard, but as Crown Prince.
So there was no time to waste. Before the envoy arrived, he would have to complete his draconic training—and learn to wield the power of the Dracotyrannus as his own.
In Imresia, where winters were long and the harshest season buried the land in snow and brought all movement to a halt, both diplomacy and war were conducted from spring through autumn. That window lasted less than half the year, and preparations often began the year before—sometimes years in advance.
Even so, it felt unusually early to send notice of a visit planned for the coming spring.
He had only just left Imresia—
The realization struck him all at once.
In this land of unchanging summer, he had lost his sense of time. Yet back in Imresia, the first snow would already be beginning to fall. Only then did it occur to him that several months had passed since his arrival here.
“My Lady… the one who delivered this letter—is he here in the capital?”
“I told them to come on up,” Yuki said with a shrug, “but they've camped out a little ways from Hokurin instead. A Dracoserpens from the north brought the letters to the palace.”
He could hardly blame the man. In this land, where everything towered overhead, even the largest human soldiers seemed pitifully small by comparison. Few would have the courage to place themselves within reach of beings against whom they had no means of defense.
Even if the Dracoserpens meant no harm, to humans they remained an overwhelming, inescapable threat.
That was precisely why they sought to build ties—and something stronger.
“I’m writing a reply now—they asked for one. You want to add anything, Ando?”
“Yes. Forgive my presumption, but… might I borrow something to write with?”
His formality seemed to amuse her.
“Then I shall entrust thee with a letter under the seal of the Empress of Tatsuno. Go forth, overcome all obstacles, and deliver it into the envoy’s own hands.”
At once, Ando dropped to one knee in formal salute.
“I accept this charge with utmost humility.”
Tien and Kiba exchanged a look and shrugged, smiling.
It might not be such a bad idea, she thought, for Yuki to practice the manners and bearing befitting dealings with humans—using Ando as her willing subject.
Ko, who had been watching the exchange, spoke up with careful concern.
“If you intend to press forward with your transformation training before the envoy’s arrival next spring, you must take care not to overexert yourself. Dormancy is, by its nature, a time when the body must be allowed proper rest. And your feet must not be neglected either.”
“I understand. I place myself in your care.” Ando rose at once, already set on what lay ahead, the resolve in him unshaken. Ko watched him for a moment—something like a sigh passing through his gaze—before giving a slow nod. “So be it,” he said at last.
Yuki led Ando to her study and set out what he would need to write.
The sheet before him gave him pause.
Paper. He had handled it before, in the library—rare enough then. This was something else. Fine enough to catch the light; when he tilted it, a faint floral watermark surfaced, as if woven into the page itself.
He held it more carefully than he would a blade.
To be given something like this—so freely—
He kept the thought to himself.
Instead of a pen, there was a calligraphy brush and a solid ink stick to be ground on stone. He knew reed pens and bottled ink; this was another discipline entirely.
Yuki had already turned back to her desk, setting brush to paper, her strokes smooth and assured.
Ando could read—that had been required of him. Writing had rarely been his own task.
The brush yielded at the slightest touch. Too soft. Too quick to betray an unsteady hand.
He did not begin.
For a moment he stood, brush in hand, the page untouched.
Ko took one look.
Without a word, he crossed to a shelf and returned with a smooth stone slate, setting it down between them.
“Easy now, no need to stiffen so. Here—try your hand upon this.”
He dipped the brush in water and drew a character—dark, then fading as it dried.
Ando followed, slow and deliberate, tracing the strokes as they appeared and vanished. Again. And again. His grip eased; the motion settled into him.
Only then did he set brush to paper.
When he lifted the brush again, the letter was done.
He set out to write of Tatsuno—its lands, its people—but paused, and went first to Yuki and Master Ko.
Passing along the affairs of a nation could easily be misconstrued. After all he had been shown here, he would not risk repaying such generosity with even the appearance of impropriety.
They only laughed.
“There’s nothing here we need to hide,” Yuki said. “Write whatever you like.”
Ko gave a low, knowing chuckle.
“I beg your pardon the presumption, but even if all the neighboring realms were to rise against us at once, we would have little difficulty sweeping them aside. Cold is the one weakness of our kind—yet we do not go where it holds dominion. Let them know it, if they will. It does us no harm.”
“And tell them I’m in a better mood if they send sweets,” Yuki added.
Even so, Ando asked that they review it before he sealed the letter.
Yuki skimmed the page, then looked back at him.
“Like I said, we don’t really mind what you write,” she said. “But why not tell them about yourself too? Let them know you’re doing well.”
Ando hesitated.
“…I’m afraid I must decline,” he said at last. “Such matters are not something I should trouble His Majesty or the Prince with.”
Yuki started to speak, but Ko raised a hand, gently stopping her.
Ando had some sense of what she meant to say—but chose not to give it voice.
Neither the King nor the Prince ought to be burdened with the concerns of a single soldier. It was enough that he be known as one who remains of use. Anything more would only distract from the purpose of the letter.
Yuki looked displeased, but Ko checked her once more. With a small, reluctant huff, she sealed the letter.
