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A small corps of trees rise out of the mound, dark brindled bark and rose colored leaves that look completely out of place upon the plains. It’s what happens when a dragon dies, she tells him, voice soft and tempered with respect.
Corrin watched the pair from between the leaves, red eyes blending perfectly with the leaves of the trees that had been created from Anakos’s body. Once the dragon, her true father, had fallen, his body had sort of... disintegrated. No bones were left, not muscles or claws or teeth, only the memories of others were left behind. But she had felt the magic from the great dragon, swirling along the land, settling in the middle of the plains, at the base of the mountain.
A mountain she now called home.
After the war, it had taken years to rebuild, Nohr, Hoshido, and Valla, all struggling to survive in a world of peace. Her lot, arguably, had been the hardest, sending out search parties for any survivors across the shattered land, finding food and water enough to support those survivors, and, unfortunately, gathering up the bodies of those who hadn’t made it so far.
Mozu had been a great help, starting up farming and ranching across the ruined earth, along with a little help from Leo and Byrhinder. Flora, Felicia, Jakob, Gunter, and Silas had helped in rebuilding the castle, giving the survivors a place to live while everyone got back on their feet. Anyone from her armies was welcome to help search out survivors, and most of them did for a time, before the royal families had to return to their lands, and help their own people. Kaze continued to help search long after everyone else had stopped, and he also traveled to and from many towns, gaining resources and inspiring trade.
Silas left on a journey, promising to return some day, and she got letters from him often. After about ten years of rebuilding, she began to start trying to make her country self sufficient, instead of relying on Hoshido and the astral plane. It worked, and by the time she stepped down as queen, and Shigure took over, Valla was well on its way to recovery. She, unlike her friends and allies of the war, did not age. Leo and Takumi both theorized it was due to the fact that she could turn into a dragon. She believed it was because of her father's blood, running through her veins.
So, after years of watching, attending the funerals of old friends and allies and family, after she flew loops over Shigure's funeral, roar echoing across the plains, she left. She disappeared into the hills and the mountains, flying free for a long time, attempting to outrun her own grief.
When she found the strange hill, pulsing with her father's magic, she had settled on the mountain above, carving out a cave for her growing dragon form. She never quite knew why she chose to settle so close to the remains of her birth father. Perhaps as a reminder of what had happened, what could happen to her if she lived to long. Perhaps it was an attempt to get closer to the man, the dragon her mother had fallen in love with. Maybe she just thought it was beautiful.
She settled in the mountain, wandering around, in dragon and in human form. Legends began to pop up around her, and soon enough the people of Valla had deified her, calling her Onmiamici and leaving gifts on the grove of trees. She spread the myth that the strange grove was the body of a dead dragon, and people revered it.
Sitting among the branches, she sighed quietly, watching as the mother and her son wandered away from the trees, back across the field and towards the small village on the edge of the plains. She caught a few glimpses of traits, mannerisms that reminded her of her old friends, her siblings, her love. The ache of loneliness was a dull one now, still stinging sometimes, but less present than the first day she realized she was alone in the world.
She spent her days telling her story to those brave enough to venture up the mountain. It had become almost a rite of passage for royalty, and a way to impress those they liked for others. She never killed again, watching from her mountain top as Valla attempted to keep peace between Hoshido and Nohr, sometimes failing, sometimes succeeding. They asked her for guidance, for blessings, and she offered none. She had enough war to last her lifetime, enough death to last an eternity.
So, swinging her feet, she watched the young couple wander away from the hill, the residual magic clinging to their skin, brightly colored flowers blooming in their wake. She watched, red eyes tired and sad, and so so old, before turning away, back towards her mountain top.