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Unforgiving winds bite at plump cheeks, pull blood up to the surface, just behind young, pale skin. Katsuki’s teeth chatter, vibrations spreading from his jaw to the back of his skull. Shivers wrack his body, his dirtied-white tunic putting up a pitiful fight against the cold. Worn, brown trousers soak below his knees as he treks, pace slow and deliberate as he lifts his legs as high as they’ll go only to stomp the snow-coated ground with the ferocity of at least three overzealous young princes.

“What is the meaning of this?” the Queen demands. She stares down at Katsuki from her throne, manicured fingernails grinding against solid-gold armrests, legs crossed over the sunset crest on the throne’s apron. The same crest is etched into the center of the cresting rail, glowing and brilliant, shining its light over whomever bears the right to sit underneath.

There’s no wrinkle in her brow, no curl of her lip, but her nostrils are flared, and her crimson eyes blaze portents of repercussion.

“They started it!” Katsuki yells, pointing at the two boys on her right. They stand in front of their parents, the king and queen of the nearby kingdom of Tulaerin. The princes, young but older than Katsuki, snivel and pout as they stare Katsuki down, angry and annoyed even though they know he’s right.

“I don’t care who started it!” the queen bellows. The throne room silences in an instant. Tension grips everyone by the throat. 

This is her power. 

Katsuki knows it all too well. 

He locks his jaw, digs his fingernails into his palms. He glares, crimson versus crimson, prosecutor versus defendant, mother versus son. A tale as old as time.

She stands, and the hall holds its breath.  She steps forward, the hem of her lavender gown caressing the floor, whisper-quiet. Her heels click against the marble floor as she walks towards Katsuki, marking the seconds toward something Katsuki knows he should fear, but he holds eye contact with her.

She stops right in front of him, and speaks. “You are the prince of this kingdom. My kingdom,” she emphasizes, voice loud and commanding. “You will not pick fights with other princes, especially when your reason for doing so is one as frivolous as ‘they started it’”.

“Isn’t that how everything starts?” he pouts.

“Don’t get smart with me, brat,” she snaps. “You will set an example as my son and as the prince of Aurelia, starting with giving these young men an apology.”

Katsuki’s eyes widen. 

“No way!” he refuses.

“Katsuki,” she warns, eyes narrowing.

“No! They both tried to fight me and I still won.” Katsuki’s fists tighten. “Not my fault they’re so weak, ” he spits in the princes’ direction. They sneer in return.

“Apologize, or I’ll make you apologize,” she threatens.

“No!”

“Katsuki-”

“Okay,” a timid voice interrupts. King Masaru speaks from his throne. “Let’s just take a moment and quiet down…”

“Shut up, old man!” Katsuki yells.

“Don’t talk to your father like that, you little shit!” his mother squawks.

“ You’re the shit!”

Queen Mitsuki draws her hand back and slaps him across the face.

The silence is deafening.

“Escort the prince out,” the Queen commands, already walking back to her throne.

The guards flank his sides and grab him by both arms. Katsuki screams obscenities as they pull him away, launches insults at his mother’s retreating back, spews rage until his throat burns. She doesn’t turn around, doesn’t even spare him a second glance. The guards push him out the large double doors, hard enough he stumbles back and lands on his rear, and he watches her retake her seat as the double-doors shut in his face. 

“Are you okay?”

Katsuki looks up. First, he sees a small hand reaching down to him. Then he sees a boy his age, roughly 8 years-old, staring down at him with familiar, big, green eyes. He’s another noble kid. Another extra. He doesn’t even have magic, not like Katsuki does. Yet here he is, looking down on him with knit eyebrows like he’s concerned, like he can do anything to help, like Katsuki’s the weak one. 

“That sounded like it hurt.”

He tightens his grip on the dagger in his right hand. Bound leather grooves into his palm. It’s a new feeling, one that Katsuki resolves to one day befriend and master. Like everything else.

Explosions pop from his left palm. The physical manifestation of his own power, bestowed at birth and bred from greatness, loosens the tension in his jaw. He remembers to breathe, takes a big gulp of air, and watches his frosted strife dance into the clouded sky, free at last.

Each step burns his thighs more than the last, but continue he must. He can’t stand to be home right now: under constant surveillance, around those other weakling kids who think he’s their friend, stranded in that massive castle with so many hallways and so many rooms and an enormous staff that waits on him hand and foot and yet somehow he’s alone.

He’s always alone.

Not that it matters. Being lonely is for losers who aren’t next in line for the throne.

“Y-you’re gonna regret this!” one of the princes shouts, pointing at Katsuki from across the garden. His finger shakes through the threat; his knees tremble where he stands. His brother sobs from his seat in the snow, left eye already swelling shut. 

Katsuki takes one step forward and they scramble, twisting around and sprinting back to the castle, leaving nothing behind but their footprints and their defeat.

Katsuki’s eyes don’t leave their retreating backs. He gathers the blood in his mouth and spits, painting red dots in the snow. He sniffs, wiping his bloody nose with the back of his fist. “You pushed me , loser,” he mumbles.

The other noble children crowd and croon, singing his praises like well-trained parrots. 

“Wow, Katsuki! That was so cool!”

“You beat them both all by yourself!”

“You’re so strong!”

Katsuki holds his head high even as tears quiver along his waterline and threaten to spill, even as the taste of metal coats his teeth and tongue, even as his knuckles ache from punches thrown and his cheeks throb from punches received. Through all of the pain, he makes his declaration.

“The best king always wins.” 

Cold continues to claw at him, digging its nails into his left cheek. The sting of his mother’s hand lingers like a phantom, haunting his body and mind and really, really pissing him off.

Katsuki rubs his thumb along the dagger’s grip. He rotates it with a flick of his wrist, examining its intricacies more closely than he ever had in the past.

Katsuki’s father had been teaching him how to properly wield a dagger. “A more-manageable precursor to the sword,” he had said. Between showing him how to twirl the dagger and throwing it square at the center of a target, he emphasized that Katsuki was only allowed to wield the weapon under his supervision, as it was dangerous, and one wrong flick of the wrist or rash decision could change everything.

So, Katsuki stole it.

He slashes the weapon, his movements inexperienced, but a bit of practice and natural talent show in the whistle of the blade as it cuts the air. He does this two more times before stomping over to some trees.

He chooses a tall oak tree and slashes at its trunk. Each strike carves a stripe in the wet bark. They start jagged: not enough force, and then too much, until they appear smooth, calculated, precise, correct.

A grin splits Katsuki’s face apart, growing with every hack. Crimson eyes are wide and focused as he unleashes all his pent up frustration onto the oak tree. Yells rip from his throat with each swing of his arm, drowning out the memories of his father who sits and watches from the wrong side of justice as he’s castigated over and over again, of shitty Deku who thinks he can look down on him with his stupid, pitying eyes, of his mother.

He recalls a move his father had shown him before the winter had turned harsh. Masaru had twirled on his heel,  taken five steps forward, and had turned back around to face the wooden practice post. His father twirled the dagger in his hand once, twice, and with a raise of his arm, released it to launch straight into the center of the target. Katsuki had been amazed and demanded that his father teach him how to do it. Masaru promised the lesson for another time, but Katsuki wasn’t relying on anyone for anything anymore.

He takes several steps away from the tree. One, two, three, four, five, he counts, following his footprints. He spins around, teeters a bit when his foot slips, but quickly regains his balance. He sizes the tree up, picking a spot he hasn’t visibly slashed yet. He twirls the dagger once, almost twice before it slips out of his hands and falls into the snow. He curses and picks it up, hissing when the snow burns his fingers. He twirls the dagger again. Once, twice, and lifts his arm to launch the dagger at his target. The dagger clambers against the tree and falls, lifeless.

Huffing, Katsuki walks toward the dagger and picks it back up. His reflection, blurry and smudged, stares back at him through the steel blade. He recalls his technique, compares it with his father’s technique, and examines the differences.

He repeats the steps. “One, two, three, four, five.” He pivots around, clean and effortless. He twirls the dagger once, twice, and throws it at the tree.

It lands wedged in the bark, lower than where Katsuki had aimed, but it sticks.

He grins, open and wild, screaming his triumph because no one can stop him.

He pulls the dagger from the tree and chants, “Forward march! Bakugou Army!”, flinging his little legs forward one at a time, stomping through the snow, without a destination, but with a mountain of purpose.

Explosions pop from his left palm as he twirls the dagger in his right. Two different skills. Two different weapons. Two different means of showcasing his strength, of defending his people, of taking down his enemies, of winning.

Katsuki laughs into the sky, the staccato of explosions crackling just under the whoosh of the wind. He hasn’t had the ability to tap into his magic for long, but he already knows it will become a comfort: the energy, warm and alive, spinning inside him, like a whirlpool or a tornado, then traveling from his stomach, through his body, and out of his hands. The destructive power he can create is dazzling, the perfect type of magic for someone destined to be the world’s greatest king.

Suddenly, his toe catches. Before Katsuki can even try and regain his balance, he’s face-deep in snow. Pushing himself up, snow biting his palms, he lifts his torso and whips his head around. Glaring over his shoulder, he sees something lumpy and red covered in a blanket of snow. Over the surprise and irritation, he registers that the ground under his stomach is uneven. When he feels it move , he realizes that it isn’t even ground.

Katsuki pushes himself to stand as quickly as he can. With narrowed eyes, Katsuki steps toward the lump. He bends his knees into a crouch and stares. The thing doesn’t move. Whatever he tripped on had definitely been moving, but now, it remains still. Like a log.

Except Katsuki knows better.

He sinks to his knees. Moisture soaks the thighs of his trousers and the bottom hem of his tunic. He brushes snow off of the lump, ignoring his stinging palms. Two swipes later, he uncovers a mound of dull-red scales, the color of redwood, rough and dry despite being coated in snow. A grey-black rope forms a lattice over the scales, like a school of fish caught in a net.

Wait.

Katsuki brushes away the rest of the snow, burning fingers forgotten. He uncovers a snout, round and capped with slitted nostrils. Next come horns, short and curved, that protrude from a reptilian head. Wings like a bat’s curl around the beast’s body, furled like sails. A long tail, about the length of the creature itself, covers short legs and clawed toes. A snare traps one of the legs, jagged metal teeth digging into the beast’s flesh, tethering him to the ground. Dark red trails stream down from the punctures, rivers that converge to form a small pool of red in the snow. 

Is this...

Katsuki flips the dagger and pokes the creature’s body. The creature doesn’t move, doesn’t even stir. Katsuki huffs and pokes it again, harder.

“Oi,” Katsuki tries. “Are you dead?”

The creature’s chest rises and falls, but the movements are shallow and irregular. Puffs of air, visible as his own, leave its nostrils, small clouds of life, weak but withstanding.

Katsuki jabs the butt of the dagger into the dragon’s cheek. “Oi! Wake up!”

The beast’s eyelid lifts its curtain, just a sliver, revealing a slitted black pupil swimming in a sea of yellow. It beholds Katsuki, just for a second, before glazing over, windows to the soul showing Katsuki a fading light, a dimming flame. 

Katsuki moves back to the beast’s torso. He sinks to his knees and examines the material of the net. It’s thick: a multi-fiber rope, nothing superbly strong, nothing your standard high-end merchant wouldn’t sell a buyer for a fair price, but one in which a creature like this, downed and weakened, could find itself inescapably trapped.

Twirling the dagger back around, Katsuki saws at the rope until it snaps. He stops to breathe onto his fingers, but quickly goes back to cutting the beast free. Once the net is broken, he pulls it off and throws it to the side.

The dragon doesn’t move.

Katsuki moves toward the leg and removes the snare. The beast recoils and whimpers. It flails its stumpy legs, trying to kick Katsuki away, but it’s too weak to damage. Katsuki quickly takes a piece of cloth from his pocket, orange and striped black, and wraps it around the wound. He ties it in as tight a knot as his numb fingers will allow and stands. 

He waits.

The dragon still doesn’t move.

“What are you waiting for? Fly away,” Katsuki barks. The dragon stays where it is. Katsuki circles the beast, searches for any leftover net or an unnoticed trap. Behind the dragon, he sees its wings.

One of them is broken.

Katsuki throws his head back and groans. 

What’s he supposed to do now? Just leave it?

He could, but the thought of doing that stirs something unpleasant in his gut. He just spent ten minutes cutting it free, after all. He wasn’t just gonna leave it to die. No.

Katsuki removes his red cloak, lays it in front of the dragon, walks back behind the dragon, turns around, and presses his back against the dragon’s. Using all of his weight and leg-strength, he pushes against the snow until the beast rolls onto the cloak. He circles back to the front, grabs a handful of one end of the cloth, and pulls, dragging the dragon with it. 

He perseveres, not even the weight of a beast twice his size enough to convince him to go home. Not yet.

Time is lost when you’re by yourself, carrying a beast at least one-hundred pounds heavier than you through the snow to a shelter you’re not even sure exists. Just when Katsuki feels like he can’t take another step, he spots a cave shrouded in naked trees. He pushes just that bit farther, legs numb and trembling, clothes soaked, nose running, consciousness hanging by a thread, and just when he feels like he’s going to collapse, his feet touch dirt and gravel. He’s made it.

Katsuki drags the dragon farther inside, away from the entrance and the unforgiving weather. He releases his cloak with a sigh and collapses onto the cave floor. He lays there and breathes, stretching his aching fingers, and battling sleep’s temptation. He watches the dragon breathe next to him, and they stay like that, just breathing next to each other.

When his energy renews, Katsuki stands up. 

“I’ll be back,” he promises.

Sneaking back into the castle had been simple enough. Katsuki is fast and his guards are stupid. They probably didn’t even realize he was gone.

Normally, around this time of day, Katsuki would invite some of his “friends” in town to come and play; or if they were busy, he’d practice using his magic on his own. He also has morning lessons with Aizawa in the library, where Aizawa lays out the assignments Katsuki has to complete and gives him a book or two to read “if he so chooses.''

As if Katsuki wouldn’t read a stupid book if it meant getting smarter.

Today, however, he doesn’t have a lesson. Today, he opens the wooden double-doors of the library on his own, on a mission.

Katsuki steps inside and inhales the smell of parchment from books explored and scavenged, and dust from books abandoned and forgotten. The heels of his boots clunk on the wooden floor, fast and purposeful. Crimson irises scan shelf after shelf, scraping bits of content from the endless literature sleeping soundly within their mahogany homes. They match the floors, dark and red as blood.

He isn’t certain of what he’s looking for, but he knows he’ll know it when he sees it.

He studies the spines, brown and black leather binding worlds of information. Black, green, and gold letters taunt him with elaborate titles arranged in patterns he hasn’t learned the meanings of yet. He stops when he sees a word he recognizes.

Medicine.

Katsuki reaches, raising himself on his tip-toes until he can hook the tips of his fingers where the pages meet the spine. He pushes the book out from the bottom, inching it out of its place until it teeters into his waiting hands.

“What are you doing?”

Katsuki nearly falls over. He spins around, knocking the book to the floor with a loud thud. Katsuki presses his lips together, eyes wide, face warm. Dark eyes scrutinize him behind wild black hair, long and unkempt. Loose black clothes and a long grey scarf wrapped seven times around hide the man’s body language and make it difficult to guess his intentions or his status. Katsuki, however, has known Aizawa as long as he’s been alive, and Katsuki knows he isn’t someone Katsuki can so easily shove aside and scream into submission.

Doesn’t mean he won’t try, though.

“None of your business,” Katsuki spits. 

Aizawa doesn’t move, just holds eye contact, engaging in a battle of wills. Katsuki’s knuckles whiten around the book.

“Are you hurt, Prince Katsuki?”

Katsuki’s brow furrows. “What? No.”

Aizawa’s eyes flit to the book. “Well, if you were hurt”—they flit back to Katsuki—“I would consider visiting the Healer instead of trying to heal any injuries on your own.”

“Leave me alone! I said I’m not hurt.”

“Someone else, then?”

Katsuki remains silent.

“Prince Katsuki-”

“Forget it,” Katsuki bellows. “I’ll figure it out myself.” He snatches the book from Aizawa and begins to storm off.

“You left the castle by yourself.”

Katsuki freezes.

“So?” he mumbles.

“You wandered the outskirts,” Aizawa replies. “That’s a no-man’s land unprotected by Aurelia. You know that.”

“I didn’t wander ,” Katsuki pouts. 

“You put yourself in danger.”

“So what!?” Katsuki’s voice raises. “I can take care of myself!”

“You can’t. Not yet.”

“Yes I can! I’m strong!”

“You are a child .”

Katsuki stomps his foot. The sound bounces off the walls and the shelves. “Listen old man,” he spits, respect for his teacher smothered by anger. “One day, I’m going to rule this stupid kingdom, and I’m going to destroy anyone who stands in my way.” Explosions release from his palms, angry and loud.

Aizawa sighs, gets down on one knee, and levels himself with Katsuki. “You, prince Katsuki, have the tenacity to make anything you want a reality. Your confidence is inspiring, and it will be just one of the qualities you will trademark when you take the throne,” Aizawa stands and looks down at Katsuki. “But you have to live long enough to get that far. You won’t make a very good king if you die tragically young.” 

“I don’t need your protection,” Katsuki grits out.

“Perhaps not. Perhaps there isn’t anything dangerous out there. Perhaps there isn’t even a chance that you’ll get hurt. But the only way I can know that is if I’ve seen it for myself.” 

“Wh-”

“From now on,” Aizawa cuts him off, “you are to tell me if you ever want to leave the castle grounds. I will take you where you want to go, and I will bring you home when you are needed back here.”

“I said I don’t need your help! ” he yells. He brushes past Aizawa, marching toward the double doors when Aizawa speaks again.

“If you ever leave the castle grounds without an escort, I will have to inform the Queen.”

Katsuki freezes.

“Why?” he asks, voice small.

“If the future of this kingdom is jeopardized, I have to do everything I can to protect it. To protect you.”

“I don’t need-”

“The more time you spend fighting with me, the longer your friend suffers.”

Katsuki’s mouth snaps shut. Ten tense seconds pass between them. They prick at Katsuki’s skin like ants. He feels like his head is going to explode: Aizawa is right, and Katsuki is powerless.

“Fine,” Katsuki relents through gritted teeth.

Aizawa’s shoulders lower a centimeter, a change so very slight that only someone like Katsuki would ever notice. “Let’s find the Healer.”

And that’s how Katsuki ends up traversing the same trail a third time, sandwiched between Aizawa and the Healer Chiyo, a small, old woman with a wide smile, a walking cane, and the respect of the entire globe. People from countries all over the world make the journey to Aurelia, bringing their sick, to visit the woman whose magic can heal anything and anyone.

It still pisses Katsuki off that they have to walk so damn slowly, though.

When they reach a tall oak tree with a sliced-up trunk, Katsuki stops in his tracks. Suddenly he’s brought back to that moment of catharsis, where he released every unbridled emotion he had onto an object that could take it all. It feels like going back in time and watching himself from the outside: an uncontrolled, angry little boy giving into his incessant need to prove that he isn’t weak, to prove that he deserves respect, to prove that he can’t be hurt. 

“Prince Katsuki?”

Katsuki blinks. He turns to Aizawa, standing several paces ahead of him. Scrutinizing him.

Katsuki clicks his tongue and jogs up to him and Chiyo.

He doesn’t say a word.

Although it takes twice as long as it would have were Katsuki on his own, they finally reach the mouth of the cave. 

“I left it in here.”

“You call your friend ‘it’?” Healer Chiyo questions. “It doesn’t sound like you two are very close.” She hums, then looks at him and smiles, eyes closed and wrinkling. “What a kind heart you have, young prince.” She reaches out and scratches the back of his head. He slaps her hand away with a growl.

“It’s not my friend. It isn’t even a person.”

Chiyo and Aizawa furrow their brows. Katsuki rolls his eyes and enters the cave.

The dragon is right where he left it: panting each breath, eyes half-closed and vacant. It doesn’t even make a move as the three humans approach.

“So, can you heal it or what?”

Aizawa and the Healer Chiyo stare, eyes wide and mouths agape.

“This is a dragon,” Chiyo breathes.

“Duh,” Katsuki grunts.

“ Where did you find a dragon ?” Aizawa asks.

“You saw the trap on the way here. It was lying in the snow. I cut it free.” Katsuki turns to the dragon and nudges it with his toe. “I think it’s dying.”

Chiyo taps Katsuki twice on the shoulder with the back of her hand, a request he move. He steps aside as she kneels in front of the dragon. “It looks like a baby,” she whispers. She strokes its snout, almost reverently, feels every scale under her palm. She removes the tourniquet from its leg, exposing the wound from the snare.

“You did well to stop the bleeding, young prince. Perhaps you should reject your royal destiny and study medicine under me, instead.”

“What did you just say!?” Katsuki takes a step toward Chiyo, but Aizawa stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

Chiyo looks to Aizawa. “He’s very bright, this one. And full of life.”

“I know,” Aizawa answers, grip firm as Katsuki tries squirming out of it.

Chiyo turns back toward the dragon. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, then leans down and kisses the top of its forehead.

A glowing light shrouds the dragon’s body, seafoam green and sparkling. Katsuki’s eyes widen as the leg-wound closes on its own, as the broken wing repairs itself, and as the dragon’s dull-red scales darken and start to shine like a million ruby jewels. 

After twenty seconds the light dissipates, and there lies the dragon, good as new.

It still doesn’t move.

“Why isn’t it waking up?” Katsuki questions.

“My magic speeds up the healing process, but it takes a lot of energy from the one being healed. This beast needs rest,” Chiyo explains.

“So it worked?”

“Oh, yes,” she turns to Katsuki, wearing a wide smile. “You may want to bring some food for when it wakes up. I’m sure it will be very hungry.”

“I already thought of that, old lady,” Katsuki grumbles. He drops the sack he brought from his shoulder and rummages through its contents. He pulls out two loaves of bread and a slab of salted meat wrapped in parchment. He walks up to the dragon and lays the food down by its sleeping head. It doesn’t stir, breathing even and steady, stomach rising and falling.

Katsuki dusts his hands and stands. He turns around to ask what else he has to do and sees the Healer Chiyo and Aizawa smirking at him, like they know something he doesn’t. He bristles.

“What!?” he barks.

Aizawa ignores his question. “And your cloak?” he asks through quirked lips, nodding toward the dragon sleeping on red velvet. 

Katsuki looks back at the sleeping dragon, red and alive and finally at peace after toeing the line of life and death for gods know how long, and like air leaking out of a balloon, his anger leaves him. He could snatch his cloak back, but something in Katsuki doesn’t want to disturb the rest this beast, this warrior against death itself, has definitely earned.

“I’ll get it tomorrow,” Katsuki grumbles. 

“You want to come back?” Aizawa asks, following Katsuki toward the mouth of the cave.

“Obviously. You heard the old lady. That thing’s gotta eat.”

The next day, after his morning lessons, Aizawa walks Katsuki back to the cave. He tells Katsuki he will be nearby, and will return when it comes time for them to return to the castle. Katsuki “yeah-yeah’s” him, adjusts the strap of his sack, and enters the cave. 

He expects to see the dragon asleep where he left it, but the cave is empty. He looks around, but all he sees are rocks of varying sizes scattered toward the sides of the cave.

Guess it must’ve left.

Katsuki clicks his tongue and scowls at the ground. He pouts and kicks at some gravel and dirt. He came all this way, even stole food from the kitchen, and for what?

He’s in a cave in the middle of nowhere. Alone.

He huffs and plops on the cave floor. Sloughing his sack off his shoulder, he reaches inside and pulls out a piece of bread. He brings it to his lips when he hears a noise. Several little noises, actually. He pauses, teeth buried a millimeter in crust. He waits, but the noise is gone. All he hears is the ring of silence.

He pulls the bread from his mouth and rises to stand. He walks slowly, keeping each step as light as he can, further into the cave. He squints into the darkness, endless and unknown, and is about to ignite some explosions for light when he hears the noise again. Katsuki whips back around, neck almost snapping, and sees a tail sticking out of the sack he brought. Katsuki watches, frozen to his spot, transfixed by the red tail swishing from side to side, dusting gravel with every lazy swipe. He holds his breath when the tail backs away from the sack, followed by stumpy legs, a ruby-scaled body, and finally the dragon’s head, which holds a slab of meat between its teeth. The dragon must sense him, however, because as soon as it is fully out of the sack, it darts its head toward Katsuki. They lock eyes, yellow meeting crimson, waiting in stillness for something to shift.

Katsuki steps forward.

The dragon’s eyes widen a fraction before it scurries toward the cave wall and ducks behind a rock.

“Oi!” Katsuki yells. 

Silence.

Katsuki stomps over to the rock and shoots down to a crouch. The dragon curls around itself, one clawed foot guarding the meat, yellow eyes glowing as they stare at him. Its pupils are blown wide, a sign that Katsuki knows—definitely NOT from reading a book about dragons and their biology last night—means it’s either excited or scared. Considering the circumstances, he guesses it’s the latter.

“It’s okay,” Katsuki whispers. He reaches a hand out, fingers itching to touch. The dragon pulls the meat closer to its body and growls, low and cautionary. Katsuki thinks he might be scared if he wasn’t so fascinated, and if the dragon didn’t have one little tooth poking from its upper lip. Warning ignored, he extends his hand closer to the dragon’s head. Its pupils dilate completely, swallowing almost all of the yellow surrounding them as they follow the hand. Before Katsuki can react, sharp teeth dig into his flesh.

“Ow! What the-” Katsuki yanks his hand away. Blood beads from three spots on the back of his hand, red pearls that grow and then break, weeping. He growls, eyes blazing at the retreating dragon. He shoots his hand back out, grabs the dragon by the tail, and pulls. Digging its claws into the ground, the dragon pulls against Katsuki. It’s a tug of war, and Katsuki’s never lost anything in his life. 

Katsuki leans back on his heels, grunting through gritted teeth as he pulls with all his might. The dragon can’t fight him forever, and it doesn’t. After several seconds it gives, claws slipping from the ground in defeat. The weight shift causes Katsuki to fall backward on his ass with a yelp, pulling the dragon with him. He sends it flying over his head, behind him, and onto the opposite side of the cave. 

The dragon shakes its head, reorienting itself. It trills, distressed, and scurries to the center of the cave. It crawls under Katsuki’s cloak, the one he had left with it yesterday, and hides.

“What the hell?” Katsuki snarls. He stands, dusts his hands on his pants, and walks toward the skulking lump of red velvet. “I save you, drag you all the way here through the snow , have you healed, leave you food, bring you more food, and you bite me?” He stares at the lump, watches it shift under his cloak, grits his teeth, and exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “Ungrateful little—,” he mumbles, plopping back on the ground to sit. He turns his back to the creature and pouts, crosses his arms and tries to will away his anger, his...disappointment. The cloak rustles behind him, but he doesn’t turn around. Attempting to forget it even exists, he closes his eyes and breathes, smelling the damp sediment that comes from the mouth of the cave.

“You...saved me?”

Crimson eyes shoot open. His heart speeds to a mile a minute and he swears he felt his stomach ricochet around his insides. He stands and whips around, palms sparking, teeth bared, at the ready. 

Wearing his cloak, where the dragon used to be, sits a young boy, roughly his own age, looking up at Katsuki through thick dark lashes. The boy’s eyes are comparable to his own: red and striking, but bigger. Rounder. Softer. A shock of red hair, brighter than any hair Katsuki’s ever seen, falls straight to his chin, long bangs reaching halfway down a small nose.

What makes Katsuki’s jaw fall, though, are the two red horns that stick out of the boy’s forehead, curved at the ends, just like the dragons’ had been.

He’s not wearing a shirt, his only clothing a pair of torn, warm tan pants of a cheap, thin material Katsuki couldn’t name if he tried. The boy holds the cloak around him with a fist, but it doesn’t cover him completely because protruding from the boy’s back are two large red wings.

“Are you...the dragon?”

The boy nods. His shoulders hunch forward; the hand that grips Katsuki’s cloak trembles; ruby-red eyes stay locked on Katsuki’s, never blinking. 

“Well, then yeah, I did save you,” Katsuki declares, crossing his arms with a smirk.

“...why?” the boy asks, voice soft.

Katsuki furrows his brow. Why? What kind of question is that? 

“I’d be a crappy king if I just left you there to die,” he answers, squinting at the boy.

Suddenly, the boy’s eyes light up, like rubies in the sunlight. He stands up, legs wobbling. Katsuki guesses this is the first time he’s taken this form in days. “You’re a king!?” he asks, sharp, pointed teeth peeking from his top lip. 

“Well...not yet,” Katsuki replies. “But one day, I will be.” He smirks. “And I’m gonna be the best!”

“Whoa,” the boy breathes. “I’m just a normal kid, but you went out of your way to save me! That’s so manly! Thank you, Your Highness!” the boy yells, lowering his torso to bow, showing Katsuki the crown of his head.

Katsuki laughs, and it echoes off the sides of the cave wall. “What are you talking about? Normal ? You’re a dragon . Or,” his brow scrunches, “half a dragon?”

The boy laughs, the sound gentle and pleasant. “Yeah, something like that.”

Katsuki doesn’t know what to say. He has so many questions. They buzz around his brain like bees, and it’s like they’ve flown into his mouth and stung his tongue so it’s too swollen to form words.

A growl cuts through the silence.

The boy clutches his stomach. Katsuki watches as a blush dusts his cheeks, and the boy gives him a quivering smile.

“Sorry. Were you gonna eat that?” he points to the meat lying on the ground, coated in pebbles and dirt.

Katsuki grimaces. “Not a chance.”

The boy grins, showing all his pointed teeth and Katsuki has to squint because wow. That’s bright.

And that’s how Prince Katsuki of Aurelia ends up eating on the floor of a cave next to a half-human half-dragon hybrid. 

He watches the boy rip into meat and bread, crying tears of joy at how good food tastes after so long. Katsuki stares at the roll of bread in his own hand, far more curious than hungry.

“How’d you end up in that net?” Katsuki asks.

The boy swallows. “I was flying for a while, I don’t know how long, looking for my parents.” He frowns. “There was a bad storm one night and I lost them. I was trying to find them, and then I got hit by a net!” he yells, throwing his arms out, eyes wide.

“Your wing was broken.”

“Yeah,” the boy pouts. “I landed on it when I hit the ground. There was lotsa snow, but it still really hurt!” 

“And the snare?” Katsuki questions.

The boy smiles, sheepish. “I tried getting out of the net and it got my foot.”

Katsuki huffs a laugh. “Idiot.”

“Hey! That’s mean.” The boy pouts.

Katsuki ignores him. “It looked like dragon hunters to me. I didn’t know any were even near Aurelia.”

The boy's eyes widen. “D...dragon hunters?”

Katsuki bites into his roll. “Y’know,” he talks through the mouthful, “guys who trap dragons and sell ‘em.” He swallows the bread and turns to the boy, who stares at him, eyes still blown wide. “Did you...not know about dragon hunters?”

“I know about them but…” his eyebrows furrow. “What if they got my parents?”

They stare at each other, silent. 

The boy stands. “I need to find them!” he shouts, charging toward the cave’s entrance. Katsuki rushes to stand and runs to the boy, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“But-”

“You almost died looking for them last time.” Katsuki pulls the boy’s shoulder, spinning him so they’re face to face. “Besides, they’re probably far away somewhere, looking for you. Either way, right now you need to worry about yourself.”

The boy’s eyes well up with tears. “But they’re probably really worried!”

“They’ll be even more worried if you’re dead .”

The boy’s mouth snaps shut. Tears leak from his eyes and stream down his cheeks. Katsuki cringes when the boy starts to sniffle, squirms when the boy wipes his tears with his fists. It’s unfamiliar, having someone cry in front of him when it wasn’t his fault. He shifts from foot to foot. His fingers twitch, reaching for an antidote to this kid’s sadness that doesn’t exist. He opens his mouth to say something that might be reassuring when a third voice interrupts.

“Prince Katsuki. It’s time to go back,” Aizawa’s voice drones. The crunch of his footsteps halts when he nears the two of them. Katsuki sees the shock, and he can feel the questions Aizawa has when he sees the dragon boy. He’ll save that for the walk to the castle. 

He turns back to the boy. “Stay here. For now. There’s a better chance they’ll find you before you find them.”

The boy sniffs, but nods, eyes locked with Katsuki’s, big and vulnerable. Trusting.

He trusts Katsuki.

It makes him feel like he’s glowing.

Katsuki pushes the new feeling down and stomps toward Aizawa. “I’ll come back tomorrow with more food and some better pants. You’re not gonna starve or freeze to death,” he calls over his shoulder.

“I’m Eijirou!” the boys calls. Katsuki stops and turns, faces the boy with horns and wings and sharp teeth and warm ruby-red eyes. “Kirishima Eijirou,” he finishes.

Katsuki smirks. “Bakugou Katsuki.”

Katsuki does return the next day, as well as the day after, and the day after that. Before he knows it, he’s dedicated every day, between midday and evening, to spending time with Eijirou.

He still has to uphold his princely duties, which at the ripe young age of eight consist only of his reading, writing, and magic lessons with Aizawa. He continues training with his father, picking up on new dagger tricks faster than anyone had expected. Except him, of course. He knew learning how to wield a dagger would be a piece of cake.

“Keep this up, Katsuki, and I’ll find you a proper sword-fighting teacher,” his father had said one morning. Katsuki had beamed, eyes scrunching to slits as he pounded the air in victory.

He couldn’t wait to tell Eijirou about it, and when he did, Eijirou’s giant eyes grew even larger, and as Eijirou jumped around singing praises about how cool and manly he is, about how he deserves this after working so hard, Katsuki felt his heart do somersaults.

He gets a lot of compliments from a lot of people. Everyday. They ooh and aah over his intelligence, his status, and his magic. They tell him how amazing he is, how talented he is, how he’ll be a great king one day.

They’re right, of course, but these accolades are a normal part of his life, like breathing. Everyone in Aurelia knows who he is, knows what he’s capable of, and knows what he will become.

He’s never felt like he’s had to earn recognition before, but he finds himself wanting to earn Eijirou’s.

Today, Katsuki shows Eijirou his magic. Fighting with his friends in the gardens, exercising their magic on each other, has helped Katsuki grow stronger, each explosion bigger, louder, and more powerful than the last. The lights that dance from his palms reflect from Eijirou’s eyes as he watches from his seat on the cave floor, mesmerized.

“That’s so cool, Katsuki!” Eijirou yells over the pops and crackles. “You’ve got way better magic than I do.”

Katsuki shuts off his magic and furrows his brow. “Wait. You have magic?”

Eijirou cocks his head, the ends of his hair grazing his shoulder. “Yeah? Did you think I didn’t?”

“I thought you being a dragon was your magic.”

Eijirou laughs, the skin outside his eyes crinkling. “I have magic magic, too. It’s not very flashy, but…” Eijirou stands, holds his hand out, and Katsuki watches as his skin suddenly hardens.

“I wish it was different,” Eijirou says, smiling sadly. “I want to be strong, like you, but I don’t know that I ever will be.”

Katsuki runs a finger over the hardened skin. It’s not much harder than normal skin, but Katsuki’s explosions had started as nothing more than tiny pops.

“You’re only gonna get stronger if you work at it,” Katsuki murmurs. Eijirou’s skin softens under his finger, back to normal. Instead of pulling away, Katsuki takes Eijirou’s hand in his own and leads them outside the cave. He lets go of the hand and walks farther forward, snow crunching under his boots, cold air sharp and stinging, a precursor for what he’s about to initiate. He spins around, facing a very confused Eijirou who stands several paces away, red hair a blaze whipping in the wind. 

“So, show me what you got,” Katsuki challenges, planting his feet farther apart, leaning his upper body forward, readying his stance.

Eijirou takes a few seconds, sizing Katsuki up, questioning himself and whether he wants to participate in Katsuki’s challenge. Katsuki watches three white clouds leave his own mouth before Eijirou squares his shoulders, balls his hands into fists, bares his teeth, and hardens his skin. He doesn’t harden everywhere, and it only provides a bit more protection than his normal skin barrier, but Katsuki can’t wipe away the animal grin that splits his face when he sees the way Eijirou stands, ready to face Katsuki with everything he’s got.

Eijirou charges Katsuki, swinging fist after inexperienced fist. Katsuki dodges left and right, down and around, avoiding the onslaught but encouraging the dance. Eijirou is a bulldozer, not quite as strong but just as persistent. Katsuki has the advantage of years of training and practice. Eijirou, well, Eijirou’s a goddamn dragon.

Adrenaline shoots through every vein in Katsuki’s body as Eijirou’s punches come closer and closer to touching him. Katsuki pushes his palm against Eijirou’s left side and releases a blast as big as his own head.

Katsuki’s heartbeat thumps in his ears. His chest rises and falls, puffs of breath the ghosts of his efforts. The smoke clears and there’s Eijirou, standing right in front of him. The spot where he launched his explosion is dusted with soot, but the skin is unmarred, hardened more than the other parts of his body.

Katsuki jumps back. Eijirou grins at him and Katsuki feels a sting on his cheek. He touches the spot and looks at his fingers. Blood.

Eijirou nicked him.

“That won’t work on me, Blasty!” he shouts, grinning.

Katsuki grits his teeth. A rush of intensity bubbles inside him, angry and excited, roaring and violent. Energy swirls warm and loud and insistent in his center, desperate to escape. Katsuki’s palms spark as he charges, roaring as he hits Eijirou with explosion after explosion. Eijirou crosses his arms to guard, but it isn’t enough.

Soon, Eijirou is in the snow, shirt tattered and smoking, skin soft and stained with soot. Katsuki stands over Eijirou as he tries to stand, his victory decided when Eijirou pushes off the ground on trembling arms and slips back down, red hair splaying across the white snow like a bouquet of roses in a garden of baby’s-breath.

A groan vibrates from the mess of red hair. Katsuki squats down and pushes Eijirou over. He rolls onto his back, the tips of his teeth peeking from his upper lip as he pants.

“You were saying?”

Eijirou groans again, louder, and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “You’re so strong, Katsuki. It’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair,” Katsuki stands and stares down at Eijirou expectantly.

Eijirou holds out his hand. “Help me?”

Katsuki’s eyes widen, expression almost affronted. He clicks his tongue, but grabs Eijirou’s hand anyway, pulling him to stand. “You don’t need my help, oof -” Eijirou falls onto Katsuki’s side, allowing Katsuki to support part of his weight. Katsuki grimaces. “You’re strong enough on your own.”

Eijirou laughs, the sound lightening Katsuki’s load just a little. “Maybe, but it’s easier when you help me.”

“What’s easier?” Katsuki asks.

Eijirou thinks for a moment, humming, rolling his eyes toward the sky.

“Everything!” he answers, eyes closed and smiling.

Katsuki blushes. 

Eijirou’s honesty, his kindness, his generosity of spirit, overwhelm Katsuki in a way that’s unfamiliar. It feels uncomfortable, but it also feels...sort of exhilarating, like every cell in his body activating all at once, like he could take over the world, or like he could float into the atmosphere and forget the world even exists.

“Didja bring anything to eat? I’m starving,” Eijirou says, rambling on and on like he didn’t just give Katsuki the most fun fight he’s ever had, like he wasn’t a bottomless well of kindness Katsuki could take from without losing anything, like he isn’t the brightest thing Katsuki has ever seen.

“What’s been keeping you so busy, Katsuki?”

Katsuki looks up from his dinner plate, where his roast duck has cooled to room temperature. His mother brings a golden forkful of duck to her mouth and bites, crimson eyes burning into Katsuki like cigarettes. 

“Nothin’,” Katsuki answers. He turns back to his duck, moving it around his plate with his own fork of gold.

“I hardly see you anymore, except for dinner,” his mother comments.

Katsuki shrugs.

Family dinners are a nightly event; the royal family gathers in the big, cold dining room, sits at a table far too long for a family of three, and pretends their feelings for each other aren’t caustic and complicated.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Aizawa lately. More than normal.”

“How do you know that?” Katsuki asks. 

“I’m the Queen. People tell me things, brat.” She smirks. 

Katsuki clicks his tongue. “He’s…”

It’s easier when you help me.

...helping me with my magic.”

“ Helping you? ”

Katsuki bristles.

“Since when do you ask for help with anything ?”

“I didn’t ,” he spits. 

She reaches over her plate and smacks the back of his head. “Sit up straight and don’t shout at the dinner table, you little terror,” her voice echoes off the walls, reverberating and re-hitting their ears like a tuning fork.

“Don’t hit me , you old bag!” Katsuki yells. 

She reaches back and pinches his cheek. Hard. “Don’t do things that make you deserve it , then.”

Katsuki jerks his head away and seethes. He tries to refocus on his meal but his appetite is gone. He grinds his teeth. Breathes through his nose.

“I think it’s a good thing he’s spending more time on you,” his mother plops her elbow on the table, rattling the silverware, and rests her cheek in her hand. “He’s one of the only people in this kingdom who sees your tenacity. Not just your aggression.” She pops another bite of duck into her mouth. “Hopefully he’ll teach you some fuckin’ discipline,” she finishes around the mouthful.

Katsuki bares his teeth and glares into the table. He tightens his grip on his fork. It trembles in his hand.

“Katsuki’s dagger techniques have improved much more quickly than I thought they would,” his father chimes from across the table. He gives Katsuki a smile. Katsuki sneers in return. “I’ve already made arrangements for a swordmaster to begin his training,” he tries, addressing his wife.

“Y’hear that, kid?” his mother turns to him. “Are you excited?”

“I guess,” Katsuki mumbles.

“What was that? If you’re gonna talk, speak clearly!” she booms.

“I FUCKIN’ GUESS!” Katsuki roars.

“I TOLD YOU NOT TO YELL AT THE DINNER TABLE!” she yells.

“You two...please...you’re scaring the staff…”

“Don’t butt in, old man!” Katsuki screams. 

“ You’re the one who’s misbehaving.” She stands and whips his seat around to face the staff, who watch the royal family while wearing their nonchalance like costumes. She buries her hand in his blonde pouf of hair and pushes his head down in a bow. “I apologize on behalf of my miscreant son,” she stays in a gentle tone, bowing her own head. “He’s still learning manners.”

He fists the legs of his pants, breathing in through his nose until his lungs are full, and out through his teeth until his stomach aches. His vision is red and blurry and his nose stings, but he can’t cry. Not here. Not now.

That night, alone in his room, he punches his pillow until it’s nothing but empty cloth. He falls asleep in a bed of feathers, angry tears staining cracks on blotchy cheeks.

“Ei!” Katsuki shouts. He shakes the rain from his hair, sloughs his sack full of food off his shoulder and drops it onto the gravel. A shiver wracks his body as he walks into the cave. He pulls his cloak tighter around his body. It’s wet, but he somehow feels like he’ll be colder without it on.

“Hey, Katsuki!” Ei shouts. He’s sitting on his knees in front of the cave wall, but stands and runs over to Katsuki without hesitation. He’s grinning, bouncing on the balls of his feet, despite being shirtless on this particularly harsh winter day.

“Don’t you ever get cold?” Katsuki asks.

“Not really. Sometimes at night, but I use your cloak as a blanket,” Ei answers. “Oh! Wanna see what I did?”

Without waiting for an answer, Eijirou takes his hand and walks him over to where he had been sitting. He pulls Katsuki to the ground and points. There’s a drawing carved into the cave wall, one Katsuki is certain wasn’t there yesterday, of three dragons: two large and one small.

“It’s my moms and me!” Ei crows. 

Katsuki looks at Ei, brow furrowed. “You have two moms?” he asks. 

“Yup!” Ei smiles. His teeth manage to reflect the one ray of sunlight from outside, like all of the light in the world is honor-bound to live inside and emanate from the dragon boy Kirishima Eijirou.

But even Ei’s boundless light can’t completely fend off the darkness that lingers around Katsuki like a shadow. He remembers the night before; he remembers the smacks, the insults, the anger, the tears.

Two moms.

“That sucks,” he says.

“Hey!” Ei frowns. “I love my moms.” 

“Why?” Katsuki grimaces, eyes wide. “All moms do scream at you and smack you and embarrass you in front of everyone.” He remembers the faces of the dinner staff, and the faces of his court, and the faces of the other princes all those weeks ago. He remembers his mother’s eyes, the exact same shade of crimson as his own but so much colder.

Eijirou looks at him, lips parted, eyes searching. Katsuki suddenly feels like an open wound, exposed, vulnerable. His skin crawls and there’s this slight pressure behind his eyes. He feels nervous. Why does he feel so nervous?

He turns away and scowls at the cave floor. The ringing silence is all he can hear. He feels like he’s hanging from a cliff, an endless drop below, and if he says anything else he won’t be able to hang on any longer; he’ll slip and he’ll fall and he’ll fall and fall and he’ll keep falling until-

“My moms yell at me sometimes.”

Katsuki blinks. The ringing stops.

He turns his head. Ei stares at the ground, locks of straight red hair blocking his face. “I get lost a lot when I travel with my parents because I get distracted. One time, I saw a cool looking bird and then I was in a desert. Alone.” He traces swirls on the ground with his finger. “They found me a few hours later and yelled at me for, like, an hour.” He snorts. 

“Then, we flew over a forest and it started raining,” he continues. “We were supposed to fly all the way to the Uthua Islands, but the thunder scared me. I started crying, so my moms flew us down to a cave and we stayed there until it stopped.” He digs his clawed fingers into the dirt. “Even though I got lost and they had to look for me, even though I’m a coward who can’t even fly in the rain, they still hugged me and sang to me until I fell asleep.”

A boom of thunder startles Katsuki; it makes Eijirou jump out of his skin.

Drops of water form tiny dark circles on the ground in front of Ei’s knees. His hands tremble where they’re planted in the dirt. He lifts his head to look at Katsuki, and Katsuki’s eyes widen when he sees tears streaming down Eijirou’s face.

“I really miss them, Katsuki.”

Eijirou’s sobs echo off the cave walls, and it’s a cacophony of sounds that pierce Katsuki’s heart like a hundred harpoons. Eijirou’s nose runs. His cheeks turn red. He bares his teeth and a thin line of drool drips from his bottom lip. 

Eijirou lets his tears fall freely, cries freely, feels freely, and in this moment Katsuki isn’t sure if he’s more pained, awestruck, or jealous. 

What he is sure of is that he should do something. He hugs his knees and glares at the drawing, searching for the right words.

“You’ll see them again,” Katsuki finally says, certain.

Eijirou sniffs, wiping his snot and tears with the backs of his hands. “...you really think so?” he asks.

“If your moms are as perfect and nice as you say, then yeah, I do.”

Eijirou looks back to the ground, pout puffing his lower lip. “How can you be sure?” he mumbles.

Katsuki smacks his hands on both of Eijirou’s cheeks and lifts his head until they’re eye to eye. Two rubies shine into his eyes, pure, uncorrupted, even under crushing pressure. “Because I know everything, dummy,” Katsuki answers. He flicks Eijirou’s forehead before standing. “Now stop being sad,” he says as he offers one of his hands. “Until your parents find you, you’re sticking with me. Got it?”

Another roll of thunder roars through the cave, but this time, Eijirou doesn’t flinch. He stares at the hand for four beats, then looks up at Katsuki. 

He smiles and takes it.

“Yeah.”

“What’s flying like?”

Eijirou stops mid-snow angel. Katsuki sits next to him, snowflakes collecting in his hair. He’d been watching Eijirou try to make snow angels while catching snowflakes on his tongue at the same time. His flapping arms reminded Katsuki of birds, when he remembered that Ei is an actual dragon.

“Windy,” Eijirou answers.

Katsuki grabs a fistful of snow and drops it onto Eijirou’s face. He sputters and spits, but he’s laughing. Katsuki smirks. “You’re an idiot.”

Eijirou pouts. “Want me to show you?”

Katsuki raises a brow. “Show me what?” 

Without warning, Eijirou shifts into a dragon and grabs Katsuki by the back of his shirt.

“Wh-” Katsuki starts, but then he’s in the air, legs dangling over a white sheet of ground that drifts farther and farther away. “What are you doing ? Put me down!” Katsuki yells.

Eijirou flies to the tops of the tallest oak trees he can find. Katsuki yells and thrashes until Eijirou drops him on a thick branch, very high above the ground. His landing is wobbly, and Katsuki grips the bark for balance. He scowls, ready to rip Eijirou apart, but Eijirou is flying in circles around the tree, powerful wings extended their full breadth. Katsuki twists his head to watch, somehow understanding that this is a sight only a very lucky few get to see in their entire lifetimes. Eijirou does one last loop in the air—in front of Katsuki—lowers himself onto the branch, and shifts back into his hybrid form, all soft cheeks and big, red eyes and long, thick eyelashes.

“You’re pretty good at that,” Katsuki comments. “Shifting back and forth, I mean.”

“Thanks!” Eijirou beams. “I’ve been doing it forever, so...” He shrugs, smiling.

Looking forward, Katsuki realizes they can see the whole kingdom of Aurelia from their perch.

“Is that where you live?” Eijirou asks. He points to the grey castle in the center of the kingdom, tall and proud in its nobility.

“Yeah,” Katsuki replies.

“It’s so big ,” Eijirou breathes.

“It’s so boring ,” Katsuki groans. “There’s nothing to do in that crappy place.”

“How can you say that?” Eijirou criticizes, whipping his head toward Katsuki. “You have books and swords and all the food you can eat and a dad who teaches you stuff and a teacher who teaches you stuff and friends who—”

“Those extras aren’t my friends.”

“But...aren’t they?” Eijirou asks. “They play with you, right?”

“Only because I’m the prince,” Katsuki grumbles. “Their parents are nobles who have it good with my mom.” Katsuki picks a piece of bark off the branch and tosses it. He counts five full seconds in his head before it hits the ground. “They just follow me around and watch me do stuff because their own lives are boring, and they like to go into town and brag to the other kids about how they know me.”

“Then there’s Deku. That useless loser,” Katsuki spits. “He’s always looking down on me even though he doesn’t even have magic.” 

Are you okay? That sounded like it hurt. 

Katsuki grinds his teeth.

“Hey, that’s mean,” Eijirou chastises. “You can’t be mean to people just because they don’t have magic.”

“He’s weak ,” Katsuki spits. “He tried to help me even though he knows he’s weak.”

“He probably just cares about you,” Eijirou argues. “Or he didn’t wanna see you sad. I don’t like seeing you sad, either.”

Katsuki’s heart flips. His face feels warm. He tells himself it’s from the cold and turns his head back toward Aurelia.

“It doesn’t matter,” Katsuki mumbles. “Once I’m king, none of it will matter. I’ll be the strongest king to ever exist and I’ll finally get the respect I deserve. And you’ll be at my coronation.”

Eijirou’s eyes light up. “Really? You want me to come?”

“I’m ordering you to come. As king.”

Eijirou wipes away his smile. He shuts his eyes and faces Katsuki, bows, and says, “Yes, My King.”

Katsuki’s eyes widen, and his face heats up again. His stomach churns in a way that isn’t unpleasant, but still staggering. Then, he sees the corner of Eijirou’s mouth twitch. 

He shoves him. “Shut up, asshole!”

Eijirou laughs loud and long, and Katsuki has to force down his own smile. Eijirou swings an arm around Katsuki and rests his head on his shoulder. His hair is soft.

“Y’know,” Eijirou murmurs, “I miss my moms, and it’s scary that I almost died, but I’m really glad I met you.”

Katsuki’s ears burn. How Eijirou can say stuff like that, like he’s talking about the weather, is far beyond him. He leaves himself so open, constantly showing Katsuki his whole hand. Katsuki could crush him at any moment, could blast him in the face or push him off this branch, but he sits so close to him anyway, makes a nook of Katsuki’s neck, trusts him so completely. He makes Katsuki’s head spin because Katsuki just doesn’t get it . 

He makes Katsuki think that maybe, maybe it’s okay to be vulnerable. 

Katsuki doesn’t answer him, but he lays his head on top of Eijirou’s; and while he looks down at his castle from high up a tree miles and miles away, he’s never felt more at home.

The scent of smoke and burnt caramel mix in Katsuki’s nose, cling to his clothes like a second skin. His palms sting and his shoulders ache. A bead of sweat races from his temple to his chin and drops onto the snow. He rests his hands on his knees to catch his breath, a task made more difficult while up on top of a hill. 

Eijirou circles above him, most comfortable in the air. He flies over the cliffside and loops back around to Katsuki. He hovers, wings flapping at the ground, arms crossed as he smirks down at him. “Don’t worry Katsuki, you’ll get it one day,” he teases.

“Shut up ,” Katsuki yells. “I almost had it that time.” They’d been practicing their magic quite a bit with each other over the last month, and now his explosions are strong enough that he can even blast the ground and propel himself into the air. He’s only able to hold it for a few seconds, but the scope of his power has widened farther than he ever imagined, and he’d be damned if he didn’t master this new technique.

Katsuki shakes out his hands and points to the ground again, grits his teeth and releases his magic. But nothing happens. He tries again. Nothing. It takes a beat, but he realizes why. He rolls his eyes and turns around.

“Knock it off!”

Aizawa watches him from afar, leaning his foot against a tree trunk, arms crossed over his chest. His shaggy black hair stands tall and his dark eyes glow scarlet. “I’m all for using magic until it breaks you, but the Queen will have my head if she finds out you hurt yourself on my watch.”

Katsuki groans at the sky and kicks some snow. “You’re always holding me back, Aizawa, just like the rest of them,” he spits.

“Hey, chill out, Katsuki,” Eijirou urges as he touches the ground. “Aizawa just doesn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“I don’t care what Aizawa wants!” Katsuki screams, balling his fists and stamping his foot.

Aizawa sighs, closes his eyes, and releases his magic. His hair relaxes. He reaches inside his satchel and pulls out a small tube, then tips his head back and lets some liquid from the tube drip into his eyes. “You’re young. You have plenty of time to build and strengthen your magic.” He blinks repeatedly. “The gods know you’ve sapped at least a decade from me.”

Katsuki growls, advancing toward Aizawa, murder on his docket, when Eijirou swings an arm over his shoulder. “It’s okay, Katsuki! Let’s try again tomorrow!”

Katsuki stops, sees Kirishima’s grin, carefree as ever, and returns his attention to his teacher. “That won’t be a problem, will it, Aizawa?”

“No, it should be-” Aizawa stops, jaw snapping shut. His eyes widen, then narrow, dark irises darting left then right, searching. After a beat, he sprints to the boys and spins around to face the forest, showing them his back. “Quiet,” he whispers.

“Hah? Why-”

“Shhh,” he hisses.

Katsuki sneers. He opens his mouth, insult at the ready when he sees a group of men—five, he counts—trudging up the hill. Katsuki squints. They’re big, with broad shoulders and thick necks, like they were built for harsh conditions.

“Hide Eijirou,” Aizawa commands, voice low. 

Katsuki looks up at Aizawa but Aizawa doesn’t regard him, eyes fixed on the band of men as they creep closer and closer. Katsuki isn’t sure what’s going on, but he’s never seen Aizawa look this serious before, never seen a bead of sweat race so suddenly down the side of his face, never seen his jaw lock so immediately.

It makes Katsuki’s breath hitch; his haunches rise. 

He turns to Ei. “Go hide.”

Eijirou’s eyes widen. He looks from Katsuki to Aizawa, then back to Katsuki. “What’s going on?” he asks, voice quiet and uneasy.

Aizawa turns his head just slightly back, giving them his profile, to look Eijirou in the eye. “If they know you’re a dragon, they’ll hurt you. You have to leave.”

“Leave?” Eijirou whispers.

“Just. Hide over there for now,” Katsuki nudges his chin toward a crowd of trees to their right. “And don’t worry,” He holds up a fist and smirks, showing his canines. “If these guys try anything, I’ll kick their asses.”

Eijirou purses his lips and furrows his eyebrows, ready to argue, to assert why he should plant himself in the snow and face whatever peril approaches by Katsuki’s side; but what he sees in Katsuki’s face, the fire in his eyes, must convince him to trust the boy prince, because he nods and runs toward the trees as fast as he can.

“Don’t tell them who you are,” Aizawa mutters.

Katsuki clicks his tongue. “I know that.”

The men advance, slow as the hands of a clock, each step ticking the seconds towards something imposed, something unwelcome, something that Katsuki’s gut tells him will get ugly.

They stop together, roughly ten paces away. The man in the middle takes one more step forward and smiles, two rows of yellowed teeth standing out against the background of white snow. “Hey, uh,” he starts, voice low and gruff, “you two wouldn’t happen to’ve seen a uh... dragon around these parts, would you’ve?”

The hair on the back of Katsuki’s neck stands. His fingers twitch. He bites his tongue. 

“A dragon?” Aizawa quips, raising an eyebrow. “Dragons don’t live in this region, or anywhere in this half of the world. Where would we have seen a dragon?”

“We shot one down ‘bout a month back,” the man sneers. “Lost sight of where it landed, though. Been tracking it down for weeks.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Aizawa says, “but we haven’t seen anything.”

The man hums. “Is that so?”

The men behind him glance at each other and exchange knowing smirks. Katsuki’s eyes narrow. 

The man in the center lolls his head to the right and nods at a skinnier, shorter man with bulging eyes and a mess of dirty blonde hair. He limps forward, dragging his left foot behind him. Pockmarked cheeks pull his chapped, bloody lips into a wide grin, as he throws down a familiar dark rope and snare. Katsuki feels Aizawa tense next to him while he glares at the crusted blood on the snare’s teeth.

“My guy here has a bit of magic, y’see,” the man with the yellow teeth drawls. “He’s real good at tracking, and this trap has dragon scent all over it. He led us here, and I’ve never seen him be wrong! So, I’m gonna ask you one more time,” his voice lowers; his smile turns sinister. He reaches behind his back and pulls out a large, spiked club. “Where’s the dragon?”

Two of the other men pull out clubs of their own, one pulls out a dagger, and the bug-eyed tracker sniffs and watches with a deranged smile.

Katsuki’s blood boils, and before he can stop himself he’s yelling. “Back off or I’ll blast every last one of you!” He moves forward but a hand on his chest holds him back.

“Don’t. I’ll handle this,” Aizawa says. “Just stay back.”

Before Katsuki can argue, Aizawa sprints toward the men, launching a head-on attack. He grabs the scarf around his neck and pulls; the fabric unravels and it’s at least eight feet long. It flaps behind his body as he runs, wind whipping it every which way, until he’s but a few feet from the armed hunters; with a practiced flick of his wrists, the fabric wraps around and binds two of the men before they can even move.

They grunt and squirm but the fabric is strong, laced with magic to transform simple cloth into a reliable weapon Aizawa can control.

Katsuki’s heart pounds as he watches Aizawa slam their heads together and knock them out in one swift movement. The man with the yellow teeth raises his spiked club and brings it down with a roar, but Aizawa hops out of the way, agile as a cat.

He dances with the yellow-toothed hunter until he is also bound, scarf wrapped around his forehead, bending his body backward like a twig about to snap. The man falls to his knees, still pushing against the scarf but to no avail.

“You can stop now,” Aizawa drones, expressionless. “You and your friends can go back home and forget this ever happened.”

“We’re not leaving until we get what we came for,” the man snarls. His eyes slide to the tracker. “Find the dragon!”

The tracker nods, that same crazed smile cracking his face, and sinks to his knees to sniff the ground. Katsuki runs towards him with open palms, ready to do whatever it takes to stop him from finding Eijirou, but the tracker’s smile fades, bringing Katsuki to a halt. The tracker sniffs and sniffs, to the left and to the right, up and down, but his smile is gone.

“I can’t smell nothin’!” he yells. He tries again, for good measure. “Why can’t I smell nothin’!?”

Katsuki looks at Aizawa. His eyes are glowing red and fixed on the tracker. His hair stands high, floating like ghosts, and Katsuki understands.

“So, you got magic too, huh?” the man with yellow teeth sneers, pressing his tongue to his bottom lip.

“I’ll give you one more chance,” Aizawa offers. “Leave now, and-”

Suddenly, the man with the dagger, forgotten in the crowd, sprints forward, eyes fixed on Katsuki. 

Fear and adrenaline push Katsuki back into a fighting stance. Instinct pulls the energy to his palms, concentrated and ready. The man is only a foot away and Katsuki’s palms are glowing and smoking when the man trips and falls face-first into the snow. Katsuki stumbles backward and falls onto his rear just in time to avoid being crushed.

The man lifts his head and looks back. His ankle’s been snagged by the magic cloth.

“You’re really somethin’. Aren’t ya, Scarf Man?” the dragon hunter laughs; the sound feels like bugs crawling on Katsuki’s skin.

Aizawa glares and yanks his scarf, dragging the man along with it, away from Katsuki.

“I got the smell!” The tracker yells. “It’s-”

Aizawa rushes, bindings forgotten, and kicks the tracker in the back of the head, knocking him out.

“Katsuki, run!” Aizawa yells.

Katsuki’s eyes widen. “Look out!”

But he isn’t fast enough. The yellow-toothed dragon hunter grabs Aizawa by the wrist and pins him to the ground, shoving a knee into his back. Katsuki rushes to stand, heart thumping in his ears, and takes two steps toward Aizawa before the man with the dagger grabs him by the collar of his shirt.

Katsuki chokes as he’s yanked backward. The man picks him up and holds him around his middle. “Let me go!” Katsuki yells. He blasts explosions from his hands, indiscriminate attacks with no direction.

The hunter grabs both of Katsuki’s wrists in one of his own and dangles him like a dead chicken. The explosions fire into the air, mostly light and smoke. “Oh, ya got magic too, kid? Real cute,” the hunter laughs.

“Bite me, asshole!” Katsuki growls.

“Yeah, yeah.” Katsuki stills when he feels cold iron touch his neck. “Now tell us where the dragon is or the kid gets it!” the hunter shouts.

Aizawa pushes against the leg on his spine, gritting his teeth as he fights the man’s strength. The man smirks and pushes Aizawa’s arm up towards the sky. Katsuki’s blood runs cold when he hears a crack, followed by the guttural scream of his teacher.

Katsuki squirms again. He kicks behind him as hard as he can, knife be damned.

“You wanna die, kid?” the hunter threatens. Katsuki seethes, insult on his tongue when—

“Stop!”

The man turns around, bringing Katsuki with him. Katsuki’s eyes widen when he sees Eijirou standing there, hands balled into fists by his sides, body quaking.

“Wait. You’re the dragon?” the man asks, eyes darting from Eijirou’s wings to his horns.

“Ei, what are you doing!?” Katsuki yells.

“He was gonna kill you, Katsuki!” Eijirou answers. His voice doesn’t waver, but his knees tremble and his bottom lip quivers.

The man throws Katsuki onto the ground. He grunts as his body hits snow, but when he sees the terrified look on Eijirou’s face as the man with the dagger advances on him, Katsuki shoots up and launches himself onto his back.

Explosion after explosion leaves Katsuki’s hands as he blasts the hunter anywhere he can reach. Battle cries rip through his throat as smoke clouds his vision until he can’t see, fills his lungs until he’s lightheaded, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. His palms burn but he can’t stop.

The man yells as he takes hit after direct hit of Katsuki’s attacks, flailing from side to side. He does all he can to shake Katsuki off, but Katsuki persists. Katsuki’s eyes water and his ears ring but he’s winning. He’s winning . 

The hunter raises his dagger to strike Katsuki, but Eijirou grabs onto his bicep and pulls his arm down. The hunter locks eyes with Eijirou and snarls; he flicks his wrist and slices. Eijirou’s scream makes Katsuki freeze.

Ei falls into the snow, clutching his right eye.

“Brats gotta learn when to fucking quit,” the hunter mutters. With a harsh jerk, the hunter throws Katsuki off his back. Katsuki pushes himself up on both hands and watches a bead of blood grow on the tip of the hunter’s blade, watches as it grows too heavy and falls, watches as it splats onto the snow, like ink on parchment. Permanent.

His eyes dart to Eijirou. The same red leaks lines between his fingers, down the back of his hand, down his forearm.

All Katsuki sees is red.

He doesn’t think. Rage and pure hatred power every blast he delivers to the man’s legs. They’re enough to make him fall over, and Katsuki wastes no time moving his attacks to the hunter’s face, already coated in soot. Somewhere in his haze of violence, he remembers red, remembers why he’s here, remembers Eijirou.

“Go!” Katsuki yells. “Get out of here!”

“But…” Eijirou trails off.

The man pushes Katsuki away, throwing him to the side and rolling to stand. “They can’t get you, Ei. They can’t ,” Katsuki’s voice breaks.

“But-”

“Just go! I won’t lose!” he yells, snarling at the hunter as he rises, smiling wide and crazed when he teeters.

Ei runs, gaining a foot of momentum before he flaps his wings and soars, leaving the snow, leaving this earth, leaving Katsuki. 

Katsuki’s relief drowns the ache in his chest. 

“You little piece of shit,” the hunter snarls, watching as Eijirou disappears over the cliffside. He turns back to Katsuki, and Katsuki feels his smile grow when he sees the anger burning behind this man’s eyes. “I wasn’t gonna kill ya before, but ya fucked with my merchandise.” He marches toward Katsuki, blade glinting sunlight. 

“Katsuki, run!” he hears Aizawa yell. Katsuki steps back, edging closer to the drop of the cliff. Aizawa wants him to live, but there’s nowhere to run. There’s only the cliff, the blade, his hands, and his will. He’s alone. He’s always been alone, and he’ll survive alone. Because he’s strong. Because he’s going to be the best king that’s ever been. Because—

“Come on!”

The yell comes from behind Katsuki. He turns around and faces the cliff, and there’s Eijirou, hovering past where the cliff drops. Ruby red eyes burn into his own, and then he’s shifting, and out of the glowing light emerges the full dragon. Still watching. Still waiting. 

Still here.

Katsuki doesn’t think twice. He sprints to the edge of the cliff, legs and hands burning. He faces his palms toward the snow and releases the biggest explosion he’s ever made—at least twice his size. He flies into the air and past the cliff; his stomach jumps into his mouth and falls back down, his feet search for ground to stand on and he feels like he can’t breathe, but it doesn’t matter because when gravity starts to pull, as his body prepares for its final moments, he lands on a warm, scaly back, and there’s Eijirou. 

“You idiot,” Katsuki breathes.

Eijirou flies them high and circles back around. Katsuki spots Aizawa, still crushed under that big yellow-toothed dragon hunter, still cracked and broken. Katsuki is about to tell Eijirou to fly down so he can rescue him, when he sees a surge of armor-clad men charge out of the forest. All of their breastplates carry the insignia of a setting sun. 

It’s the Aurelian army.

“They’ve got this,” Katsuki yells over the wind. Eijirou apparently doesn’t need to be told twice, because he immediately flies them in a new direction. It must be difficult for a dragon of Eijirou’s size to carry a human, even one as small as Katsuki, but he perseveres, flying them to another cliff a few miles away. 

He descends toward the cliffside at a greater speed than Katsuki had anticipated. They hit the ground; Katsuki tumbles off of Eijirou’s back and rolls three times before his body stops, creating a Katsuki-shaped print in the untouched snow.

Eijirou’s landing is no better, touching down face-first and sliding forward. He shifts back into his hybrid form and lets his legs fall into the snow before rising to his knees. He pants, gasping for more of thin, high-altitude air. 

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers between breaths, bringing his hand to his right eye. “I didn’t help you. I was so scared. I-”

“Shut up,” Katsuki cuts him off. “Lemme see.” He shuffles on his knees through the snow until he’s in front of Eijirou. He slaps the hand away from his eye and examines. The cut is small, one clean slice down his eyelid. It’s small, but the bleeding is excessive.

“Is it bad?” Eijirou whispers.

Katsuki lowers his hands and smirks. “You’ll have a cool scar, that’s for sure,”

Ei smiles, and Katsuki’s insides warm, like he’s finally home.

But.

“You have to go, Ei,” Katsuki says.

Eijirou’s eye widens. He opens his mouth to argue but Katsuki doesn’t let him.

“If you stay, there’ll be more guys just like that who wanna find you.” Katsuki looks down at his lap to hide his face. “You’re not safe here.”

“But-”

“And you have to stay alive to find your moms,” Katsuki finishes. 

Eijirou’s mouth snaps shut. They stare at each other, crimson drowning in ruby, ruby burning in crimson, for a full thirty seconds. Katsuki watches the tears bead along Eijirou’s waterline, watches them fall down his cheeks and stop at his chin, watches his nose turn red, watches his shoulders shake.

He grabs Katsuki’s hands in his own and pushes their foreheads together. “Come with me,” Eijirou proposes. “You hate it in Aurelia. Your mom isn’t nice to you. You can come live with me! We can fly all over the world when I’m big! And you can meet my moms and they’ll like you because I like you and you’ll finally be happy and—and....” he trails off.

All Katsuki sees is the snow, white and glittering and perfect he thinks, but isn’t certain because everything is blurry. “I can’t leave,” Katsuki says, voice thick and watery. 

“Why not?” Eijirou’s voice breaks, and Katsuki’s been hit in the chest more times than he can count but it’s never hurt quite like this. 

His eyes slide closed; he feels a tear slide down his cheek. “I’m gonna be a king, remember?”

It’s quiet. The only sounds in the world are the whistle of the wind and their breathing: uneven, irregular, and wracked with sobs. Eijirou pulls his forehead off of Katsuki’s and surges forward, wrapping him in the warmest embrace he’s ever received. 

“The best king,” Ei whispers.

And as Katsuki stands on the cliffside, watching a dragon with scales like rubies fly into the clouds, he feels like he’s woken up from a long, happy dream.