Chapter 22: Visions in Blood
The water wasn’t cold. That was the first thing Taichi processed as Ryuu pulled him, dripping, onto the rough obsidian ledge. It was body-temperature, thick like oil, and it clung to his skin in sheets that glimmered with dying visions. He coughed, not water, but the memory of screams—his own, raw and guttural, echoing in a cavern that wasn’t this one.
His body remembered the tearing. The phantom pain was a white-hot brand across his abdomen, so vivid he pressed his hands there, expecting to feel his insides parted. He felt only the firm, impossible swell beneath his soaked robe.
Ryuu knelt before him, a rough linen cloth in hand. His movements were methodical, possessive. He wiped Taichi’s face, his touch surprisingly gentle as he cleared the viscous liquid from his eyes, his lips. The gold in Ryuu’s eyes was molten, satisfied.
“You saw,” Ryuu stated. It wasn’t a question.
Taichi could only nod, his teeth beginning to chatter from shock, not cold. The images replayed behind his eyelids every time he blinked: the shift of scales under his own stretched skin, the violent, wet curl of two small, powerful bodies pushing into the world, the overwhelming scent of copper and something ozone-sharp. And Ryuu, his human form blurred at the edges with power, catching them, his tongue swiping a broad stripe across Taichi’s ravaged stomach. The word ‘perfect’ growled into his skin like a fundamental truth.
“They were…” Taichi’s voice was a rasp. “They had… your eyes.”
“They will,” Ryuu said, his thumb tracing the line of Taichi’s jaw. “They will have my fire. Your resilience. A new blend.”
The practicality hit Taichi then, absurd and grounding. He looked down at his body, at the place where the vision ended. “How am I supposed to feed them?”
Ryuu paused, the cloth stilling on Taichi’s neck. A slow, deep rumble started in his chest, not quite a laugh. It was the sound of tectonic plates shifting. “Your body will provide what they need. It is already changing. The first milk will be thin, rich with magic. It will bond them to you. To your scent.”
Taichi blinked. “Magic breast milk. Right.” The sheer surrealism of the statement punctured the last of his visionary terror, leaving behind a hollow, shaky exhaustion. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
Ryuu studied him, reading the tremor in his hands, the distant look. He leaned in, his forehead pressing against Taichi’s. The contact sent a current through Taichi, a low-grade hum that soothed the jagged edges of his panic. It felt intentional. “You are strong enough. You have already endured the claiming. The rest is biology. Instinct.”
“My instincts are telling me to find a very deep hole and hide,” Taichi mumbled against his skin.
“And yet you are here.” Ryuu pulled back, his hands framing Taichi’s face. “You looked into the heart of the mountain and did not break. You asked about their nourishment. That is not the question of a man seeking a hole. That is the question of a bearer planning for his young.”
The words should have felt alien. Bearer. They did, but they also landed with a strange, heavy rightness. He had seen them. Their small, scaled heads, their bright, knowing eyes. A fierce, protective jolt lanced through the fear. It was terrifying in its own way.
Ryuu helped him stand. Taichi’s legs held, but just barely. The walk back through the winding obsidian tunnels was silent, but the silence was different now. It wasn’t empty. It was full of the future, a tangible weight in the air between them, in the new, subtle ache in Taichi’s lower back, in the way Ryuu’s hand never left the small of his back, a steady, heated pressure.
They emerged near Hana’s quarters. The wind had died, leaving an eerie calm. Light from the glowing runes painted the wooden pathway in soft stripes.
Hana was waiting outside her door, wrapped in a thick blanket. She took one look at Taichi’s drenched robe, his pale face, and her eyes widened. “Well? Don’t just stand there leaking mystical cave water. Spill.”
Ryuu gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod to Taichi, then turned. “I will send dry clothing. And food. You need to eat.” He disappeared into the shadows, becoming one with them.
Hana hauled Taichi inside, stripping the wet robe off him and wrapping him in a scratchy wool blanket before he could protest. She sat him by the fire, thrust a cup of something stronger than tea into his hands, and waited.
Taichi drank. The liquor burned all the way down. “I saw them being born,” he said, his voice flat.
“Okay.” Hana’s face was carefully neutral. “And?”
“And it was exactly as violent and horrifying as you’re imagining. Maybe more.” He took another swallow. “Then I asked how to feed them.”
A snort escaped Hana. She tried to stifle it, failed, and let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Of course you did. That’s the most you thing possible. Witness a supernatural prophecy of gore and go straight to the logistics.” Her laughter faded, but a fond smile remained. “What did Dracula say?”
“Said my body would figure it out. Magic milk.”
“Naturally.” She poked at the fire. “So. They’re real now. You’ve got faces for them.”
“They have his eyes.” Taichi stared into the flames, seeing the twin flickers of gold in the memory. “They were… beautiful. In a really terrifying, sharp-toothed way.” He looked at Hana, the numbness finally cracking to reveal raw vulnerability. “I’m scared of it. The pain. But I’m more scared that when it happens, I won’t care about the pain. That I’ll just be… glad they’re here. What does that make me?”
Hana moved to sit beside him, shoulder to shoulder. “It makes you a parent, Taichi. That’s the dirty secret. The kid shows up, and the math changes. Everything that came before—the fear, the weirdness, the questionable life choices—it all gets recalculated around them.” She bumped his shoulder. “Even if they’re baby dragons who probably poop embers.”
A weak laugh hiccupped out of him. The tension in his chest loosened a fraction.
A soft knock came at the door. A servant entered without waiting, leaving a pile of soft, dry clothes and a covered tray that smelled of roasted meat and herbs. They bowed deeply, their eyes flicking to Taichi with that same unnerving reverence, before retreating.
“See?” Hana said, lifting the cover. “You’re already a VIP. A very important prenatal.”
Taichi dressed slowly, the clean fabric soothing against his skin. He ate because it was easier than thinking, the rich food settling the last of the shakes. The hum of the mountain was a constant, familiar thrum in his bones now. He realized, with a quiet shock, that he could almost feel a rhythm within it—two faster, lighter pulses, echoing his own.
He placed a hand on his stomach. The shift he felt this time wasn’t a turn. It was a push. A distinct, fluttering pressure against his palm, as if something was reaching back.
Across the room, Hana watched him, saw the awe dawning on his face. She didn’t say a word. She just nodded, once, and went back to staring at the fire, giving him the space to sit with the impossible, beating truth of it.