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Chapter 3

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When Yona meets her eyes, she knows immediately that she is the Black Dragon.

She doesn't know what it is. But something inside of her… something that she is growing more and more aware of, looks and knows—just as it knew who Shin-Ah and Kija were at first glance.

And she's beautiful. Like all of the Dragons are.

She's tall, maybe as tall as Kija, and built like a dancer—all long limbs and movement like water. Her skin is brown and golden and seems to be made of beams of the sun itself. It shines and moves like the sun rising from the earth to transverse the sky—glowing as if kissed by the brightest star over and over—until she imitates the way the minerals of the earth shine from the inside out.

And her eyes are black. Deep pools of obsidian framed by long eyelashes that seem to curl at the corners. If Yona looks long enough, she thinks that she might begin to find stars in that darkness—a darkness that resembles the night sky. Dark and endless and ever expanding. Her hair, almost in imitation, is long and straight and falls down her spine like a waterfall of black ink a scribe of her Father's court might have spilled over not too long ago. She's wearing it the same way all of the members of the Black Dragon Troupe wear their hair: half up in a bun pinned to the back of their head, their fringe trailing like curtains to frame their handsome faces.

Strangely enough, seeing the color and length of it reminds Yona of her Mother…

But it's her tattoos…

That really…

While walking through the camp, Yona had noticed the tattoos. Every member older than the age of a toddler had them. Whether partially or incompletely—the end result always seemed to be the same: One from their lower lip to the base of their throat. Two bands on each upper arm. One band on each wrist.

And—Yona noticed—there seemed to be ones on their legs too.

All of the Troupe members wore their floor length robes with slits up the sides. And whether they wore pants under or not was at their discretion, but from what little she had been able to glance at, the tattoos include two bands around each thigh and one on each ankle.

The tattoos seemed… purposeful to her. Made with intent and a meaning she had no inkling or inclination of.

While she had seen these in stages through various age groups, the end result was the same. She had not seen many deviants.

Other than the Chief's, that is.

And his was a simple addition—a noticeable but simple one—a single, horizontal stripe from cheekbone to cheekbone, across the bridge of his nose nearly parallel to the pupil of his irises.

But other than the Chief's…

The Black Dragon's markings did not seem any different from the other members of the Black Dragon Troupe.

She still had the two bands on her upper arms. The single band on each wrist. She wore tall boots and pants under her slitted floor-length robe, but Yona could guess that she has the extra two ribbons on each thigh, and the single mark on each ankle, just from repetition alone.

The only noticeable difference between her and the others—

Was the tattoo on her chin.

Because instead of stopping at the base of her throat like all other tattoos did, the red line continued down her chest and disappeared into the low, loose, v-neck of her robe.

It's a subtle difference. Something so very easily overlooked—especially considering the way the Chief's deviant mark is more eye-catching and prominent than her's—that anyone else looking for the "different" one, would have lost her among the crowd of tattooed Troupe members.

But she's the Black Dragon.

The moment Yona meets her eyes, she knows.

She knows and she wants her.

"You're… the Kokuryū, right?" Yona asks. Because even though she knows this woman is the Black Dragon, she wants to hear her say it.

"Yes." She says. Her voice is husky—almost raspy. Yona doesn't know if she always sounds like this, but it's a soothing voice. She likes it immediately.

Yona is close now, standing before this kneeling woman. This close to her, Yona can see every detail of her face. Can see the smooth curve of her cheekbones. The vibrant color of her tattoos against the golden shade of her skin.

She's beautiful… She almost doesn't seem human, suddenly.

"I see," Yona says. She had heard the Chief call her by name—she wants to call her by her name—but first she must introduce herself, "I'm—"

"Jinnie!"

A different voice. Younger. Very very young.

They all turn to look at a young boy. Maybe five years old—maybe older, maybe younger. He's running towards them with all the speed his little body allows. He's in white robes—pure white in direct contrast to the black, with red accent clothing of the Black Dragon Troupe.

Yona sees his face and thinks that he looks like—

He slows down when he sees the Black Dragon isn't alone. His eyes are large and curious as he takes them all in. While his expression isn't wary, he keeps one eye on them as he continues to hurry towards the kneeling woman.

Yona can't help but think he's endearing, suddenly.

"Jinnie!" He says again, voice lower, hands grabbing at the older woman's bare arm almost urgently. The Black Dragon lifts her right arm and pulls him close, so that their bodies are touching, so that that close together Yona can definitely tell— "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Yona notices that his words are a little slurred, that his movements are a little sluggish.

He doesn't have any tattoos, and his hair is long and loose compared to other children's she's seen.

She's curious, suddenly.

About who he is. About his relationship with the older woman.

The Black Dragon smiles at him, and when she does, Yona can't help but think she looks beautiful. Her face, sharpened into elegance, softens into a tender look that has Yona captivated.

Oh, Yona thinks, mesmerized, she's definitely one of the Dragons…

"I'm okay, my love." She says, and her voice is definitely hoarse. Yona can hear a little croak in there—but it already sounds better than her first response to the earlier question. "What are you doing here, you should be getting ready for the ceremony…"

Ceremony. Yona suddenly remembers the other Troupe members saying something about today being "Naming Day." The Chief had briefly mentioned that they don't host travelers during their ceremony days while they had waited for the Black Dragon to arrive…

Should they even be there then?

"Grandpa Ga-Eul said, you're sick. Does it hurt anywhere?" His hands are clenching and unclenching the collar of her robes. It makes the fabric loosen and fall until a large portion of the Black Dragon's chest becomes exposed.

The boy is paler than her. It's a contrast that makes Yona think of the moon and sun.

And yet looking at them together like this…

Yona can't help but think that they're—

"I'm okay," The Black Dragon says. She runs one hand through his black hair and says, "Go back to the others to get ready. The ceremony should start soon."

He pouts, but looks pacified at the brief exchange. Enough so that when the Chief leans over the Black Dragon's shoulder to say, "Let's go, love. Your Jīchan will take you," he doesn't protest. The taller man takes the boy's hand, and Yona can see just how large and engulfing the Chief's hand can be, "It's your Naming Day after all."

The young boy blinks, and his lips curl into an excited grin. "Okay!" He says, looking giddy and like he had forgotten all about the strangers behind him. But he looks back at them, and his eyes don't hide his curiosity as he looks at all of the travelers. They linger over Kija's hand before he looks at the Black Dragon again.

"I'm going, Jinnie." He says with a smile, and waves, "I'll have my name soon! Good luck tonight!"

The Black Dragon is still kneeling on the ground. She waves back at the small boy, and Yona misses what Hak says because she's looking at the older woman.

Her expression is proud. It's worried, and anxious and proud.

She's going to say, 'No,' Yona thinks.

Knowing that the Chief is her father and the child… That child might be…

She's going to say, 'No.'

The Black Dragon stands, and she's definitely taller than Yona—by seven or eight inches, she would have to guess.

Briefly, Yona is annoyed at how short she is.

But then the Black Dragon is looking at Yona, cementing her gaze there long enough for Yona to blink curiously at her—and then shifting her attention to her traveling companions behind her.

"My name is Ryūjin." Her voice is steady now. It's almost clear of the croakiness from earlier. Without it, Ryūjin's voice is smoky and even. Yona likes it. "Daughter of Chief Yu-Reum. Fire Breather and Dancer of the Black Dragon Troupe." She pauses, and her face tells Yona that she wants to say more. But—

"I am the Kokuryū." She says lowly, almost sadly. Her expression doesn't change, but her voice is strangely telling, "The one who breathes fire."

A shiver runs up Yona's spine at her words.

The older woman redirects her gaze to the skyline, towards the sun setting in the west.

Ironically—no, symbolically—the colors resemble flames.

Yona can't help but think this is all fate—

"We have thirty minutes before the sun completely sets." She looks at them again, and this time her expression and voice are more steely. "Our ceremony starts as soon as it gets dark. I will not be missing it." In other words, Yona doesn't have all night. But that's fine, Yona doesn't need much time in the first place, "So… They told me you asked for me?"

Yona takes a deep breath, "My name is Yona…"


I am gathering the Five Dragons. Will you join me?

Will I join them…

The sun has completely set now. It's dark, and all members of the Black Dragon Troupe have left the wagon semi circle a long time ago.

It's just us.

Sitting in silence against a backdrop of stars. Watching each other and evaluating each other in this intermission of revelation.

I can hear the drums beating in the clearing behind me. Can hear the thump thump thump of my heart starting to beat in sync with them.

I want to say yes.

I want to say yes and follow this person who tugs at my heart string the same way my little love does without her having to do anything.

I want to say yes and follow this person who looks at me like I'm everything and who looks like my God—

And yet… as the drums continue to beat…

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Thump thump thump—

"Can I…" My voice cracks on the word, and when it does it surprises me. There's an emotion there. One that I can't place. Not yet, at least, "Can I think about it?"

Yona—her name is Yona—blinks. She looks surprised at my words. Like she had expected a different response from me.

"Of course." She smiles. And she's beautiful. Colored like jewels and shaped like them too.

I want to say yes—

I want to say yes but—

I can hear the singing now. And when I do my heart leaps.

I'm late—

I stand. We had sat on the ground-cloth my father had placed for them as they told me of their journey. I had had to ask them to cut to the chase a few times when it got too lengthy but—

I look at this group—this ragtag of strangers who seem so young yet so strong together. Who have spent so little time together and yet so much of it together that they are beginning to look like family.

"The Naming Ceremony's started." I say, almost mutter.

Standing here before them… They are so strange yet so familiar to me. I don't know what to call this feeling… My predecessor hadn't told me it would feel like this, "We don't allow strangers to view our ceremonies." I say, and I'm sure they've heard this from other Troupe members too, "It's why we turn them away during ceremony days. But…"

Considering who they are… what they are… who they are traveling with…

And the fact my father had hosted them if only for a while today…

I exhale sharply, to get any nerves out of the way.

I bet Tōchan did this on purpose.

"Come on," I gesture to the clearing with my head. It isn't far, and the gesture is enough of an invitation to them. "You can sit and observe. But make no noise—you don't know our songs."

If they so much as uttered a hum, I would take it as the highest offense towards our Troupe no matter who they are.

"Is that okay?" The one I think is Yoon, asks. He's as tall as Yona, and has a face that rivals that of the White Dragon's. His words are considerate, but I can tell from the expression on his face just how curious he is. He's already taken a step forward from the group, almost itching to move towards the gathering.

It's cute.

"Would you rather wait here?" I ask, unable to stop the amused smirk from pulling at my lips. When I look at all of them, many of them wear the same expression: interest. As they should be. They'll be the first outsiders not adopted into the Troupe to witness our ceremonies since its founding. "I can tell that some of you are curious."

I honestly don't care if they waited here or not. All I cared about was seeing this Naming Day.

I can't miss this.

I can't miss this Naming Day.

It's my love's—

"As long as you keep quiet and simply observe, you can join us." I say. And then, before I forget, I add, "If you try to imitate our songs, I will take it as the highest insult you could make to me and my Troupe."

My voice comes out more threatening than I meant it to be. But the graveness of the warning is strong enough to illustrate my point.

"Wha—?" The White Dragon, Kija, looks the most shocked out of all of them. He looks like he might fight me on my harshness, but—

"Okay," Yona says, and her words pacify everything.

I run my eyes over the group one more time, and despite Kija's pout, everyone seems onboard. "Alright then," I say, glad I didn't have to expend energy rationalizing my decision to them, "follow me."


I had told them I would answer all of their questions at the end of the ceremony. And, so far, they were doing a good job staying quiet and watching curiously.

There had been a ground-cloth several feet from the last row of Black Dragon Troupe members. I had glanced at my Father once I saw it, but the ceremony was already underway and he was participating avidly, so I quietly directed the group towards it and sat down without a word.

We had chosen this clearing for the ceremony primarily because of its incline. While subtle while standing, it made a prominent difference once seated. Our vantage point was clear and we were able to see everything, even if slightly apart from everyone else.

This is good, I can't help but think, heart pounding with the music, Yona can see from here.

I wish I could sit closer. If only to be closer to my love. I wish I could see better. If only for my love to hear me better. But as Troupe courtesy dictated, I sat with our guests, legs crossed, singing our songs and observing from my distance.

Our Troupe Healer is already marking the second child by the time Yona and the others settle down. There are only three children this Naming Day, and I had luckily managed to catch the name given to the first child as we had approached.

The second child doesn't squirm in the lap of our Healer, even though I know the tattoo hurts. Our Healer's hand is steady as she marks the child's chin, the tap tap tap of the needle imitates the rhythm of our drums. The dip into the bowl of kermes* dye, and the swipe down her jaw and mouth imitates the cadence of our voices. I know, from experience, that each stroke down the tender flesh is pain.

But she doesn't cry. Her strength and bravery is reinforced by our voices. Our words and presence reassure her of our support throughout the burn.

tap.

Our Healer lowers her needle, and when she does the little girl opens her eyes. Her chin is swollen, and her pupils are blown from the painkiller she had ingested earlier, but her gaze is clear. She sits up, adjusting her knees and ankles under her with a care that reflects the attention upon her.

Our song dips into a hum, and at its lowest point, our Healer says, "Welcome. Renjun."

"Welcome Renjun. Welcome Renjun," We sing. From the front, I hear one of our singers start a poem of lotuses.

And we echo it.

The newly named girl doesn't move from her position, she stays kneeling, next to Taehwa, the other newly marked member—and even from this distance I can see how her eyes shine in the fire light. She looks happy. She looks proud. And she blinks furiously to keep the tears out of her eyes.

She glances at Taehwa, and they grin at each other, chins covered in red dye and drying blood. The act alone must hurt, but they smile to themselves and to the Troupe singing for them.

I'm proud, seeing them like this.

Our Healer moves on to our last unnamed child, to my love, who promptly lays his head on her lap the moment our song blends into his own personal one.

"Child of fire, child of air—"

Ah… my little love.

Tap tap tap—

He's finally getting his name.

My heart is beating fast. Hard and fast like our drums. Strong and loud like our voices.

He's finally getting his name, Nari.

"Son of lilies, son of autumn—"

This song is different from the previous ones. Taehwa's song had been filled with cotton and silk, while Renjun's song had been filled with the words of a warrior and the strength of a fighter. Each child's song reflected their affinities and current paths and our hopes in their long lives and lasting health.

And my little love's song is—

"Lover and creator, a God who's hands make life,"

—filled with so much heart.

Tap tap tap—

He's not moving. Not crying.

He's so so strong, as the needle taps into his skin. As Our Healer dips her thumb into the dye and swipes it down his chin to stain it permanently.

Tap tap tap—

"Mender and grower, who's tears allot revival,"

Tattoos take hours to create. It is no easy task or easy process. Yet, as we sing and chant throughout the night for these children to finally receive their names—

It feels like no time has passed at all until Our Healer's needle stops again.

My little love sits up. And his chin is red from the dye and the swelling.

"Welcome," says Our Healer, and my heart is pounding pounding pounding—

"Jang-Mi."

Jang-Mi…

Nari, his name is Jang-Mi…

"Welcome Jang-Mi. Welcome Jang-Mi." There's a cry, the conclusion of the ceremony, and everyone's voices are rising.

I stand, voice echoing the cheers, hands slipping through the slits of my top robe at my hips to untie my pants. I'm kicking off my boots, trying to hurry, trying to move as fast as I can.

"Ryūjin—?"

I don't have the mental capacity to say anything to Yona right now. I don't have the energy or the time to explain what I'm doing.

I don't care that some of them are yelping as I pull off my pants, I'm too busy running towards the rows of Black Dragon Troupe members, through the people parting for me easily.

Ga-Eul is waiting for me near the front, blowing smoke over my body to purify me.

I'm running on adrenaline right now. I'm vaguely aware that the named children have receded towards their family members, and while I would do anything to rush to Jang-Mi right now, I have my job to do first.

I'm in front of the fire, feet bare, slit robe exposing both of my legs, showing off all tattoos on all four of my limbs.

I'm in front of the fire and ready and feel nothing but the song of our voices and the new names of our children they have received today.

There's a sudden pause.

It's silent and loud after the roaring singing we had been doing for hours.

But the pause is short.

It's sudden and enough for me to move.

I forget nearly everything then.

I'm moving with the beat of the drum. Spinning with every cry of my clan. Jumping with every bell that would have decorated me if I had had the time to change.

But I have my fans, which I pull from my waist sash, and they are enough for now.

I'm dancing and moving and feeling the heat inside of me rise. Hotter and hotter until the breath I need doesn't need to be summoned anymore.

These dances are always improvised. As the Black Dragon, my role in the Troupe is to remind everyone of my power. I'm the keeper of this flame. The memento of the Heavens. The relic of the Gods. The token of our first king, King Hiryū.

I dance after every ceremony, after every right of passage, after every funeral, every birth, every death, every welcoming, every departing—

To remind ourselves that the Gods are still here.

And that I'm the personification of their promise.

I feel the heat inside of me rise. It's hot. Scorching. It's growing and growing and the song is rising up and up and up—

I inhale—

Deep deep deep, as deep as it can go—

I'm spinning and inhaling and feel the drums beat so hard and fast the sound itself is my heartbeat—

There's the final "Huhp!" of my dancing song, and I plant my feet as the last syllable is uttered.

I freeze in my current position, crane my neck back, until my mouth is parallel with the sky, feel the shift in my throat like a second adam's apple—

And I breathe fire.

I only ever breathe true fire during our ceremonies. Every time we perform on the road, I always make sure to borrow it from torches or make them by hand myself.

I can't allow anyone outside of our Clan to ever see such a thing.

And because of how hot I had let it grow, because of my excitement and maybe even because I wanted to show off a little to Yona—

The fire that escapes my throat is a blinding white.

White and large and reaching towards the sky like a dragon reaching for the heavens.


Glossary

kermes — a red dye derived from the dried bodies of the females of a scale insect in the genus Kermes, primarily Kermes vermilio (i tried looking for "natural" dyes that could be found in an alternate premodern world haha)


Thanks to:

Aria RedMika (thank you~), VithPa (hi! i haven't abandoned this lol, please be patient with be as i deal with writer's block), Dragovos (thank you so much for reading! i hope you continue to like this story!)


i think... that i am world building so hard right now lmao...

i'll be answering a LOT of questions yoon might have in the next chapter, haha. but we're here~ working hard and getting this baby going~

let me know what you all think! i love hearing from you all :))

please review!

prince