#ya're all spoiling me with these amazing fanfics

[yugirl-with-dragons]

5d’s Medieval AU- Sanctuary

This fanfic was written by @aceyugiohdreamer for my 5d’s Medieval AU. My friend is CRAZY and I LOVE her. With. All. Of. My. Heart. (Oh and thank you for giving me the permission to post it here <3 <3 <3 sorry if it took me some time, I had no computer! But I mean... 1) your writing is great 2) the world must kNOW it’s great 3) I wanted to keep it on my blog bc it was AU related, so I can re-read it how many times I want to :3)

I hope ya’ all enjoy it bc I LOVED IT OKAY. THE INTROSPECTION. THE DETAILS. THE SYMBOLISM. THE WAY YOU DESCRIBE STARDUST AND HIS ACTIONS HOLY SHIT. AND AKI’S. AND YUSEI’S. FFS EVERYTHING IS PERFECT AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO SAY ANYMORE??? WHAT THE HECK IS LEFT TO SAY WHEN SOMETHING IS ALREADY SO PERFECT ????

GOSH I loved the part where Stardust carried Yusei on his back (ToT)// (for some reasons, I love imagining him sleeping) and Aki. Omg Aki on the roof. Gazing at the stars. And Stardust secrectly envying her, her magic and her human hands caressing Yusei, gOSH MY FEELS ??? SOMEONE HELP ME I’M DYING HERE ???!! ;__________;

AND IDK AKI AND YUSEI’S INTERACTION. ASDFGHJKL SOMEONE BRING BACK MY FAITHSHIPPER SIDE BC IT HAS JUST D I E D FANGIRLING AAAAAAAAA 

Yusei is just so pure and so strong and so kind and so sweet and so beautiful and so sdfghjkl I LOVE. HIM. And I love how you show all of this in such a delicate scene ;____; Every single detail of his personality can be seen and I love how he talks to Stardust and dfghj all the fUCKING REST. I meannnnnnnnn. KY. I. LOVE. THIS. YOU PUT YOUR BEST IN IT AND I CAN SEE IT. YOU’RE SO TALENTED AND I LOVE WHEN YOU WRITE THINGS FOR MY AU BC I ALWAYS KNOW IT’S A++++ QUALITY WORK. AND IT FUCKING IS ALL THE TIMES. ASDFGHJK. I DON’T EVEN NEED TO BE A NATIVE SPEAKER TO BE SURE OF IT, THIS IS PURE GOLD AND I’VE ALREADY RE-READ IT THRICE FFS

TELL ME YOUR SECRET HOW DO YOU DO THIS???? AND IN SUCH A SHORT TIME???????? ASDFGHJKL *SCREECHES*

#I think in the meantime I’ll go back in my dark corner melting over and over in a puddle rereading this again bc IT’S. FUCKING. PERFECT. 

The fic is under the cut (obv) <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Though the sun had drifted out of sight behind the forest’s body of trees, the sky was still colored blue and bright enough to light their way. That wouldn’t last for too much longer though, Aki knew: they were slipping into the time of year when the days grew shorter. She kept her eyes forward as she guided the massive dragon. She didn’t need to look back to know he was following, after all—she could hear the bump of each footstep against the earth, feel the soft tremor ripple out beneath her own feet. And since she wasn’t about to start a conversation with a dragon she wasn’t at all familiar with, she didn’t need to meet those solid gold eyes of his. It had been a little work pushing Yusei up onto the dragon’s back, but since Yusei had still had some consciousness at the time, and with the dragon helping as well, Aki had been able to push with enough strength to get him all the way up. He had fallen unconscious shortly after that, which was just as well, since it gave her time to think.

crunch     crunch     fwip   crunch   shwish

The collection of dried debris—leaves, bark, twigs, nuts—rustled and snapped beneath her soles, but it faded into the back of her mind as her thoughts delved deeper.

“The rest are still coming. You need to go and go now.”

How had his voice rung so clearly when everything about her in that moment had been buzzing?

“I’ll hold them off, but you should get away as fast as you can.”

Even now, recalling that moment, she felt the memory reviving the same surge of adrenaline—hot, tight ropes knotting inside her, melted iron spilling into her veins—exhorting her heart to quicken its pace. She breathed in the cool air, deep and slow, to clear it away, ease her pulse. The danger was gone.

For now.

Right?

He had done what he had said he would, giving her a chance to run to safety, unpursued. And he had flown over her without making any attempt to land and take her for himself.

She remembered those eyes, such a striking blue, boring straight into her, direct and . . .

Sincere.

If she had seen nothing of him but his eyes, she would have still felt this uncanny sense that he was honest.

Did she believe that kind of thing? That the eyes were the windows to the soul? Wasn’t it possible that someone could conceal their true feelings, or project something false?

Maybe.

But, it wasn’t all she had seen. He had saved her. Without asking or demanding anything in return. He acted like such a . . .

Well, a knight.

Or at least, the kind of knight in fairy tales, the kind who were just and selfless and dutiful. The kind that seemed too good to be true—considering that they were only human, after all.

And he was human. She sensed no magic in him, nothing ingrained in his being from birth. And she had only known him for a few minutes, total, so how could she know that what he had appeared to be in that encounter was who he really was? He could be . . . anyone.

“Yusei.”

That’s who he had said he was. And, more than that, he had asked who she was.

Her instinct told her he wasn’t dangerous—not to her anyway.

But, was a witch’s instinct worth any more than a normal human’s? Normal, flawd humans who misjudged and miscalculated so often?

Well, what about the dragon? The dragon had a good aura about him, like starlight, bright and white. And he cared deeply about Yusei, that was obvious. Could a being with that kind of heart attach itself to someone with dark intentions, shaded with malice and deception?

She replayed in her mind the moment when she had reached out her hands to his body, concentrating on the feel of his injuries: he hadn’t recoiled, hadn’t contorted his face in revulsion, hadn’t narrowed his eyes in suspicion. She had felt nothing in his aura hostile toward her presence at all—and that wasn’t something that could be hidden. No amount of masking or repression could prevent her from sensing such an emotion. Just like she could feel pieces of his body that eyes and fingers were too dull to grasp, there were other parts—inner parts, heart-mind-soul parts—that she could perceive just as clearly.

If nothing else, she trusted the magic. She relied on that trust to ease her twisting insides. She had to keep calm, otherwise that dragon would notice her nervousness—if he hadn’t already—and maybe he wouldn’t like that. She didn’t need that kind of tension between them on top of everything else. Calm down, she told herself. He’s injured, there’s no way with all that blood loss he’s going to be a threat. And she assumed that as long as she didn’t hurt Yusei, the dragon wouldn’t be a threat to her, either.

Maybe she just needed to stop thinking about it, maybe she was working herself up too much. She just needed to give him a place to rest and recover and—

“Oh.”

She looked up. They had arrived.

She had been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hadn’t even noticed how far they had gone. And her feet had carried her along by memory.

She hid her surprise by continuing on, all the way to the front door. She stood at the threshold, her hand on the knob. The dragon crawled up slowly behind her, moving his body carefully so as not to disturb the load stretched out on top of him, while carrying the knight’s bag by the strap between his teeth—how such razors weren’t slicing right through that thin leathery material, she had no idea. She had other things to think about right then, like how there was no way that dragon was going to fit inside the house. Which meant, she was going to have to take Yusei in on her own from here.

She opened the door before stepping up to the dragon, who had come as close as he could and turned sideways to give her clear reach. The dragon lowered itself, belly to the ground, and carefully shifted his shoulders and muscles as Aki reached up to catch Yusei’s body as it slowly began to slide down the dragon’s sloping side. Working together she and the dragon managed to keep him steady until she had him on his feet leaning against the dragon, his arm around her shoulder. From this point on, though, she wasn’t sure she could get him inside on her own. She looked at him, his eyes still closed even after being so jostled. Could she wake him? In that state?

She bit her lip, tightened her grip on his wrist. “Yu . . . Yusei?” she asked tentatively.

He didn’t move, as she had expected—she had spoken so softly.

“Hey, Yusei?” she tried a little louder, tugging at his wrist.

Nothing.

She exhaled, wondering what to do. Even if she could wake him up, admittedly she would feel guilty pulling him up into consciousness by force. Why wasn’t she stronger?

She exhaled again. Then, she felt Yusei’s body lighten. Confused, she looked for an explanation and found the dragon’s tail curling against Yusei, holding him up. She smiled, an effect of the relief washing through her. Bless this dragon. She looked up into his face and smiled her gratitude to him, then turned back to the door and slowly trudged forward into the house, holding Yusei up as high as she could with the help of the tail’s strength so that his feet dragged as little as possible. The dragon followed, moving backwards while looking over his shoulder.

“I’m turning right,” Aki called back to him, and the tail followed her guidance closely into the first bedroom until she set Yusei down on the bed. The tail retracted and she saw the dragon’s face appear at the window as she lifted Yusei’s legs up and shifted his body into what seemed the most comfortable position. And since there was no hope of getting the blanket he was on out from beneath him, she grabbed a different blanket from the small closet. She threw it open, flapped it gently, and spread it over him, pulling it up to his shoulders. She leaned back, breathing hard from all the exertion, but it passed quickly. His eyes were still closed, and she put a hand over his chest to feel his heartbeat. It didn’t seem out of the ordinary, and his breathing was calm. She smiled and exhaled with satisfaction.

Yes, good. He was settled.

She went to the kitchen and filled a pitcher with water, then brought it back to set on the side table with an empty glass, just in case he woke up on his own. She glanced to the side and saw the dragon was still there at the window, watching.

It seemed she wouldn’t be closing the curtain any time soon.

Then the pack hanging from the dragon’s teeth caught her attention again. She knew it would be safe with the dragon, but just in case . . . She glided to the window, with more care to be quiet than was needed, and opened it. “I can put that in here . . . by him,” she said, holding out her hands, but not too much, so as not to seem demanding. It was just an offer, she’d let the dragon decide what was best.

He stared for a moment, and she waited, giving him the time to make up his mind. Perhaps there was something valuable in that worn but sturdy pack that he feared she would discover and covet for herself, or perhaps it was just the simple fact that it was personal, the knight’s only possessions in the world, not anything to be passed around to strangers.

She didn’t know. She didn’t need to know. And she didn’t try to convince the dragon of anything—he could read her aura well enough on his own, something worth more than words. He would know her intentions through that.

Slowly he began to lean forward, until the pack was in her hands. It was big, and bulky. He held it for her while she examined the exterior with her hands, trying to find the best way to accept such a mass. She had a feeling it was heavier than it looked, just like that knight was stronger than he looked. Well, she didn’t have to take it very far . . .

But still. “Maybe . . . you should just set it down,” she finally conceded, taking a step back to make room. The dragon’s expression was stony, but she was certain she could sense a kind of amused snort in his heart. Well, better that than making a fool of herself trying to hold that thing up in the air on her own.

The dragon complied and poked his snout shallowly through the window, enough to lower the pack gently to the floor, then he released it and withdrew from the room.

“Ok,” she sighed. And then she took hold of the strap—she had said she would put it by Yusei, after all—and then heaved. Fortunately, it wasn’t so heavy as to be immovable. It slid well across the smooth wood floor until the settled it at the side of the bed, close enough that he could touch it if he reached down. She turned back to see the dragon still watching her closely, as she had expected, and returned to the window. She coughed softly, hesitating, then muttered under breath, “Sorry,” before she closed the window again.

It was a clean window though, she told herself. Clear enough to be as good as open . . .

She took one more look at Yusei before leaving the room. The front door was still open, but rather than closing it she went outside. The dragon was crouched by the house, and in a fleeting thought he seemed to her like the perfect guardian. No threat could touch this place, would dare enter its territory. Isolation and concealment had been effective means of protection so far for all these years, but the dragon added a marvelous presence of security.

“He’ll be all right,” she said, stepping forward. If they had been close she might have put a reassuring hand on the dragon, but, despite saving his rider, she wasn’t sure they were on that emotional level. She settled for overlapping her arms close against her middle. The dragon glanced at her obliquely. “He seems to be in good condition,” she continued. “If he gets the rest he needs, he’ll be fine.”

The dragon stared. She wasn’t sure if dragons blinked—had she seen this one blink earlier? she couldn’t quite remember for certain—but this one wasn’t at the moment. It felt like . . . he expected her to say more.

She licked her lips quickly. “I can’t say for sure how long it will take,” she offered. “He did lose a lot of blood, but . . . I’ll do what I can to . . . to help him recover.”

The dragon kept staring, and she felt the weight of his scrutinizing assessment, but then she saw the slight dip of his head in a shallow nod.

Good, good. She exhaled quietly.

“I’m about to go start dinner,” she announced. “Normally I only make enough for myself, but, if I need to I can . . . make something for you, too.” That would certainly be a new experience.

The dragon tilted its head. It was a familiar gesture, one of curiosity, like a human lifting an eyebrow when confronting an oddity. But there was more than just the gesture. She could understand him—not so much in words, but in sense. The language of magic communicating on its own terms. She stared into those golden eyes, and like a resonance, a thrumming vibration inside her mind, she comprehended meaning.

Don’t worry about me, the vibration conveyed. I can fend for myself. She nodded—that, she could believe. He had such a powerful, majestic body, sleek on the surface, gleaming like a mirror when the light caught at just the right angle, and tons of thick, hard muscles bundled beneath, rippling like currents with every tightly controlled movement. His body alone was certainly a force to be reckoned with, so much power there ready to be unleashed when needed. If she concentrated, she would be able to discern what kind of magic he possessed wound up within every fiber of his being, but she knew that was rude. Invasive. Like someone slipping a hand inside another’s clothing. The last thing she wanted was to offend such a creature.

They were at least on respectful terms now. A tense and fragile newborn thing.

And it was just as well—she wasn’t sure what a dragon ate, or, assuming she had access to whatever that was, if she had enough to feed such a massive body, even for one day. Having impractical, unnecessary offers declined was such a relief. Divine had stocked up the house with enough for her to last a while, since it was never certain how long he would be gone, but she didn’t know how long it would last with extra mouths.

“Ok, well than,” she sighed, brushing her shirt unnecessarily and putting her hands on her hips. “I’ll, uh . . . be inside.” She flicked her head toward the door and turned her body, but kept her eyes on the dragon’s until he turned away first, tail twitching at his side as he stared through the window.

She entered the house, hovered at the opening with her hand on the door’s edge, and decided against closing it. The weather was nice, and it felt . . . rude, to close the door, especially after having just closed the window in his face, even if the dragon couldn’t come through and was only interested in the view through the window anyway. With the door open it at least felt like they were part of the same space, just in different rooms.

Maybe she was just overthinking things again.

She shook her head as she scoped around the kitchen and decided on what to make.

***

Night had painted the sky and everything beneath hours ago. Stardust was returning from a short venture to feed himself, which he had only felt comfortable doing because Yusei had slept so soundly for so long, and that woman Aki had gone in to check on him a few times with no signal that anything was amiss. He had watched her press the back of her hand against Yusei’s forehead, her fingers against his throat, things impossible for him to do. It wasn’t just the hunger that had driven away him to find food, he had needed to move and flex out the frustration tangling in his body. The window and walls may be separating him from Yusei, but there were more obstacles than that.

When he emerged into the clearing, those obstacles were still there, and the frustration was still tangled and hot, but, he trusted Yusei would be well soon and they’d be back together, on their way, hopefully to find that other damn dragon that had caused this trouble in the first place. He wasn’t going to let that black brute get away with it.

He plodded toward the house, back to the window, when he happened to glance up. It was the witch—he saw her sitting up on the roof, leaning forward against her bent legs with her arms wrapped around them, he eyes turned upward to the black sky encrusted with fine glitter. He had seen a similar pensive expression on Yusei many times, always aimed upward, as if the stars called out to him in a voice even his magic senses couldn’t detect.

He knew from that far-off look that right then, and probably for a good amount of time, she wasn’t there. Not really. She had flown away to somewhere even he with his massive, strong wings could not reach. She would have to return on her own.

There wasn’t much he could do to make himself inconspicuous, but he had enough respect for that transfixed expression—such an entranced meditation with whatever things humans thought about when they got lost in that wide expanse of galaxy and soul overlapped together—that he would at least try to not distract her out of it. He slowed his movements and curled his body and limbs as he moved forward to avoid brushing against trees and shrubbery and pounding against the earth with too much force. He felt vaguely reptilian, which was a distasteful thought. Humans—he certainly had made many more accommodations for them these last ten years or so than he had ever expected to. He stopped, settling himself calmly into the cleared circular space, and aimed his gaze back inside the house. He could see Yusei asleep in the bed, and felt the phantom of that small human body pressed against his own. How strange it felt to not have him there. How strange that it felt so strange.

But, to be honest, he didn’t mind. Some humans were worth getting attached to. And as long as Yusei was getting better, he could stand the walls separating them—for a little while.

He turned his eyes again, shifting them upward. Aki was still staring, head tilted back. Yusei had always been noble-minded, saving people first and asking questions later. Fortunately, this had turned out to be one of those times where it actually earned him some benefit. It wasn’t always like that, but Yusei didn’t seem bothered by it. The guy was incurably moral, sometimes surpassing the dragon’s patience, but really he wouldn’t change a thing about him. They were partners. A team. They’d done so much together, understood each other. If he were human, or at least the right size, he would have liked to be able to put his arm around Yusei’s shoulders every now and then, like any other friend would, maybe look at the stars with him and ask what he thought about when he saw them. Maybe he would, in his own way, once Yusei was healed and they were back on their way. Nudge him with his nose or something.

He was grateful he still had the opportunity to do that, thanks to the woman. The witch. He had encountered witches before, a few, but none had felt like this one. Granted, every witch’s—every human’s—aura was unique, had its own personality in the fine details and textures, but there were similarities in currents, in the general pool of shapes and colors. He wasn’t sure what it was, but there was something in this woman he had never felt before. But even so, he could feel in the fundamental gradient of her magic that he could trust her—trust her with the person most important to him in all the world.

The person he had not been able to save himself.

He still cringed at the thought, the memory of that attack, the sensation of falling as blood leaked out of his body even as it healed on its own, the smell of Yusei’s blood and the feel of his hands holding on tight for dear life as the ground got closer and closer and closer . . . The dragon had done the best he could to keep Yusei on the right side, keep him from getting crushed in the impact. And he had succeeded in that, but he was keenly aware that if this witch had not come and used her magic to heal the wounds Yusei had sustained in the battle, had not taken him into her home to give him water and food, his companion would be long dead, and he would have sung a song of mourning for days before he could lift himself into the air again. Mired in such a thought, he cursed his own limited ability. He was a dragon! He should be capable of so much more! He should be able to do more than merely protect, to use his body as a defense and a shield, he wanted to do more, to be more. And so, though he was grateful, he couldn’t help but feel a slight burn in his heart as he stared at the woman, the smoldering lick of jealousy along the pit of his stomach.

Aki’s eyes slowly drifted across the gaps and spaces between the shining stars, linked by invisible lines her imagination provided. Sliding here, jumping there, back and forth, around in circles and spirals, traveling across the black sea to the tiny islands of light. She went so far, somewhere between flying and swimming, feeling the stars like a brush of gauze in her soul. It was something she wasn’t sure Divine could feel. He would look at the stars with her, explain to her constellations, and certain planetary configurations of power, but, when it came to the stars and planets themselves, each little speck, she had her doubts that he could feel them, hear them in his skin. That was something she had learned as she got older: he was knowledgeable, for sure, knowing so much and teaching her all of it, but she noticed little things here and there that he didn’t seem to sense.

That was ok, though. And maybe someday he would let her teach him some things. Maybe someday she could guide him enough to feel the tickling vibration of a star’s breath beneath his skin. He would like that, she was sure.

She smiled to herself, hugging her legs tighter. And so she arrived back on the roof, reconnecting with the weight of her body and the feel of time in the present, and realized she felt a bit stiff and sore from having been sitting for so long in one posture. She unwrapped her arms and began flexing and stretching, bending and twisting to loosen her muscles and joints. She arched her back and rolled her neck, and that was when she noticed the dragon had returned. He lay in a shape suited to his body’s anatomy, his head slightly raised, and because his golden eyes had no iris or pupil she couldn’t be sure if he was looking at her or somewhere else. It felt strange to be self-conscious about the gaze of a dragon, but that was only the surface logic thinking. Dragons had great depth to their souls and hearts and magic, she knew. Being around them could feel very much like being around a human, even if the language wasn’t the same, there was still a flow of communication and understanding, a sense of being of the same soul stuff. Magic aided in that flow, but she could see—anyone could see—that this dragon and Yusei had mastered that flow with each other, had knit themselves together in companionship. She wondered just how well they could communicate, if it was like talking and having a conversation, or if they caught gists and wordless meanings in their gestures and eyes and body language.

She also wondered if she should tell Divine about meeting a dragon. She was sure he would have wanted the opportunity to meet this one himself, but would it be kindness to tell him about it as best she could, or cruelty to let him know he had been unlucky enough to miss something so rare?

One more thing for her to think about.

For now, she saw that the dragon seemed even more majestic in the dark, as if his white skin was meant to be seen in the contrast, emitting a subtle glow and, in the right light, flashing with pinpoint sparkles, as if the skin wasn’t smooth but faceted, every scale cut into tiny angles too small to see with the naked eye. There might be as many such sparkles there as stars in the sky. Which was more stunning? It was hard to say.

The dragon was back in his place, his curled body against the ground, his settled head in such a way that one eye faced the window.

She smiled. She hoped Yusei could feel that guardian spirit close by. Well, maybe that was why he could sleep so well—the man barely shifted, always in the same position whenever she checked in.

She would be grateful to sleep even half as well. Knowing that dragon was there, she just might. The only reason she would be closing the door that night would be to keep the chill creeping into the air from filling the house as well.

She’d put another blanket over her charge though, just in case.

***

Mist hovered above the ground, cooling her ankles and fingers as she shuffled through the garden to collect her items. She was in the back, the night-black trees regaining their color and clear outlines in the dim dawn light. The damp smell of dew thickened the air as she sorted and plucked, following her senses, both physical and magical, to know which of the wildflowers and grasses she needed, which strands and buds were the most potent. She had been taught well to know which plants had which properties, which healed what malady, but there was still plenty of room to rely on the magic in her to find just the right auras.

She collected her fragrant bundles and stood, dusting off the knees of her skirt. It wasn’t so much a garden—that was something more intentionally directed—rather she had simply encouraged was what already naturally close by to flourish. It was perfect, always providing more than enough.

Grinding slowly with her mortar and pestle, she reduced her assortment into a paste, one that could dye her skin a rich green if she touched it. She mixed it with some fruit preserves in a bowl and then added some bread that was still young at the edge.

She entered her guest’s room, and because the window faced the wrong way it was still quite dark inside, so she set down the food by the water pitcher and lit the large candle next to it. With the light, she could see there was more color in his cheeks now. She hadn't realized how pale he had been before. A good sign.

“Yusei,” she called softly, hoping he was only asleep by now. The shadows danced on his face, creating a kind of mysterious half-mask in the spaces opposite the candle.

A knight of light and darkness.

She glanced toward the window where the early morning coated everything beyond the dragon’s white body with darkness. She couldn’t see any gold, which meant the dragon’s eyes were closed. It made her feel less self-conscious to know she wasn’t being monitored, so she put a hand on his shoulder and leaned closer.

“Yusei?” she called again, still softly, because when she squeezed his shoulder she could feel him, his aura, closer to the surface, hovering. He would arrive soon.

***

It felt like floating. Thickening. Consciousness piecing together bit by bit, within the darkness. A darkness he was becoming aware of, just as he was becoming aware of himself. He could sense things now—hear, smell, feel—his body just felt . . . heavy. All of it. Including his eyelids.

“Yusei.”

But he concentrated, the small muscles shuddering. Open, he told them.

“Yusei?”

Harder, just a little harder, he worked, until finally, slowly, they obeyed. At first it was only blurry shapes and soft lights. But he blinked, the images sharpening as his eyes adjusted, focused.

“Hey.”

It was Aki, looking down on him. Sitting on the edge of a bed that he was lying in.

Strange, he couldn't . . . The last thing he remembered . . . Soft undulation as he lay against Stardust’s back, a sensation of falling, but not from Stardust, more like, away, upward, into the sky, into a black darker than night, starless, empty . . .

“How are you feeling?” she asked softly, pressing her hand lightly against his forehead.

He shut his eyes for a moment to take stock, to run his focus through each limb, each tangible piece of himself. He opened his eyes again.

“Not bad,” he answered in a voice more rough than he had expected. His throat felt dry.

She nodded approvingly. “Good,” she said, turning to the side and reaching out. He shifted a little, feeling stiff, and as he shuffled himself upward on the bed she turned back with something in her hands: a bowl, small slices of bread standing inside against the side. “Here,” she said, holding it toward him. “I . . . made you a . . . a little something. It'll help with the blood recovery.”

He realized he was hungry. And thirsty. He pushed himself up more until he was sitting, back against the headboard.

“Thank you,” he said, smoothing his voice out. He took the bowl from her, and as he used a piece of bread to scoop up some of the fruit preserves at the bottom, she turned again and poured some water into a glass. She held it patiently as he ate—it was good, simple but good—and he took it when he was ready and downed the whole thing. Refreshing. He needed more.

He breathed deeply, catching his breath, and as if she had read his mind she took the glass and refilled it.

“Thank you,” he said as he took it and another long swig. He set it down on the small side table then turned back to the bowl in his lap.

“Was I out very long?” he asked, scooping more preserves onto the next slice.

“Just one night . . . and the afternoon before.”

“Hn,” he muttered through his nose as he bit down. Good, that wasn't bad at all.

She pinched his wrist with her fingers, a focused expression on her face, then released him some moment later.

“Your pulse is steady,” she declared gently, “and a little stronger, but I doubt you're in totally fit condition.”

He agreed. He was awake, but he could tell that might not last very long. He wasn't in any pain, but exhaustion tugged at the back of his eyes, at his whole head, like an anchor dragging him back into that empty sky . . .

It felt nice to fill his stomach for the trip.

“Thank you,” he said again. He didn’t mean just for the food, but he felt too tired to say anything more than that.

She looked at him, her eyes seeming to glow—her almond-shaped eyes, autumn brown tinted with dark red and gold, amber in the right light. They held each other’s gaze for a moment. She seemed unsure how to respond, because her mouth opened and closed a few times, until she finally said with a wry smile, “Well I doubt your friend would be very forgiving if I didn't get you back to full health.”

He followed her eyes as they shifted and found the window, where he saw Stardust curled up and asleep just on the other side. He mirrored her smile. He could laugh because he knew it was a joke—she would have saved him without the dragon’s implied threat. She had. She had offered her help when she could have just left him injured beneath Stardust’s wing where she found him.

“He's been watching over you the whole time,” she continued. “Well, except one small break when he went off for a moment, but otherwise . . .”

Yusei smiled, heart warm with affection. He could see Stardust’s body expanding and shrinking in the slow rhythm of his breathing. He could almost feel it, a physical memory from lying against that body for so many years.

“What's his name?” she asked.

“Stardust,” he answered. He turned his gaze back to Aki and saw, in the second before she turned as well, that she had been looking at the dragon with a thoughtful expression.

“Stardust,” she repeated. “That's very . . . fitting.”

He laughed. “Yeah,” he nodded.

“He's beautiful.”

He nodded again. It was true. He was also loyal, strong, powerful. Dangerous. A trait not uncommon to beautiful things.

“How long have you two been together?”

He lifted up his bread for another bite, answering first, “Since I was a kid.”

“Amazing,” she breathed.

Her eyes shone, and there was a warmth in them that wasn’t just the reflection of candlelight. She looked back to him, and as she watched him eat the wonder ebbed away into something more like shyness.

“I don't know what kind of food you're used to, but I hope it's not too bad.”

He shook his head. “It's great,” he reassured her, calling on all his available energy to speak. “I've gone days scrounging for scraps, and plenty of others foraging for anything I can find in the wild.”

“Oh,” she said, seeming surprised.

“Not to say this is like that,” he added, feeling suddenly concerned he had said something that could be construed as an insult. “This is luxury in comparison.”

She smiled and looked away. “Well, I'm glad,” she said softly. “If you . . . tell me something you like I can see if I can make it.”

He thought as he finished the last of his small meal, then shook his head. “Nothing comes to mind. I'm not picky.”

She took his empty bowl. “Interesting,” she mused. “I guess I had a more . . . lavish image of a knight’s lifestyle.”

He smirked. “Hard to do anything worthwhile surrounded by finery. Too many problems happen in the grimy underbelly. And the problems that are in the fine places,” he sighed, leaning his head back, “I doubt I'm suited to fix.”

She considered him. From what she understood, wealthy people—especially wealthy political people—weren't the kind to be straightforward and honest. They dealt more in manipulation and artifice. This man before her seemed more the kind to face a problem head on, a direct approach with force and immediate results.

She had a feeling he was good at what he did.

“We all have the things we’re best suited for,” she said softly, seeing in his closed eyes that he might slip away soon.

But he opened them to look at her. “What are you best suited for?”

She hesitated, blinking rapidly a few times. It was hard to say, since she lived a life of mostly isolation. She was well suited to magic, obviously, learning everything Divine taught, and taking care of the needs of the house. But, did she have a purpose? Something she could do with meaning? Or was she best suited to her isolation?

She laughed softly to clear away the self-consciousness.

He noticed.

“Well right now, let's hope I'm suited to patient care.”

He didn't press. “So far so good.”

She smiled again as she stood.

“You look tired,” she observed.

He nodded. “I am.”

“Feel free to sleep as long as you need. And . . . do you need anything to be more comfortable?”

He shook his head, beginning to slink down lower on the bed. “No, I'm fine. I feel . . . secure.” He glanced sideways. “And not just because Stardust is there.”

More light was filling the sky and the room—the candle was no longer needed by now.

“Do you need the curtain closed?” she asked.

“No, thank you. The light doesn't bother me.”

“Good,” she laughed. “I doubt he’d be very happy if I blocked his view.”

Yusei laughed too as he settled flat on his back.

“I'll leave the water, in case you wake up thirsty. And I'll check on you every now and then. And I'll tell him that you're doing fine.”

“Thank you,” he said softly, his eyes closing.

She looked at him, this knight, her first guest ever, her hands tightening on the bowl. “You're . . . welcome,” she murmured.

And then she walked out, thinking she had never been thanked so much before.

***

After she set the bowl in the kitchen, she went outside to find Stardust rustling awake. His attention first went to the window, then he looked at her when he noticed her coming toward him.

“He was awake for a short while,” she informed him. “Enough to eat and drink something, which he needed, so that’s good, but he's still regaining his strength so he fell back asleep pretty quickly. I'm . . . sorry you missed him.”

Stardust stared at her, and she could feel some conflict in his heart—annoyance, perhaps, that he had missed Yusei’s first awakening, and relief that he was showing signs of recovery.

“He’s going to be ok, and I'm sure he'll wake up again sometime today, so . . .” She hoped so, anyway. She could feel this was hard on the dragon. It would do him a lot of good to see for his own eyes. She resolved to open the window next time so Yusei could talk to him.

In the meantime, she would try to go about her normal routine. She still had things to do for herself, after all.

***

It was dark again, and he still felt tired, but not as much as before.

Or maybe he was just trying to convince himself of it. He wasn’t sure. His head still felt a little fuzzy.

But he felt safe—that was certain.

Aki was sitting by his side again, the candle flickering and lighting a fire in her eyes. He watched her. His vision was still a bit blurry, more so at certain internals than at others, like intermittent waves pulsing against the back of his eyes, but he could still make out her movements, the vivid splash of her hair against the neutral palette of the background.

She had brought him more food, which he had gratefully eaten, and as he did so he began thinking—he hadn’t been able to do much of that earlier—reflecting. She had brought him into her home. Made him comfortable. Looked after him. He hadn’t expected anything from her when he had saved her, and even now he wasn’t so egotistic as to be grateful he had saved her in order to be saved in return. He merely . . . felt transfixed.

He was familiar with being taken in, being welcomed into someone else’s home.

But not like this, not by a stranger.

He didn’t know her reasons, he didn’t know what kind of person she was, not entirely. Perhaps this was just her way of repaying him, but even so, that meant she felt a sense of balance, of debts and payments—of justice. And, considering what others thought of her, what so many in the world would do to her if they could get a hold of her, he couldn’t help but admire that.

He closed his eyes for a moment, his head feeling heavy. Foggy. He didn’t know her life, didn’t know her story. Why she was doing this, what her feelings were on the matter—he had so little to go on.

But when he opened his eyes, there she was, leaning over him, and there was no hesitation, no reluctance in her face, in the movements of her arm and hand as she rubbed a soft, cool rag against his forehead. Her eyes, dark amber and fiery gold swimming together, kept flicking back and forth to his, but if his gaze unnerved her she didn’t show it, and it did not impede her calm demeanor and careful movements. Did he seem fragile to her? Was she being gentle so as not to bruise him?

Despite all his training—perhaps his instinct was taking over, his instinct for sensing where there was and wasn’t danger—he let his eyelids slowly fall and his muscles relax so they could soak in the sensation of the rag and her light fingers against them.

It wasn’t often he received such touch. Not unless he was back home. The memory of Martha’s fingers combing through his hair, of her strong arms wrapped around him in a motherly embrace . . . it stung even as it filled him with comforting warmth.

He tightened his eyes to hide the tears rising up, to drive them away, but with such an observant gaze, she noticed.

“Are you ok?” she asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Are you in pain?”

He inhaled deeply, steadying his throat and lungs. “I’m fine, it’s nothing,” he sighed.

She unexpectedly hardened her grip. “Hey,” she said firmly. “Don’t be like that. If something hurts, you need to tell me so I can fix it. Don’t just try to ignore it when I’m right here.”

He was surprised how stunned he felt. He stared at her. She was taking this seriously, her duty as his physician. If she was going to repay a debt to him, she was going to do it with everything she had. No shoddy work here. Again, he found himself admiring her.

He smiled. “I’ll cooperate, I promise,” he said softly. “If I feel pain, I’ll tell you.” She had meant physically, he knew, so he did as well. But . . . “I was just . . . remembering something.”

Her expression softened. “Oh,” she murmured.

“My mother,” he clarified. In a way. Best to keep things simple—he was still tired, after all.

She was quiet. Then she set aside the rag and asked, “You miss her?”

“All the time.”

She rubbed her hand with her thumb nervously. “Do you . . . get to see her much?”

“As much as I can,” he said. “It’s been a while though . . . since my last visit.”

She seemed uncomfortable. Not so much because of the personal topic, more because the whole thing seemed . . . unfamiliar. Like she didn’t know what to do.

He guessed she didn’t interact with people very much.

He let the silence last without exuding any expectations or discomfort. Their eyes lingered, seeing, wondering. Neither smiled, but there was nothing unfriendly in their faces.

Some time passed, and then Aki made a soft sound as she cleared her throat. But before she could speak Yusei interjected.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

She blinked, caught off guard by then sudden shift. Her lips separated as if to reply, but nothing came out at first. She brushed some of her hair behind her ear and whispered, looking away, “You keep thanking me.”

He also guessed she had never done something like this before. “You brought me into your home. Helped me.” You didn’t have to do that, he added silently. “So yes, I do. I want to thank you.”

She chewed her lip, recollected herself, and shaking her head lightly answered, “It’s no trouble.” She met his eyes. It was that same expression of uncertainty, not knowing what to do, entering completely unfamiliar territory. She wasn’t used to being a host. Probably wasn’t even used to receiving a kind word from anyone.

“You helped me, after all,” she added in a hushed voice.

The way she said it, like it was a strange concept . . .

“You were in trouble,” he noted.

She gave him a strange look. Wondering how that explained anything. “Yes. A lot. You’re the only one who wasn’t threatening me.”

He gave a half-smile. “I only threaten people who deserve it.”

She looked away again. “Everyone seems to think I do deserve it.”

He reached up. His hand moved too fast to stop, and when he had taken hold of her arm it was too late. She jumped lightly under his touch, looked down at his hand, then to his eyes.

“You don’t,” he said calmly. Firmly.

She knew that. She did. She knew she hadn’t done anything to deserve anyone’s hatred or fear.

But . . . it was still nice to hear.

“You are what you are,” he continued in that calmly assertive voice. “Being a witch—having magic—doesn’t make someone good or evil. It’s the same as any human. You are who you are. That’s what’s important. And it’s wrong to make judgments before you know someone.”

She knew that. It was so obvious from her perspective as the victim, as the one wronged, the one ostracized because of her difference. They judged her without knowing her, even considered her an object to be used for their own gain. Of course they were all the ones who were wrong.

But, why was her throat closing up? Getting tight, hard? She swallowed forcefully to reopen it.

Slowly he removed his hand

“Do you live here alone?” he asked, resting his head back down.

“Only sometimes. This is my . . .” What exactly was he to her? Like a father, but, not exactly . . . “Well, his name is Divine. He took me in a long time ago. But he travels a lot, and when he’s gone I take care of things here by myself.”

He wondered what the story was about her parents. Had they thrown her out because she was a witch? Did she run away? Or, did she lose them somehow, like he . . .

He turned his thoughts away from that. “I’m glad,” he said softly. “That you have a home.” He knew. He knew what that meant, having a home. Having even just one person to care for you.

She stared. What was that sincerity in his eyes? That . . . understanding?

“Do you have a home?” she asked.

He smiled, though it had a rueful flavor. “Yes,” he answered. “My mother’s house, where I grew up. But, I think, what’s more important to me, is my mother herself. And Stardust. I’m home with them. Because home isn’t about the place, it’s about the bonds. And that’s the world I want to create, a world where people can make bonds with each other and be happy, at peace.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. It was a nice dream. Idyllic. Just the kind of thing a fairy tale knight would say, would fight for.

Just the kind of world a fairy tale witch like her could never live in.

“I think it’s possible,” he continued, seeing her skepticism. “I think it’s possible for things to get better.”

She envied him that.

“I hope so,” she said, though she didn’t believe it. But she knew he needed to sleep, so the conversation needed to draw to a close.

Yusei began to settle down onto his back again, and when he looked out he saw Stardust at the window, one eye on him as he rested his head on his paws. He wondered how long Stardust would watch over him before he let himself go to sleep.

When he looked back at Aki she had stood and had the two bowls she had brought—one with the meal, one with water for the rag—in her hands. She wasn’t pitiable—she was too strong, too capable for that—but she deserved better. She deserved more freedom, more opportunities, more potential to create the kinds of bonds he so believed in. People like her were the reason he fought so hard. So much denied them, so much taken away. She deserved more than one small haven: she deserved the whole wide world.

He would spend his life opening it up to her, bit by bit if he had to.

***

Another day passed, and at each interval when Yusei woke, he stayed awake longer than the last. By the third day he was fully awake. He ate what Aki offered, including another mixture of her ground flowers, and decided he felt well enough to get on his feet.

Aki didn’t argue with her patient—she trusted him to know his own body. So she stood back, but close enough to offer assistance should he need it. He pushed aside the blankets, slid his legs over and planted his feet on the floor, and then pushed himself up. He felt surprisingly steady, but he attributed it to all of her care. Even if she had never treated someone before, she obviously knew what she was doing. He felt like he was just getting up from a particularly refreshing night’s rest.

“Well?” she asked tentatively. “How do you feel?”

He walked toward the window, slowly, just to be safe, and pressed his hand against the glass. Stardust breathed from his nose against him, coating it in steam.

“I feel great,” he answered, turning back to smile at her. She smiled back, and then he went to the side of the bed where his pack lay. He lifted it by the strap and swung it over his shoulder in one smooth motion.

She knew he must be feeling well if he could manage that so easily. She heard metal clanking against metal inside it, and guess there must be some assortment of weapons, the things that could fit, unlike his broadsword, which was strapped to the outside by the sheath’s belt. She had linked them together back at the clearing before Stardust had taken the whole bundle to carry in his teeth. It dawned on her there might also be some armor in there, since he seemed dressed rather lightly for a knight. Which she was grateful for. He had been heavy enough without such extra weight.

“I, uh . . . guess you’ll be leaving soon, then?” she asked, wringing her hands.

“Probably,” he answered, rounding the edge of the bed to reach her. “It’s still early so there’s plenty of daylight left for us.”

“Right,” she nodded. “And I guess Stardust is getting a little stir-crazy hanging around here.”

Yusei laughed. “Don’t worry about him, he can handle it.”

She smiled. “I have a feeling he’d endure a lot for you.”

He looked at her. “Yeah,” he agreed softly. “We both would.”

She nodded. “Bonds,” she whispered. “Right?”

He looked deeper. Into her eyes. So many rich colors and shades there. Like a forest in the middle of autumn, a kaleidoscope of varying shades of brown warmed with reds like her hair and gold like Stardust’s eyes.

He nodded. “Right.”

They didn’t move, just stared, both forgetting the golden eyes watching them unblinkingly from the other side of the window.

Until Aki bit her lip and ran her hands down her shirt, just to do something with them, and said, her tongue stumbling, “I’ll, uh, make you something, to uh, take with you.”

She twisted left and right, as if she couldn’t decide which way to turn, then with a nervous glance at him finally chose left. He watched her back as she left quickly for the kitchen, smiling to himself. He adjusted the pack on his shoulder and then made his way to the front door.

Stardust was waiting there for him, and he reached out and pressed his hand against the dragon’s forehead.

“Hey,” he said, and Stardust snorted and grumbled a greeting in return. Yusei set his pack down and unhooked his sword’s sheath so he could strap it around his body. He liked the familiar weight against his back, and he tested himself, drawing it out and slipping it back in a few times, getting faster and faster. It felt natural and easy, and the sound of the metallic slide of blade against sheath rang like a song in his ears.

He picked up his pack and swung it back over his shoulder. “You ready?” he asked, stroking Stardust’s neck.

The dragon grunted, and Yusei could feel his hot breath fill the air around them.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been bored,” Yusei laughed, which earned him a heavy nudge.

Yusei nudged back with his elbow, and Stardust gave him a sarcastic narrowed eye. Excuse me for watching over your lazy ass all this time, he seemed to mutter.

Yusei cracked a smile and rubbed Stardust’s forehead again, as if tousling some invisible hair. He leaned against his strong neck and wrapped an arm over it. “Thanks,” he said softly, resting his forehead close to the dragon’s eye.

Stardust relented and exhaled gutturally. A sigh. What am I going to do with you?

Yusei heard footsteps behind him and looked back to see Aki exiting the house with a small bundle of cloth wrapped and tied at the top. She stepped up to him, supporting the bottom with one hand while holding the knot up with the other. “Its . . . it’s not much, but maybe it’ll last you the day,” she said.

He put his hands on hers, accepting the offering. She seemed surprised by the sudden touch but managed to not recoil. She stared at him, her almond eyes grown round and wide, and with warmth he said, “Thank you.”

She blinked rapidly a few times before carefully slipping her hands out from under his and overlapping her arms against her middle. “You’re welcome,” she replied, a little easier this time.

It felt strange, confronting a goodbye that was going to be so . . . final. Unless he came back, they would never see each other again, and he had no real reason to come back, so . . .

Why did that feel so . . . sad?

“Good luck,” she said, trying to push the feeling aside. “With everything.” He probably didn’t need it, though. It seemed to her that if anyone was capable of accomplishing their own mission, it was this knight before her.

“You too,” he said. Then with deep earnestness, he added, “You’re a good person, Aki. You deserve to belong somewhere.”

Her reply came reflexively. “I belong here.” It had been a kind of mantra for so many years. Here, her home, the one place she was safe. No one would hurt her here. Divine would protect her. Somehow it didn’t feel as comforting as it used to.

“It’s one thing to have a place where there’s no threat,” he replied slowly, “and another thing entirely to have a place where you feel welcome, whole-heartedly.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

“You deserve more than a sanctuary, Aki. A refuge is a good thing to have, but it shouldn’t be where you live your whole life.”

“It shouldn’t, but it is,” she muttered.

He put a hand on her shoulder, curling the bundle in his arm close to his side. “For now.”

Those eyes of his. The dark blue of the sky in the evening as it steadily fades to black. So firm and insistent that she could almost believe him.

She was going to miss those sparks of hope.

He squeezed her shoulder then released it, and turned back to Stardust, who crouched down to give him easy access to his back. She watched as he hopped up with expertise, even with the pack on his shoulder and the bundle in his arm, until he was straddled by Stardust’s shoulders. She stepped back as Stardust rose to his feet, and then watched as he trod away from the house. He circled in place until he was in a good position, then unfurled his large wings, and Aki had to squint against all the sparkling lights they cast catching the sun. She met Yusei’s eyes, feeling a strange heaviness in her chest, and a vision of emptiness filled her, the vision of what would be left once he was gone. Why was that so painful? She had been alone for so long, spent so many stretches of weeks and even sometimes months before on her own. Why did that feel like such a hard life to return to now?

She tightened her jaw, stared unblinkingly, swallowing, forcing the weight in her throat back down and the tears in her eyes to dry by will alone. Yusei raised a hand to her, and she returned the gesture.

Goodbye, she mouthed.

She read the same message on his lips.

And then Stardust flapped his wings. Once. Twice. Three times.

And then with one powerful leap, he swung his wings with the strength of a whirlwind, and Aki had to cover her eyes with the crook of her elbow to protect them from the powerful gust. When she looked back up the dragon was already high above her, his wings still flapping and sending down blast after blast of wind, and then with one last bright shimmer of reflected sunlight, the dragon chose north and pushed himself forward and out of sight.

The winds died down, the trees and grasses fell still around her, and Aki found herself alone, back to real life, as if having woken up from a dream—

—and felt a terrible ache, a hole in her heart, like something had just been lost. Or severed.

The house suddenly felt miserably hollow. Uninviting. Confining.

But, she took in a deep shuddering breath. She had to wash him away, clear him out of her system. Because this was her life. No matter how much hope he had, no matter how much that knight fought, the world around her was still the same, and this was her home—her sanctuary, yes. Her refuge. All she had. This was where she belonged when everywhere else reeked with danger. He couldn’t change that, and she shouldn’t get caught up in his dreams, or else she would never be able to get through each day still ahead.

Because if she thought about it, if she thought too much about how limited her life was, she might wonder what the point of living even was, or maybe . . . even . . . find a hope of her own that drove her outside, into the danger, to find something, another home, a place where people would embrace her. Where she could have a chance to build a real reputation for herself, find meaning in her work and abilities.

A place that probably didn’t exist.

A place she would die trying to find.

If she didn’t think about it, she could go back inside, go back to her routine, and stay alive. Stay safe.

That had to be enough.

“For now.”

Her hands clenched into fists.

Don’t think about it.

Don’t think about it.

Don’t think.

Don’t think.

Don’t.

She took another deep breath. Exhaled slowly. Unflexed her hands and wiggled her fingers.

It was time to wake up. She had work to do.