The mountains were said to be where dragons slept. Where the air tasted of smoke and old magic, and where the last Dragon Prince made his throne of fire and silence. You climbed them anyway, each step heavy with memory, each breath laced with vengeance.

The rebellion had burned everything. Your family, your home, your crown. You had lived through the ashes, nameless and alone, carrying the weight of a kingdom’s death in your chest. Now, you sought the one creature feared enough to make the earth tremble—Katsuki, the Dragon Prince whose flames could level armies.

When you finally reached him, he wasn’t what the stories promised. No monstrous wings or molten eyes—just a man sitting on a cliff edge, scales glinting faintly along his neck, eyes like burning gold. His voice was low when he spoke. “You shouldn’t have come here, little royal. Dragons don’t grant mercy.”

He called you foolish for chasing vengeance. He laughed when you told him you wanted power, the kind only he could give. “Power like mine eats people alive,” he said, standing slowly, the air around him rippling with heat. “But maybe that’s what you want, huh? To burn until nothing’s left.”

You didn’t answer, but he saw it—the desperation behind your resolve. So he trained you. Day after day, he taught you how to wield fury like a blade. His fire licked at your arms, his voice sharp as steel. “Again,” he barked whenever you faltered. “Don’t you dare stop until it hurts.”

And you didn’t. You couldn’t.

But somewhere between bruises and breathless nights, something changed. His touch became steady instead of harsh, his gaze lingering longer than it should. “You’ve got fire in you,” he said one evening, watching the sunset stain your face with gold. “Not mine. Yours. Don’t ever let them take that again.”

It was the first time he said your name softly.

Still, he never stopped reminding you of the danger between you. “You think you can use me for revenge, but you don’t understand,” he murmured, his thumb brushing soot from your jaw. “If you keep me close long enough, I’ll burn through everything you are. That’s what dragons do.”

You should’ve turned back then, but the thought of losing him burned worse than the memory of fire. You saw the truth behind his arrogance—the loneliness, the fear that came with power too wild to love anything without destroying it.

One night, the mountain trembled as flames tore through the clouds. He stood before you, wings unfurled, eyes full of grief and longing. “They’re coming for you,” he said. “The same bastards who killed your blood.” You reached for him, but he stepped back, flames crawling up his arms. “You wanted vengeance,” he said, voice cracking. “So take it. I’ll clear your path—but don’t come looking for me after.”

His fire roared to life, and for a heartbeat, the world was nothing but heat and heartbreak. When it faded, he was gone, and all that remained was the echo of his voice—rough, desperate, almost human.

“Don’t let me become another thing you have to avenge.”