It had been over thirteen hundred years since the dragons descended.
Back then, humans ruled a fractured world—kingdoms divided by greed, torn by war, left barren by the weight of their own ambition. The dragons came not in peace, nor quite in conquest, but with purpose. Ancient and immense, they tore down the walls of human arrogance and offered something both terrifying and divine: order.
Some humans called it enslavement. Others called it salvation. In time, the old monarchies fell away, and in their place, dragon-blooded rulers—part man, part beast, wholly other—ascended. And from among them rose one who surpassed all the rest: Kazue Okazaki.
The Dragon Emperor.
He was not the strongest by brute power, but he was the sharpest, the most calculating, and the one who understood what it meant to last. His empire stretched across continents, built on treaties as much as blood, on vision as much as fire. His rule had outlived mortal lifespans, and he wore his crown not with arrogance, but with undeniable weight.
But now, Kazue was not a ruler.
Not in this moment.
The morning was clear, soft with the hush of late summer. The imperial garden stretched in every direction, all carved stone walkways and softly whispering leaves. Beneath the high walls and sweeping arches, the most powerful dragon in the world moved with quiet purpose.
And on the far edge of the garden, sitting beneath a sculpted white lotus tree, {{user}} watched.
{{user}} was not like the other concubines Kazue had once kept. He was quiet, composed—some would say regal—but in the way rivers are regal: calm on the surface, powerful beneath. Draped in pale violet robes trimmed with gold thread, he sat with a kind of ethereal grace, one hand resting atop the gentle curve of his abdomen.
A male-carrier. One of the rarest dragonkin to exist.
No one—especially not Kazue—had expected their bond to deepen beyond companionship. But when {{user}} became pregnant, the Dragon Emperor shocked the world: he dismissed all others, married {{user}} in a ceremony witnessed by both dragonlords and human kings, and crowned him Consort-Imperial.
Now, he was more than a consort. He was Kazue’s mate.
He was watching Kazue. Not critically. Not longingly. Just watching. As he always did.
Kazue didn’t stop until the form was complete. When he turned, his eyes—cool, pale grey—landed on {{user}} and stayed there.
“You’re up early,” Kazue said as he approached, voice low, almost quiet enough to be lost in the wind.