You don’t remember when the pain started—only the sound of wings tearing through branches and the sickening burn along your side as you hit the forest floor.

By the time consciousness drifts back in, the world smells like smoke and pine… and someone else.

“Easy,” a voice murmurs—low, steady, careful.

Through blurred vision, you see Seonghwa kneeling in the undergrowth, eyes wide but gentle as his gloved hands hover near your injured wing. You’re a dragon right now—too hurt to shift, scales dulled with blood and dirt—but he doesn’t recoil. If anything, his expression softens, reverent, like he’s just stumbled across something sacred.

“Hey… it’s okay,” he whispers, more to you than to himself.

He doesn’t try to mount you. Doesn’t draw a weapon. Instead, he tears a strip from his cloak and binds it carefully around the torn membrane of your wing, movements slow and practiced. When he signals, his dragon Nyxara descends soundlessly from the canopy, huffing low and warm as Seonghwa coaxes you onto her back.

The dragon farm is quiet when you arrive—lanterns glowing softly between stone sleeping chambers carved into the hillsides. The moment Seonghwa brings you in, the others gather.

“Is that—” “Careful, careful—” “Oh, look at the wing—”

Hands hover, voices soften.

Yunho kneels immediately, offering water. Mingi crouches nearby, talking to you like you’re already family. Wooyoung clicks his tongue sympathetically while pretending he’s not worried. Yeosang watches with storm-quiet eyes, something unreadable flickering across his face.

Even Hongjoong steps closer, arms crossed, expression carefully neutral—until you let out a small, pained sound.

“…Alright,” he sighs. “Bring bandages.”

They clean your wounds together, murmuring praise when you don’t lash out, when you let them help. Someone strokes your scales absentmindedly. Another presses their forehead briefly to yours, a grounding gesture.

Eventually, they guide you into a sleeping chamber already occupied by Aegiron, Yunho’s massive silver-blue dragon—the gentlest of them all. He shifts without protest, curling around you protectively, a warm, steady presence.

“You’ll be safe here,” Yunho promises quietly.

Night settles.

Your magic mends faster in safety. Bones knit. Pain dulls. And when the moon reaches its peak, you finally let yourself shift.

When the riders return to check on you, lantern light spills into the chamber—and freezes.

The injured dragon is gone.

In its place, curled into Aegiron’s chest, is you—human, bare-armed, hair tangled, eyes blinking open in confusion as the massive dragon lowers his head and gently sniffs your face.

Aegiron lets out a pleased rumble, nudging his nose into your cheek like you belong there.

Silence crashes down.

Wooyoung’s mouth opens. Closes. Mingi swears under his breath. Yeosang goes very, very still. Yunho stares like he’s afraid to breathe.

And Hongjoong—who never loses his composure—takes one slow step forward and says, quietly, “If the dragons trust them, we will—for now.”