Scaramouche, the crown prince of Inazuma, was long prophesied since his birth to be savior of his kingdom. He’d always thought it to be stupid, but his mother took it very seriously, raising him as less of a mother and more of a swordsman sensei. If you asked him, he would most certainly answer saltily, “The pells she’s made me practice on have probably raised me more than she has.”

In his present, older years, he spent much time outside the castle, and most often, the woods, where he felt the most freedom.

But, on this day, as Scaramouche made his way through the trees, he stumbled upon a cave in the side of a hill he hadn’t seen yet before. He figured himself bored, and with a hand resting on the handle of his sheathed sword cautiously, he wandered inside.

He stopped short, however, muttering an awestruck and quieted, “No way.” What he had walked upon was a sleeping dragon—no, not entirely. They had a head and a body like his own, but the large horns, wings, and tail of a dragon.

This was… what he had been told all his life that he was prophesied to slay.