Once upon a time… this is how great stories begin, and this is how this one started when it was first told to me.
Now, years later, I have decided to remember it, collect it, and transcribe it so that it won't be lost to oblivion.
This is a story that begins simply: a young man in front of a castle. But it wasn't just any castle, for this one stood proudly at the mouth of a river, hiding and revealing a bed that was accessible only at the will of the sea.
That morning, the tide, in an act of mercy, had receded, exposing a path of earth and sand that stretched out like an invitation to the curious. It was a rare, almost magical phenomenon: when the tide rises, the castle becomes completely isolated, surrounded by water like a solitary island. Only for a few moments each day, when the waters retreat, is it possible to cross this exposed riverbed. And that's when Kei appeared. That was the name of the young man waiting on the shore. His hair, dark as a moonless night, fell in disarray over his forehead, framing a face of almost ethereal paleness, as if it had been carved from ivory by ancient hands. His eyes, green and luminous, were open windows to a vibrant soul, where thoughts and dreams danced with an energy that defied the world.
He wore a worn brown linen tunic, with visible patches on the edges and sleeves that were frayed from use. Underneath, a simple pair of pants and weathered boots, cracked from the roads he had traveled. He carried no shield nor armor, only a katana sheathed on his back, held by a leather strap crossing his chest. The handle, wrapped in faded purple cloth, contrasted with the simplicity of his attire.
As Kei carefully walked across the riverbed, the day unfolded its magnificence. The sea to his left shimmered under the sun's caress, stretching out until it blended with the sky in an endless embrace. To his right, the river continued its course, narrowing among the vegetation until it disappeared into the hills above, as though fleeing toward the distant mountains. On both sides, nature seemed to hold its breath at the presence of the visitor. And there, emerging before him like a vision ripped from an ancient legend, stood Castle Ishimizu.
It wasn't large, but it was majestic. It rose on a prominent rock in the middle of the riverbed, like a solitary bastion resisting the assaults of time and the tides. Its shape was square, with thick and solid walls that marked a simple yet imposing symmetry. At each corner, a small watchtower stood like a solitary sentinel, not pretending to be a tower but with the firmness of something that had endured centuries of wind and salt. Its flat and practical peaks were meant for lighting fires or raising signals rather than decoration. The walls, weathered by the seasons, were speckled with moss and ivy, silent witnesses to its longevity. The narrow windows, framed by rough stone, watched the horizon with the vigilance of ancient sentinels. Stone stairs, carved directly into the bedrock, were the only access to this ancestral refuge. Worn yet firm, they spoke of the intimate union between man and nature, a silent pact that time had not broken.
At the end of the stairs, a large wooden gate, blackened by saltpeter and years, stood as the only visible entrance. Reinforced with iron fittings now rusted, it spoke of a time when the fortress still needed to defend itself, though its glory seemed to have faded. Its appearance remained imposing, but the wear of centuries and the sea's humidity had weakened it, turning it more into a symbol of resistance than a real barrier.
What caught the most attention—swaying gently with the sea breeze—were the banners crowning the watchtowers. White, with a blue dragon etched in the center, they fluttered like the last witnesses of the honor and nobility that once inhabited these walls. Although worn by time, they retained an intact dignity, majestic even in their decay.
But the stillness would not last long…
Under the warm embrace of the sun, a sudden flash interrupted the view. It wasn't the benign glimmer of water in the light, but a hostile spark, a warning as fast as a shadow. Kei reacted without thinking, moved by the instinct and reflexes of someone who had trained for years. His hand slid to the katana on his back with a grace that belied the urgency of the moment. As he drew it, the blade emerged with a deep, unusual purple glow, a color as beautiful as it was lethal.
The purple steel drew a perfect line in the air, intercepting the arrow with millimetric precision. The projectile split in two, buzzing past both sides of his body, now harmless. Kei remained firm, the katana still vibrating slightly in his hand as if remembering the contact. The action had been so clean, so exact, that for a moment the world seemed to stop, offering him a brief respite for contemplation… right on the edge of danger.
He barely had that instant to catch his breath and process what had happened when the silence shattered again. Another whistle cut through the air: a second arrow, as precise as the first, was flying toward him with the same lethal intent. Both had been fired from inside the castle, from above, among the shadows of the watchtowers. Kei knew it instantly. The threat wasn't coming from the path or the forest, but from the place he was heading.
And this time, the trajectory left no room for simple defense. There was no margin for steel. Instinct and survival fused into a single, silent command. Kei threw himself to the ground, rolling on the wet sand of the riverbed. The arrow grazed his neck, so close that he could feel the sharp whisper of the air as it passed by.
He didn't allow himself a pause. He got up immediately, the purple steel katana still firm in his hand, and started a desperate run toward the stone stairs that led to the castle. His figure cut through the wind with the urgency of someone who knows there's no turning back. The only safe path is forward.
The gate was now in sight when Kei stopped dead. He had no time for hesitation. If the attacker was still inside, delaying would invite another arrow. The castle was a threat, and every second worked against him.
The gate, tall and heavy, showed the nobility of ancient times: wood hardened by years, reinforced with iron bands now corroded by the sea's moisture. It would withstand the force of a sword... but not fire.
Kei took a deep breath, firm. He wasn't doing it out of desperation, but out of decision.
With one step forward, he exhaled. And the flame burst forth with violence.
A dense, scorching puff shot from his lips and hurled itself at the gate with the fury of a contained storm. The fire spread like a living beast, devouring the dry wood with a roar that echoed between the stones. Within seconds, the doors were burning, twisted and crackling under the power of the heat.
A column of black smoke began to rise, and as the smoke drifted into the air, forming a veil between the present and the unknown, Kei barely had time to register the change in the environment. From the chaos emerged a shadow, silent and lethal: it wasn't a human enemy, but a black panther, whose coat seemed to swallow the light of the rising sun.
The creature pounced on him with an agility so immense, it knocked him down completely. The impact was dry, brutal, and they tumbled down the stairs. Kei barely had time to react before his back hit the stone. His katana, ripped from his hand in the fall, was sent tumbling down the stairs, bouncing with a metallic clink a few steps further. The panther fell on top of him an instant later. Its weight pinned him completely, and the world seemed to shrink to the golden gleam of those wild eyes, fixed on his with an almost unnatural intensity. The beast's muzzle stopped just inches from his face. It growled silently, its fangs exposed, like a sentence held back.
Kei remained motionless, breathless, trapped beneath that body of tense muscles and black skin as dark as night. Without his sword, without room for reaction, all he could do was wait for the right moment to attempt his next move. The panther opened its jaws, ready to bite. Its jaw descended with lethal precision toward Kei's neck, who remained still beneath its weight. Without his katana, without escape, he had only a fraction of a second before it all ended. But just as the fangs were about to close on him, a voice emerged from the smoke and flames with a force that stopped the world.
—Stop!
The shout was clear, firm, loaded with authority that brooked no argument. An instant later, the tension in the panther's muscles dissipated as though an invisible rope had been loosened. The animal remained motionless, still on Kei, but no longer intending to attack. Its open jaws were frozen inches from Kei's face. A low growl vibrated in its throat, but it didn't attack. With one last frustrated snort, it pulled away from Kei and, like an obedient shadow, retreated to stand next to a figure that had just appeared through the burning mist.
It was a young woman.
Standing, framed by the glow of the fire and mist, she rose with the bow held high and the string drawn. The tip of an arrow was pointed directly at Kei's chest, still on the ground, still breathless. Her caramel-colored eyes gazed at him with an unyielding intensity: there was no doubt, no fear, no hesitation. Only determination.
Kei slowly stood up, staying still as he felt the clear threat from the taut bowstring in front of him. There was something about her that commanded respect. Not only because of the absolute control she had over the panther, but because of how she held the bow: without trembling, without apparent effort. Her entire body was tempered like a bow itself: ready to act.
The young woman was of serene, almost ethereal beauty. Slim, yes, but with a silhouette defined by subtle musculature, tempered like a bow. Every line of her body spoke of agility rather than fragility; strength under control. She wore white clothes with blue details that suggested some nobility or distinction, although the way she moved—light, precise—revealed a discipline forged in battle. Her brown hair, braided and elegantly tied, fell over her back like a line of order in the midst of chaos. And yet, there was nothing fragile about her. She was like a statue carved with purpose: grace and strength contained in the same figure.
When she spoke, her voice was as firm as her posture:
—Who are you and what are you doing here?
She didn't shout. She didn't need to.
—Kei... —he replied finally, his voice still hoarse, weighed down by the effort, the fall, and the situation that had left him somewhat stunned. He stood up slowly, avoiding any abrupt movements, though he could still feel the threat in the taut bowstring.
—My name is Kei —he repeated, as if that alone were enough to justify his presence—. And I've come… to kill a dragon.
His words weren't a threat, nor a boast. He spoke them with complete honesty, without pride or drama. As someone stating a simple truth. As someone who didn't know any other way to live. The silence that followed didn't last more than a heartbeat.
The arrow flew.
There was no warning, no shout, no hesitation. Just a sharp snap, a hiss in the air, and then the impact: dry, cruel, precise. The projectile embedded itself in Kei's left thigh with a force that tore a muffled cry from him. His legs buckled, and he fell to his knees on the still-warm stone, his katana out of reach a few steps below, his hands stained with blood and dirt.
The young woman stood there, motionless. The bow still raised, her expression intact. She didn't tremble. She didn't doubt. Her caramel-colored eyes watched him with the same hardness with which one watches a latent threat. As if simply mentioning a dragon had crossed a line that shouldn't have been crossed.
Kei, breathing heavily, didn't reply. Neither anger nor pleading. Just confusion.
And behind that confusion, something deeper: the certainty that he had made a mistake, without even knowing which one.
_______________________________________________
How could I have overlooked such a detail?
I've skipped over the fundamental fact that places our tale in the Kingdom of Seiryu.
A place where the words "kill a dragon" are not a statement of bravery, but a test of legitimacy.
Seiryu is a land of overflowing beauty: soft hills, clear skies, architecture that seems to be plucked from a tapestry intricately embroidered, and white banners fluttering on every watchtower, proudly adorned with a blue dragon with wings outstretched. The symbol of the royal house and—let's admit it—a decorative detail of exquisite taste.
But beyond its refined heraldry and dreamlike landscapes, what truly defines Seiryu is a tradition born of fire and fear.
Generations ago, dragons ravaged these lands. It was a dark time, with villages razed, fields reduced to ashes, and the people on the brink of collapse. It was then that a king arose—the first Dragon Slayer—and with him, hope. Since then, the kingdom holds a single conviction: whoever cannot defeat a dragon cannot rule Seiryu.
That's why, when a princess turns sixteen, she is locked away with one of these creatures. And the challenge is set. It's not a punishment. It's a test. Sometimes solitary warriors arrive. Other times, nobles with ambitious blood. On rare occasions, entire armies. The dragon decides who lives… and if anyone survives, they win the princess's hand and the right to the throne.
And here is where Kei enters.
He is not a noble. Nor a suitor. Nor a throne aspirant.
He's a young man who has spent most of his life training alone, away from the world, under the tutelage of a master who taught him everything about the sword… but very little about the world. No history books. No protocol classes. And certainly no idea about the traditions of the Kingdom of Seiryu.
He didn't come to seek a princess. Or glory.
He just heard a story in a tavern—a story he paid more for than he should have—about a lonely castle where, according to the merchants, a dragon dwelled. A real dragon.
And so he went.
Because after years of training, of solitary repetitions under the sun and rain, he needed to know.
Was he strong enough?
Was he prepared?
Was he good for something more than cutting the wind with a katana?
That was it.
That was his only purpose.
And now, after reaching the top of the stairs, all he has achieved is:
a panther on top,
an arrow in his thigh,
and a princess out of her castle…
who's not remotely interested in being conquered.
_______________________________________________
In that tense moment, with Kei kneeling and the blood darkening his pants, the air between him and the young woman grew thick, as if the world were holding its breath. She, still holding the bow with a new arrow aimed downward, looked at him with the serenity of someone who had witnessed that kind of foolishness far too many times.
Her caramel-colored eyes pierced into his, and her voice, firm as an exile's decree, sliced through the air without hesitation:
—There's no dragon here.
The silence that followed was dense, filled with confusion, surprise… and perhaps a bit of embarrassment.
—So the best thing would be for you to leave the way you came.
At the princess's firm declaration, Kei didn't immediately respond. He let her words sink into his mind like a stone thrown into still water. He processed what he had heard with that calm of his, almost exasperating. He didn't seem frustrated. Not even perplexed. Just… thoughtful.
A slight smile—light as dawn—drew across his face. It was filled with resignation, yes, but also with a glint of genuine curiosity, as though the situation fascinated him more than offended him.
—Well, that simplifies things —he finally said, with the same tone one would use after realizing they had walked three days toward a place... that wasn't the right one.
He carefully got up, barely groaning from the pain in his thigh.
—Sorry for the trouble. —he murmured, giving a slight bow.
The princess, bewildered, stared at him as if he had just spoken in an extinct language. Her bow dropped a few inches, hesitant, as though the firmness with which she had held it had been met with its own arrow.
He wasn't the typical suitor. He wasn't noble, nor gallant. Not remotely sane, if one based it on his arrival: wrapped in flames, without armor, declaring he had come to kill a dragon. More than a warrior, he seemed like a vagabond with a katana. A dangerous one… and curious.
It was then that a shadow danced across them in the sky of the sweet morning, light as a sigh.
Both looked up just in time to see the small creature descending from the sky like a leaf carried by the breeze. It landed on Kei's shoulder with the ease of one who has been there a thousand times, revealing its form: a tiny blue dragon, no bigger than a cat, with shimmering sapphire scales and wings that hummed with a barely audible buzz.
Kei, visibly delighted, raised his hand toward it. The little dragon tilted its head, sniffed him, and then rubbed its snout against his fingers in a clear sign of acceptance.
—So after all… there are dragons in this castle —Kei said, with a sideways grin, somewhere between irony and discovery, as his new companion nestled on his shoulder.
—Umiryu! I told you not to come out —exclaimed the princess, with a mix of authority, reproach, and affection that betrayed how much she cared for the creature.
The dragon turned its head toward her and made a sound that wasn't exactly a purr nor a hiss, but something between both, like the soft crackle of a satisfied flame. Then it returned its attention to Kei, as though it had just made a decision that only it understood.
The princess watched how Umiryu settled in as if it had found its place. Her eyes, once tense, softened. She lowered the bow completely. A sigh escaped her lips. She had spent a year in that castle, guarded by tradition, accompanied by Umiryu, and defending that place every time someone approached with glory-seeking intentions. During that year, she had only had to face six men. Six suitors. All had given up after receiving a couple of warning arrows, aimed with enough precision to scare but not to kill. None had gotten this far. None had climbed these stairs.
But Kei had.
And now he was there, with an arrow in his leg, in front of the gate he had reduced to smoldering ashes, and a dragon on his shoulder. He didn't seem to understand what he had gotten himself into. But neither did he seem regretful.
Then Gaia took a step forward and, with a slight smile, extended her hand.
—My name is Gaia.
It was a simple gesture, but one laden with meaning. A silent bridge between distrust… and possibility. Kei took her hand without hesitation, and for an instant, her serene smile found an unexpected reflection in Gaia's caramel-colored eyes. With his other hand, still holding hers, he gently stroked the little dragon's chin, which closed its eyes with a slight tremor of its wings, as if silently approving of this newly born truce.
From the charred entrance of the castle, a snort echoed against the stone. The panther watched them from the top of the stairs, its golden eyes narrowed, its tail swinging with irritation, like a whip held back. After one more second of silent judgment, it turned with the dignity of one who has lost the spotlight… and disappeared among the smoldering remains of the gate, wrapped in a wounded dignity.
It was then, just as the handshake seemed to seal an unspoken truce between strangers, that the air shattered.
An ancient sound reverberated through the valley.
A horn. Deep, resonant. It wasn't a festive call nor a fanfare of welcome. It was a primal roar, one that spoke on behalf of empires. It echoed with the sound of conquest, warnings of war… and promises of endings that had not yet begun.
Umiryu's body tensed instantly. With a swift leap, the little blue dragon left Kei's shoulder and took refuge in Gaia's arms, coiling itself in the folds of her clothes as if seeking protection.
Gaia and Kei turned.
And then they saw them.
An army.