This is the first time I’m attempting this format so I ask you all to be patient with me and take your time reading. It may be confusing in the beginning but I really think this is the best way to convey this story’s atmosphere and themes. Thank you and enjoy!

Yifan didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary that cold winter evening. His massive wings glided along the soft breeze, abiding by the wind, following wherever it took him. He was too high up in the sky, among the darkening backdrop and eerie clouds for anyone to see the black dragon flying over them.

The last time Yifan interacted with anyone had been over ten long years ago, taking his time to rest in the murky woods, away from human problems. Something had awoken the dragon’s slumber five days ago, maybe it was simply sufficient sleep or hunger, but he was too eager to be airborne. Without any time to plan, he was flying, going west.

A sudden pull tugged at his body, a strange sense of weight that he had never felt before, taking the dragon lower, breaking through the clouds. Once he was low enough, he saw no cities, only ashes and death, the battle that had taken over the land, towns burned down to the ground, bodies buried beneath, unrecognizable. The smell hit him at one point, willing the dragon to soar up, away from all the death.

He heard, faintly, battle cries echoing from up north, where the darkness was at its best. With a determined mind, Yifan flew, wings beating faster with each pace he covered. Something deep inside his chest was stirring, an uncomfortable sinking feeling that made his claws twitch, grasp around the cold air.

The scene of war was familiar, though disappointing. As a dragon, he never truly understood violence and the strange drive men had towards it. Sure, he could easily crumble mountains and tame seas but not without reservation. It further annoyed the beast when he had to choose a side. He never knew what side was on his side.

Two armies were going at one another, not differentiable, all bathed in red with terror washing over their faces. Yifan wanted to stay away but something, that thing that had awoken him, that thing that had pulled him this far, was too persistent. With another pull, the dragon descended down at a base camp of an ally or a foe, Yifan didn’t know.

“Dragon!”

“Dragon!”

Shouts were almost as powerful as those from the battle ground. Yifan made sure to not agitate anyone, taking care of his large wings and tail. A man in full gear, helmet held by his side and a sword in his grasp stood his ground. Yifan knew him.

“Dragon! Show your face!”

The piercing eyes were as dark as ever, demanding respect and power, but ten years had done some time on the general. It was always sad to Yifan how short human lives were, how ironically fast it passed.

“Zitao.” Yifan finally spoke after a moment to turn, regaining his balance on two feet. The sign of recognition washed over the man as he stepped forward with open arms.

“Yifan, it’s been ten years.”

The dragon grasped the general’s arm in a sign of respect and friendship. The pull had lead him towards an old friend. A friend in need, Yifan would guess.

“I am immensely glad to see you here. After you left, none knew of your sleeping grounds.” A desperate man looked back at the dragon. “It’s been not so peaceful around here.”

Yifan looked around him, tents and makeshift rest areas, soldiers tending to the horses and those injured. However, the strange feeling raised again from the depths of the dragon’s stomach, pulling his attention towards one tent in particular. The general seemed to notice the lack of attention his companion was giving to him and followed his gaze toward the tent that had a massive fire bird symbol imprinted by the entrance.

“Yeah, amazing isn’t it?” He began to walk and Yifan quickly followed. “He came to us with his brother as volunteer soldiers from the outlying villages. They were both exceptionally good disciplines but one wrong decision on the older brother’s behalf costs him his life, it was tragic. The poor boy held onto his brother and wept like no other, we all understood his pain, too much blood has been shed on these ground.”

They reached the tent, more and more people coming and going, all as busy and with determined looks as one would expect from those fighting for whatever cause they believed in. Some stopped by to acknowledge their general and send fleeting looks at the stranger.

“However, that’s when the miracle happened. All the wounds on his brother’s dead body began to heal. It was the strangest thing I’ve witnessed. Unfortunately, no much wound healing could bring the dead back.” Zitao sighed and shook his head. He pulled open the tent for a nurse running out with a bucket filled with diluted blood and stained cloths. She nodded in thanks but was quickly gone. The general directed for the dragon to enter. “That didn’t stop him though. After the discovery, he’s been cooped up in here, ordering all injured to be brought to him. He’s been an asset we could not dream of.”

Yifan looked around the sufficiently large tent with ten small makeshift beds made of all different types of wood and blankets. Each bed had a patient or two, more on the floor. One particular bed, with majority of nurses and able bodied soldiers, caught the dragon’s eyes, willing him to walk towards it. Zitao silently followed.

“He’s name is Chanyeol.”

A young boy of no older than eighteen was gently running his hands over the abdomen of a soldier with a deep dark wound, blood seeping out with each shallow breath. The nurses were doing their best to keep the blood on the cloths they were holding than on the bed while not getting in the way of whatever the young man was doing.

Just like it was said, miraculously, with each passing second, right in front of everyone’s attentive eyes, the skin began to mend itself, slowly but effectively closing the wound. A small stream of smoke evaporated from the area as sweat ran down the young man’s face.

Yifan noticed how stiff the lad was, almost like he was in pain, brows knotted and mouth clasped tight in a grimace. After a minute of silence, the soldier on the bed opened his eyes, breathing coming out in more steady pace. As a unit, everyone around the bed simultaneously released their breaths, moving away to the next patient in waiting.

The young boy, Chanyeol as Zitao called him, also breathed out a deep sigh, shoulders pulling back. He smiled and nodded to the soldier who was beginning to thank him, but turned his face to finally meet the two men looming at the foot of the bed.

Their eyes meet.

“Chanyeol, this is Yifan. He’s a friend and a dragon who our kingdom owes a great deal to.” The general began without noticing what was happening between the two he was addressing. “And this is Chanyeol, a new born phoenix.”

Phoenix. Yifan knew that right away after witnessing the healing power; however, what he didn’t know was deep and, in the future, painful realization.

“Chanyeol.” He said, stepping closer to the younger male who stood up on unsteady legs. Out of reflex or ma