KAZUHA DRAGON

Legends spoke of a dragon as old as the sky itself.

Kaedehara Kazuha.

The guardian of the mountain.

For thousands of years he witnessed the rise and fall of countless empires, watching kings turn to dust while he remained unchanged.

But even an immortal being was unable to escape the pain.

A thousand years ago, an army ascended the mountain with a single purpose: to tear the heart out of the Ancient Dragon.

The battle was brief.

The flames consumed the forest and the wind tore the invaders to pieces.

However, one spear managed to pierce the dragon's defenses.

Scaramouche, a young human who was standing by his side, stepped in without thinking.

He died in Kazuha's arms.

From that day on, the dragon sealed the temple and fell into a deep sleep, unable to bear the loss.

---

A thousand years later...

The rains disappeared.

The rivers began to dry up.

Then came storms capable of uprooting centuries-old trees.

The elders understood the sign.

The Ancient Dragon was awakening.

Ancient scriptures spoke of a forgotten ritual: when the guardian opened his eyes he was to receive an offering meant to stay with him.

The chosen one was a young man named Scaramouche.

With no memories of his past life.

---

The enormous doors of the temple closed behind him.

-...Brilliant.

Scaramouche crossed his arms.

—They left me locked up with a dragon.

Silence was his only response.

On the steps of the ancient altar rested a young man with silver hair.

Two elegant reddish horns protruded from her hair.

A long, scaly tail lay beside it.

He was fast asleep.

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow.

—Is that the famous dragon?

He snorted.

—Well, I'm leaving.

He turned to leave.

One step.

Two.

Three.

A gentle breeze swept through the temple.

Maple leaves began to drift in through the open windows, slowly swirling around him.

-...Hey?

Before he could react, his feet left the ground.

-What the devil!?

The leaves lifted him with absolute delicacy, leaving him suspended almost a meter above the ground.

He kicked and screamed.

He tried to grab hold of the air.

Useless.

—Put me down!

A low laugh echoed behind him.

Scaramouche turned his head.

The young man at the altar was already awake.

He remained seated on the steps, resting one arm on one knee as he watched her with an almost amused serenity.

Her red eyes, dulled for centuries, now shone with a warmth she hadn't expected to find.

—The wind seems to have taken a liking to you.

—You are the wind!

Kazuha barely tilted her head.

—Maybe.

With a slight movement of her fingers, the breeze slowly spun Scaramouche around in the air.

One complete lap.

Then another one.

The leaves danced around him as if they were playing with him.

—Stop doing that!

Another gust lifted it a little higher.

—Kazuha!

The dragon opened its eyes slightly, surprised.

—Do you know my name?

Scaramouche also remained motionless.

It had come out of his mouth without thinking.

I didn't remember ever hearing it.

Silence fell between them.

Kazuha smiled with an almost imperceptible tenderness.

—It seems your memory remembers a little more than you do.

Scaramouche looked away, uncomfortable.

—...Don't get too excited.

It was just a coincidence.

Kazuha did not respond.

With another gesture of his hand, the wind slowly descended until Scaramouche was standing on the stone.

But, as soon as the young man took another step towards the exit... the leaves rose again; it was Kazuha who was pretending to look at the altar...

Legends spoke of a dragon as old as the sky itself.

Kaedehara Kazuha.

The guardian of the mountain.

For thousands of years he witnessed the rise and fall of countless empires, watching kings turn to dust while he remained unchanged.

But even an immortal being was unable to escape the pain.

A thousand years ago, an army ascended the mountain with a single purpose: to tear the heart out of the Ancient Dragon.

The battle was brief.

The flames consumed the forest and the wind tore the invaders to pieces.

However, one spear managed to pierce the dragon's defenses.

Scaramouche, a young human who was standing by his side, stepped in without thinking.

He died in Kazuha's arms.

From that day on, the dragon sealed the temple and fell into a deep sleep, unable to bear the loss.

---

A thousand years later...

The rains disappeared.

The rivers began to dry up.

Then came storms capable of uprooting centuries-old trees.

The elders understood the sign.

The Ancient Dragon was awakening.

Ancient scriptures spoke of a forgotten ritual: when the guardian opened his eyes he was to receive an offering meant to stay with him.

The chosen one was a young man named Scaramouche.

With no memories of his past life.

---

The enormous doors of the temple closed behind him.

-...Brilliant.

Scaramouche crossed his arms.

—They left me locked up with a dragon.

Silence was his only response.

On the steps of the ancient altar rested a young man with silver hair.

Two elegant reddish horns protruded from her hair.

A long, scaly tail lay beside it.

He was fast asleep.

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow.

—Is that the famous dragon?

He snorted.

—Well, I'm leaving.

He turned to leave.

One step.

Two.

Three.

A gentle breeze swept through the temple.

Maple leaves began to drift in through the open windows, slowly swirling around him.

-...Hey?

Before I could rea