The day of Xiao Lin's marriage arrived with skies the color of bruises.
A thin drizzle soaked the dusty village roads, turning them to mud.
In the household of the Xiao family, the air buzzed with cruel excitement.
Xiao Lin stood silently in his small, broken mirror, staring at the reflection he barely recognized.
The ceremonial red wedding robes draped over his frail frame, too heavy, too loud against the pallor of his skin.
The sleeves were embroidered with mocking phoenixes — a symbol of glory, of ascension.
But there was no glory here.
Only chains.
Beneath the long sleeves, Xiao Lin's hands trembled slightly.
His arm, hastily bandaged, throbbed from the deep cut he had carved into himself the night before.
The bloodletting had not been enough.
He was still alive.
Still here.
The servants rushed around him, tugging at his hair, pinning ornate ornaments into his silver locks, smearing rouge onto his cheeks to hide the hollow sickness in his expression.
He did not resist.
He had no strength left to resist.
Only one thought echoed dully in his mind:
"I wanted to see Hei Yue one last time."
But last night, after they had beaten him, they had locked him away.
No food. No chance to sneak into the courtyard.
No goodbye.
Tears welled in Xiao Lin's crimson eyes, but he blinked them away before anyone could see.
Crying would only amuse them further.
Down in the courtyard, the dragon strained against his chains.
The iron cuffs bit deep into black-scaled limbs.
The heavy collar dug cruelly into his throat.
He smelled it — the sharp copper tang of Xiao Lin's blood.
He felt it — a wound, a desperate cry echoing through the fragile bond that had begun to form between them.
Something deep inside the dragon snapped.
Enough.
The marriage ceremony was a farce.
Xiao Lin was led up the worn stone steps of the shabby temple, shoved forward until he stumbled before the leering, bloated figure of his so-called husband-to-be — a merchant known for his brutality.
The old man reached out with greedy, gnarled fingers to lift Xiao Lin's wedding veil.
Xiao Lin flinched back instinctively.
The merchant laughed, grabbing him harder.
The crowd roared with laughter.
Xiao Lin's family smiled, satisfied.
To them, he was no more than a curse being sold off — a burden finally removed.
The priest raised his hands, beginning the ceremonial rites in a droning voice.
The world blurred around Xiao Lin.
"Mother," he thought faintly.
"I'm sorry. I tried."
His knees buckled.
The cut on his arm had reopened under the strain, soaking the inner layers of his robes with dark, sticky blood.
The veil blurred red before his eyes.
His vision dimmed.
The priest's voice became a distant hum.
He felt himself falling —
A thunderous crash shattered the ceremony.
The temple roof exploded inward, raining stone and splintered wood onto the shrieking guests.
A deafening roar shook the ground.
Eyes wide with terror, the villagers stumbled back, tripping over each other in their scramble to flee.
From the gaping hole above, a black dragon descended, wings spread wide, eyes burning with murderous rage.
The red moon mark on its forehead blazed like a brand of vengeance.
The dragon landed with a ground-shaking impact, his tail lashing through the altar, smashing the old merchant aside like a rag doll.
The stunned priest dropped his staff and ran, robes flapping.
Gasps of horror rippled through the crowd as the dragon's form shimmered — flesh twisting, shrinking — until a man stood in its place.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Hair black as night, dripping rainwater across wheat-tanned skin.
Eyes sharp enough to pierce through souls.
He wore no royal insignia, no armor.
But the sheer force of his presence screamed power.
None recognized him as the lost Marshal.
But none dared to stand in his way.
Sheng Long stalked forward, every step radiating a cold, lethal intent.
He reached Xiao Lin's crumpled form and, without hesitation, swept the unconscious ger into his arms.
Xiao Lin whimpered faintly, blood smearing against Sheng Long's chest.
The man's jaw tightened.
He turned slowly to face the crowd.
The villagers flinched back under the weight of his killing aura.
"If any of you," Sheng Long said quietly, voice low and cutting, "try to take him from me..."
He let the threat hang in the air like a guillotine.
Then, without another word, he launched upward into the stormy sky, wings erupting from his back mid-flight.
In the chaos below, no one dared give chase.
Only Mei Hua, crushed under the wreckage of her ambitions, sobbed hysterically as the last hope of destroying her hated stepbrother vanished into the clouds.
Far away, on the edge of consciousness, Xiao Lin felt warmth for the first time in years.
He was flying.
Cradled against a broad chest, feeling a heartbeat strong enough to shake the heavens.
Somehow, even in his half-dreaming state, he knew.
"Hei Yue... came for me."
And for the first time since he was a child, Xiao Lin allowed himself to believe that maybe...
just maybe...
he could be saved.