The conversation left Gerel troubled.

He had uncovered a flaw in Yukinari, a single flaw that seemed to cancel out all his virtues in one swift stroke. Yukinari was a dreamer. The kind of naivety he exhibited was usually seen only in very young creatures — a puppy or a fledgling — that had yet to learn of the existence of evil in the world. This was startling, given that Yukinari had just shown himself to be a man of profound intellect and insight. The fact that he chose to play primarily on the finer strings of human nature did not mean he was ignorant of the darker ones. Quite the opposite: from what Gerel knew of Yukinari's life, it was clear he had endured more than his share of grief and hatred — at least as much as Gerel himself.

It seemed that while Yukinari acknowledged the existence of evil with his mind, he remained unshakably convinced that it could be overcome through nobility and kindness. He resembled a hero from one of the old novels they both loved. But this was no novel. This was the real world.

Gerel couldn't understand how such a sharp mind could coexist with a belief in things so utterly impossible, so absurd.

He couldn't understand how anyone could believe in anything at all in this broken world.

On the evening of their last conversation, it was clear that autumn had finally arrived in Shinju. The evening was dark, damp, and desolate.

As usual, they played a game of Mist and Clouds. Gerel won. The emperor seemed distracted, lost in thought, and unnerved.

"You wanted to talk about... miracles, was it?" Gerel prompted.

Yukinari nodded.

"About miracles. And dragons."

"The kind I don't believe in," Gerel replied, half-questioning.

"That's why I want to show you something."

The emperor rose. There was a strange unease in his expression, and his eyes shone with restless energy.

"So, you don't believe dragons exist?"

Yukinari moved deeper into the garden. Among the sharp shadows and splashes of light cast by paper lanterns, his pale attire took on an ominous air. That evening, he wore a simple white robe, unadorned, like the funeral garb of the dead. There was something theatrical about the whole scene. What was he trying to convey?

Gerel was struck once more by the unsettling thought that the emperor calculated every detail — not just his attire, but every gesture, every smile — as carefully as the moves in a game of Mist and Clouds.

From somewhere in the garden, the sound of an erhu drifted faintly. Someone was testing notes, repeating the same melody over and over without ever completing it. The mournful, low tones carried a sense of foreboding.

Gerel followed the slender figure in the flowing robe, wondering what exactly Yukinari intended to show him.

The imperial palace occupied a vast portion of the city, and the garden was far larger than Gerel had imagined, even though he had been there many times. The deeper reaches of the garden were nothing like the well-tended paths and charming gazebos near the palace. From the windows, the garden appeared bright and beautiful, but once you ventured further, it became a grim forest.

The manicured flower beds and elegant bridges disappeared. What Gerel encountered now was an entirely different garden — abandoned, almost wild. Here, no one trimmed the branches or plucked the withered petals. The trees grew so thickly they obscured the view. The path was narrow, forcing them to push through thorny underbrush. Gnarled old trunks and tangled black branches gave the place a somber air.

The path led to a small pond, no more than ten meters across, its surface covered with duckweed. In places, dark water glimmered through the green, smooth as black glass.

"This is a good place to sit and reflect alone," Yukinari said. "You might even try swimming here sometime, if you're not afraid of snakes. The water is always cold, which suits them. But they're just harmless grass snakes."

Gerel could see that the emperor wanted to discuss something important but was hesitating, filling the silence with idle words.

"Did you bring me here to show me snakes?" he asked dryly.

Instead of answering, Yukinari crouched by the water's edge and lightly touched the surface with his fingertips.

Gerel shuddered. For a moment, he thought he had heard a low, melodic sound resonate from the touch, spreading across the pond like the chime of a bell.

It must have been his imagination.

The still, dark surface of the pond rippled.

And then... something emerged from the water. Or rather — someone.

Gerel saw the strangest creature. Its body was serpentine and flexible, its black, iridescent scales glinting with a greenish sheen. Membranous ears, delicate like the fingers of a water spirit, adorned the sides of its head, and just behind them sprouted branching, fragile antlers. Its movements had a languid, unhurried grace, a beauty steeped in lazy elegance. It glided effortlessly out of the water, coiling itself around Yukinari's arm like a wide bracelet of black and silver. Its slender head rested trustingly on the emperor's open palm.

Yukinari glanced at Gerel with a nervous expression and asked hesitantly:

"Do you... see it?"

A simple "yes" clearly wasn't enough, but Gerel couldn't muster any other words. He simply nodded. But, judging by Yukinari's reaction, his face must have said everything already.

In the emperor's eyes, a strange and sudden joy flickered.

"I'm so glad... no, it doesn't matter..." Yukinari murmured. Then, louder, he addressed the creature: "Hello. I'll read to you tomorrow, I promise. I don't have any books with me today, nor anything tasty to offer you. I'm sorry, my friend. But I've brought you a guest instead."

The creature turned its gaze to Gerel. Its moonlit eyes glimmered with a silvery light, melancholic, like those of a horse — as if they understood everything. It regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and faint amusement.

"This is General Gerel of Cheongju," Yukinari said to the creature. "He's an extraordinary man." Then, turning back to Gerel, he asked with a smile, "So? Do you still not believe in dragons?"

Yukinari's dark eyes sparkled with warmth, and beside him, the odd, scaled creature seemed to smile as well — with its clumsy, toothy maw.

"What is it?" Gerel asked.

"A dragon. Though still a very young one."

Gerel didn't know how to respond.

This couldn't be real. It simply couldn't.