'How can a red dragon be not so red after all?'
When the door creaked open, an aged man with white hair stood tall. He was the so-called old red dragon. But he wasn't red after all. Not even a little. He had skin. Smooth, flesh-colored skin. And he looked… immortal, yes, but still human. This was what confused Seraphina.
"Granduncle, why aren't you at the Academy?" The green man—dokkaebi asked, sounding flat.
At that moment, Seraphina caught the Dokkaebi's words and realized something, they knew each other. They were together. The old red dragon wasn't human. He only looked it. He was a goemul too, just like the one eyed giant monster and this green man.
But shame on the holies and heavenlies who claimed goemuls were a cursed race with no fine species!
The old man smiled at the Dokkaebi. "Of course. But the whole Academy went into a frenzy when the Oenunbaki goemul came crying, wailing and mourning over your name."
Name? They had names?
Seraphina blinked.
Then the old man's gaze shifted and landed on Seraphina, lying still on the bed. His eyes lit up.
Though she looked small and fragile, the old man could tell that this little girl bore the marks of an immortal. Especially those eyes. Blue. Bright. Far too bright. And so lovely to look at.
No wonder the Dokkaebi had saved her.
His aged gaze swept over her, trying quietly and skillfully to read her soul.
But Seraphina noticed it instantly. She blinked and immediately used her internal powers to block him access to reading her soul.
The old dragon smiled, satisfied with whatever he had seen, or hadn't seen at all. But it seemed to please him.
"Little one," he said gently, "What's your name?"
Her eyes widened. Her ears flushed pink.
The old dragon's smile was… beautiful. How could a goemul be so?
And no one had ever smiled at her like that, not once. It was genuine.
Even as she peeked into his mind and saw him scheming: plotting to send some Academy students into the land of the dead dragons, to play the living horns of the dead dragons as punishment, it didn't bother her. At least he was honest about it.
"I—I'm Rose."
She lied again. But this time, it felt good. It felt delicious, even. The name slid off her tongue like butter off a warm blade.
She was no longer Seraphina Shade, runaway immortal of shadow and disgrace. She was Rose.
Let the heavens swallow their scrolls. Let her brother enjoy his praises. Let no one search for her since they do not care. Let the Academy ache. As for her, she was going to have a great adventure in this realm, she would be whoever she wanted, do whatever she pleased, and she wouldn't care how anyone felt about it.
"Little Rose, you can call me Grandpa Max," said the red dragon whose real name, unknown to most, was Maximilien. He smiled gently, like a painting from a forgotten age.
"Do you have a family? How did you get here? Did you lose your way and fall through the border gate?"
Seraphina blinked. Her head spun.
She almost wanted to cry. No one had ever spoken to her like this; like she was a child to be protected, not a burden to be erased.
But she couldn't tell them the truth. She couldn't say she was immortal, couldn't say she was the daughter of the Shadow Mother. Even that part might not have been such a bother as it was in the Heaven's realm, but no—she had to play the role.
Six years old, lost, alone…. The sweet, nameless little Rose.
"I… only remember my name," she whispered. "I don't know anything else."
Maximilien froze and he quickly turned pale. 'Such a sweet child…' he thought bitterly. 'Thrown away by some heartless guardian or family. Abandoned to be eaten alive here. Who would do that to a little girl with such a harmonious voice, one worth stealing?'
"If you don't remember, it's alright," he said softly. He meant every word. "Do you know music?"
Seraphina's eyes darted to him. Of course, she did.
She had just read his mind. He wasn't asking out of nowhere. Maximilien was a man of music—a scholar of sound, a dragon of rhythm. He was drawn to beautiful voices the way some dragons are drawn to gold.
And yes, Seraphina knew music. All immortals were taught music, but she'd never performed or sang.
Tales whispered through the heavenly corridors were that her mother, the Shadow Mother, possessed a generational voice, one born of the dark side. When sung, it could turn the sky black, bring rot to crops, and make the moon disappear.
When the Shadow Mother sang… all joy fled to hell. And Seraphina… had the same voice since she was born of that mother.
It was not something to be proud of or something to use, so she never sang.
Compared to the Sun Mother's voice, which was light and healing and made flowers bloom, Seraphina's was darkness.
But Elias Nore, her perfect brother, had never sung either. He used to say: "If my sister cannot sing, then I won't either."
But now? Now she clenched her little fist at the memories. Was that an excuse too?
Before she could respond, the Dokkaebi interrupted sharply, "Granduncle, can you not always put your music obsession before everything? She's just a little human girl."
Maximilien frowned, but there was mischief in his eyes. "I'm not asking her to join the Music Department of the academy right away," he replied. "I'm just asking."
Still, the old dragon's heart thumped with one emotional thought. 'Is that brat Dokkaebi actually… caring for a little human girl?'
Maximilien almost laughed.
Tsk tsk. He never thought he'd live long enough to see this day. This Dokkaebi, this reckless creature of tricks and trouble, was feeling pity and having compassion over a little human? It was too rare. Almost unreal in fact.
This girl… this Rose… she was hope handed to that cursed Dokkaebi by the Dungeon Gods themselves!
'No matter what you say, Everett,' he thought, glancing at the Dokkaebi, 'I must get this girl into music. Whether she can sing or not is irrelevant. The important thing is to let her little spark of hope spread… to you, and to the rest of us Goemuls!'
Seraphina simply blinked back, half-amused, half-curious. Everett? The Dokkebi's name was Everett? Hmmm, it tasted sweet on her tongue when she mouthed the name.