#will disclose more next time

Even since Hiryuu’s death, Zeno had kept to himself, lived by the promise he had made to remain the sole protector of his tomb. He had once lived hearing the voice of God, then a warrior of dragon blood protecting his one and only King, and once, for a short and blessed moment, as nothing more than a married man.

He missed it. He missed them, all these lives he had lived yet none of it ever remains, for all who spoke of or witnessed it laid in their burial far before Zeno could ever see the trace of age darkening his skin and it ate at him, the memories which were only his to claim, the grief which kept coldly reminding him he was the only Sacred One left in this world. That all the dragons had come to live and pass and ascend to the Heavens to witness the sight of one another once more, and Zeno was left with but the blurry memory of faces he once knew so deeply he could draw in the dark.

He couldn’t die. That was the end of it really, and after two thousands years lived in the sole company of his mind, nothing could light the flame of his aching heart.

Until one day, at the break of dawn the sky bore a crimson color humanity had long forgotten, one Zeno had seen for days on end carried by the hairs and eyes of his King; no matter the passing of time the sky remained as such from dawn to dusk and Zeno cried, let himself fall to the ground in earth-stained sobs because it was it, the one calling of his soul returning to him once more.

Hiryuu would return. Because it was the meaning of this vermillon sky, the promise of their Once King now reborn. 

He only had to wait, just a little more. A year worth at best, but Zeno had waited so long, so painfully long already, what was a handful of months against the promise of ceasing to merely exist, to truly live?