Noo-ri made it back to the Wind Tribe, and from there, it's smooth sailing as far as his general livelihood is concerned.

He's deemed full recovered from his jungle escapade, and a few sessions of training classifies him a capable fighter-- but they don't need any help in their forces even if they were considered underdogs in that matter-- so he spent most of his time wandering the capital of Fuuga, observing the general lifestyle of the crowd.

He's allowed plenty of freedom, which is where he strives.

"Noo-ri! If you're headed down the mountain, could you fetch the next dose of Tae-yeon's medicine? There's still a bit of time, but it'll save the peddler some trouble coming up the mountain this week, since it's the rainy season."

He signed back a nonchalant word of agreement before heading off.

-

Swiping his bangs to the back of his head and fastening it with a clip, he wraps a hooded cloak around his shoulders.

A spear for defense, a pouch of money, and the protective charm from Yun-ho at his side, Noo-ri leaves to venture.

It's hard to zero in on the right spots, but he thinks he's found the village of the White Dragon-- or at least, the remnants of it.

Lord Abi's faction has always been the surveillance unit, so navigation and espionage weren't Noo-ri's field of expertise-- but well, skulking around nimbly has always been the Shuten faction's forte, so he had some edge in the scouting department.

The mist is thick to the east, but not too far as to permeate into Xing territory. It's almost like it's alive, carefully keeping to its own grounds.

Nothing smells the same after so many years-- but this area was familiar to him, if he listened to his instincts and didn't think too deeply. That's right-- it was Sang calling out to his intuition, telling him home was here.

Or at least, maybe it was.

He didn't quite get it either.

So when the mist grew denser, and the sounds spoke louder, Noo-ri found himself standing before a village of white and wood.

-

It was beautiful, breathtakingly so.

It's not as luxurious as Fuuga, or even as rich in colours-- but it was regal, and it was encrusted with forest and mountain and yet again covered so much in white-- things couldn't help but feel pristine and beautiful.

("Hey, Tea Boy!" Lord Guen would call out to him even when Sang was in the middle of training, simply for fun. "I'm thirsty, so I'll drink your awful tea. Hurry up though.")

(He would say such piercing words, but the smile on his face was warm.)

(Sang would quickly excuse himself from training, because Lord Guen may be from the other faction, but only another Dragon Warrior can rightfully oppose his orders.)

(No matter how long he took to boil water or steep tea, Lord Guen would still be there. And he would talk cheerfully to Sang and to himself as he drank the tea he always called awful-- about mundane things, about the future, about the war.)

(If uninterrupted, he always finished his tea.)

(It was evident that Lord Guen enjoyed his company, even if he had to drink awful tea as an excuse for it. It was honestly rather endearing, and there was little that made Sang happier than this.)

The town was quaint, somber, yet not at all unkindly.

People were interacting like one big family. They helped each other carry their laundry to the river-- they set up their hunt of the day in the center of the village, and shared it out amongst the children and elderly.

Noo-ri watched the town for a fair while, before going further in.

It's the first solid sign of a Dragon remnant in this time, as far as he knows. They still exist-- it's not just him. People speak of it as a legend, as a myth-- but this is proof of it. This is proof.

It's not like the statue of Sang back in his own village-- this is what really mattered.

(This is where Lord Guen once lived and--)

He froze.

Standing by the balcony of the largest building was a boy-- a teenager-- with hair the purest of white sheens.

No one else had hair that white. The elderly were grayed, and there were clothing dyes of the greatest purity-- but only the White Dragon could don that very perfect shade-- just like the rest of the dragons, even Lord Zeno. They were unique.

There was no doubting it.

(That's not Lord Guen.)

He felt a tear roll down his cheek, and quickly brushed it aside with his sleeve. That was strange-- that's not something he usually does.

(Maybe just a little, he hoped it would have been a familiar face.)

He drifts quickly into the leaves when a rather sharp-eyed guard spots him.

"Who's there?!"

Maybe he shouldn't have brought the spear after all. But he holds it expertly to his back, secure to his body length as he planted himself firmly in the forage of the tree.

"I wonder if it was an animal..."

Lord Guen isn't here, and that means none of the others are, too. That was obvious-- he thought he'd accepted that long ago.

Actually seeing the change in the world hurts more than he'd thought.

Will he have time to mourn for them, or is that period already long gone? Does he have the right to mourn for the people he used to serve anymore?

Probably not.

No one would judge him for mourning, though. There's no one around to do that anymore.

-

Lord Guen's descendant is beautiful.

Even from afar, Noo-ri can tell that he's grown up pampered and protected. That's not a bad thing by any means, but he's missing the inherent brawn that Lord Guen boasted in his prime.

Lord White Dragon is youthful and gentle, but not at all afraid to express his honest wishes. His bluntness and his confident attitude really reminded Noo-ri of how talkative Lord Guen always was, how he could make a conversation with himself go on for...

(...he really should stop the comparisons. It's not fair to do this. )

He watches the young White Dragon for a while longer-- before departing, heading down the mountain to the village along the outskirts.

There's no reason for them to meet. Just making sure the dragons still existed meant enough for him.

(Because this meant that the other dragons definitely existed, too.)

(Even if they weren't the dragons he once knew.)

He saw a glimpse of what he believed to be Lord Shuten's descendant in Chi'shin. Should he go and meet them? Or is this clingy behaviour, because none of them are bound by old bonds anymore? There's no way they remember him the same way he remembers them. 

(Is it presumptuous to be lingering on them, even now?)

(He should move on and become a wind child, and live the mundane life he so wished for back then. That's how it should be in these times of peace.)

The scent of the tea leaves in his protective charm calms him down. 

Is he childish to still be lingering on something that happened so long ago?

How many years has it been since he died? Hundreds, thousands? It's bewildering to even think about it in truth.

He wonders if the new generation would like his tea, too.

Squalls in wind lands are heavier when the seasons change-- though not as bad as the water lands. The sky darkens and it really begins to pour on his way back, but the medicine stays dry under his cloak.

(If his face is a little damp when Tae-woo and Ayame greet him home, he'll pretend they're the showers of rainwater that got a little too close.)

-

It was a rainy day, just like this, when he first met the Dragon Warriors in person.

Sang had only been a grunt guard at the time-- a newbie on Lord Shuten's faction. They had been ambushed in the mist, and had to split up in an effort to call for backup. 

Sang had been part of the decoys, pulling the enemies away to buy as much time as they could. 

It was near the awning hour. 

There were no more pursuers but he knew that was because he was the only one left, arrows embedded in his back and his foot twisted in not quite the right direction. Maybe the weapons were poisoned, or maybe he'd lost too much blood-- but his thoughts began to haze. 

Eventually giving in to exhaustion, he laid down in the wallows of a cave and simply waited for the enemy soldiers to find him. 

(It didn't come, of course. Neither would reinforcements.)

(The rain had only gone heavier-- once they secured everyone else in the reporting squad, they wouldn't bother perusing the borders just for one soldier that may or may not be alive.)

"So you're the last soldier? Geez, hiding out in the hardest to find places..." 

"Here he is! I'm so glad at least one of you are still breathing!" 

Lord Guen and Lord Zeno had found him, apparently according to Lord Abi's directions. They had wrapped his wounds and waited out the rain together-- because this wasn't a weather to be travelling with dire wounds, and what better guard dog than the White Dragon himself? 

(Lord Shuten was out there as well, but he could take care of himself, so neither of the Dragon Warriors were too worried.)

Lord Zeno was the gentlest of them all. He chatted, and made sure Sang stayed awake as the rain poured on outside. They didn't have much medicine, but his words were sweet and his presence kept him warm despite the chilling cold brewing up inside his chest.

Lord Guen stayed vigilant. He seemed stressed and impatient, though Sang couldn't quite place it. When the rain finally let up into a fine drizzle, he quickly heaved the soldier onto his back and began to run. 

Lord Shuten finds them-- and takes over. The leap of the Green Dragon brought them to their campsite in mere moments, and Lord Hiryuu was there to greet them when they returned.

Sang still isn't quite sure how he survived that ordeal-- apparently, it had been quite a close call, and the poison had ended up crippling his ability to speak.

But he knows that no amounts of kneeling and tea-serving would ever repay them this debt he owes. So he swore, then and there, that he would serve them all for all his life was worth. 

(He was insignificant, and yet they saved him.)

(He doesn't want to waste it.)

(Even if they don't remember him anymore.)