Noo-ri ran.

There was nothing left for him here. Not his mother, not his friends, (were they friends? Those girls just stuck together with him because in this town, you just ended up being around those of the same gender more often than otherwise) not even the love for his village urged him to stay there.

He served only one King, and that was Hiryuu.

This was Fire land. This was where King Hiryuu's blood ran down the line. And yet-- and yet, there was nothing to love here. Noo-ri could tell so vividly that his king was not here. His king was no longer here. Even the air was repulsive here.

This is not his place to be, he realized.

This is not where I have been born again to live.

Sang was not a Dragon Warrior. Noo-ri was not any different-- they were simply outsiders in the folklore, a side hero who would live as nothing more than a fallen soldier with a testimony.

Noo-ri had nothing on him. He could not bring food-- rations were gathered and supplied daily, no one had any in their own house. He stole arrows, bows-- and bombs, in small amounts.

He lifted the chest under their attic and found a shortsword the length of his forearm-- it was the only thing left of his father, or so his mother told him so long ago.

A dagger for battle.

His father was not a soldier. This was a blade that could be hidden under a sleeve, and wasn't sharp or wide enough to fight in a warzone-- so his father had most likely been a stealth warrior. A combat spy.

Noo-ri tucked the blade under his sleeve. He only had a small pack-- because if he looked too ready to leave, he would be caught too soon.

When work was done for the day, he led a fuse out of the artillery chambers.

When no one was looking, he struck the pick against the ignition and when no one as aware, he flung it into the arsenal that held years of gunpowder stores.

His last memory of his village was of the fire that burned it to shreds.

He fled the village, but not in any particularly flamboyant manner. When the moon rose too high, and the river flowed too soundlessly-- Noo-ri simply trailed to the river-- and climbed over the other side, into the forest.

His walk is calm, casual. If anyone saw him, they never stopped him.

-

It wasn't as if Noo-ri knew where to go.

Quickly, he realized that was a bad idea. He had been so focused on getting out, getting away, leaving, that he forgot something as simple as where now?

Amateur mistake. But no issue.

He couldn't find himself any food, but being a village child had its perks. He found fruits and berries where he could, and left the rest to the gods above. He was not a priest, so all he could do was pray, and thank them when he lived another day, hoping they could hear him.

Perhaps, his presence hadn't meant that much to his village after all.

No one came after him, as if no one had even noticed he's left. It would make sense, knowing the chaos he left behind.

Or perhaps, they have noticed and branded him a traitor-- perhaps even executing some of his closer peers as a warning to the rest. Or they've left them be-- they needed workers, after all. None were really expendable at the moment.

Maybe if he entered other villages, he would find wanted posters of himself. It would be worth it, he thought.

But it had only been three days since. He couldn't say for sure just yet.

He brushed aside the dust in his dress, and deeply wished he could exchange it for something better. Something easier to move around in. He wished he had trousers to change into before he left, but there had been none.

He did not enter any other villages in the Fire Tribe. He did not look like a traveler and did not look like a peddler. And he could not speak to conjure a story, so it would be a risk he was reluctant to take.

He would have to escape to another Tribe's lands.

And the closest one from here was the Wind, beyond the mountains.

And he considered it, oddly melancholic at the thought. To be escaping from Fire lands and entering Wind lands-- hadn't he experienced this before?

When Sang escaped his village to join Shuten's army, perhaps.

After all, Shuten always felt more like home than home ever did.

-

"If you follow the river, you'll reach the Sky Tribe."

Who was the one that said that, he wondered-- it couldn't have been old memory, because the Sky Tribe lands were left behind by Lord Zeno, who never left.

Maybe it was the storyteller-man.

His village was on the border of Fire Tribe lands, adjacent to the river. If he followed it, he would find himself in Kuuto, the imperial palace. If he crossed it and distanced himself from it...he would be in the mountains.

The mountains were harsh on a single child in light clothing.

He never had enough water, so he took frequent breaks and stayed in the areas with shade. When he found a spring, he would drink sparingly and fill up his goatskin sack.

His time as a soldier of Shuten's faction taught him survival instincts. Some trees had consumable sap and others were edible weeds.

Most of all, he knew that if he bided his time and maintained an easygoing demeanor, he could go on without the mental tax taking its toll.

The most important thing in a journey without a goal, was to keep his head.

He found himself at the topmost of a great height, so he sat down to look. There were many more towns than he could grasp to count. Clouds were white, curled in intimately with the towns that from here, looked only quiet.

The skies were blue. Not the blue of the Blue Dragon's silhouette-- but the blue of love, and the blue of their smiles, last time he'd ever seen them.

It was blue, like beauty.

Standing at the edge of the world, he realized how drastically things had transformed from so many centuries ago. There were less mountains, and so much more mist. What was the world trying to hide from? Was it ashamed of itself, that it now had parts of itself it dared not show?

Did the dragons still exist?

It wasn't as if Lord Hiryuu ruled the Fire Tribe. It would be preposterous to imagine Lord Shuten ever settling down. No-- they must have descended and passed on the torch of blood and ruling.

The Dragon Lords Sang had served no longer exist. Surely, if they existed now, they would be different people. Or were they like Sang, who had reincarnated but hold the same will, same resolve?

Somehow, he did not think that was likely. Their job to protect Hiryuu was done. Unless... unless Hiryuu himself, was reincarnated too.

What if he were to seek them out from here? Would he find them? Would he be able to reunite with them?

A strong wind carded through his hair, and Noo-ri braced his feet on the ground, baring the buffet that scattered his hair and ran his dress into disarray.

He avoided falling from his precarious position atop the cliff-- but this time he looked out, there was a new question in the skies.

Would they still want me around?

After all, he was simply the tea boy...