Chapter 22: The Dragon’s Call

After the bath, Claire meticulously dried me, as I felt loose and limp from the warmth. Eyes, nose, mouth. Then the chest. My waist, the hands and feet where calluses still lingered, and even my most private areas—he dried every spot with care. Flushed with embarrassment, I tried to push his hands away, but my gestures were meaningless, easily blocked by his thick, sturdy arms.

I fidgeted on Claire’s lap, at a loss as to what to do with those large hands that moved so matter-of-factly over my body. I ended up wrapping my arms around his neck, simply praying for the time to pass quickly.

Once I was dry, Claire wrapped me in a large bath towel and picked me up. Glancing at a mirror as we passed, I saw that my body, usually as lifeless as wax, finally had a rosy tint. Overcome with shame, I couldn’t bear to meet his eyes and buried my face in his chest. I felt like it would be better never to bathe again than to be served like this. Even if it was a bit difficult, doing it alone would be much easier on my mind.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed.”

“Exactly. You’re sick. What is there to be ashamed of? Come here. I’ll help you get dressed.”

I hadn’t realized when he arrived, but Zeimer appeared from behind Claire, holding a fresh set of sleepwear. Claire greeted Zeimer and set me down on the bed. I also greeted him.

“Hello.”

Seeing him fully dressed even in his mage’s cape, it seemed Zeimer had been away on business. No matter how much free time he seemed to have, there was no way an Archmage wasn’t busy. Three Archmages—precious and few to begin with—had been lost during the war. No one could deny that Zeimer, a genius among them, held a massive role in the Empire.

He must have just walked in, as he still carried the scent of the cold outside air. Sitting on the bed, I quietly submitted to Claire’s hands as he dried my hair. How long had it been since I last washed my hair? This was the great thing about the Goddess’s blessing; I could stay clean for long periods without washing. It had kept me comfortable even on the battlefield.

Zeimer draped his cape over a chair and strode toward me, holding a jar of body cream.

“Ian, have you been well?”

He tapped my nose, making me blink reflexively. The thick rings on his fingers caught the light and sparkled. Even though it had only been about three days since I’d seen him, Zeimer was making a fuss.

I nodded. Even when Zeimer wasn’t there, others read to me, and I ate and slept well enough on my own. Having had a bath with Claire today, I couldn’t be doing any better.

Zeimer glanced at Claire’s soaked clothes and snapped his fingers, drying them instantly. I could have done it too, but since I was banned from using mana, I stayed quiet. Claire handed the towel he was using to Zeimer.

“It will soon be time for dinner. I’ll tell them to prepare three portions, including yours, Zeimer.”

“No, just two. I have something to discuss with Ian today, so I thought we’d eat together. Mind giving us some space?”

“It is my turn to have dinner with him tonight. Besides, can I not hear what you have to say?”

“Uh, no.”

Though Zeimer had become relatively gentle—like a lamb—since the war ended, his arrogant personality hadn’t gone anywhere. Claire frowned and shook his head.

“That won’t do. If you have something to tell Ian, surely it’s something I can hear as well.”

“It’s about the curse. I want to speak with him alone.”

Claire still looked suspicious. Zeimer smiled as he whispered to Claire, but both Claire and I recognized that look. It was the expression that said he was displeased and you should act accordingly. The way he smiled while raising a single eyebrow sent a chill down the spine.

Claire rubbed his face and finally stepped back.

“Fine. I will tell them to serve dinner in a while. And Zeimer—don’t say anything unnecessary. Not yet. It isn’t time yet.”

Zeimer’s goblin-like eyes stared coldly at Claire. His voice followed suit.

“I know that much.”

Only after the rhythmic sound of Claire’s heavy military boots faded did Zeimer sit in the chair by the bed.

“Honestly, so stiff.”

Zeimer grumbled as he opened the cream and dabbed it onto my face. After placing dollops on my cheeks and forehead, he stared at me and tilted his head.

“Strange. Why is this so cute?”

“Huh…?”

An unfiltered exclamation escaped my lips. Even though he must have heard it, Zeimer just kept looking at me with a serious face. He even took my chin in one hand and turned my head this way and that.

I twisted my neck to pull my face away from his hand. Surprisingly, he let go easily. Of course, his gaze was still intense. Zeimer held my face with both hands and spread the cream with his thumbs.

“Close your eyes.”

Zeimer’s hands, the chill of the outdoors now gone, were warm. The sensation of him rubbing my face felt good. Mmn… A small sound escaped me unconsciously.

Zeimer dressed me in underwear and my pajama shirt, leaving the pants aside. If there was one thing I still hadn’t gotten used to over the last two months, it was being dressed in underwear, but at least everyone handled it with a brisk, clinical attitude.

He propped a pillow behind my back. My question about why he hadn’t put my pants on was answered immediately. Zeimer moved from the chair to the bed. Since I was sitting, the foot of the bed sank. He lifted my feet as if to perform the massage Claire usually did. I couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Zeimer, what is this thing you wanted to talk about?”

I was curious. A story about a curse? There was no curse to begin with. This was all the Goddess’s cruel joke. Or perhaps Zeimer had finally caught on. He was always quick when it came to things that interested him.

“There’s no such thing.”

“What?”

“I said there’s no such thing. I just wanted you all to myself since I’ve been gone for a while.”

I stared at him, flabbergasted. The way he nonchalantly massaged my calves was nothing short of detestable. I felt a surge of impulse to kick that face. It would be quite a sight to see that bleached-white hair flying back. As if sensing my gaze, Zeimer, who had been focused on my legs, looked up.

The menacing look in his eyes had vanished, replaced by a calm center where mana flickered like a campfire. The blue, rolling flames looked alive. His eyes were always mysterious.

Suddenly, Zeimer’s face was inches from mine. Lost in his eyes, I hadn’t realized he was approaching and flinched.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“It was like this before, too. I thought it was strange.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. When we first met.”

“I’m not so rude as to comment on the eyes of someone I’ve just met.”

“To yourself.”

Zeimer’s eyes widened. He was half-looming over me now. My legs were trapped between his. He leaned one arm against the headboard behind me and brought his face even closer.

“It’s the trace of the Dragon.”

“The Dragon…”

“Felix inherited the Dragon’s blood, but I inherited his legacy.”

“Mu Zeimer—.”

“Yes, that is my name.”

I remembered the first time I met him. It was shortly after I’d been recognized as the Hero at the Temple and moved into the palace. I was young back then. Very young.

Come to think of it, I’d once been scolded for absentmindedly calling him by his name—not by Zeimer, but by his aide. At the time, I wasn’t prominent enough to catch his interest. Zeimer only cared about smart people. I’d been scolded for not properly pronouncing the Mu, which had to be drawn out.

Zeimer was an Archmage recognized by the Dragon. Archmages abandoned their surnames in the Dragon’s Canyon and earned the title ‘Mu.’ Foolishly, I hadn’t known that at first and thought he was an orphan like me. Well, I found out later he had cut ties with his family.

His flickering eyes grew still. Zeimer settled into a kneeling position over me and withdrew his hand from the headboard. Running his hand through his fluffy white hair, he revealed a piercing light in his eyes. Along his calm pupils, the mana etched into his iris was surging.

“Look at this.”

“What?”

“Look into my eyes. Can you feel the Dragon etched inside?”

“…Yes.”

“If the Goddess only half-succeeded, the Dragon will be able to do the other half.”

We remained silent for a long time. Zeimer’s breath, exhaled deeply as if suppressing something, tickled my eyelashes.

Zeimer had headed straight for Ian’s room upon returning from the Magic Tower. After being stuck there all weekend researching, he felt like his eyes were going to fall out. He had to find out why the Dragon fragments, which had been quiet for so long, were suddenly acting up. This was the first time since the war started that the Dragon inside him had been this restless.

Despite his extreme exhaustion from the lack of sleep, he had to push himself if he wanted to stay close to the palace. To avoid leaving Ian for long periods, he had to clear as much work as possible in a single visit to the Tower.

Ian looked drowsy, his face flushed from the bath. He was covered only by a towel.

A sudden tightness gripped Zeimer’s chest. Seeing him in Claire’s arms, it was obvious Claire had helped him bathe.

Sure enough, as Claire turned around after setting Ian on the bed, his front was soaked. Suppressing the urge to throw a fireball, Zeimer dried Claire’s clothes. He snatched the towel Claire offered with irritation and acted overly familiar with Ian on purpose.

When Claire suggested a group dinner, something boiled over again. He wanted to pull Claire away from Ian. Zeimer didn’t know why he felt that way; it was a feeling he’d never experienced in his life.

He chased Claire out with a hollow excuse. While the curse was something they’d have to discuss eventually, Zeimer knew today wasn’t the day. It was too early, and Ian’s health was still far from normal. He could barely sit up. Raising his patience to its limit, he listened to Claire’s warnings before finally getting him to leave.

Seeing Ian look up at him with those soft, hazy eyes made Zeimer swallow hard. His palms grew damp with sweat. He forced himself to unclench his fists and dabbed cream on Ian’s face. On both cheeks and his neat forehead. The face that was always cold was warm with heat today.

“Strange. Why is this so cute?”

It really was strange. He’d never thought that before. No, he had to correct himself. He’d felt Ian was cute occasionally, but today felt different. Even the huff of breath Ian let out in disbelief felt cute.

Using his thumb, he rubbed the cream into Ian’s cheeks. Ian was buried in a white towel, his hair damp and the corners of his eyes tinged with red.

“Close your eyes.”

Perhaps because he’d just bathed, Ian’s wet eyelashes trembled. Zeimer traced them with a fingertip.

He removed the towel and dressed Ian in his underwear and pajama shirt. Once the thought of him being “cute” took root, the pinkish hue of Ian’s body felt strangely provocative. Careful not to touch the scar, he fastened every button and tucked him under the covers, finding the sight of him bundled up quite pleasing.

Trying to manage his simmering emotions, Zeimer gently took hold of Ian’s ankle. The slender frame, thin for a man, fit in one hand. He began to press and massage the area beside the calf. This was usually Claire’s job, but Claire was long gone.

He noticed Ian’s toenails, which he’d trimmed recently, were growing back in rounded shapes. Zeimer caught his breath. Even that looked cute to him. It was bewildering.

Just as he was hesitating, embarrassed by his own confusion, Ian spoke. Unfortunately, the topic was equally baffling.

“Zeimer, what is this thing you wanted to talk about?”

“There’s no such thing.”

“What?”

“I said there’s no such thing. I just wanted you all to myself since I’ve been gone for a while.”

Ian was perceptive. Zeimer snapped out of it and blurted out the first thing he could think of to change the subject. The problem was, it was a truth he hadn’t even realized himself. Zeimer focused on Ian’s legs, acting as shameless as possible to hide his reddening face. Ian’s gaze was heavy. Finally, to keep his burning face from being discovered, Zeimer looked up and met Ian’s eyes.

Their gazes locked. Zeimer’s eyes moved up Ian’s body as if possessed, and he leaned in slowly. He had long since given up on trying to hide his face.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?”

The glow of the setting sun filled the room. Suddenly, he remembered something Ian had mumbled to himself years ago. It was only a few years back, but it felt like an eternity. Perhaps it really was a very old memory.

‘Hello, I am Ian the Hero. I have no surname.’

‘Hero?’

Zeimer had scoffed back then. This tiny, cheeky thing was the Hero? The scrawny boy hadn’t looked at all like the hero who could end this wretched war.

‘Mu Zeimer. Likewise, no surname. I’m an Archmage.’

The reaction was the same then as it was now. Ian had stared into his eyes with that same curiosity during their first greeting. Zeimer’s eyes were likely surging as they always did; the price for harboring a fragment of the Dragon was not light.

To avoid interrupting their conversation, Zeimer quietly soothed the Dragon. He could feel the Dragon closing its eyes and purring inside him. He pulled his hand from the headboard and ran it through his hair. He needed to look Ian in the eye properly.

“Look at this.”

“What?”

“Look into my eyes. Can you feel the Dragon etched inside?”

“…Yes.”

“If the Goddess only half-succeeded, the Dragon will be able to do the other half.”

Zeimer blocked out the Dragon’s hearing as well as its sight. To give Ian a choice, he couldn’t let the Dragon hear him say this. The effort was a strain; a metallic taste rose in his throat. Zeimer struggled to swallow the blood and spoke.

“The Dragon is calling you.”