The Dragon’s Shame
The Village of the Dragon — Northern Kyoto Mountains
The dojo still smelled of smoke. The fire hadn’t destroyed it, but it had left its mark — black streaks crawling up the cedar pillars, a gaping hole in the roof where the rafters had burned through. Snow drifted down through the opening like slow ashes, melting on the scorched tatami mats. The villagers whispered that the Dragon Princess had lost control of her own flame. They weren’t wrong.
Tatsu Hime knelt in the center of the room, sweat cutting through soot on her skin. Her knuckles were split open, raw and trembling from hours of striking the wooden post. A faint steam rose from her arms. She had trained through the night, through exhaustion, through the point where pain stopped being a teacher and became an accomplice.
In front of her lay the Aerial-X Championship replica she’d made herself years ago — lacquered wood and tarnished brass, scarred by the same fire that had nearly eaten the dojo. The real belt now belonged to Kami Nakada.
Tatsu: When I lost to her… the mountains fell silent.
Her voice cracked through the cold like the splinter of bamboo underfoot.
Tatsu: The elders said the Dragon Princess was untouchable. That the fire inside me would never fade. And yet, one misstep — one flicker of hesitation — and it all burned away.
She slammed her fist into the floorboards, the sound echoing through the hollow structure. The candlelight trembled. The melted snow hissed where it touched her skin.
Tatsu: Kami Nakada didn’t beat me. She survived me. There’s a difference.
She rose slowly, her eyes wild — twin sparks behind a curtain of blue-streaked hair. The mask of the Dragon Princess rested beside her, its red lacquer cracked down the nose like an old scar reopening.
Tatsu: They all think my anger makes me weak. That I lose control when the fire takes hold.
Her fingers brushed over the cracked mask, her reflection warping in the fractured surface.
Tatsu: But they forget what happens when dragons choose to lose control.
The wind outside howled, slipping through the hole in the roof. The candles wavered again, their flames bowing toward her like supplicants.
Tatsu: Kami took my belt. Fine. Let her wear it while she can still stand. Let her show it off to the world. Because when I come for it… I won’t be climbing for gold.
She tilted her head back, staring through the roof into the frozen night sky. Snowflakes landed on her lashes and sizzled away in tiny bursts of steam.
Tatsu: I’ll be climbing for vengeance.
A gust of wind tore through the room, snuffing out the candles one by one until only the fire pit in the corner glowed — embers shifting red to white to black. Tatsu picked up her mask, holding it over the last ember until the lacquer caught, the flame running along the edge like a halo made of fury.
Tatsu: The dragons say control is strength. But control is a cage. And I am done being caged.
She slid the burning mask over her face. The fire didn’t hurt — it accepted her. The glow traced the edge of her jaw, the veins of her throat, painting her in living light.
Tatsu: At Empire’s End, I will burn the sky itself if I have to. Kami… Yasuo… August… it doesn’t matter who I climb over.
Her voice dropped to a whisper, almost reverent.
Tatsu: The fire returns. The Dragon Princess does not fall twice.
The flame on the mask sputtered out, leaving her face half-lit, half-shadow. Smoke rose around her like mist on a battlefield. The snow kept falling through the hole in the roof, melting before it ever reached the ground.
The dojo was quiet again. But it wasn’t peace. It was the silence that comes before something begins to roar.
The Northern Ridge — The Dragon’s Ascent
The blizzard had swallowed the mountain by dawn. The path that wound up the cliffs was half-buried in snow, marked only by the faint traces of blood where her bare feet had cut against the ice. The villagers had begged her not to go — but Tatsu Hime had never been one to listen to warnings.
She climbed because stillness would kill her. Because rage needed altitude.
Her breath came in white bursts, each one carried away by the wind. The snow clung to her lashes and hair, turning the blue to silver. Beneath her robe, her ribs were bound tight, still bruised from the fall that had cost her the match — the moonsault gone wrong, the instant Kami Nakada had made her look mortal.
Tatsu: She thinks she humbled me. She thinks she buried the flame.
Her voice was a rasp against the storm.
Tatsu: But she forgot—fire doesn’t die in the cold. It learns to live inside it.
She reached the first plateau, a narrow ledge where the shrine of the First Dragon stood half-buried in ice. The dragon’s face had cracked over centuries — now it looked like it was smiling. Tatsu pressed her bleeding hand against the ancient stone and left a mark.
Tatsu: The world loves its heroes polite. They bow, they smile, they thank the crowd for their mercy.
She tilted her head, hair whipping across her face.
Tatsu: I’m not polite. I’m not merciful. I’m the sound you hear when mercy ends.
Lightning flashed across the ridge. For an instant, her silhouette looked like a winged creature — robes spread, arms out, the storm crowning her in electricity.
The wind grew stronger. It screamed through the mountain pass, carrying echoes that almost sounded like voices — old, forgotten, and hungry.
Tatsu: The Yokai whisper that anger makes mortals blind. But what do gods know of losing? What do they know of being human enough to bleed?
She took another step, then another, until the cliff edge dropped away beneath her. From this height, she could see the entire valley — the forests like ink blots, the rivers like veins of silver. The world below was peaceful, ignorant. It made her furious.
Tatsu: They cheer for whoever stands tallest. Kami Nakada thinks she’s above me now. That she’s climbed higher.
She spread her arms, feeling the wind try to tear her from the edge.
Tatsu: Then I’ll remind her who taught the sky how to burn.
The storm thundered overhead — a hollow, resonant boom that seemed to answer her challenge. She closed her eyes and breathed in the cold until it burned her lungs.
Tatsu: The rules say the first to hit three aerials wins.
Her eyes snapped open.
Tatsu: I say whoever survives the third will wish they hadn’t.
She crouched low, muscles coiling under the robe, the fabric snapping in the wind like banners before war.
Tatsu: Kami… Yasuo… August… each of you stands between me and the fire I lost. But when I take flight again, I won’t be chasing the belt.
Her voice cracked with something between rage and revelation.
Tatsu: I’ll be chasing redemption through the fall.
The wind howled like applause. She looked skyward, lightning painting her face in gold and crimson flashes.
Tatsu: At Empire’s End, I’ll climb higher than the gods allow. And if the sky breaks beneath me—
She paused, smiling beneath the storm.
Tatsu: —then the gods can drown in the fire I leave behind.
Tatsu stepped forward into the gale, one foot hovering over the abyss. The storm swallowed her in white, and for a heartbeat — just one — a shadow cut through the clouds above, vast and serpentine, like a dragon circling its chosen daughter.
Then she leapt.
The camera followed her downward into the blinding storm until the screen went black, her scream fading into something triumphant.
Text faded in across the void: “The Dragon Princess Returns at Empire’s End.”
The Summit Above the Storm — Sacred Ridge of the Dragon
When Tatsu reached the summit, the world changed. The storm didn’t stop — it paused, like a creature holding its breath. The snow no longer fell but hung in the air, unmoving, frozen mid-descent. Sound itself had gone still. The mountains below shimmered in a red haze, and the air bent like heat above a forge.
She stepped forward — once, twice — and reality began to ripple outward, like the surface of a lake disturbed by a stone. The ground beneath her feet was no longer stone but molten glass that reflected the sky like a mirror. In that reflection, she saw herself burning, yet unconsumed.
Tatsu: This… isn’t real.
Fire Dragon: Reality bends for those who still remember their purpose.
The voice came from everywhere — deep, resonant, and distinctly alive. The clouds above split, and through them descended a being vast enough to blot out the horizon. The Fire Dragon of her clan coiled through the heavens like a comet made of flame, its scales shifting between gold and crimson. Its eyes burned white.
When it spoke again, every syllable made her bones hum.
Fire Dragon: You sought strength in battle, but the world no longer fights in the ring alone. The Scorpion carries what should never have been found. Should he fall… the sky will not forgive what sleeps beneath it.
Three more shapes emerged from the bleeding horizon — the Iron Dragon of Osaka, plated in storm-steel; the Crimson Dragon, guardian of all Japan, its body stretching from one mountain peak to another; and the faint, serpentine shadow of a fourth, unseen but felt — something older still, coiled around the edges of perception.
The world tilted, and Tatsu felt her pulse syncing with theirs. She wasn’t breathing air anymore — she was breathing light.
Tatsu: Sasori won’t fail. He’s stronger than anyone I’ve ever met.
Fire Dragon: Strength is not the same as control. You, of all mortals, should know that.
The Fire Dragon lowered its head until one massive eye filled her vision — a sun caught in flesh.
Fire Dragon: If he loses… your kind will not die in the ring. You will die in your streets, in your homes, in your temples. The Orb hungers for hosts. It will feed upon the soul of Japan first.
The words hit her like physical blows. She tried to move, to speak, but her limbs had gone heavy, her voice caught in her throat.
Crimson Dragon: You have walked through fire, child of the sky, but you still see glory as the end of battle. There will be no glory when the gates open.
The Crimson Dragon’s voice was regal, almost sorrowful.
Crimson Dragon: If the Scorpion fails, there will be no AAPW, no belts, no crowds. The Dome itself will become a tomb. The gods you worship through combat will turn silent. You will not fight for titles, Tatsu Hime. You will fight for breath.
The Iron Dragon’s tone cut through like a blade dragged across stone.
Iron Dragon: When the Sphinx breaks the seal, Japan’s rivers will run black with ash. Machines will rise without masters. The Yokai will be freed from their prisons and walk once more. What you have seen as mythology will become weaponry.
The air warped around her. Images burst like visions across the red sky — Tokyo in flames; people running through streets swallowed by sand; bridges cracking like bones; the moon split into two, casting its reflection into a sea that bled upward instead of down.
Tatsu fell to her knees, clutching her chest.
Tatsu: Stop it! I’m not afraid of death!
Fire Dragon: Death is mercy. Fear the living that refuse to die.
The ground split open beneath her hands, revealing rivers of molten light pulsing like veins. The reflection of her face burned within it — but her eyes were not her own. They glowed gold, ringed with a red sigil that pulsed in rhythm with something vast and ancient.
Fire Dragon: If the Scorpion fails, the burden passes to you. Not in the ring. Not in the eyes of men. In the streets. In the alleys. In the bones of cities that will burn until they remember their gods.
Tatsu: And if I refuse?
Iron Dragon: Then the flame will find another. But it will not ask permission.
The Fire Dragon’s face drew close again, so close that she could feel the heat rolling off its breath.
Fire Dragon: You are the last ember of a forgotten fire. When the time comes, the world will not need your elegance. It will need your rage.
Tatsu’s breathing quickened. The world blurred — the molten floor turned to red water, and she began to sink. She struggled, clawing at the surface, but the dragons only watched, their eyes vast and unblinking.
Crimson Dragon: You will burn until there is nothing left but truth. That is the oath of fire.
She screamed as the red water engulfed her — and then, just as suddenly, she was standing again, alone on the mountaintop. The storm had returned, lightning slashing the sky in white ribbons. Her hands were shaking, but she could still feel the heat in her veins.
When she looked down, her reflection in a pool of melted snow showed her eyes glowing faintly gold — just for a moment — before dimming again.
Tatsu: If Sasori falls… then Japan will need a different kind of warrior.
She stood, the wind wrapping her robe around her like wings.
Tatsu: Not a champion. Not a hero. A weapon.
She reached up, brushing snow from her face, her expression calm — almost divine.
Tatsu: The dragons can rest. I’ll keep the fire alive.
Lightning cracked behind her as she turned back toward the world below — the lights of Tokyo blinking faintly through the clouds, unaware of the gods’ warning.
Tatsu: The sky burns next.
The final flash of lightning illuminated the mountaintop — and for a heartbeat, behind her, the Fire Dragon’s silhouette appeared again, coiling through the storm like a living omen.
Then it was gone.