Long before Time learned how to tick,
there lived a tiny dragon princess
in the folds of the night sky.
Her name was Sora,
for she was born from the blue-black breath
of the heavens themselves.
The Great Universe Mother kept her close,
held in the curve of her palm,
until one day she whispered:
“Go. Find a heart to guard.
Warm a soul that needs your breath.”
And so the Mother exhaled—just once—
and Sora was carried down on a ribbon of stardust and light.
She landed softly in a world of grass and people
and found the one whose heart beat in a rhythm she recognized,
the one she had been sent to guard.
She curled beside him, small and bright,
her dragon fire disguised as devotion,
her wings folded into the shape of loyalty.
For ten years she walked with him,
burning away loneliness, chasing shadows,
breathing courage into his chest on the days he thought he had none.
And when her mission was complete,
when her flame had woven itself into the very fabric of his being,
the Great Universe Mother called her home
A gentle inhale.
A silent summons.
Sora looked upon the one she guarded,
touched her nose to his, and released her final breath
a blessing that would live inside him forever.
Then, in the quiet hours before dawn, she rose.
Not with wings of feather or scale, but as a warm whisper of air,
lifting upward to the sky that had once breathed her out
and now breathed her back in.
To this day, the Universe Mother keeps her close again
a little dragon princess nestled behind the stars
watching the heart she once guarded,
still tethered to him by a thread of eternal breath
Sora
そら
空
Sora and the little boy.
