PEACEFUL NIGHT • LONGAN DRAGON

O6.

Lancer had stood as Longan's unwavering protector for as long as memory served, intimately acquainted with their master's beliefs, desires, and even their aversions (which frankly, weren't difficult to discern). Lancer's dedication to their master was resolute, their very existence crafted for this singular purpose—to faithfully serve the Ivory Dragon.

However, the arrival of the little child had stirred conflicting emotions within the guard.

The child's birth remained an enigma—five years had elapsed, yet neither Lancer, Shaman, nor Snake Fruit comprehended the circumstances surrounding her birth, as Longan adamantly refused to shed light on the matter.

It was evident that she was neither anticipated nor desired.

Lancer, far from naive, understood their master well enough to grasp that Longan would never willingly embrace parenthood or jeopardize themselves by entering a vulnerable pregnant state.

The guard's thoughts wandered back to the months preceding the child's birth, recalling faint memories of Longan's demeanor. There were barely any noticeable signs of pregnancy, except for occasional bouts of heightened irritability (though that wasn't unusual for Longan, known for their usual hostility) and extremely rare, subtle cravings—enough to easily brush aside any thought of a potential pregnancy

Nevertheless, the notion of entertaining such a possibility felt illicit and daring, further solidifying why no one had ever entertained the idea as plausible.

The unsettling strangeness persisted... the notion that their master had been nurturing a new life within without anyone, not even Longan themselves, being aware. It was simply bewildering—it just happened.

The memory remained vivid in Lancer's thoughts—the day the little dragon came into the world. Longan had appeared strangely unwell that day, requesting to be escorted back to their chamber—a task Lancer promptly fulfilled.

Longan rarely fell ill; in fact, Lancer was certain the Ivory Dragon had never experienced sickness before. This unusual occurrence unsettled Lancer deeply.

Despite Longan's plea to not be disturbed for the remainder of the day, Lancer and Shaman dutifully stationed themselves outside the chamber, an unspoken blend of nervousness and concern for their master's well-being enveloping them. It was an unfamiliar sensation for both, experiencing such emotions for the first time, yet they remained hesitant to voice their unease.

The unease expanded as soft moans and whimpering emanated from behind the door of Longan's chamber, causing both envoys to freeze in place.

"Uh-" Shaman cleared their throat, sounding awkward. "Should we... depart...?"

"I'm not sure," replied Lancer, torn between conflicting emotions.

They stood there, uncertain of what action to take, their gaze fixed on Longan's door. Their stiffness betrayed the depth of their nerves and concern, yet an unsettling feeling of intrusiveness lingered, making them both slightly uncomfortable with the idea of encroaching upon Longan's privacy.

Upon closer scrutiny, it didn't take them long to discern that the sounds weren't what they initially suspected. The mere fact that such thoughts had crossed their minds left them feeling overwhelmingly nervous and burdened with guilt. Longan's continued whimpering persisted, but it became evident that the Ivory Dragon was in distress, experiencing pain.

"Should we intervene?" Shaman queried, their uncertainty palpable before a frustrated huff escaped them. "No... our master expressly instructed no interruptions," they muttered, attempting to reassure themselves. "We must not fret."

"It is difficult to refrain when the master's suffering is evident." Lancer admitted, a flicker of worry dancing in their eye. The conflict between loyalty and concern was apparent in their demeanor.